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simplyafountainpen · 8 months ago

Text

Upside-Down Tea Parties

{𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼}: Queen's Grandson!Reader x the Phantomhive Estate

{𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷}: Queen Victoria needed a place to send (Y/n) for safe keeping, and much to their chagrin, The Phantomhive Estate is chosen. Can they survive the child's shenanigan's?

{𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼}: Found family, chaotic behavior, fluff, small amount of angst, self harm mentioned once(1), Child!Reader, Wonderland themed!Reader, Reader is impiled to be around Ciel's age

{𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽}: ❝I absolutely adore all of your writings!! They're just so immaculately written! Could you make a story where the reader is grandson of the Queen, and she sends him to the Phantomhive estate? And, so, Ciel (in addition to Sebastian, Mey-Rin, Finnie, and Baldroy with a part in there) has to look after him. Fluff, and a bit of chaos. X)❞ - Anon

"Dear Lord Phantomhive,

It has come to my attention that my Grandson, Prince (Y/n), is not safe within castle walls. Recently he has been subject to a plethora of attacks on his life, such as poisoning and false guards attempting assassination in the night. I believe it would be in my best interests to send him with a closely trusted confidant, which would be you. You're both rather close in age, you see, and he has long needed someone to confide in. I do hope you understand these circumstances, and I hope that I may ensure his safety with you. Oh what am I saying, naturally he'll be safe with you, my Guard Dog.

When you receive this letter, I expect you to hurry your way to the Royal Palace Immediately. I cannot send him, we have no lesser carriages on hand. So I send for you, Lord Phantomhive.

I am sure you will not let me down.

With much Sincerity and Haste,

Elizabeth R"

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

{𝓒𝓲𝓮𝓵 𝓟.𝓞.𝓥}

Ciel was more than pissed. He was a Noble! A detective if anything, and the Queen's GUARD DOG. He was not, in no way shape or form, a babysitter.

And yet, here he sat, in his now cramped-feeling carriage with Her Majesty’s grandson. Just great. Amazing, even.

He glared at the boy in question who leaned casually against the plush seats of the carriage. His stupid dazed and slight smile with painted lips. His clothes, much more expensive then the ones Ciel had on of course, with their many ruffles and lace trimmings and his idiotic, shiny, well kept hair. It was safe to say Ciel hated him.

What's more, he was suspicious of this "(Y/n)" character, especially the personal bag he held beside him. He simply insisted that the bag stayed by him, even nearly biting Sebastian’s wrist when he insisted he place it with the rest of his luggage.

‘How absurd.’ Thought Ciel. He could just barely see the similarities between this child and the Queen. The eye shape and overall disposition, but beyond those two things, nothing.

(Y/n) seemed nothing like his grandmother.

“Are you going to keep staring at me like that, my dear Alice?” Ciel flinched at his words, snapping out of his internal monologue of everything wrong with this (Y/n).

“… What did you just call me?” (Y/n) giggled slowly, lazily, showing off his long, white fangs and sharpened teeth. The back of his throat, when it opened so wide, had bits of gold leaf stuck to the back, perhaps from food or medication?

“Alice, my dear I of course called you Alice! The mousy structure and your curiosity towards my being speak it so, my darling Alice. Even through your one eye I sense an air of mystery surrounding thee, and as such you do not belong, my charming, darling Alice you.” He spoke in a sing-song manner, before leaning close, eyes covered in shadow and lips in a teasing smirk.

“No, you do not belong in this wonderland of ours, do you mine own Alice?” Ciel shivered at his tone, light and airy voice becoming dark and gravelly in a moment. Before he could refute, the carriage stopped and the sound of someone walking filled both boys ears and the door opened, revealing Sebastian.

“Your Majesty, Young Master.” He held a hand out, and (Y/n) gleefully took it, his bag in hand, hopping down the step of the steps while muttering ‘hop, hop’ under his breath, turning around and giving Ciel a large smile. Ciel groaned, ignoring Sebastian’s hand and climbing down himself, trekking up the stairs to his manor, you behind him and Sebastian quickly making his way beside him after retrieving your other, many bags.

Ciel, despite having a demon by his side, refused to believe in any kind of merciful God. But despite this, he found himself nearly praying that everything in the house was in order, having left Finnie, Mey-rin and Baldroy by themselves, against his will. Obviously.

Sebastian opened the door, letting both Ciel and the boy behind him in, said door shutting immediately behind them.

To Ciel’s shock and utter surprise, the floors were polished and everything dusted in the main hall, nothing out of place. No noticeable fires, no screaming, nothing broken on the ground… odd.

“Come, Your Majesty. First Sebastian will show you to your room, then we will meet back in study. Dinner will then be served not long after, around six. Does this please you?" Even if Ciel didn't much like this (Y/n), he had to show repect. He'd rather not the odd boy running home and complaining about Ciel to his grandmother. What a world of trouble that would create.

"Oh more than, dear Alice!" Sebastian looked between him and (Y/n) with a curious glance, "I suppose then I shall see you in but a moment! Come now, mine White Rabbit!" (Y/n) smiled at Sebastian who looked confused at the newfound nickname. Then, without knowing where he was headed, that child began to walk off, humming a song Ciel had never heard before, marching up the stairs and out of sight, Sebastian following close behind with bags in hand.

This was going to be a stressful while.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

{𝓡𝓮𝓰𝓾𝓵𝓪𝓻 𝓟.𝓞.𝓥}

You marched with a purpose now behind the White Rabbit, humming all the while. Your personal bag hung heavily on your shoulder but you didn't mind, swinging it merrily all the while. You didn't care to acknowledge the strange looks the White Rabbit gave you, only to continue humming. Eventually your humming turned to singing under your breath, which quickly turned to belting the lyrics and dancing, grabbing the White Rabbit by the arms, forcing him to drop you things, and you dropping your held bag, spinning the both of you around in the hall you both currently inhabited.

"Speak roughly to your little boy, and beat him when he sneezes;

He only does it to annoy,

Because he knows it teases! Wow, wow, wow!"

You spun the White Rabbit faster, your natural grin growing much wider than normal, heels clicking quickly across the floor. You could feel his gaze across your skin, confused and intrigued you supposed. Though again, you did not care, and only continued to sing.

"I speak severely to my boy,

I beat him when he sneezes;

For he can thoroughly enjoy

The pepper when he pleases! Wow wow wow!"

Once that last wow left your lips you let out loud, boisterous laughter, tripping over one of your many bags and falling on the floor, your head landing harshly on the wood. The White Rabbit rushed over but you didn't much care, only continuing to laugh. You hands shot to your face to wipe away the tears that had yet to spill down your cheeks.

"Your Majesty, are you alright?" You registered his voice but the hilarity of the situation was to much to bear, so you did not respond. Instead you though about how hilarious it was that someone such as yourself, would fall and bump your head. It was silly, almost mocking, as you knew you were not right in the noggin. The bump might've jostled things even further out of place you mused.

Finally you peeked at Mr. Rabbit through your fingers, lazed smile still perched on your lips. You simply reached a hand up, prompting him to pull you up. You quickly wretched you hand away and picked up your bag again, waiting on him to pick up the rest, ignoring his questions. Your heels tapped the floor as you fiddled with the hair on you head, pulling a few strands out from your scalp and staring at them. After a moment, he had finally grabbed all your items with a sigh, continuing to lead you both to what would be your current room.

No more did you hum or sing, taking more interest with the lace on your shirt and the buttons on your pants. Your eyes were dazed, as though you no longer there as you listened to the breathing in the hall. You knew your own breath, slow and calm no matter the situation, but the White Rabbit, your hard-working White Rabbit, no he did not breath. His chest was still, far too still of something that still acquired that thing dubbed "humanity". You began to snicker again, breaking the silence that had fallen over you two, the White Rabbit only glancing at you now.

You both made it to your room, you running over to your bed and flopping down across it, bag falling off your arm and finding it's place on the bed beside you. You rolled across the covers, laughing once more. The White Rabbit only stared as you stopped and sucked in a deep breath, sitting up suddenly and facing him, pointing a finger.

"Oh White Rabbit, how your nose twitches so, dost thou not need to return to your Alice? I am assured that I may be able to place all of mine own belongings in their preferred spots," a giggle erupted from your throat before you continued, "Clothes to the ceiling and shoes in the drawers, undergarments under the bed, makeup in the bath. They whisper to me so. Should you not go you will witness them dancing to made-up songs that only whisper in my head to the beat of the crickets outside and the ants that march through the walls. Again, I believe it in your best interests to return to that darling Alice, or I will take a letter opener to my eye and paint this bed spread red!" Your threat was well laced in cheer and joy, as though you had just said the most wonderous thing in the world.

The White Rabbit's eyes widened if only a fraction of an inch, though that same, laxed expression he had held the whole time remained. He silently nodded, something you giggled at again, then stiffly walked out the door, which he shut behind him. Once the White Rabbit left, your smile dropped as you immediately began to dig through the bag you had carried in yourself until you came across a small spherical container.

Opening the container you found your pills, rolled to perfection and doused in gold leaf. You sighed, seeing you had enough to last more than a few months. Your grandmo- The White Queen usually ordered them in mass so you wouldn't run out for a long while in case of emergency. You took a quick breath and put them back, right next to the caterpillar themed hookah with many different flavored tobaccos - called shisha you mused to yourself - and small water capsules you carried with you everywhere incase you truly felt you needed to relax.

"Hello mister Dormouse." You whispered as a rather large brown mouse creeped out of your bag, nose twitching and huffing at the new air around him, collar of lace with a blue ribbon with a sugar cube charm shaking slightly. You giggled, picking up the still small compared to you mouse and placed him into your pocket. "Tea time is later and naturally I need my Dormouse." He squeaked in agreement.

You closed that bag and hopped up to another, opening it to find the bottom covering in soft grasses, a brown hare staring back at you.

"And you, my March Hare, must also be with me for our future tea time." You grinned, and the March Hare chittered. His collar, which was lace with a yellow ribbon, golden pocket watch attached to the large bow tied in the front. You opened you coat to reveal a few pockets inside, one big enough for the rabbit, which is exactly where you placed him.

"Both of you, still and silent as the night now, understood?" Both seemingly nodded and you smiled, happy to feel both their warmth's against you.

You silently closed the March Hare's bag, wondering over to the bag that held your clothes. Now to find a way to reach the ceiling...

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

It was silent as you and the White Rabbit walked down the halls once more, no humming or singing from you. You knew your pupils were enlarged and you were swaying, however, your body ready for your needed drugs, to which one was slipped into the pocket opposite of the Dormouse. However, you eventually got tired of walking so you rushed up to the White Rabbit, pulling on his tail coat.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" He asked, turning to face you. You looked down, embarrassed, before lifting your arms and making a grabbing motion. "Would you like me too... pick you up?" He then questioned.

"...Piggy back ride please..." You muttered, still looking down. The White Rabbit stared for a moment, making your embarrassment grow, until he chuckled. Your head raced up, about to speak, before he pulled you up, grabbing under your thighs to make sure you were secure.

"Is this comfortable, Your Majesty?" You nodded, pushing your head into his shirt as the White Rabbit then took you to meet Alice in his study. Silence filled the hall again, minus the footsteps of the White Rabbit. You could get used to this. Usually the cards at your own home didn't like picking you up much, complaining that you were old enough to walk by yourself or that as the Prince you should be better and blah blah blah...

... You liked the White Rabbit. He was nice.

And you noted he said nothing when you nuzzled further into his neck.

The door to the study creaked open, Alice sitting behind his desk working on paperwork. You never much liked paperwork, preferring to read stories over it, making your usual butler mad. Alice looked up and promptly took note of you being on the White Rabbit's back.

You whined when he began to put you down but allowed him to anyway, rubbing at your eyes for but a moment before racing over to the front of Alice's desk.

"What are you working on, my dear Alice?" He grunted, making eye contact with you for only a moment before looking back down at the work, pen gliding gracefully across the papers.

"Simply looking over some reports, Your Majesty." He replied, now glaring at some of the work. "Reports for what?" You question, Alice sucked through his teeth, now looking annoyed, but he calmed himself before responding.

"My company." "And what would that be?" You could tell he was quickly losing his patience with you but continued to keep his cool, admirable in your eyes. You had overheard from staff that you could be quite annoying.

"The Fumtom Corporation. More specifically, these reports are from the toy branch and-" "YOU SELL TOYS!?!" Your absolute surprise and joy caught the two men off guard, especially when you slammed you hands down on Alice's desk and began to jump with palms still firmly placed on the mahogany surface of the desk, each leap going higher and higher into the air, until you were practically doing a handstand on Alice's desk. You steadied yourself on your hands, still looking on in wonder at Alice. The White Rabbit had appeared behind you - to catch you if you fell, you supposed - but you held steady, instead walking on your hands to Alice.

Once you were both practically face you face, your amazed face broke out into the widest grin seen yet, and you ensured all of your amazingly sharp teeth were on display.

"Oh tell me, dear Alice, yes please tell me: What amazingly wondrous toys does this Corporation of yours create? What wonders do you give the children on the streets to brighten up their days and mayhaps even brighten up their weeks? What joyous little bundles do you leave within their arms to warm up their tiny spirits and light up their eyes, to send them into the embrace of hope and lighten up their lives? Oh please my Alice, leave me not in suspense! Tell me now, oh tell me please!" As you spoke, you leaned and walked closer until both your noses were practically touching, eyes meeting his extremely confused and perhaps even frightened one with your own filled with nothing but joy and euphoria.

"We... make make stuffed animals, most notably a white rabbit named Bitter Rabbit," you giggled and the White Rabbit snuffed out a sigh, "toy trains, planes, various board games, card games, dolls and doll houses, and much more." Your smile somehow grew as your legs began to lean forward, Alice stifling a sound of fear and Mr. Rabbit rushing to the side of the desk to catch you, till your feet landed on the top of Alice's chair and you flipped up, now standing on edge of the back of chair.

You turned to face the same way Alice did and leaned plus crouched down till your head was next to Alice's.

"How joyous this is, my darling Alice. As I am here, may I ask for some toys? I quite enjoy them, as you may be able to see if one takes the venture to mine room within the White Castle and find my rather impressive collection. One made of many years simple loneliness. I would like you to be the first to see it, and it is quite extensive, I might add. More than anything though, I would adore adding your toys to my collection-" before you could continue on your sudden rant, the doors to the study opened up, revealing a smaller girl with red hair and some of the thickest-yet-most-flimsy looking glasses you have ever seen in your live.

"Five of spades..." You muttered, all of your attention off Alice now, though you did notice how tension seemed to leave his shoulders as you stood back up on the back of his chair.

"U-uhm... dinner is ready, Master Ciel. A-AND YOUR MAJESTY!!-" With a squeak, the card quickly exited the room, igniting yet another smile across your face.

"A hunt has begun! Let us make haste men, grab your guns and hounds and let us be off! Away with us, away!!" As you shouted, you leapt off the back of the chair, landing on an empty part of Alice's desk, then jumped off the desk and ran off into the hall, hollering and whooping all the while. You cared not to look back and see if Alice and the White Rabbit were following behind, rushing after the card who only seemed to squeak louder and run faster.

You dared not overrun her, for if you did the odds of you missing the dinning room were high, seeing as that was where she most likely would be running to, it was fresh on the mind after all. But run too slow and you would surely lose her in these winding halls. So you paced yourself, making sure you didn't employ the same tactics you may have used at home, such as leaping over other servants or furniture, or running and jumping across the walls.

You threw your hands in the air, whooping once more as you hurried, the card turned another corner and into a room, and upon entering this room, you came across a table with a beautiful spread, not caring if a few items were lightly burnt. You awed at the table, completely forgetting about the Five of Spades that ran into a door off of the room.

You were stagnate as Alice and the White Rabbit entered the room. Slowly you turned to them, sharp teeth fully on display. With another sharp turn, you skipped down to the head of the table, and took the seat that would usually be Alice's, or so you assumed anyway.

"Let us play a game. I will pretend to be Alice during this meal so graciously prepared in what I can only assume to be my name, and Alice pretend to be me!! My White Rabbit, come to me! Or should I call thee, Sebastian?" Your voice voice was condescending and patronizing, your grin turning more into a smirk as you crossed you legs. The duo looked at each other and you could tell Alice was getting tired of your games, but once more, due to your staggering lineage, he was forced to obey.

"Fine, Your Majesty-" Ah ah ah! I am no longer "Your Majesty"! I am Ciel Phantomhive, earl of the Phantomhive name, The Queen's Guard dog and master of the Funtom Corporation. YOU, are now "His Majesty”, dear (Y/n)." Your sudden slipping into the role genuinely impressed them, judging by their slightly widened eyes. You hand raised and you snapped, grin washing off your face as an expression far to similar to Alice's crossed over your eyes.

"Sebastian, did I not call for you?" You voice lowered, becoming more serious and bold. You pointed to you side and stiffly did the White Rabbit come. You coughed into your fist to get his attention, looking up at him with one of your eyes closed.

"Thank you, if you would begin serving us..?" The White Rabbit nodded and started piling plates, while you turned back to Alice. "And how has this day been so far, Your Majesty? I am assured that everything was too your liking?" You clasped your hands and leaned onto the table, not flinching at the plate set before you.

"It.. was fine... Alice?" He was confused, which was fair, but at the very least Alice was playing along, which was much better then what your were expecting of him. Though, you had to continue to play your part, and as such, you smirked.

"Wonderful to hear. Now, after dinner I've planned-" You were cut off by a scream, similar to that of the squeak the Five of Spades made as she ran. Glancing back at the door she entered, you made a noise of amazement as said Five of Spades ran out of the room, the bottom of her dress on fire. Following her was the Seven of Spades and the Two of Spades, the Seven holding a flamethrower and the Two holding a bucket of water.

The game was long forgotten in your mind as you jumped up and laughed at the scene, chair clattering behind you as you raised your hands to clap. Alice also stood, though an expression akin to rage crossed his face, but before he could call the White Rabbit, the Five of Spades tripped, and the Seven flew over her onto the table with the flamethrower igniting. The tablecloth caught fire and burst into flame. The Two of Spades dropped his bucket and grabbed the Seven with one hand, pulling him off. His other hand was occupied by his straw hat, fanning the flames and making them higher.

Instead of running or screaming or any other reaction you knew would've been natural, you screamed in glee at the chaos, closing your coat so the flames wouldn't lick your or the March Hare's skin and fur. You laughed gayly and loudly, your amusement overshadowing every other scream and shout through the room. That excitement was quickly snuffed, however, when the White Rabbit grabbed the bucket the Two of Spades had forgotten and threw it at the fire, calming the flames if only by a little. Though, he took that chance and lifted the large tablecloth with now charred food, rushing it behind that door they kept running behind. You rushed behind him, your own safety at the back of your mind, bursting through the half-closed door to watch him shove the cloth and food into a full sink, plates and utensils be dammed.

"MEY-RIN! BALDROY!! FINNIE!! WHAT WAS THAT?!?" It seemed that Alice had finally snapped. You glanced at the White Rabbit who stared back at you with a blank expression, until you giggled and skipped out the room.

Entering the room, the three cards were on their knees as Alice all but shouted at them, spewing insults and otherwise, emphasizing the fact that something of that caliber should not have happened in front of you. You chuckled, and Alice's head whipped back to you in shock. You continued to skip over, moving past Alice to the cards.

"Now now, don't listen to this mean old Alice, I personally think it was a whirlwind of fun!" Alice sputtered behind you but you shushed her quickly and continued. "He may wish for punishment but I say bring us more merriment! Which of you cooked that would-have-been wonderful feast?" The Seven of Spades meekly raised a hand, cigarette nearly falling from his trembling lips.

"Well, my fair fellow, how would you say you do in the world of sugary confectionaries?" He looked confused for a moment, until the Two of Spades nudged him, causing him to cough and respond quickly.

"I'd say fair, s-sir? YOUR MAJESTY- I mean-" You nodded and pushed a hand to your chin, smiling.

"Then, my fair Seven of Spades, how fast do you think you could get us a couple batches of cookies and tarts? Perhaps even some small cakes or cakes of the cup variety?" The blond nodded with a now thoughtful expression.

"We have some cookies and cakes in the back including of the... uhm... cup? Variety?? But in terms of tarts... that'd take at least an hour... unless I sped things up with my flamethrower!" As if timed, a piece of the card's hair set back alight, the cards beside him slapped their heads as Alice geared up to start screaming again, then you interrupted with even more joyous laughter.

"Good, good! Then be off, fair fellow! My fair Seven of Spades be off, I will come with you in this endeavor and we will create the best tarts this accursed world has ever seen! Let us make haste, my glorious card! Come, come!" You pulled on his sleeve and dragged him away leaving behind an incredulous looking Alice and two very confused cards.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

The others looked at you as if you were God. Not one thing on the trays were burnt, and neither were you nor the Seven of Spades. No one was able to ask any questions as you helped set the table back up, setting down treats, treats, and more treats. You then helped move tea pots and cups all across the table, though there were multiple sets placed down, each was of different color and some you could tell Alice began to realize he didn't own.

"Uhm... Y-Your Majesty? Not to be rude or speak out of turn or anything like that but uhm... why do you have so many tea sets?" You turned to look at the Five of Spades, who was sweating behind her glasses. You ginned, and chuckled, before pressing a hand to your chest.

"Why my dear, darling Five of Spades, it's to play my absolute favorite game of course! I'll explain the rules when all the cups have been filled!" You danced around the table, filling each cup with tea from different teapots, even if the cup didn't match the pot. You placed different sweets all around as well scattering them in a random pattern that made no sense to those next to you.

Finally you stopped, staring at your hard work. You were more than excited to finally start the game. Picking up a teacup, you swapped it for another, then another, then another and another and another. You switched tea cups around at a rapid pace, not one ending up in its previous position. You began to laugh once more, the laughter bubbling up through your throat and echoing through the hall as you ran around the table with tea cups balancing on you shoulders and head, placing them down. You began to hum again, the White Rabbit straitening up behind you with tension in his shoulders, Alice and the cards looking at him curiously. And just as in the hall with the White Rabbit, you began to sing.

"I sent a message to the fish: I told them "This is what I wish."

The little fishes of the sea They sent an answer back to me.

The little fishes' answer was "We cannot do it, sir, because—"

I sent to them again to say "It will be better to obey."

The fishes answered, with a grin, "Why, what a temper you are in!"

I told them once, I told them twice: They would not listen to advice.

I took a kettle large and new, Fit for the deed I had to do.

My heart went hop, my heart went thump; I filled the kettle at the pump.

Then some one came to me, and said, "The little fishes are in bed."

I said to him, I said it plain, "Then you must wake them up again."

I said it very loud and clear; I went and shouted in his ear.

But he was very stiff and proud; He said, "You needn't shout so loud!"

And he was very proud and stiff; He said, "I'd go and wake them, if—"

I took a corkscrew from the shelf: I went to wake them up myself.

And when I found the door was locked, I pulled and pushed, and kicked and knocked.

And when I found the door was shut, I tried to turn the handle, but—"

You abruptly stopped singing when you reached the head of the table once more, your eyes creased from the wide smile on your face. Your mirth even transferred to the cards. You yanked the chair from its spot, standing on it and pulling a teacup and spoon up with you, uncaring of anything that spilled over the rim.

"Here this, my loyal subjects, as I announce the game of the evening! We will be playing such a game that includes all of you! So, take a seat at this fine table, I implore you!" Your voice was strong and steady, everyone taking a seat as soon as you commanded it. Your grin grew wider, then you cleared your throat and continued. "We will partake in a game where each of you will have thirty seconds to drink from a tea cup and guess what kind of tea you have drank, each one you get correct, you receive a point! To whomever has the most points at the conclusion of this most esteemed game, will win! Any questions?" A hand was raised, that hand belonging to the blond Two of Spades.

"Err... how will we know who got a guess right?" You nodded at the question, it was fair, you supposed.

"Well, my dear Two of Spades, I know what tea is in each of these darling cups as I was the one to pour them! And what a horrid game master I would be if I should not remember?" You giggled gleefully while the group stared at the thirty-plus cups on the table and you with confusion. You sat back down and grabbed a strawberry tart, shoving a mouthful in and humming at the taste.

"Are we ready to begin?" You spoke through the mouthful, Alice cringing. You cleared your throat once more before gasping. "Oh I nearly forgot!" You cried as you reached into an outer pocket and an inner pocket on your coat, pulling the March Hare and Dormouse from their hiding spots.

Your playmates looked flabbergasted at the sudden appearance of your companions, both of which were already making their rounds, sampling some treats and teas. Before a single complaint could be made, you waved them off with that continuous smile of yours. You took another tart and scarfed it down in milliseconds, coughing a bit, then looking back up. With a happy grunt you lifted three fingers and silently started counting down. Once all three fingers were down, the game begun.

You watched with bated breath as everyone started aggressively sipping their teas and trying to throw out answers as quickly as possible, compared to your leisurely pace and slow stirring when it wasn't sweet enough. Moreover, you watched as they jumped when the March Hare started doing his job and swapped tea cups around and refilled them with tea. You noted every answer and every new batch of tea with keen eyes, humming to yourself as time passed. You didn't say a word either, when the March Hare pushed a tea cup to Alice and instead of tea, the boy found a sleeping Dormouse. Though, he didn't find him by looking into the cup, oh no. He found the poor thing when he went to take a sip, not paying attention because he was glaring at the White Rabbit. The Two of Spades was doing horribly, only guessing one right and you were one-hundred-percent sure it was by pure luck and chance, which made you snort tea out your nose and hacking up chocked laughs. The Five and Seven of Spades were doing alright over all, but that White Hare was getting all of them right. He tried to miss one on purpose but you heard him mutter the teas correct name under his breath. Why he'd want to lose was beyond you but it would be a good laugh.

But Alice... poor sweet Alice... no he was doing fine. You were winning for obvious reason, Alice and the White Hare tied hand-in-hand. And finally, the unofficial time you had placed came to an end.

Without warning, you threw your teacup into the air mid sip, watching as it came crashing down onto the floor. Everyone jumped - minus you, the March Hare, and the Dormouse - and quickly turned to you, who only stood.

"The game has finished my friends, and the ranking - that of which will be read from worst to best - is as follows: Two of Spades in sixth, Seven of Spades in fifth, Five of Spades in fourth, Alice in third, The White Rabbit in second, and, naturally, Your Royal Highness in first!" You - once more - didn't care to see their faces as you named the results, simply standing still with your wide grin on your face, till you felt a small nudge on your hand. The Dormouse lightly patted you hand and motioned to your pocket. You tilted your head, not paying attention to the others whom had began to speak.

"Do you wish to be in my pocket again?" You suddenly spoke out, heads turning back to you. The Dormouse shook his head, pawing at your pocket with more concern now, the March Hare joining him in pawing at your pocket. Curious now, you shoved a hand into the pocket, pulling a small pill, still covered in gold leaf, out.

Your eyes widened and you gasped, you had completely forgotten about your medication! Quickly searching the table, you grabbed a piece of chocolate cake and a random cup of tea - you didn't care any longer which teas were in which cups - and took a bite and long gulp, shoving the pill in with the mixture in your mouth.

You could feel their gazes burning into you as you swallowed the impromptu concoction. You looked back at your companions who now seemed even happier, the March Hare even beginning to preform binkies in the air. You giggled and clapped at the sight of the tricks, only coming back to reality when someone coughed. It had been Alice.

“Your Majesty, if I may be as so bold as to ask, what was that pill you just took for?” You could tell by his tone that he knew exactly what it was, but wanted you to confirm it. You hummed, sticking a hand out onto the table and allowing the Dormouse to clamber onto your shoulders, then picking up the March Hare and running fingers through his fur. After a moment of consideration, you sighed, all traces of merriment and happiness dropping from your face in an instant, everyone flinching at the sudden change.

“Well, my dear, questioning Alice, ‘tis a pill I am made to take with every meal I eat. A pill, my grandmother says, that will lessen these “wild thoughts” of mine that run rampant through the cage that is my mind. A pill that will turn my splendor and pleasure into harsh work ethic that I can use so I may one day hold title to the crown, a pill that takes that marvelous Wonderland that has so carved its way into my very being and crushes it till it’s nothing but the faintest voice at the back of my head, whispering sweet nothings or wildness and adventure. A pill that will make the cards of the White Castle stop laughing at me behind my back, a pill that will make the doctors quit telling her that I am no good, better off in the looney-bin.”

You paused to take a breath, letting go of the March Hare as you noted you were squeezing him rather than carding fingers through his hair. You barely noticed your breathing got heavy, acutely aware of the Dormouse on your shoulders, you shuddered. A tense smile over took your face, much more strained compared to every other smile of the night, your teeth, sharp and shark-like, were on full display.

“Do you know, my poor traumatized Alice,” you hear him scoff but quickly shushed him with a loud ‘shhh’, finger flying across your chapped lips in a shushing motion - when did your lips get chapped?, “Have you ever been to an asylum? Where they poke and prod at you like some kind of animal? Like something to study, to better understand? With their to-small-scalpels and to-large-stethoscopes. With drugs with names to long and complicated you could never hope to pronounce and those awful awful jackets of a tarp-like material, though much to stretchy-yet-scratchy to be tarp, with their terrible shiny buckles and fresh smelling leather straps? Or perhaps even those god forsaken bits that jam in your mouth, uncaring if your lips begin to bleed, to make sure you can’t scream or cry for help and plead for forgiveness. Forgiveness when they throw you to the floor or lock you in a room by yourself because you were moving to much or didn’t take your medication. Have you, my darling-yet-daring, calm-yet-wild, collected-yet-crazy, close yet oh so far Alice? Could you ever understand?!?”

You didn’t know when your voice raised an octave or when tears threatened your eyes but you quickly wiped them away, uncaring of the makeup now slathering your sleeve. Your teeth clenched as tears finally welled up in your eyes and began to flood your cheeks, breath growing harsher and harsher. The world seemed so far away, the table you were supposed to be standing at was so big, the chair behind you so small. Your sleeves fell over your hands as you hiccupped, rubbing aggressively at you eyes, irritating your skin until it became a bright red. Someone, you could not see who, gripped your arm to try and wretch it back, but you only screamed and scratched at the arm that grabbed at you, scooting away and curling in on yourself.

You hadn't meant to spill that much. You knew you were like that of a tea pot with a leak, constantly spilling parts of yourself to the world without meaning too. But to blow up like that was not on your agenda for the day, oh no it wasn't. And now you were paying the price for it, whining and whimpering into your knees as you sat on the floor. You rocked back and forth, sobbing silently as memories of your short time in "that place" flew to the backs of your eyelids, but before anymore could fill any space in your head, the softness of a duvet landed over your body. The Dormouse squeaked and you immediately reached back on your shoulders and took him into your palms. You pressed your face into his small body, letting arms wrap around you and lift you up bridal style, snuggling into the sudden warmth of the duvet combined with body heat. Next to the Dormouse, the March Hare appeared in you lap. You head lay on the persons chest as the light of the dining room faded into the distance, as did your consciousness.

Vaguely, you could hear voices of Alice and the White Rabbit mixing with spinning rooms and the small bugs swimming in your eyes. The softness of your bed met you back carefully and your just laid there, half there and not, medication flowing through your veins and “calming” your nerves.

"Master, what shall we do?" "I don't think there is much we can do. Neither of us have experience in calming down Royalty, after all." "Neither of us have tried." "Do you have any ideas, Sebastian?" "..." "As I thought. This is a delicate situation. I believe it best if we leave-"

Before he could say it, your arm shot out and grabbed Alice's sleeve, evidently startling the two.

"My bag, the one I carried in. Would you please grab it for me." You whispered, and the White Rabbit hummed, walking over to the chair you haphazardly threw it on. You sat up as he came back, Alice watching curiously. You snatched the bag from his grip and threw it on the bed, both the Dormouse and March Hare looking on in what you could assume to be animalistic worry. You gipped a small capsule of water and some mint flavored shisha in one hand, the actual hookah in the other.

Taking them out, you didn't look up at the two, beginning to set up for a very quick session. Though, before you could pour the water into it's chamber, someone lightly grabbed at your sleeve. Your lips were still pulled taught, no smile in sight as you looked up at Alice through sweat slicked hair, who was showing the most emotion you had seen on him all day. Concern. You would've chuckled at that, if not for your mood taking the dip it did.

"There's no need for that." He said faintly. You looked back down at the hookah and sighed, dropping the contraption and water and shisha back onto the bed, not bothering to clean it up. After which you looked back up at the duo, fake concern on the White Rabbit's face and real concern on Alice's.

"You are far to young to be engaging in smoking of any kind." You snorted and turned you head, snuggling deeper into the duvet still miraculously wrapped around your form. Alice's expression deepened. He seemed to hesitate, but eventually sat at the on the side of the bed beside you, albeit on the very edge but still, he sat next to you.

"Is there something you wish to talk about?" You shook your head no, taking the March Hare into your arms once more. Alice stared, before standing and walking to the door. He looked to the White Rabbit and gestured him to follow, both leaving the room soon there after. When they left you almost started crying again, softly sniffling to yourself. You tried to pick up the hookah again now that hey had abandoned you, but the Dormouse stopped you with a paw, shaking his head. And so, you wallowed, comparing Alice to all the other cards of the White Castle and how they'd barely give you a passing glance anymore, whispering their lies about your person and spreading those harsh rumors about your mental stability. You just wanted the damn floor to open up and swallow you whole.

Just as you were about to fall asleep the door opened again, revealing Alice, the White Rabbit, and the three cards. A tea cart was pushed in by the Seven of Spades with cakes and teas across it's silver surface, and the White Rabbit held his hands behind his back. Alice walked up to you and held a hand out, helping you to sit at the edge of your bed, the duvet still covering you. Each person in the room took a cup and one was handed to you, the White Rabbit clearing his throat. He then began to sing.

"A very merry unbirthday to me."

He stared at you and you sung back in a whisper, voice scrathcy.

"To who?"

and he responded in kind, both of you singing.

"To me!"

"Oh you!"

"A very merry unbirthday to you!"

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you!"

"Oh, me!"

"Let's all congratulate us

With another cup of tea

A very merry unbirthday to me!"

And you a clinked your cups together once the White Rabbit finished his verse. You giggled softly as you sipped the lukewarm tea and watched the facial expressions of the others as they took in the flavors of the tea they sipped, some liking theirs and some obviously not.

Finally, the White Rabbit and Alice walked up to you, hands shifting behind the taller's back, before something was handed to you. That something being a little white rabbit with a large green bow, a card and teacup charm attached, dressed in a wonderlandiful rendition of your current outfit. You stared at the small toy, and began to cry. You could clearly hear the cries of shock and worry as the fat drops of water left your eyes, but it was quickly silenced by the laughter bubbling in your throat. It grew in size, your shoulders shaking as you held the rabbit close to your chest, before you jumped up and grabbed the White Rabbit and Alice in your arms, all three of you falling to the floor. Your arms wrapped securely around their midsections.

"Thank you," you started, "Thank you so very much, my friends."

You continued to laugh, the laughter catching on with everyone else in the room, including your Alice, whose chuckles did not go unnoticed by you.

More laughter filled your room until everyone was laughing and halls of the Phantomhive manor, that of which is usually silent and cool, filled with a warm feeling of hope towards your uncertain future.

You could see this place becoming home.

{𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼}: This is a little longer than usual. I may have went a little insane with the “chaos” part of the ask. I hope it is to your liking.

-🖋️

All publishings on this account belong to @fountain-pen-anon. I do not authorize my fics being altered, translated, stolen or published/reposted to other sites, thank you.

#⸸⚜/ᐠ - ˕ -マ‧˚꒰🐾꒱༘⋆✄┈┈┈┈ 𝓓𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭 #⸸⚜ฅ/ᐠ˶> ﻌ<˶ᐟ\ฅ‧˚꒰🐾꒱༘⋆✄┈┈┈┈ 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 #male reader #x male reader #child reader #x child reader #black butler #Ciel phantomhive #Sebastian michaelis #Mey Rin #Finnian #Baldroy #black butler x reader

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hoseoksluna · 24 days ago

Text

THE BALL OF LIGHT, iv. | myg, jjk

pairing: brother!yoongi x fem!reader (feat. friend!jeongguk)

genre: angst, fluff

rating: 15+

summary: your heart dies and your life changes course.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: fever dream, smoking, sickness — oc has a fever and holly throws up (only mentioned), oc spirals and has bad thoughts, the paranormal, family issues.

luna's note: chapter four is finally here. it's the last one for this year... it's absolutely crazy to think about. this chapter is kind of all over the place only because oc is. her feelings aren't cohesive and her mental issues prevent her from sticking to one good thing in her life. her mind always turns it into a bad thing. keep this in mind as you read. i hope you guys like this chapter. i love you all so much and i missed you. let me know what you think in comments or asks. <3 mwah.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

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The house is quiet, as if its mouth has been sewn shut. The snowflake-laced wind speaks for it, seeping through the walls with aching groans that you feel nibbling its way beneath your skin. The lights are out—there are only Yoongi’s Jordans perched by the front door, the only pair of shoes he owns. Not your mother’s kitten heels. Not your father’s loafers. Only those black and white sneakers that are the only remnant of them, for they gifted them to him for the last birthday they were present for.

You had watched Jeongguk drive away with a speed he didn’t dare to trigger with you. For one brief moment of bliss he was there, and for another he wasn’t. You stood like a stone-cold statue upon the place where he embraced you, where he hid you from your brother, cradling his body heat in your hands like it was the potion that contained your humanity. Stood there frozen in time, unwilling to let go of it, of the kindness he gave you, of the life you fleetingly lived with him that didn’t mirror the normalcy you were accustomed to. Unwilling to go back to the curdled milk-like emptiness, to your mind’s imagination, to the tepidness you know from your books that once meant everything to you.

Once… just yesterday.

The heat you cradled from his heart dissipated on its own too soon, however. Above your head, the ivory flurries thickened, twirling in a dance that you sensed to be too sinister to be in the middle of, and so with a heavy soul that began to tear up and yearn for more of his time, you turned around and walked up the hill towards the castle of doom that you didn’t wish to enter, not so ignorant to the bad feeling that sank in its translucent, dusky flesh.

And maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t have entered at all. You should have come up with a reason to stay longer or to stay with him within that bundle of affection he created for you during your brief visit, and not retrace your steps back into the place you no longer belonged to, to the place called ‘home’ that no longer felt like home. But as you turn the key in the lock and step inside the dimness of the hall and no one greets you, you perceive that it had never been your home in the first place.

Not with your mother’s disliking of you, not with her curses over your life.

Like a fractured statue now, you wait for Holly to come padding upon the parquet floors like she does every single day, but the frost settled upon your bones and the snowflakes nestled upon your hair strands and the planes of your face melt first before she ever comes.

Alarm flickers in your chest, mockingly slapping the ends of the velvet ribbon around the tree of life in you.

Your feet automatically slip out of your winter shoes, but you leave your jacket on—leave it on and drip all over the floors as you frantically go in search of your brother, your fright enkindled not by your worst sin, but by being seemingly all alone. All the doors are shut—to the downstairs bathroom, to the kitchen and the bead curtain that separates the dining room from the living room is unmoving, dust-filled as if no soul ever lived in this house. Your head aches, a dull pain darting back and forth behind your eyes, and you feel your body grow feverishly hot beneath all the layers of your clothes. He’s not in the kitchen and Holly isn’t there either, and in the living room the glassy, crystalline ghosts of your parents sit there. Your father in his armchair with a thick novel in his blue, pellucid hands, and the Bible on his lap for comfort and for his last read of the night as was invariably customary to his nightly routine. Your mother sleeping, half-laid on the couch, snoring softly. The cobalt shape of her long hair, the length that was the symbol of beauty for her, but a symbol of barbarism for you. The TV is on, but the sound is muted.

Her chest doesn’t lift, and your father’s hand doesn’t lift to turn the page. Both of their translucent, lucid and almost wet-like forms have one colorful thing in common.

A heart.

You blink, and the delusion drops dead.

Just like them.

Your breath shivers, a paralyzing shock coursing through your body. You can’t move, but somehow your jacket hits the floor, the black material soaking the drops of melted snow you left all over it, ostensibly cleaning it up for you in order not to get you in trouble. You can’t move, but your feet seem to know where Yoongi is and they take you to him. Up the stairs that creak under your weight, through the hall lined with rooms, whose doors are shut, profound with their stories, screaming silently if you put your ear close enough to the wood. You can’t move, but your hand tries the antique knob of your parents’ bedroom and it opens wide.

A familiar, evil energy pulses there in its darkness.

Yoongi forgot to lock it up. Your feet pull you away. You close the door.

Within the realm of your shock and panic, a hope blooms in its midst—a hope that you find Holly curled somewhere on your brother’s bed, drowsily secluded in her doggy dreams that are perhaps too effervescent to steal away from for the purpose of greeting you. But as you flounder to his room and turn the knob, your eyes, searching madly through the fog of your fever, detect no light brown, curly canine family member resting on your brother’s bedsheets.

Yoongi stands at the window, hunched over the windowsill. A white smoke curls over his head.

Your stomach drops.

He’s smoking? He smokes?

It must be your fever, playing tricks on you just like it messed with your brain when you were in the living room. The pounding behind your forehead and eyes intensifies and as you take a step inside the basis of the castle’s doom, the floor creaks under your disintegrating weight, announcing your presence.

Yoongi turns around. The white fume of the smoke mingles with the falling flurries, but doesn’t drop dead, doesn’t disappear. Beats into your discombobulated state. And once he sees that you’ve come home on two unbroken legs, he discreetly lets the slender body of the snowflake-kissed cigarette plummet to the softness of the snow down below.

Pretends you didn’t see him smoking. Clothes himself in the role of the put-together, responsible older brother. Sinless, squeaky-clean, pristine.

You’re reminded of the betrayal all over again. It’s as if he pulled on the already taut strings of it wrapped around your flesh by discarding the cigarette like that upon seeing you. And while your body takes in the pain once more, you’re indifferent to it. It doesn’t hurt anymore; your mind begins to fight against it, against him, in the form of a monologue. Emotion-charged sentences of how it can’t affect you anymore spread down your neurons like forest fire. And maybe this circle of orange-red will keep you safe from all his secrets. Shut him out. So you can remain placid, alive, and well.

So you can remain molded by Jeongguk’s hands.

Yoongi closes the window, enveloping the room in a deeper shade of twilight than it was shrouded in before. The last remnant of the breeze brushes past the film of sweat on your hairline before you’re untouched again. You fight on, unmarred by the reappearing lack, lifting your frail, fire-ringed limb to turn on the light, but your vision is subdued, nonetheless. Your bones decay, and you truly think you’re on the cusp of death.

Jeongguk’s worry uncoiled in reality. You’ve gotten sick, although your affliction points more to homesickness, you suppose.

“What took you so long?” Yoongi speaks first, and you blink to make your vision clearer. Yoongi is a moonlessly opaque, unfocused figure in front of you, so terribly reminiscent of the helmet-wearing boy who drove away… with your scrunchie on his wrist as you now, at this moment, realize whilst your fingers, self-consciously, envelop around your wrist, the one that is protected by the bracelet Yoongi entwined you.

Jeongguk had kept it around his wrist after he pulled it away from your bun. The brief memory of the way he slid the satiny material down his limb floods your brain, the beige being the only color adorning him. Soft brown amidst all that black.

The pressure of your brother’s question washes the recollection away, seemingly ricocheting across the walls, drumming against your ears over and over again as if he asked it a thousand times. Your chest swells with twice as many, with a rising tide more violent than any power he ever disported.

Why haven’t you told me you visit mom and dad’s bedroom?

Why do you insist we keep the door shut and locked still?

Why are you so strict to me?

Why don’t you let me live?

Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy?

You choose the question that stands behind the reason why your feet carried you to his room, however. You swallow them down, hang them over the twigs of your tree. Let them breathe the air of life before you spew them out at him.

“Where’s Holly?”

Because that, too, is the reciprocated shooting of an arrow in the middle of this battlefield—a question for a question. It is another step forward because if Jeongguk never laid his hands on you, and had you never drank his cinnamon tea, you would have stooped in your dutifulness and broke your spine bending forward multiple times in apology.

You have nothing to apologize for.

Yoongi does—for the incision of his hypocrisy.

And brother dearest sighs in response to your counterattack. Hangs his head low. The long, thinning strands of his ebony, snowflake-powdered hair covers his sight, concealing the rawness of his emotions from you. You will never see, will you? The jagged, warped surface of his feelings; the reasonings strung to them. You’ll never see and you’ll never know—and that is the fate of the younger sibling.

Because if he showed you just a little bit of his humanity, you’d be a much happier person, no longer reliant on the emotions described by memorable authors of the past age. Not so fixated, not so needy; a hollow body with hollow organs due to the lack of a caress and a tender word.

You wouldn’t be forming an attachment to the first male that didn’t break your heart.

And the one who knows too well of the sensitivity that your delicate flesh is overlaid with sits down at the edge of his bed. The lower angle allows you to see the largening bald spot upon the left side of his head, right above his ear, especially when he looks to the side, seeking his words along the ashen walls of his room. You’ve never seen him so languid. To such an extent that he nibbles his bottom lip, unblinking, static, unsure.

For the first time in a long while, you wish he would speak. Utter the words in the unfavorable way of his that he’s gotten used to. Your anxiety rises, ingesting you whole, and your throat is so parched, so scratchy that you can’t even swallow.

Your limb, flaccidly, falls off the light switch, slapping against your side. It is the only sound in the room, one that tugs him away from his desperate pursuit of words, and there he blinks. Up at you with round, puny eyes, like Holly does ever so often.

There he speaks.

“I had to take her to the vet,” he begins, a rasp of crumbling words that come to dust between you and him, a fine yet heavy powder that settles over your heart like the snow flurries outside. Winter grows, your fever thumps, and you can’t breathe. “She was shivering and throwing up when I got home. The vet said she ate something bad… probably from the trash.” His eyes narrow as he delivers the information—as if it were your fault that she made this mistake because you weren’t at home. Your anxiety transforms into an overpowering amount of guilt that you tense up against, your mouth parting in dismay, shivering like her, shivering like poor little Holly. “They kept her at the clinic when they heard that none of us were at home. To monitor her.”

You shrivel up—now smaller than him, no longer the one bigger on this battlefield. Smaller and smaller you become until he rakes his hand through his hair and props his knuckles on his knee. To your absolute surprise, Yoongi changes the narrative.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he breathes out, skimming his eyes everywhere but you, and something flickers inside you; something tells you that the verb ‘left’ is one of great importance, one that you remember for a reason unknown to you. Your ears stretch, and so does your heart—towards him in outright urgent anguish, wrapped up in the cloth of grief over what happened to your lives. Love is what you detect in the beginning of that sentence. Clear as day; clear as winter. Something you irrationally and unashamedly would die to receive from him, from anyone. “I picked up another shift… only because Christmas is coming around, but I shouldn’t have. If I hadn’t, Holly would still be here with us.”

The arrow that has changed direction and now points at him feels as though a burden has been lifted off your shoulders. By his boyish hands, by those slender fingers of his, smeared with blood by that constant habit of cuticle biting of his. The burden is red, darkly red, sacrificed, and tears prick behind your eyes.

It isn’t your fault—and Yoongi isn’t blaming you. He’s blaming himself. Smoking out the guilt behind your back. If you had your vape in your hand, you’d squeeze it. Squeeze his shoulder with your other and tell him—it’s okay.

But you can’t say much. You can’t do much either. With your empty fist, you rub your eyes like a small, sleepy baby, your exhaustion preventing you from entering this strange twist of events even deeper. The moment twists tauter, nonetheless.

Yoongi sees you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone a lot softer, but the question still aches—only because it contains the word you wished to say to him. Your brother stands up to his feet and crosses the distance to you, all while you still create subduedly colorful stars before your eyes.

He places a hand on your shoulder—essentially does what you yearned to do to him. The same hand lifts briefly, wraps around your wrist and draws your fist away. Brushes away a damp strand of hair that has messily been sloped across the side of your face. A light touch that nearly brings down your fever. You blink up at him and as you do, he returns the warmth of his hand back down to your bony shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

Pinpricks scatter down your limbs. Love. This is love. The love you have lost somewhere along the highs and lows of his adulthood threaded with responsibilities, tactfulness and accountability. The love that had strayed and now has found its way back—because he presses his knuckles against the side column of your neck.

“You’re burning up.”

As his love saturates your bones little by little, you nod. Weightless you are, no longer bound by shackles, by negativity, by lacks that were too consuming, gnawing at your flesh until there was nothing left of you. His love refreshes you, a fountain kissed by the snow flurries that have softly blanketed his hair from his lonesome window smoking therapy session.

You missed him. You love him and you missed him, and there’s nothing you long for more than to embrace him. Finish the ouroboros of today’s unique events by hugging the only two prominent people in your life. Jeongguk first—and now Yoongi.

And you do. Oh, you do.

Entwine your arms around his torso, hide your face in his sturdy chest. It takes only but a moment for your brother to do the same, taken aback by the sudden shift of your relationship with him. And it is under the palm of his hand that your hair, at last, dries fully, but it is under the palm of his hand, too, that you begin to uncontrollably tremble.

But those are not the trembles, which are so characteristic to your being.

They are the shivers of illness that seep over you in waves, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. More violent, more restraining. Your state of weightlessness lessens, and in his embrace you are metamorphosed into a little girl in need to be taken care of.

Yoongi sees that, too.

Somehow you’re nestled in your bed, and somehow the scent of cinnamon percolates into the disorderliness of your senses, tickling your nostrils with such tenderness that the ‘no’ that begins to sound down your body is but a faint echo. Yoongi made you the tea that you never wanted to drink, that you instead wanted to keep on your nightstand, fall asleep with it tucked by the planes of your face, breathing it in until Jeongguk meets you in your dreams. But you didn’t have to go the extra mile—because as soon as your brother places two painkillers into your hand and holds your neck upright so you can swallow them with the tea without sputtering all over your sheets, Jeongguk already stands, waiting, at the far edge of your dream, which waits for you, too. Waits for you to fall asleep.

Yoongi pets you one last time before his weight lifts off the mattress. Your mind descends into a state of rest, flicking through your memories as if it were a photobook. The intricate frost pattern on the bus stop. Jeonnguk’s unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. The gust of white smoke of his vape rushing out of his mouth as he looked back at you. The way you almost held his hands by swathing them with yours around the vulgar cup. His arm, quick to reassure you at your abrupt outburst of emotion, but not brave enough—not yet. His eyes never lowering down to your naked body in the shower; those same eyes watching you intently in the mirror as you managed to deceive your brother so well. The joy that came after, the touches, the bravery.

There Jeongguk stands—at the recollection of your joy. He takes your hand, with the limb that has been extended in the air for too long. How tired it must be, you think to yourself, as you grab a hold of his forearm with your other hand, how real he feels. His blood flow thumps under your palm and he guides you through this vast, treacly darkness to a place only he knows.

To a meadow in the middle of spring, upon which you’re spread wide. To a meadow of golds, greens and granite blue, where he pins your hands down and hovers above you. To a meadow of fresh dew that soaks your hair damp, where he wants to play a game with you.

Your hair is long—and it is a protective layer for your back so the blades of grass don't engrave dents into the porcelain skin of your back. Your cream-colored, flower-patterned sundress covers the backs of your thighs, but one of them is suddenly lifted. Not by your own will, but by the masculine yearning of the antihero above you, who folds his fingers into the crook of your knee just to sow a seed of kiss on its top. The clouds draw in, a chilly wind curves along the shine of your sweat upon your décolletage, and everything about his actions feels as though you’ve done it a thousand times before.

And maybe you have. Who knows but the God of your father above since you must have slept too soundly to remember it the following morning.

Here, in this flowering, vernal atmosphere, all is possible. There aren’t any lacks of yours that make your life difficult in the other world called reality. Here, you are yourself—and you are brave, beautiful and brimful of affection and touches without any outside forces disrupting this tender moment.

No Yoongi, no issues.

Jeongguk leans back, letting go of your hands that he held in his singular grip. Props an elbow on your knee and lopsidedly grins at you. There is the sun in the pearly white of his teeth, in the glimmer of his eyes, in the length of his pretty eyelashes—and there is the Spirit of God within the lines of his outstretched palms that he now shows to you.

And a piercing on his lip.

“I’m sure you remember this,” he says, and for a split second you envision that he isn’t speaking of a game but of your secret, sleep-tinged memory of living a life with him beyond this parallel wildflower bubble. “We slap hands front-to-front, criss-cross, then front again. We go quicker and quicker each time until one of us fails to catch up and loses.” His grin blossoms like the petals of the primroses as he explains the rules, feeding your starved childhood memory of the game your primary school classmates played with each other but never with you. Of the game you always longed to play with your brother when you sadly went home, but he was never around—not until late at night when you were in bed and your pillow was cold with the way it was moistened with your forlorn tears. You shake that thought away; remind yourself that Yoongi isn’t here. He’s left. You’re alone in this parallel universe, alone with Jeongguk, but you just can’t shake him off. Not until the antihero continues to speak. “You don’t remember?” He chuckles, mimicking your little shakes of head. “I’ll help you remember. Let’s do a try level.”

The wispy strands of his hair flutter against his eyelashes, the soft huffs of his laughter enveloping you in a cocoon that sinks you deeper into this dream with the comfort it evokes. It is a song, the poems of birds, and it inspirits you through and through. Enough that your mouth cracks into a drowsy smile, your palms lifting and brushing against his.

The wonderful noises from his throat grow in volume. “No, not like this, bun.”

Bun. It is a slow-motion movie, the way you blink as you take in that pet name, the way Jeongguk begins to focus on showing you how to play the game right, clothing you into the person of your little you as the smile withers from your mouth. It is a slow-motion movie, the way he splutters into giggles, gives up at the sight of your useless unmoving hands, and falls on top of you, his face in your neck, his mouth peppering kisses, made icy and vibrant with his piercing, at the spot beneath your ear—and the way you notice that the linen fabric of his white shirt has torn claw marks on his back that billow in the wind, the tattered endings flapping vigorously out in the open.

You trace them, the bare skin, with your fingertip and Jeongguk shivers in the intimate embrace.

You wake up with a dry, painful throat. To a full blue light beyond your windows and not the dragging dawn’s darkness extending across the sky. To a first that would get you scolded by your mother and looked down upon by your brother.

You missed school.

Your hair is matted to your head. Your clothes carry the stench of your sweat owing to your fever and when you glance down, you realize that your brother, at some point during your delirium, had taken off your denim jeans and slipped on your warm pajama pants. It is a small flame against the open fire that is burning quietly behind it, called to creation by your fever dream. The more you summon it up in your memories, the more it burns. Bun, those soft little kisses, the lip ring and how its coldness had a little bit of the winter you lived through with him, the largeness of Jeongguk’s palms and God inside them. God, you have touched. God, you have come to know in another person who might not even know him. Your father colors your mind as you recollect his devotion to him.

But those lashes on Jeongguk’s back... you wonder what those meant. What the whole dream meant. How you’ll feel once you see him tomorrow on your lunch break.

You dwell within that warmth until you plentifully come to your senses. Think you must have come a long way, crossed paths you could’ve never crossed before if it weren’t for the events that occurred—if it weren’t for the snow, for the weakness of your mental state, for Yoongi calling you at the wrong place and at the wrong time that was eventually right in all senses. Yoongi. How kind he was to you, how loving after a century of coldness and orders. How quick he was to take care of you and put you to bed, make you Jeongguk’s tea and hold your head upright while you swallowed your pills.

The small flame flickers because you perceive that you have to get to your worst in order to receive love, and that is a sad revelation that settles like a burden over your shoulders, heaving them down. Another load, another reason to grieve being alive.

You look over to your bedside table and like one reaches for a loved one, you reach for your copy of Dostoyevsky’s White Nights. Your papery comfort, a non-verbal being of trees that was shredded to construct a story for you to find your solace in. You open it to a random page, careful still to not break the spine, and you bring it to your nose and inhale.

Grassy tones, melancholy, vanilla and meadows.

Oh. Meadows.

The Jeongguk that now lives in your memories faintly kisses that spot on your neck as your eyes skim the pages and they root at a passage that irrevocably impacts you, despite the fact you’ve read it countless times before. You now consume the Russian man’s words as a brand new person, altered by the dream you had and the life you lived with Jeongguk. It is as though you do so for the first time ever.

A whole minute of silence passed. She did not look at me. I saw that she was in great agitation, that she was waiting for something. She was unable to stand it any longer: she suddenly burst into tears, hid her face in her hands, and ran away. I stood motionless, gazing after her.

The storyteller is a boy dreamily in love with a girl named Nastenka, who stomached a great deal of anguish in her life. She lived in a snare with her grandmother, whose blindness forced her to depend on the girl too violently. Like you are bound to your brother, Nastenka was physically bound by a thread to her grandmother—connected to her hip-to-hip, a thread sewn between their dresses so they could never part. It’s the reason why you adore this book so much. It makes you feel seen, known, understood in the sense that another person went through the same things as you did.

It makes you feel less alone.

In this passage, the storyteller is voicing out his feelings for her, but Nastenka loves someone else—someone who has offered her freedom from the stifling relationship with her grandmother. And because she has tasted this freedom, she does what she deems natural. Unable to stand it any longer … she ran away.

All throughout the years you kept this book in the crevices of your soul, you found comfort only in the fact you felt understood, but now as you read the paragraph over and over again, you comprehend that it offers you something, too.

A solution.

The verb that lodged itself into your mind from Yoongi’s explanation of what happened to Holly comes darting through you at full speed: left. That something flickers in you once again as it did when it fled past your brother’s lips, and your eyes remain glued on the last words that complete the paragraph.

She ran away.

You wish you could. You can no longer tolerate bearing these burdens, the going behind backs, the stifling sensations, the act of earning love by being sick, by being in a bad condition, by doing well in school. You wish you could grab this book, Jeongguk’s vape, figs and cinnamon tea and run away to a place where no one knows you—where people are kinder and give you love, even though you did nothing to earn it. Who give you love like they give you food—the last of what they have, good for health, pleasurable for senses.

Your legs swing over the edge of the bed and, like Nastenka, you hide your face in your hands. And for the last time in the longest while, you weep. Swear to yourself that you shall not again. The tears trickle down your cheeks in thick rivulets, the ones on the left side representing a self-hatred for yearning something so unattainable while the other ones cascade down with the venomous fuel that you simply ask for too much.

That you should get over yourself.

That life isn’t about love.

It’s a lie that carves out your heart and that gruesome flesh topples out of your chest and onto the cold floors. Your instincts nearly throw out the book with the same detestation, but your hands gently place it down beside it. Your feet take you out of that room before your heart starts to rot.

As you walk down the hall, your hand skates across the double doors of your parents’ bedroom. Absorb the ghosts that cling to the wood, the silent echoes of your mother’s arguments thrown at your father. Your fingers wrap around the knob and they would try it to see if Yoongi locked it while you slept, but a strange sound averts you from doing so.

A sound that the castle of doom hasn’t heard in years.

A laughter.

One that doesn’t belong to Yoongi.

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