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scribbleseas · 5 years ago

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The Indignant Pawn, Chapter IV: The Sinners’ Subconscious

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You’re an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault, objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: implied rape/sexual assault, mentioned rape, cold water torture, sane asylum, non-consensual drugging by injection, a detailed panic attack, and a single mention of alcohol.

Author’s Note: If you have any questions or concerns about these warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! I’m sorry this chapter came out a little behind schedule,I hope you enjoy it! You may want to find somewhere comfy and grab a snack because this one has whooping word count of 10k!

-Dan

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. . .

JANUARY 23RD, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“Thank you,” you hugged yourself, wrapping your arms to keep the thick fleece robe secure around your bare figure as Mey-Rin hauled a heavy tin basin of steaming water with two hands. You sat on the edge of your bed, simply watching the maid struggle to carry the basin for the final few feet to the interior of the attached lavatory. She had apologized time and time again for the lack of running water since it was only installed in Lord Phantomhive’s personal quarters and the kitchen, rather than the assorted rooms of the main house. Apparently, they were planning to finish renovations when the Earl made his yearly move to his townhouse in the interior of London, but in lieu of your arrival, both happenings were canceled. However, whether the water was pushed by some innovative pipes, or dragged up the main stairs made no difference to you. After all, you were well adjusted to going through the tedious bathing process without a willing servant at your disposal.

“Ah- of course- Your- Highness-!” Mey-Rin managed through labored breaths, finally putting the basin next to the opulent clawfoot tub.

Nonchalantly, you stood up from your bed, your hand running over the top quilt to smooth the wrinkles that surfaced from your moving. You followed Mey-Rin into the lavatory and loitered beside the open door as you watched her work.

The tub’s feet were constructed with pure silver, holding up the white porcelain body of the appliance. “Are you sure I can’t be of more help to ya?” she asked before quickly pushing up her falling glasses with two fingers. Tucked in her apron was a dry washcloth that she put over the rim of the tub, paired with a bar of ivory soap and a crystal bowl of lavender essential oil. She poured small spoonfuls of the essential oil into the water, the scent of lavender momentarily calming the hyperactivity of your nerves.

“I am quite certain, yes,” you recalled how you had requested a change in scents when she originally offered a combination of rose and honey. The scent of roses never failed to bring you back to the lavatory of the woman you drowned. She decorated her entire estate with red and pink roses, down to bathing in the scent with perfumes and oils. That woman- Agatha Tolton- was the reason you could only bathe in tubs with a little more than an inch full of water inside and meticulously dip your washcloth in the remaining basin water to dab on your body.

“Right, Your Highness. I’ll be back with your tea,” Mey-Rin squealed, pulling a matching beige towel out of the linen closet by the bathroom’s door. She put it on the lid of the toilet (which surprisingly, had plumbing) and showed herself out, closing the door behind her.

Finally left to your lonesome, you picked up the tin basin with a grunt and slowly poured a good quarter of the water into the porcelain tub. You wondered how Mey-Rin was able to haul it up the main staircase and down the winding corridor every other night when all you needed to do was pick it up for a few seconds. Steam now rose from both the tub and the basin, which was hot to touch, leaving your palms red from merely moments of direct contact. After setting it down again, your arms too weak for your preference, you shouldered off your robe and quickly stepped into the tub, the hot water encompassing your feet and drawing goosebumps all over your scarred skin.

Sitting down, the water only came to your kneecaps which was too shallow for drowning. Agatha always liked her water up to her chin and not an inch less. She needed a team of three maids on her bathing service, one to wash her hair and two to lather her body as it submerged in rose water. You had waited two weeks exactly for her servant rotation to put you on the bathing team, and two days to put you in charge of her hair. The maiden charged with Lady Tolton’s hair always entered first and you were efficient- out the window and halfway out of Essex when the two other maids entered, meeting the corpse of their employer.

You squeezed out the washcloth after dipping it in the basin, methodically running it over your body and re-dipping it into the water when it began to lose its heat. The steam from the hot water caused your hair to curl, although you had yet to wash it out yet. You undid the precarious bun Mey-Rin twisted it in that morning, letting it fall on your shoulders in brushed out waves. The least enjoyable part of bathing was submerging, or nearly submerging your head and face. It was left at the very end of your bath for that reason.

The smooth surface of the soap was a sensation that you always focused on while bathing. You found that it kept most intrusive thoughts at bay while you lathered your skin that was long marred by unsoftened water, combat, and self-sufficiency.

With a sigh, you rubbed the bar of soap over each clavicle and back to the middle of your chest- your sternum. The lather left lines of white on your skin, the gentle scent combining well with the lavender oil in the water. Everything from your privacy, the warmth of the water, the dim lamps should have been enough to completely wash the tension out of both your body and your mind, but it made your looming stress even more intense. It was different from the stress that came from sitting through a play at the Globe Theater and proceeding to enter a dark carriage as the late Felix Keating had. Instead, this stress manifested itself as something that was going to happen because of the serenity of the scene you were in. This was everything that could happen, simply because there was a moment of peace.

Quickly, you finished washing and you poured the remaining water from the basin into the tub, dipping your hair by sitting back and keeping your face out of the water. You carded your fingers through your hair and sat up, squeezing all of the water out and standing, since the water level had raised considerably and frankly, flashbacks took too much emotional- and seldom physical- strain. If you could help to avoid the circumstances that led to them, you did everything in your power to. Unfortunately, bathing was, for the most part, unavoidable.

Water ran down your body as you stepped out of the tub, the cold hair causing a fresh wave of goosebumps to multiply across your skin. You wrapped the towel around yourself, trying to catch each water droplet that ran down your thighs and to your legs before it could reach the tile flooring. You then squeezed out your hair with the towel, letting the soft fabric absorb all of the water before dropping it to the floor carelessly. Mey-Rin would take care of it after bathing Lady Midford, delivering your tea, and finishing off the rest of your night routine.

Your robe was warm from the steamy air, which allowed you some comfort before opening the door of the lavatory where Mey-Rin was waiting, her smile toothy. Her eyes were hidden under the glare of her obnoxiously round glasses. Water stained her white apron, likely from having to wait on the blonde noble more than she had a princess. The irony of it was amusing to you, but in Lady Midford’s exhaustion, she would have fallen asleep in her own tub, which would have resulted in the Earl having to wed a prune. “Oh, you’re out so soon!” Mey-Rin commented, fumbling over her words in her haste to stand at attention.

“The brush?” You requested, extending your hand to her as you sat in front of the vanity mirror, the padded stool supporting your bottom.

“Right ‘ere!” she chirped, her tone too excitable for the late hour. Too happy for the solemn moon that hung in the sky. You could see it out the large windows beside your bed. Mey-Rin handed you your brush by the handle and you preferred to only let her touch your hair in the morning when it needed to be braided and twisted about. You watched yourself move in the mirror, your reflection showing your face and copying your every move, but you couldn’t help but feel detached from it. Disconnected from the flawless skin on your face; grime free and blemish-free, the lack of prominence in your collarbones from the food you had Mey-Rin bring you after cutting every major meal short. The female that stared back at you wasn’t the woman the conman had raised- but a product of status and society.

She was Princess Marie-Louise, not you- Y/n Y/l/n.

“Something wrong, Your Highness?” Mey-Rin asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t realized that you stopped brushing your hair and instead, regarded your own reflection.

“No,” you lied, handing the brush back to her so she could tuck it away in one of the dresser drawers. You dipped a cotton ball into the elderflower water that sat in a small bowl before you, which was prepared nightly by the maid. It ran down your face when it was supposed to only go under your eyes on behalf of Andrea’s instruction.

“Well you had quite a long day, yes you did,” Mey-Rin said, unfolding a light yellow nightgown from a drawer and holding it open for you to look. Long day. Please. “How about this one?” she asked, showing you the long ruffled sleeves of it, the satin rippling from her movement. The shade of yellow reminded you of the primrose petals that bloomed in Alfriston.

“Sure,” you stood once again, abandoning the cotton ball on the surface of the vanity. You exchanged your robe for the nightgown in Mey-Rin’s hands, allowing her to sink to her knees and pull the silk that rode upwards. “I suppose you’re right. Salome was a taxing piece,” you added as a truthful afterthought. Salome’s main topic was sexuality and the toxicity of addiction, a sin that you held close to your heart- behind each emotional barrier you erected around the proverbially vulnerable organ.

“Why, yes, Lady Elizabeth recounted all of it for me,” Mey-Rin agreed, efficiently undressing the bed by taking off each decorative pillow and pulling down the bulky quilt for you. Without hesitation, you took your place on the right side of the bed, sitting forward as she put another pillow behind you. “She told me all about the maiden...the gentlemen who loved her. And that ending! Nothing short of a tragedy- I’d have bawled if I was with you lot.” The side-table with your nightly cup Earl Grey tea sat waiting.

“Right,” you answered halfheartedly, like any investment you had in the conversation from moments ago swiftly disassembled to nothing. The citrus notes of your favorite tea were rejuvenating as per usual, which always helped you to put off sleep. Sleep was the most vulnerable point of everyone’s existence, a death-like state and you couldn’t count the number of lives you’ve taken by using this fact. There wasn’t a dagger under your pillow for the angst of it.

Mey-Rin hummed, “if you don’t mind, I will just finish up ‘round ‘ere and be out of your way!” she chirped, nearly tripping over the stool that you failed to push back under your vanity as she started towards the bathroom to clean up after you.

“Alright, thank you, Mey-Rin,” using someone’s name amid a conversation was a sign of attention, making them more prone to like you. The conman always reminded you to use names as often as you naturally could, since it further expressed respect and divided the subject’s attention. Convincing someone that they were more important than they truly were put them off guard and you were open to taking any advantage you could in this environment.

“M-My pleasure!” Mey-Rin exclaimed, scurrying into the bathroom after looking at you. The use of her name always caused her to startle, as if a sudden lightning bolt struck.

Your restless night had begun the moment Mey-Rin left your quarters. As you instructed her, she left every lamp and drape open, which kept the room properly alight, sufficiently keeping the darkness of night at bay. You were left nursing the Earl Grey tea she brought, the remaining contents of the teapot lukewarm as you poured the rest of it into the teacup.

On your lap, the book was open to the Emperor’s New Clothes chapter of the book. You skimmed halfheartedly over the tale, only for the dullness of the task to distract you from your reality and allow you to drift off into a light, dreamless sleep. You hadn’t known the phrase ‘sweet dreams’ since the conman died and you vouched for a violent change in career.

After finishing off the remaining mouthful of tea, you sat back, leaning against the two downy pillows that were upright against the bed’s headboard. The covers of the bed were pulled over your chest and folded at the top, shielding you from the draft from the window. Your own warmth was trapped under the sheets and the sensation along with a sated appetite and fatigued mindset, you succumbed to reluctant slumber.

. . .

????

Bethlem Royal Hospital; established in 1247- admitting and torturing the mentally unstable since 1407. It was financed and run by the same family for centuries after Bishop Goffredo de Prefetti. Now it ran under a descendant of his great-great-great-great-great-great grandson, Alessandro de Prefetti, who was particular in ignoring the terms of the 1853 Lunatic Asylums Act as it exemplified the rights of the mentally ill. Under his control, the Bethlem Royal Hospital was a prison for the poor and incurable- a way to dump them off-radar.

The system, at its Greek origin, worked purposely against women which inevitably led to a woman asking you to get her sister back after her husband had dumped her into admission for ‘imaginary female trouble’. Already, you received a hefty sum for organizing a lethal accident involving her sister’s husband, and next, you were off to finish Alessandro de Prefetti and as you promised, clear the falsely imprisoned.

It was raining, the sky a deep grey as the clouds wept. The wind whistled in your ears, blowing the loose strands of hair in your face as you climbed the side of the brick building, the tips of your boots fitting between the worn gaps of the cement. After studying the layout of the entire facility, you knew that entering through the window of the man’s study was your best option, as senteries and doctors roamed through the corridors unpredictably.

You shivered from both the exertion and the freezing wind and when you finally reached the window, your fingers were raw from climbing and you weren't sure you could properly feel them. As you predicted, the window was locked, which made it all the more gratifying to pull your screwdriver out of the soaking wet pocket bag between your petticoats. Your trembling fingers quickly wrapped around the handle as you balanced precariously on the side of the wall, your knees bent. The glass window cracked under the blunt tip of the screwdriver as you drove it into the glass repeatedly, as a miner would drive his pickaxe into the ore of a gem. The crack grew with each hit, splintering off before the entire pane shattered, some of the glass shards falling and hitting you. One particular piece fell into you, slicing a thin cut into your cheek, causing you to spit out a curse as you pulled yourself through the busted window, “Huhrensohn!” (Son of a whore!). You could hear the fabric of your gown tearing as it was caught on the few parts of glass that were still intact.

“Who’re you?” A gruff voice asked, giving you no time to catch your bearings. A man stood before you, years older and dressed finely. He was pointing a gun at you, which made sense, considering you had just pried open the window of Alessandro de Prefetti’s study. However, you weren’t about to risk a bullet in your head, driving you to act swiftly.

“Hmm,” You hummed, dropping your screwdriver back into your pocket bag as you slowly inched closer to the man holding the gun. The lamps illuminated his face, casting shadows over the features that likened him to the praising photographs in the paper. “Are you Alessandro de Prefetti?” you inquired, purposely emphasizing the questioning lilt in your voice. The muzzle of the gun was within range, a few inches from your forehead.

“I asked you a question, girl,” his eyes were fixated on the hilt of the dagger that stuck out of your pocket until both of your hands worked in tandem to disarm him. You turned away, hooking your right arm over the antecubital space of his right arm. Instinctively, he jolted forward, pushing the gun closer which allowed you to turn your body back in towards his, pinning his forearm against your chest with your right arm, your palm flat over your heart. Without hesitation, your left hand forced the gun out of his imprisoned hand, and for good measure, you pushed his face away with the palm of your right hand.

The conman had shown you multiple ways to trap a gun.

Prefetti stumbled back with a yell, bending over and cradling the red side of his face. The metal gun felt cold in your hands and while you considered chucking the firearm out the window and hacking the businessman to bits with your dagger, this mission called more efficiency- especially if you were to liberate as many as possible. You pulled the trigger of the handgun, staggering back from the force of the gun and immediately, the man before you crumpled to the ground, the bullet finding sanctuary in the midline of his stomach area...before he laughed.

“Enchanting,” Prefetti climbed to his feet, his eyes never leaving your figure. His thumb and index finger entered the entry wound, digging around until he found the bullet and dropped it to the floor. Your next panicked shot missed, flying past his head and running into the door behind him.

“H-How?” you stuttered, shooting again as Alessandro smiled at you, a sadistic glint lighting up his onyx hues. This bullet landed in his shoulder while he walked towards you, continuing to advance after picking out the bullet in the same manner.

“Come on, darling. We can help you,” he purred, “it’s unladylike to shoot at your savior.” Blood poured out of both his wounds, but he appeared completely unfazed as it ran down his clothing, staining the carpet under his boots. “We’ll take care of you.”

. . .

You were bound to a wooden chair, rope binding both of your arms and legs. The fibers of it poked at your skin, leaving red imprints from the tightly pulled loops. You were shivering once again, your head down as another bucket of ice-cold water was poured on you. Completely exposed, your entire body was peppered with goosebumps, your fingers fidgeting, your palms facing in front of you. There was a pounding in your head and you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Another bucket of water was poured over you, each breath you took was laborious and shallow and your whole body tensed.

“I reckon that’ll teach her to not shoot at Master Prefetti,” a familiar voice chuckled, causing you to reluctantly open your eyes. Your vision was obstructed by wet hair that fell in your face, but vaguely you could see the outline of another man, paired with another set of laughter behind you. “That’s right, princess. I hope you didn’t intend to kill us with that shootin’ back there.” His hand pushed your hair out of your face before giving the strands a forceful tug. The pain caused you to yelp and immediately, another bucket of freezing water was violently spilled, causing you to choke on it. “Ha, good one there, James.”

Pete.

“Tell me, how is this one still beautiful after we’ve played with her?” James asked, a bucket in one hand as the other forced you to look at him, the back of your head hitting the top of the wooden chair. “Still so breathtakin’, ain’t she?”

“Quite,” Pete chuckled, accepting the bucket from James to pour right in your face. You squeezed your eyes closed before the water could sting.

“Did our little princess not enjoy that?” Pete cooed, the false sympathy in his voice palpable. “Brat needs her medicine to properly calm down,” he left the room after calling over his shoulder, “I’ll tell Prefetti!” The door was slammed behind him, the sudden noise causing you to flinch.

“Hear that? We’re going to calm you right down,” You were met with James’ smile once you opened your eyes again, blinking as much as you could to keep water out. “And while you’re out, we’ll relax ya even more,” he kneeled at your level, his cold eyes prying, his large hands on your thighs. His fingertips tickled your skin, which was frankly, a more comfortable substitute for biting ice water. “That sound good?”

“Don’t think you’re useless to us when you’re off in that dreamland of yours,” he added as Pete returned, immediately going to your side. Amusement danced in James’ eyes, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was meeting Pete’s gaze and in the same moment, there was a dull sting in your arm. The smell of rubbing alcohol vaguely permeated the air.

Your vision went dark as the hands on your thighs languidly traveled up your torso.

. . .

JANUARY 24TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

You couldn’t breathe.

The opulent bedroom around you seemed to be a mirage, as your hands pulled at the covers over you. Sweat gathered in your hairline, falling down your forehead and to the bridge of your nose. You sat upright, your heart beating uncontrollably as you panted.

Alessandro de Prefetti had died about two years ago, 1890. The spring rain had made scaling the side of the building challenging and there was a faint scar across your cheekbone from the broken glass of the window. Every element of that dream was accurate until you shot him. His handgun was instead, thrown out the broken window and you had wrestled the skinny man to the floor, pulling the blade of your dagger across his throat to sever his carotid artery. Everything else that you could vaguely recall from that nightmare- the cold water therapy, the rise of the first two men you had ever killed, never happened.

After killing Prefetti, you found the woman that you were set to free in the first place and she was treated that way. She was chained to her chair and the men that poured the freezing water over her head were torturing her for bearing an illegitimate child out of rape. Her husband had dumped her into the institution on the assumption that it was her fault. You should have killed him afterward since he took no time to replace her with another doe-eyed lady. Her belly was swollen with presumably, his child.

You pushed the covers off of your body, the heat that they provided was no longer any kind of comfort to you. A quick shake of the cold teapot told you that you finished the last of your evening fix of tea when you needed more or at least a glass of warm milk. The bell that sat on the wall beside your door was tempting, as it would wake the maid and bring her to your room, but you didn’t have the heart to wreck her night of sleep simply because your mind conjured horrid dream sequences.

The wooden planks felt cold under your bare feet as you sulked to the door of your room, opening it and immediately meeting the dark abyss of the corridor. Before crossing the threshold, you grabbed a lantern to take with you as it illuminated bits of the walls, floor, and ceiling around you. The light chased away the foreboding darkness with each reluctant step you took.

Frankly, you had no clue as to where the kitchen was located- if it was near the dining hall, by the servant quarters, or even at a completely different wing. Your only interest was a certain beverage to calm your racing heart, to still your trembling hands. The lump in your throat was hard to swallow down as pitiful tears threatened to fall.

Every door that you passed was closed and there was no sign of light anywhere, except the bit that the lantern emitted. The ruffled sleeve of your nightgown had to be stained with how frequently you wiped your forehead clear of anxiety-fueled perspiration. All you needed was a glass of warm milk and you’d go back to your bedroom, on the assumption you could find it after somehow reaching the kitchen.

The opening door to your side caused you to jump and the yelp that passed your lips was narrowly stifled, causing it to be a diminutive squeak. Your tense back was against the wall, the lantern in your hand brandished as if it was an effective weapon. In a way, you supposed it could be. The iron was heavy enough to cause some amount of damage if your hands hadn’t been shaking as much as they were.

“...Your Highness? Is that you?” Lord Phantomhive’s hoarse voice was octaves lower from sleep. The light of the fire dancing in your lantern showed his face, his black hair disheveled. Notably, there was no black eyepatch over his right eye and instead, his eye was only closed, his long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks. “Did you need something?” His hand fell to his side, his fingers wrapped around the grip of a gun. The sight of it caused the lump in your throat to return with vengeance and while crying in front of your target was lamentable of you, the dam that kept your emotions at bay was only so sturdy.

“I-...” You started, staring at the equal confusion and surprise on his face as tears welled in your eyes, falling down your cheeks as you sniffled. Crying in front of others was an ultimate sign of vulnerability and the conman had you do it on command to play with the heartstrings of your victims when needed while this was different. This was the type of weeping that you couldn’t force down and as a result, you were gasping like a fish out of water before the Earl’s perplexed gaze. Your throat seized with words you couldn’t dare admit. “I-... need warm milk,” your damp sleeve did a poor job of absorbing your tears.

“We can send for Sebastian. Wait just a moment,” he quickly returned to his room, having exchanged his weapon for a white handkerchief, and his eyepatch fastened back around his head. “Silk is never good for anything more than a first-glance appeal,” he commented, handing the cotton to you. He was right; the material was much more absorbent than your sleeve.

Upon rubbing your nose with the handkerchief, the prominent scent vaguely reminded you of the Earl’s- bay leaf with a touch of lavender and ivory soap.

“Wait with me in my room,” you ordered as a ploy to cover your own passing fear of being alone. Walking back down the winding hall in the darkness was a poor idea and even if your temporary companion was the condescending Lord Phantomhive, he was better than no one. Having to actively speak to someone helped you remain present- far away from the pain that you associated with darkness.

“Certainly, Your Highness,” he said, walking with you, but a few short paces behind. You could hear each step he made, otherwise, the impenetrable silence that loitered between the two of you returned. It was a void that neither of you bothered to fill unless there was a need to. But as he escorted you back to your quarters, two hours after midnight, there was no need. He knew his place, and it was far from inquiring as to what had agitated you enough to send you out of bed, wailing silently. Although, the unfazed expression on his face; a neutral frown and unfurrowed brow, you suspected he knew. If Lord Phantomhive killed as much as Doña had claimed, then surely, the theater of his subconscious treated him just as poorly as yours did.

“Did I wake you?” You asked, nodding once to validate his attempt at chivalrously opening the door for you. It was already ajar, and you had been able to see the light pouring from it into the hall from ages away, but he didn’t dare leave you then. The cotton handkerchief was rolled into a crumpled ball in your fist, damp with your tears. Your tears had finally ceased as you grappled for control over your own train of thought.

“No,” Lord Phantomhive responded and you couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. His poker face rivaled yours as it was impassive as a brick wall unless you were deliberately poking fun at him. His grandiloquence needed to be rivaled and by passively vexing him, you took pleasure in offering a semblance of modesty to his countenance. “Unfortunately, the thresholds of sleep aren’t so welcoming to me either.”

“I reckon you could use a glass of warm milk as well.”

You could have killed him right there in your room. There were at least seven completely lethal places on the human body to stab with a blade; the spinal cord, the carotid artery, the axillary artery, heart and lungs, the liver, the femoral artery, and the popliteal artery. Your dagger was tucked right under the pillow you slept on and Lord Phantomhive was merely standing at the side of your bed while you sat down on the edge of it. He was off his guard, making it easy for you to pounce, stab, and make your escape through the window.

However, the mere thought of holding a weapon and covering this nightgown in more bodily fluids was mildly distressing. You knew yourself well enough to be sure that stabbing the Earl would only cause you to freeze up and stare at his corpse, rather than act swiftly and leave. Besides, your eyes were heavy and it felt as if loads of bricks were piled onto your shoulders. Killing him could wait until you returned to top form. Giving Doña such a short time frame was foolish of you, and there was no doubt that she would gloat when you returned after a few days more than a week. There were too many unprecedented factors; such as the able butler and lack of opportunity. The most time you spent with the Earl in a day couldn’t surpass more than an hour, or even less. From accompanying him and his betrothed to the theater to having to wait silently for a glass of milk together, this was the most time you spent with him since your arrival.

“It would be my second of the evening,” he responded, hesitating long enough for you to look at him, rather than the wall across from you. This was the first time you noticed that he was only clad in a long nightshirt, the neckline a deep v-shape with ruffles that matched those on your sleeves. The shirt hugged his thin shoulders, the rest of the garment completely loose around his frame. His arms were slender, the muscles there likely less developed than yours. Against you, any fight he attempted to put up would be pathetic.

The conman made sure of it, although he’d never be happy with this life you picked for yourself. After all, the violence he armed you with was supposed to be ‘last resort’. He would have wanted you to attempt to take his lessons and make yourself into someone legitimate. Naturally, the irony was that he was the most honest man you knew.

“To unwind, milk surely surpasses a two-row malt,” you said under your breath, which the Earl either ignored or didn’t hear. Clearing your throat, you spoke louder to articulate more of an appropriate response, “as many as it takes, Lord Phantomhive.” Alcohol wasn’t proper to discuss for a woman, much less a princess.

“Es ist ziemlich früh zum Aufstehen, Eure Hoheit,” (It’s quite early to rise, Your Highness). When Sebastian entered, he showed no sign of fatigue, unlike yourself or even his master. Out of the three of you, he was the only one clad in more than oversized nightwear. The butler tended to wear some form of a black ensemble, matching with the raven hair that fell in his eyes and cascaded down his neck. Within your time at the estate, you had never seen his bare hands, since they were always covered with pristine white gloves. Sebastian couldn’t have been much older than the Earl, his face was clear of any hints of aging.

“Ich würde den nächtlichen Terror nicht als 'früh aufstehen' bezeichnen,” (I would not call night terror ‘rising early’) your eyebrows knit at the cheeky statement as you took on of the two glasses of milk off of his serving tray. “Mein Bedarf an Ihrer Unterstützung sollte nicht zur Diskussion stehen,” (My need for your assistance should not be up for discussion), you continued, quite sternly. If you hadn’t noticed the Earl’s blank expression, then you would have forgotten that he couldn’t understand German as you scolded his butler. When he was agitated, Lord Phantomhive’s ability to filter his facial expressions was significantly reduced, which resulted in what you christened, the look.

Sebastian chuckled as if he was more amused by your sentiment than taken aback. He closed his eyes, briefly lowering his head as he stood before you. “Sie haben Recht. Ich bitte aufrichtig um Entschuldigung; wenn Sie noch etwas benötigen, zögern Sie bitte nicht, danach zu fragen,” (You're right. My sincerest apologies; if you need anything more, please do ask) he said, practically cooing with the smooth intonations of his voice. That patronizing articulation reminded you of the three men in your nightmare and the sickening reminder caused your blood to boil.

“Wenn ich sehe, dass Sie Ihren Zweck erfüllt haben, würde ich sagen, dass Sie sich rar machen dürfen,” (Seeing that you've served your purpose, I would say you're cleared to make yourself scarce). You took a sip of your milk, the warmth of it providing a new sensation to anchor your presence onto. The glass between your palms was also warm to touch.

“Natürlich. Gute Nacht, Eure Hoheit,” (Of course. Goodnight, Your Highness), Sebastian responded, tucking the serving tray under his arm. “A goodnight to you as well, my Lord. I presume you can show yourself to your bedroom when Her Highness requires privacy once again.”

The Earl was slow to respond, likely having allowed his mind to drift some with the foreign conversation that excluded him. “Evidently,” each syllable of the word was pronounced with malice from the haughtiness in Sebastian’s condescending countenance and the conversation that was completely lost to him. Once Sebastian closed the door behind him, he turned to you, his upper lip saturated in milk before he pursed his lips to get it off. “Of all the skills he’s mastered, Sebastian still hasn’t learned the art of holding his tongue. My apologies.”

“He answered for himself,” you stood with your glass in hand, and looking back at your disheveled bed, you had half the mind to ask the Earl to stay until you fell asleep. The conman would do that for you when your nightmares were far tamer; consisting of missing an important event, or simply falling from an unknown height. However, scratching a subconscious itch wasn’t worth shredding the carefully crafted exterior you had put on for this charade any more than you already had that night. “You should retire now. It’s late.”

“So long as you attempt to as well,” Lord Phantomhive said, giving you a long look, devoid of pity. Instead, there was a tentative awareness, an insight that was dangerously convincing. “Sleep well,” his parting timbre seemed octaves lower, causing you to pause and look at him.

“Sleep well,” you reiterated, quickly putting your glass on the side table with your empty teacup, sliding back under your warm covers. He shut the door, twisting the knob slow enough to leave a soft click, rather than the louder bang that sounded when the door was shut normally.

The next bout of uncertain sleep you fell into was light and fortunately, dreamless.

. . .

JANUARY 24TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“It was an honor to meet you, Your Highness!” Lady Midforf dawned a new dress for the fresh day. It was another baby pink shade that strategically brought out her big emerald optics. You had left breakfast early that morning, but as kindness towards her, provided her and the Earl your permission to continue to dine. You had retreated to your room with the hope of catching some final moments of rest, despite being completely dressed in a deep blue gown, your hair pulled into another intricate bun.

At your request, Mey-Rin brought a tray of Earl Gray tea and two little squares of butterkuchen, or butter cake, paired with assorted berries. You were in the process of nursing your tea and slowly picking at each cut of cake with your dainty dessert fork. They were easiest to maneuver in your small hands.

The moment the door opened, you stood and quickly brushed crumbs off of your lap with your hands. In order to eat your breakfast, you were sitting at the desk in front of the large window. Merely watching snow fall lazily was enough entertainment for you, since it gave your mind the proper space to wander.

“The same to you, Lady Midford,” you said. Her title came out awkwardly as you tensed in surprise when the tall blonde caught you in a tight embrace. She was a handsy girl, judging by the way she clung to her betrothed, but you had assumed that being royalty, she’d grant you mercy. However, her (surprisingly strong) arms squeezed your middle with the same insistence that your corset had that morning. You couldn’t imagine having to endure uncomfortable contact multiple times.

Reluctantly, you patted Lady Midford’s back twice, which she took as a gesture for her to release you. She didn’t know her own strength and you couldn’t help but wonder where it came from exactly. “I very much hope to see you again,” Lady Midford continued, her smile beaming at you. It reached her eyes and you had no doubt that it was genuine; your only question is- how is one so happy?

Although you sincerely doubted the likelihood of you crossing paths with the noble, you pretended to have a desire to. After all, if you did see her again, it would mean that Lord Phantomhive was still alive and you were still shouldering this heavy charade. You hoped to be out of the estate days ago and at this incredibly slow rate of progression, you were sure that you’d be stuck there for at least a few more days.

“Safe travels,” you said, watching as she stepped back towards the open door. She proceeded to retreat, until she stopped at the door, her face suddenly quite serious.

“Your Highness,” she said, her voice lower. “Ciel is very dedicated to Her Majesty. As long as you’re here, he won’t let a single thing happen to you,” she continued, her stare prying into your soul, it seemed. “He’s...a bit distant, but you can trust him if my word means anything to you.”

Your face softened and for a passing moment, you felt sad for the girl. You were going to kill her betrothed- her cousin that she seemed to care dearly for. She was merely collateral damage- considering Lord Phantomhive was responsible for the deaths of many innocents.

Your hand rested on the top of the chair that you were previously sitting in. “Thank you, Lady Midford. That is very reassuring to hear,” you lied, moving your hand over heart for a shallow curtsey. “My grandmother has done nothing but sung his praises. I trust him with my life,” you continued, properly standing to your feet. Lady Midford’s eyes were glassy as if she was about to cry from the sentiment. Hopefully, she’d get on with leaving before you had to deal with that.

Lady Midford nodded, her high pigtails moving as she returned the curtsy. Hers was deeper and much slower than yours had been. “The pleasure is completely mine. I must go now- before Paula comes up to fetch me herself,” Lady Midford made an effort to joke, her laugh was a little wanner than it normally was. She sniffled and quickly left your room, leaving the door open after.

. . .

“Your Highness...might I ask why are you are so invested in these...children’s tales?” Lord Phantomhive’s voice sounded behind you, causing you to nearly lose your footing and fall off the short stool that you were using to look for more Brothers Grimm pieces. The sound you made wasn’t as strong as you would have preferred it to be, your hands quickly flying to the shelf for stability. If you had been holding a book, it would have certainly fallen to the floor. “My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to startle you.”

Normally, you would have heard his footsteps, the sound of the door opening and closing, but you were too invested in finding the story that Hanna used to tell you from memory. Hanna was a maid that worked in the Glücksburg Castle for your family. She took you in the kitchen from time to time and you’d help her bake as well as a little girl could; until Governess Lydia fired her for teaching a princess a skill of a middle-class woman. Hanna had every tale from the Brothers Grimm memorized and she’d recite each story to you, particularly one that featured a mother, a murder, and a bird. You couldn’t remember the title for the life of you, but out of a lack of agenda (besides plotting an impending murder), you set out to locate it within the expansive collection of books.

You took a large inhale, closing your eyes for a moment. From having them open for an extended period of searching, you had forgotten to blink. You released the air in your lungs after it grew stale and stepped down from the short stool to properly face the Earl. The height difference between the two of you wasn’t severe with your heels, but it was enough to force you to look up at him.

It took you a moment to realize that the bulk of his words were completely lost on you. “I beg your pardon?” you asked, dutifully ignoring his reliable deadpan.

“You’re going to read...yet again,” Lord Phantomhive pointed out rather astutely. You were positive that his statement was much longer than that simple comment, but you didn’t push the matter.

“Unfortunately, the options in the estate are rather limited for me,” you responded truthfully. You meant this by way of interesting things to do as well as the opportunity to complete your assignment. Sebastian was always hovering around the Earl and in the rooms where he is alone, there are no clear routes to leave through. You weren’t in possession of any thallium which was last resort in the first place. “I can do almost anything at home, but here,” you mused, playing into your role, “...here, I’m essentially under a house arrest. It’s quite boring.”

Lord Phantomhive’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. The action always caused the bit of skin between them to wrinkle and paired with his parted lips, he resembled a gaping fish. This was the look of exasperation and disbelief you met multiple times per day- enough for you to start calling it the look.

“I’m looking for a particular story by the Brothers Grimm. Are you familiar with their work?”

“I was-” you cut off his budding sarcasm with a glare of your own.

“A stepmother kills her stepson and bakes him into a pudding,” you explained as you turned back to the shelf to skim over the titles on the spines of the books.

“The Juniper Tree,” the Earl named almost instantaneously. At your questioning stare he cleared his throat, “my late aunt would read that one to myself and Lizzie all the time...there’s no copy here.”

You frowned and turned to look at Lord Phantomhive again. How could he be so sure? There had to be a few hundred books in the library to keep track of altogether...how could he be sure of one particular tale? The tautness in his shoulders told you not to pry. “Very well. Did you need to speak to me?” you asked since the Earl only approached you outside of meals when he needed to inform you of something particular.

“Yes. I have a dinner meeting with the head of a trans-Atlantic shipping company this evening. For your safety, I’d like to request you remain on this level of the building while it proceeds,” Lord Phantomhive’s poker face was quite nonchalant as he more or less ordered you to keep hidden from the other businessman. You understood that given his own instructions from the Queen, he had a certain degree of authority over where you went, or who you saw. Besides, you could use the time on the second floor to your advantage.

“And what of my dinner?” You were quite open to the prospect of eating alone because it meant that you could eat more than a few measly forkfuls.

“My staff is fully prepared to serve you in the foyer- or wherever you’d like on this level,” the Earl said, shifting his weight to his other side in preparation to leave you alone once again. “If there’s anything you need-”

“I won’t hesitate to ask,” you finished, finding the spiel more patronizing by each second it carried on. “Thank you,” you added as a half-hearted afterthought, pairing it with a strained turn of your lips.

A few seconds of silence followed as Lord Phantomhive composed himself. Irritation flashed in his exposed eye and his hand clenched at his side since he wasn’t carrying anything with him. The subtle movement caught your gaze and when he noticed that you were looking, the same hand opened. The blue gem on one of his rings shined in the light, just as yours did. Was it a family ring as well? The band was silver instead of rose gold, but there was no doubt it had a hefty fortune behind it.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

. . .

While Lord Phantomhive focused on his meeting, you took the opportunity to get into his study. A nagging voice in the back of your mind demanded concrete evidence that the boy was truly a criminal, considering you failed to pry into Doña’s motivations. She was a shrewd woman and went as far as to unapologetically provide you with an alias. Doña translated to lady or madame, a tidbit that you learned through finding a Spanish to English dictionary tucked in a shelf of the Phantomhive library. You didn’t actually know her name, and for all you knew, her deceased family resided within a crime ring that your grandmother could have asked her guard dog to eradicate. Although the likelihood of finding evidence, either way, was slim, there was cause to try.

Your hand twisted the knob of the door, but before you could apply any pressure, Sebastian intervened. He stood behind you after his stealthy approach, silent, almost waiting for you to speak first. Sebastian’s steps were too quiet- the conman taught you how to make yours as indiscriminate as possible, but the old wooden floor always whined beneath your heels. You let go of the knob after trying to give it a twist. However, it didn’t budge.

“Kann ich Ihnen helfen, Sebastian?” (May I help you, Sebastian?) You turned around to face him properly, his face predictably smug, no matter how he tried to maintain his respectful smile. Although his poker face was far superior to his master’s, no facade was perfect; not even yours. Marie was much more genteel than you; following the customary guidelines to pretend to be nice, or pretend to enjoy having her whole middle shoved into a restricting torso. She shoved her feelings so far off, you doubted she had the complexity to frown- or think- by the second time you ran away. In that way, you were failing to personify her- the perfect princess she was.

Sebastian ignored the question, “Mein Meister ist derzeit in einer geschäftlichen Besprechung. Wenn Sie ihn gesucht haben, erlauben Sie mir bitte, eine Nachricht entgegenzunehmen,” (My master is currently in a business meeting. If you were looking for him, please allow me to take a message) you figured it would be best to pretend as if your conversation with Lord Phantomhive had simply slipped your mind (or didn’t take place at all), since Sebastian was notably absent.

“Ach ja, richtig. Dann werde ich mein Abendessen jetzt im Foyer einnehmen, vielen Dank,” (Oh, right. Then I will take my supper in the foyer, now, thank you). You hastily left Sebastian standing alone in the hall to show yourself to the exact foyer in the west wing of the estate. The fireplace reminded you of the exact brick pattern that the fireplace in your own home had, which was a vague comfort to you. Furthermore, eating alone was a relief because it allowed you to fully let down your usual restrictions and eat until you were completely satiated- to take bite after bite until your corset felt even tighter than it had that morning. Your empty stomach rumbled at the thought.

. . .

Finny brought firewood inside the foyer and started a warm blaze in the fireplace at your off-hand request. Once again, his strength took you aback when he effortlessly hauled in multiple thick logs, the dirt on them staining his yellow shirt.

Since Sebastian was too occupied in serving the Earl and his other guest, the other servants on the estate were left to tend to you. The table that you were sitting at was pulled in from the library, the white cloth that ran over it was pristine and pressed to size. Your utensils shined, likely polished recently. The atmosphere was much more comfortable, as opposed to the cold silence that you and Lord Phantomhive tended to sit in. Moreover, the other servants- Mey-Rin, Finny, and Baldroy were simply less...presumptuous and sly.

You particularly appreciated Baldroy- not for his work or lack thereof, but his scattered presence. The vague scent of cigars that followed him reminded you of the conman, just as his laid-back drawl and leadership tendency did. There was hardly any commonality between the respective appearances of the two men, but the way Baldory carried himself oddly...helped you to remember the conman’s voice. His phlegmy laugh and snide grin.

“We’d be doin’ a fine disservice to you in tryna pronounce the names of these dishes,” Baldroy said, emerging through the open doors of the foyer with several small plates of distinctively different German plates. They were small enough to be considered canapés, but the summation of five plates made up for their portion. You assumed it was a bid on Sebastian’s part to waste less food in attempting to please you.

At Baldory’s side was Mey-Rin as she held a small basket of bread rolls, with one little glass bowl tucked within them. It was one type of jam- likely the quince that you had been favoring over your last few meals. Even as a girl, it was one of your favorites, being almost exclusive to Germany.

Your smile turned one corner of your lips upwards- barely there, but completely genuine. “That’s fine. I do find Sebastian’s introductions quite tedious to sit through,” your shoulders jumped when you laughed shortly, unable to help your reaction to their surprised faces. Baldroy wasn’t accustomed to your dry humor and Mey-Rin’s shortcomings were rarely validated with a semblance of amusement.

“Oh- well, alright, then-” Baldroy started, placing the tray that carried all the dishes before you. It was clear that he wasn’t experienced with table service, (Mey-Rin none the wiser), but in a way, you found the informality strangely comforting.

“-This is spätzel,” you interrupted, gesturing to the first plate with egg noodles nearly twirled. It was usually quite heavy for your preference since the noodles could sometimes be considered ‘dumplings’. “Käse, cheese,” you couldn’t name the exact type of cheese that was cut on the next plate. Each slice was paired with a different cracked and knowing Sebastian, you felt safe in assuming that this was on purpose. “Katenspek...teewurst” you continued, mostly naming the food in front of you for your own memory’s sake. After spending the most recent nine years of your life in various cities in England, you were more accustomed to bangers and mash and heavy cottage pies.

Quickly looking up at the two servants, you cleared your throat. “Is this all?” you asked impassively. It seemed to be more than enough already.

“Yes!” Mey-Rin responded, “this is all. I’ll be right back with your tea, ‘scuse me,” she rushed out. Her basket of bread was still in her hands and with her short attention span, there was no way she’d realize it until she reached the kitchen. However, the scent of freshly warmed rolls continued to linger around your table, just as Baldroy’s scent of smoke did.

The combination reminded you of the desperate day you met the conman- after you swindled an upper-middle-class couple out of a great sum of their money. With that man’s wages...Baxter purchased a loaf of bread, under the logic of conserving what the two of you rightfully earned. He laughed in that alleyway, praising your acting skills until his face was shades darker than the cold air made it. No one in Germany praised you- not once and within a single week of relocating across the sea, you had garnered someone’s appreciation. As a girl, nothing (besides a full stomach) was quite as satisfying. That was when he offered to take you in, and evidently, the rest was history.

You hadn’t noticed Baldroy leave, but after looking up from the plates of food before you, space across from you was empty. Once again, you were left alone, the only prominent noise in the foyer was the soft crackling of the fireplace and the chime of your fork and knife against the bowl that the spätzel was piled in. There was a sprinkling of parsley on top, but you brushed it out and onto the plate under the small bowl. Amongst many moving parts, the food that was involved in this particular operation was both a vice and a virtue- sitting in front of delectable meals multiple times a day, but due to social codes, only being able to eat a few bites while with company. Your circumstances reminded you of the Greek myth of Tantalus, though you were much better off than the deceased king of Sipylus.

After reaching the bottom of the bowl, you moved on to demolishing the tasting of pre-cut Katenspek, which was smoked pork belly. It would have been salty for your liking, had there not been some kind of cranberry sauce pooled at the bottom of the stack of thin strips. You were about halfway through finishing them off when Baldroy returned. By the surprise in his eyes, it was safe to assume that he expected you to have returned to your quarters instead.

Baldory didn’t wait too long to speak as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Huh, I was beginning to doubt me cookin’,” he mused, sharing your bashful half-smile. You dabbed your lips with the edge of the folded napkin on your lap. The action stained the white cloth with the red cranberry sauce that loitered on your lips.

You sat back in your chair, finding the corset you wore much tighter than it felt before you sat down to properly eat. Relief bloomed in your stomach as you regarded the chef in front of you, the euphoria of finally having a full stomach causing you to smile again. “It was delightful, thank you,” the idea of someone of importance witnessing you so content sent shivers down your spine.

. . .

There was a knock at your door, the sound too strident to be Mey-Rin’s and unnecessary for it to be Sebastian’s. Mey-Rin had finished her nightly duties, this night’s routine much more simplified, since you had only just bathed last night, and rather than Sebastian, she brought up your Earl Grey tea with a hefty slice of Black Forest cake- the best dessert to grace the earth. The recipe was native to Germany, chocolate layers of cake with a cherry and cream filling. The cherries in the filling were soaked in cherry schnapps that originated in the Black Forest, a mountain range in Germany. There was still more than half of it on the plate as you pried small bites from it every couple of minutes.

“Hereinspaziert,” (Come in), you mumbled, hardly looking up from the page of the new book you picked up before retiring to sleep. This was a compilation of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Poems, each in native German, and translated on the next page over. Along with theater, poetry tended to enervate you enough to allow you to rest some for a night. This particular poem was called “Night Thoughts”. The title was ironic enough to catch your eye in the glossary at the beginning of the book.

‘Ihr, von denen der Seewurf die Matrosen angezündet hat…’ (Ye by whom the sea-toss'd sailor's lighted…)

The door opened to reveal the Earl at the threshold. He was still dressed in his posh number, his jacket, and trousers a matching forest green while his shirt was its predictable white. You pulled your covers up further, holding them up to your chest under your open book. The neckline of your nightgown was much lower than you were comfortable with exposing and keeping the bits of dignity you had was more than preferable.

“Yes?” you urged Lord Phantomhive to state his case for interrupting your reading- not that the poem made much sense to you anyhow. The male’s face was terse as if the meeting hadn’t played out the way he had wanted it to. Considering he had only shown himself in your, it was hard to believe that you coaxed out the look with a single syllable.

“You called this estate boring,” he stated nonchalantly, loitering in front of the open door. Behind him, the hallway was alight with the dim glow of lanterns, a gesture that you duly appreciated.

“I did,” you replied, matching his level of care in his articulation. Lord Phantomhive was nothing of a utilitarian in a sense of parlance. He used too many posh words most of the time and appeared to believe that studying Latin was a productive use of time. Yet, he seemed too peeved to care.

Furthermore, fun wasn’t something you were well acquainted with, but you could confidently say that sitting through a tragic play with your intended victim and his betrothed did not qualify. Vaguely, fun was supposed to be stimulating or engaging in some way. Lord Phantomhive was close to your age, but he acted several years older with a lack of interest in anything that resided off of some variant of paper.

“Let’s go horseback riding, then. I know a private trail,” he suggested. Learning how to ride a horse was about the only interesting lesson you had as a girl, although you were constantly scolded for refusing to sit side-saddle. It was considered a way to preserve a woman’s modesty. For a lady to spread her legs outside a marriage bed was a complete sacrilege and you made the most out of standing in the stirrups of your horse when you could.

You couldn’t remember the last time you held a pair of reins in your own hands since you had only learned in the instance of an emergency. In any other case, you had to sit behind a man while he directed the horse for you. Besides, the January cold had to be too much for the horses to bear for a winding trail in the countryside.

“Well?” Lord Phantomhive asked arching an eyebrow at you. If the trail was private, it made a good setting for killing him, hiding the body, and leaving with the horse. Especially if Sebastian was going to be the only accompaniment on the trip. Judging by his slender physique, you doubted that he’d be able to put up much of a fight against you if there was no way to be furtive.

“Fine,” you cut a slice out of your cake with the side of your fork, momentarily breaking eye contact with the noble as you let the hunk of chocolate cake and tart cherry marry on your tongue before meticulously chewing and swallowing. “You know, you are ambitious in your pursuits, my Lord.” You added offhandedly, considering this proposal came from a vague challenge from you.

Lord Phantomhive shrugged, the corner of his lips twitching to form his elusive smirk. “Hm,” he paused, the thought clearly facetious when it was supposed to be a simple observation from you. “We’re human beings, Your Highness. Always after our own self-interest.”

“Then it’s within your self-interest to both protect and entertain me?” The conversation was quickly evolving into a clever, existential turn of phrase, rather than an invasion of your time alone. You closed your book after putting a little piece of paper inside to save your page.

“Of course. The Phantomhive name is known for the standard of care we give our guests- particularly-”

“Particularly grandchildren of Her Majesty,” you finished smugly, although he would have used a less blunt way to state your title. The coy smirk on his regrettably prepossessing face dropped, quickly replaced by the look, once again. If the Earl couldn’t admonish you verbally, he was sure to show you his irritation with his face, whether he meant to or not. At least he was to be reasonably humbled before you ended him.

The Earl cleared his throat, “Tuesday is my only free day this week. I’ll have Sebastian make preparations for then.”

“And what am I to do in the meantime?” You questioned, playing up your impertinence to bother him further. Marie would do the exact same and more likely, she would have demanded more from the Earl. You were much more acquiescent and you merely kept to yourself, save for your attempt to get into his study to pry. Gaining access was crucial to your morality and since you intended on striking at the end of that trail, you’d need to enter before Tuesday morning.

“I trust that you are capable of entertaining yourself, for the time being, Your Highness.”

You took a long sip of your tea, the floral notes of the Earl Grey mingled nicely with the remnants of cherry on your tongue. The heat of the beverage caused you to cringe as it ran down your throat. The teacup remained in your hands as you regarded the noble, who had inched his way to the foot of your bed for ease of conversation. Naturally, he loitered at the respectful distance, keeping his gaze proper and away from the covers that fell from your chest. You didn’t have the hands to readjust them, or the peace of mind to notice.

“...Fine. Sleep well, Lord Phantomhive,” you dismissed, putting the teacup back on the nightstand with the remnants of your cake. You had a feeling that he wasn’t done with the conversation, but you weren’t shy in expressing that you were. The night was a complex time and while the presence of another in your room was somewhat soothing, it reminded you of the episode you had that morning. The bruise to your pride was somewhat fresh, making it uncomfortable to think about or dwell on. At least in that way, you understood Lord Phantomhive. His pride made for a sturdy defense around the vulnerable- terrified- subconscious as yours did. You each protected your weaknesses fiercely and that's what made this particular assignment so complicated.

“Sleep well, Your Highness. I’ll sort out the rest of the details and keep you up to date,” the sound of the door shutting behind him caused you to jump. You put your book on the nightstand, using it to push the tray of refreshments further away. This night would do well to be kinder to you.

. . .

Tags:

#ciel phantomhive #ciel x reader #black butler #black butler fanfic #strangers to lovers #anime fanfiction #sebastian michaelis #murder #angst #historical fiction #victorian era #the indignant pawn #a sinner's subconscious #ciel phantomhive x reader

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windenroyal · 4 years ago

Photo

The Missing Royal

William: Christ..Where is everyone? Do any of them know about this?

Alexandra: No they’re outside making snowmen or something..God..how horrible for his parents..I can’t even imagine what that would be like..

William: Have you contacted Sofia and Darien? How are they?

Alexandra: I tried a few minutes ago but I doubt I’lI hear from them anytime soon. They’re terribly shaken up.. know I would be..[sniffles] I c-can’t help t-thinking if t-this happened to our babies..

William: Hey babe no..don’t do that to yourself. Our children are safe and I will do everything in my power to make sure they stay safe okay?

Alexandra: [sobs] B-but what i-if something does happen?! C-can we not t-trust anyone either?! Who k-knows, our n-nanny could be c-crazy too!

William: Babe you made Agatha go through intense background checks and screening [chuckles]. She’s safe..Don’t stress out, you know what the doctor said. It’s not good for the baby.

Alexandra: I c-can’t exactly h-help it William!

William: Listen, our kids are fine, and they are going to stay fine. It’s why we came to this house in the first place, to keep our children and ourselves out of harm's way.

Alexandra: What if someone breaks into the cabin in the middle of the night? There are clearly nutbags out there who like to snatch up royal children..

William: I don’t think we have anything to worry about. The cabin is guarded very well. No one is getting in or out without the guards knowing. If it makes you feel better, we can drag the kids mattresses down here so they can sleep in the room with us.

Alexandra: They like it up there though..I guess you’re right.. I’m sorry, my emotions are all over the place right now..[chuckles weakly]

William: That’s alright, I get it. Growing another human will make you emotional [chuckle] Speaking of the baby..when did you want to tell your family?

Alexandra: I have no idea..my parents are still riding on their Sofia high and if we swoop in there and steal Greta’s thunder, she’ll never forgive me. You know how she gets.

William: We just have to plan the right moment that’s all, like after some of the Sofia hype dies down. With everything going on though, I think your family could use a bit of good news.

Alexandra: I guess..we still need to tell the kids though..God, this is going to kill Oskar. He had a hard enough time with Marie, I can’t imagine this time will be any better.

William: I know, but it’ll all work out babe..You really need to just relax. We should be focusing on happy things right now. For instance, everyone in our family is still alive which is something not everyone in our position can say anymore. There’s new babies, your brother is getting married soon, Christmas is close..there are a lot of happy things.

Alexandra: God, do you ever get tired of being an optimist? [laughs]

William: Nope [chuckle] Now come here, you need a hug.

Alexandra: I love you..

William: I love you too, flower.

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dogboy-willgraham · 4 years ago

Text

Trans Miles! Trans Miles! Trans Miles! Traaaaaans Miles!! Be warned there is one instance of a character deadnaming the other, but it’s not in malice or harm. @lunarmultishine Our boy is finally here!

Miles walked beside Agatha, not looking at her in their conversation, almost as if they were afraid that she would hear them. Miles, it wasn’t their real name, it was meant to be like makeup, on for the day and gone before the clock struck midnight. But it wasn’t gone, and Miles didn’t want to let it go.

The feeling wasn’t right, the dizzy had too much of everything sick to your stomach feeling. They weren’t supposed to be feeling this, where had the ground gone, they shouldn’t have gone to the party.

One thought, one question, stood clear in Miles’ head. Who am I? Who. Am. I?

It wasn’t right, to have the ground ripped out from under them, they hadn’t done anything but go to a damn party.

‘Me’ had lost it’s meaning.

Agatha finally took notice of Miles, the stressed and sick look on their face.

“Marie, are you alright?” Agatha asked, squeezing the hand in hers.

It was suddenly very clear to Miles. “I’m not a girl,” They breathed. “I...I don’t think I’m a girl,”

Agatha blinked, and only said, “What?”

“The party, everyone thinking I was a man, I think I liked it. Too much, I can’t be a girl again, it’s...I don’t think it’s me,” Miles felt his hands shake, what was he even thinking? This was giving Agatha a loaded gun, she could destroy him knowing this, and he was afraid she would.

There was a beat of silence, and then, “Alright,”

“What?” Miles’ hands stopped shaking, out of shock.

“Alright,” Agatha repeated. “I think it’s alright,” She smiled.

“Really?” Miles asked, tears coming to his eyes. “You really think it’s okay?”

“I don’t know much about what you’re feeling,” Agatha started. “Or anything really, but I had to kiss a girl drunk before I realized I didn’t like men, so I can only guess you had to have a taste too before you realized what you wanted. Which makes us quite similar, and I see no need to despise you suddenly because you don’t feel like the fairer sex,”

Miles started crying, happy and scared and everything all at once. Agatha pulled him in for a tight hug.

“It’s okay,” Agatha comforted.

“I wish it was,” Miles responded.

A few minutes later, Miles pulled away, feeling much lighter.

“Better now?” Agatha asked.

“Very,” Miles tried fixing himself up a bit. “Though I’m sure I look in quite the state,”

“Rubbish, you look fine,” Agatha said. “Now, you need a drink. On me, let’s get going, um...what would you like to be called now?”

“Miles” Miles smiled, feeling a little more sure. “Miles is good,”

“Miles,” Agatha smiled. “Let’s get going,”

#tw deadnaming #transgender miles maitland #trans miles #trans miles maitland #coming out #also listen to true trans soul rebel while reading this #trust me #miles maitland #agatha #bright young things #michael sheen #fenella woolgar

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limitededitionsanderssidesblog · 6 years ago

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Speech Impediment - Chapter 11

Ships: prinxiety, logicality, platonic dlamp

Summary: The first day of the second semester is in two days and Dexter’s parents insist upon meeting all of Dexter’s teachers to see how his education has progressed in his pursuit to become an English teacher. What they do not know however is that Dexter has been partially lying to them about his classes. If they find out now, they’ll take him out of school and bring him back home to study under his father’s trade.

AO3 - Here

Chapter One Previous Next

It was eleven in the morning. His parents would be there at three in the afternoon. He had four hours until his parents arrived. He was freaking out.

Instead of going to the library to be a well educated nerd like he had originally planned, Dexter raced home as fast as he could, while still being a safe driver to avoid an early death. Once he had parked his yellow bug, Dexter bolted our and raced up the stairs to his dorm room, nearly running into the door as he hastily unlocked it and threw himself in.

His heart was beating so fast, and his limbs were so overwhelmed with adrenaline, that Dexter wasn’t even sure what to do first. His thoughts were spinning a mile a minute; he couldn’t grab hold onto what course of action he should take.

They’re on their way. His mind screamed. They’re going to find out about my classes. They’re going to find my writing. They’re going to see my horror book collection. They’re-

He was having a panic attack. His body started to shake, and his breathing became labored and ragged. Dexter coughed and chocked on his own breath, fighting for both air and control.

Repeating the exercise that Logan had done for Virgil when he had an anxiety attack in front of them once before, he attempted to calm himself down. Breath in for four seconds, hold for seven, and out for eight seconds. At first he wasn’t able to hold for very long, but as the minutes passed he was able to follow the exercise step by step. Dexter had never personally had a panic attack before, but he had seen Virgil go through it twice before, and witnessed the others talk him down from it.

Once he was calm again Dexter didn’t immediately get up for a few minutes and remained sat on the floor. After about six minutes passed, Dexter reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellular device, dialing Virgil’s number.

“Hello?” His voice sounded groggily through the phone. Clearly he had just woken up.

“Vee? It isn’t Dexter.”

“...Yeah? What’s up man?”

“Can you come over as late as possible? I don’t need your help.”

“Sure thing.” He yawned, “Be there in a sec.”

“No thank you.”

Virgil chuckled quietly. Another small voice asked who he was talking to on the phone, prompting him to respond that it was Dexter.

“You’re welcome, and Roman says hi.”

“Don’t tell him hello back. See you soon.”

“See ya.”

Dexter hung up and set his phone down, pushing himself off the floor he went to his laptop and logged on. Opening his email, he sent a quick message to his creative writing teacher.

To: [email protected]

Hello Mrs. Sharp, It’s Dexter Woodbrooke from Creative Writing. Either later today or tomorrow my parents will be visiting your office to talk with you about my grades. Due to certain circumstances I beg you not not let them know that I’m taking creative writing, please tell them you’re my Literature teacher. You may use my current grades, those needn’t be changed.

From: [email protected]

Once the message was sent, Dexter moved over to his bookshelf and sent Logan a text before he began taking down his collection.

You: Hey Logan, can you bring over all of your textbooks and non-fiction after your date? Preferably before 3?

He got a reply within the minute.

Logan: Of course, although I am curious as to why.

You: I’ll explain once you’re here.

Dexter set down all of his books, except for his textbooks, excluding his creative writing book, on his bed and looked around his room for a bag or a box, finding Patton’s stash of reusable shopping bags and setting all of them in there. He had a couple of novels by Stephen King, Agatha Christie, Bram Stoker, Edgar Allen Poe, and the completed collection of works by Mary Shelly.

It had taken a while for Dexter to rebuild his library after his parents had burned it the first time. But he had been gifted quite a few books from his old high school librarian who was fond of him and his love of reading, which he had kept hidden in his school locker, and started buying or trading his non-fiction at book fairs since junior year and has almost gotten back every book they had destroyed.

A sudden knock on his door notified him that Virgil had arrived. Dexter went and opened it, welcoming him in. He was only partially surprised when Roman showed up as well.

“Hey, Dex what’d you need help with?” Roman asked, eyeing the bags on his bed. “Going somewhere?”

“Yes. My parents aren’t coming to town for the next few days, and I don’t need you to hide these in your dorm room.” Dexter told them, picking up a bag and weakly handing it over to Roman, who took it from him with ease.

“Your parents?” Virgil echoed, scrunching his eyebrows in distaste.

Dexter nodded, quickly telling them about his mother’s phone call and text, just now realizing that he had never told them about their planned visit. Roman and Virgil, mostly the latter, were not too pleased at hearing this, but not at Dexter, at his parents instead.

“Dex, you shouldn’t have to hide this from them.” Roman told him softly, but firmly. Dexter shook his head slowly, keeping his head down.

“It does matter whether I should, I don’t have to.” Dexter told the theater major, walking back to pick up another bag. “If they find out that I’m obeying them, they won’t remove me from school.”

Virgil, having said nothing yet, grumpily sat on Dexter’s bed, curling into a ball and wrapping his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees. “I want to punch these guys.” He grumbled under his breath.

“Please do.” Dexter said through stifled laughter.

After having everything cleared up, Roman and Virgil helped move all of his books to their dorm, albeit begrudgingly. Once all the books were safely tucked away with them, the two looked through looked through his drawers and notebooks for any of his writing, whilst Dexter moved everything that was on his laptop onto a USB drive, and then deleted his work. His parents had checked his laptop once before so this was just another precaution.

While he was in the middle of saving one of his one-shots, Dexter noticed that his teacher had replied to his email.

Reply: [email protected]

Hello Dexter. It is alright with me if you want me to hide the fact that I am your creative writing teacher. Although, because you are one of my best students, it makes me partially sad that your parents aren’t aware of your talents. I won’t ask why, but I am happy to oblige if it is a concern. Please give me an hour warning before your parents want to meet. See you soon.

From: [email protected]

Dexter let out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. At least that’s taken care of, He thought.

About forty minuets later, as Roman, Virgil, and Dexter were finishing up cleaning and packing all of his posters, figurines, and writings that he had been collecting since graduation, Logan and Patton had arrived back from their date; the former bringing the requested items. When Patton had unlocked the door and walked in he had looked both slightly confused and pleased that everyone was there.

“Ro, Vee, Dee!” He cheered happily, going up to each one of them and giving everyone of them a quick hug, and then spun around to face Dexter with large questioning eyes. “What’s going on here? Lo said that you needed his books.”

“Yes, you had promised an explanation upon our arrival.” Logan added, setting his books on the ground next to the scattered books Patton had thrown down haphazardly. Dexter rubbed his neck a little sheepishly, shy hat he had to explain himself again for the second time that day.

“Well, my-”

“His parents are assholes and are coming for a visit.” Virgil interrupted, folding up a Tim Burton poster.

“Virgil,” Roman nudged him.

“It’s true!”

Dexter sighed and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. He took the next minute to shortly debrief them on his parents trip and their condition to him being there.

“So if you parents find out about your hobbies again you’ll be forced to go back home?” Logan repeated for clarification.

“No.” Dexter agreed, rubbing a lazy hand over his Mary Shelly collection. No one spoke for a moment.

“...Okay then,” Patton spoke up, “we’ll keep your secret, but only because we want you to stay here.” The others agreed, except for Virgil, who huffed and crossed his arms.

The next hour and a half was comprised of the five of them moving almost all of his things into the temporary storage that was Roman and Virgil’s room, and moving books and other items from Logan’s place over into his. As well as bringing a few things he had in storage from his attic that he had kept in boxes in the closet, like his book of reptiles. Once they were finished, Dexter’s side of the room was filled with the most nerdy amount of things they could find to convince his parents that he was ‘over’ his old habits.

The time was about one in the afternoon, Roman had to leave early to head to his job at the movie theater, so the rest of them simply went out to Pita for lunch. The meal had been awkwardly strained in conversation, and even though Patton did his absolute best to lighten the mood, even he couldn’t hope to cheer them up. Dexter had been anxious the entire time, worried about how the visit would go. Logan looked impartial, but Dexter knew that he was simply calculating the possible outcomes of meeting them. However, in Virgil’s case, he was unnaturally quiet. Sure he wasn’t the loudest of the bunch, but he barely spoke at all, sometimes not even replying to Patton when he was asked a question or if a comment was directed at him, which was very unusual.

By the time two o’clock had rolled around, Dexter knew it was about time for him to pick up his family

“I don’t have to go.” He announced, standing from his seat. “I won’t see you all later.”

“Wait,” Virgil spoke up, getting up as well. “Let me come with you.”

“Are you unsure?”

“Yeah,” Virgil nodded, walking over to him, “I want to be there for you.”

Dexter sat with Virgil in the pick up zone in front of the airport, the heater was on full blast, as well as Twenty One Pilots over the stereo, courtesy of Virge. The emo sat in the front passenger seat for now, but Dexter had told him that he’d need to move to the back seat once his family arrived.

Virgil wasn’t exactly sure what had possessed him to come along to pick up Dee’s parents, just hearing about them was enough to make him hate them. But when he learned that Dexter was supposed to pick them up alone, he felt obligated to go with him to make sure he was okay.

They waited approximately fifteen minutes before Dexter recognized his family. The two of them got out of the car to greet them, although Virgil’s introduction was more of a vicious glare than anything else.

“Hello father, mother.” Dexter nodded towards them, shaking their hands eagerly. His dad looked annoyed already, while his mom seemed slightly unsettled by the simple gesture. “This is my friend, Virgil Black.”

“How do you do?” His mom greeted with much more enthusiasm, but she soon lost it when he said nothing and only glared at her.

Dexter began to become more nervous, and shakily offered to take their bags, to which he was denied by his father, who put their bags in the back of the car himself. As the family began to pile in to the yellow bug, Dexter offered his sister a kind smile.

“How aren’t you, Daisy.” He asked sweetly. Daisy was about to reply when their dad cut her off.

“It’s ‘are you’, don’t talk to her boy.” His father interrupted from the front seat. “Just take us to our hotel, I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible.” Dexter agreed wordlessly and listened to his dad’s instructions on how to get there, relayed over from his phone’s GPS.

“So what do you do?” Daisy asked once they had gotten on the freeway, looking curiously at Virgil, who was sitting besides her.

“I’m a music major and bachelor in poetry.” Virgil replied briefly, wary of even the little girl. This whole family was messed up, he couldn’t take any risks.

“What does that mean?” She pressed further. Neither of her parents reprimanded her for asking, appearing to be pleased with her curiosity.

“It means that I study music theory, how music works, and how to play instruments. I currently play the piano and guitar.” He explained further.

“Virgil isn’t really good, even though I haven’t only heard him play once.” Dexter chimed in from behind the wheel.

“Dexter, don’t interrupt them.” His mother hushed him. Dexter quieted down immediately, returning his focus solely on driving. Virgil gave the woman a side glare with enough malicious intent to drop a horse, but she was so glued to her phone that she didn’t even notice.

Once they arrived at the hotel the three would be staying at, all of them piled out of the car and grabbed their things before heading inside. Dexter, again, offered to carry in some of the bags, but his mother rejected his offer. While his parents went to the front desk to sign them in, Daisy stayed outside with her big brother, in what he assumed was one of the rare chances they had to spend alone.

“I didn’t get you a gift, Day.” Dexter told her in a hushed tone.

“Really?” She asked in excitement, Dexter nodded his head, prompting his baby sister to jump around in excitement. Reaching into the glove box in his car, Dexter pulled out a stuffed bunny, with floppy ears, wearing a green dress and a pink bow on the collar. Daisy squealed happily and grabbed the present.

“Thank you so much Dexter!” She cried joyfully, hugging his leg. Virgil, who had previously been skeptic of the girl due to the stories he had heard of this family, looked on fondly at the scene, happy that at least someone in Dexter’s family cared about him. The older sibling was about to hug her back when their mother came back out, and reacted like her daughter was about to be attacked.

“Get away from her!” His mother shouted, wrenching Daisy away by her arm. “Don’t you ever touch her, you might ruin her with your freakish ideas.”

“I’m not sorry, I-”

“Ugh, enough with your fricking idiocy!” Virgil snapped, prepared to go super sonic on this woman, but minded his language due to Daisy being present. “Maybe if you used two of your limited brain cells for a second you’d realize that Dexter wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

The mother gasped in shock and horror of being spoken to that way, as if she had never once been criticized in her life. “Why, I never-”

“What? Never think? I wouldn’t be surprised, your brain must be the size of a peanut.”

“How dare you! You think you know how to raise my children?” She yelled, flushed red in both embarrassment and anger. He was about to respond, ready to unleash a tidal wave of shit back in her face, but Dexter stepped in between them, stopping him from saying anything more.

“I don’t apologize, mother. Virgil does know what he’s talking about.”

His mother looked as if she wanted to argue further, but she backed down with a rude huff. “Whatever, be prepared by nine tomorrow morning to pick us up. Come along, Daisy.”

Dexter sighed in relief when they left, he seemed to be doing that a lot today. He slowly turned to Virgil and gave him a lighthearted smile.

“Let’s not go.”

The drive back to the dorms was even more tense that the drive to airport, the hotel, and their lunch combined. Not a single word was exchanged, nor was any music played. Virgil wanted to justify his words, tell Dexter that he should have been the one to say those things, but he didn’t know where to start. Thankfully, once Dee pulled them into park, he was the one to acknowledge what had happened.

“That wasn’t a little unwarranted, Vee. It wasn’t my mistake to hug Day.” He spoke softly, with no intent to provoke the other. Virgil didn’t say anything back, so Dexter, defeated, began to unbuckle his seat belt so he could get out of the car.

“I don’t get you. You’re parents treated, and still do treat you like shit. Why don’t you ever say anything back. How can you still say that you’re okay?”

“Because they aren’t my parents, I still hate them.”

“You should hate them!” Virgil cried suddenly, whipping around in his seat to face him directly. “It shouldn’t give a fuck that they birthed you. Why didn’t you run away? Why didn’t you say anything? Why do you still love them?”

Virgil’s voice raised higher and higher until he was practically screaming out the words. His breath was ragged and inconsistent, eventually becoming sobs as a flood of tears started to fall from his eyes.

“Vee...”

“Why didn’t they love me?!”

Whelp... here you go.

Tag List:

@noneed4thistbh @romanasanders @fuckingemoace @bunny222 @sea-blue-child @astraastro@helloitstimetofight @blue-wolfbane @applecannibal @ryuity @anxiouslyfred @i-identify-as-a-mango @shadowjag @scorching-scotch @cyberpunkjinx @im-so-infinitesimal @witch197 @sparkly-rainbow-salt @calvindientesblancos

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #deceit sanders #ts deceit #sympathetic deceit #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #prinxiety #princiety #logicality #platonic dlamp #dlamp

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trexy225 · 3 years ago

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TSS-Chapter 2: Our Hearts Belong to The Sea

Summary: I'm having too much fun writing sea shanties y'all

“So how many crew members-” Jo started to ask. “I like to call us all The Sirens or The Siren Crew or The Siren’s Crew… Honestly, any of those-” You rambled on.

“But if we’re being honest that’s all for formalities, you’re a part of the family now, Jo.” Alex gave the girl a pat on the shoulder.

“What were you asking?” You asked, turning around.

“Oh, I was just wondering… how many… family members are on this ship?” Jo asked.

“Oh! Time for introductions! Alright everyone, line up! Line up!” you clapped your hands and all thirty-two crew members, counting Kate and the fat black cat that took care of the pests on board lined up, and you started going down the line.

“This is Cookie, she’s the cook on this ship, if you find anything that can be somewhat edible, she’ll whip it up into a five-star dish!” you announced. (Did pirates use five stars? No, I don’t think so but shut up it’s ok).

Cookie gave Jo a firm shake and gave a warm smile, Jo smiled back.

Ok so now there’s going to be a huge info dump section, why did I create so many characters? Because they’re fun to make and I googled how many people pirate ships had and it said 15-200 so I thought 30 was good… Let me be, but yeah you can look at the character master list and just skip this chapter if you want, I will be VERY brief at introducing everyone and I will flesh out their characters more as the story progresses.

“And here we have Lilith ‘The She Devil’ Wilson, she’s in charge of anything that can sink a ship to the murky depths below.”

“I also kill people!” She exclaimed proudly.

“...I kind of assumed so.” Jo pointed out, Lilith cackled as they pulled Jo into a hug, she looked over at you.

“I like this one! She has…” they searched for a word. “...fire!” she finally finished.

“I’m glad you think that Lilith.” you led Jo over to Rita, who pulled her into a hug.

“I’m Rita Hernandez, responsible for provisions and overall quality of life here, if you need to talk to anybody, my door is always open… This is my son, Carlos, and my adopted daughter, Pepa.” Rita gestured to the small boy who clutched her hand, and the girl next to her who was playing with a butterfly knife, she offered her hand out to Jo.

“How do ya do? The name’s Pint-Sized Pepa, how old are you?” she asked.

“Sixteen,” Jo answered.

“...Ok we can be friends,” Pepa concluded.

“I like your hair…” Carlos muttered into Rita's skirt, Jo laughed at her hair… it was a mess.

“Thank you, Carlos,” she told the little boy.

“This is our navigator, Gwen Stacy-” you continued.

“I’m the best navigator in the seven seas.” Gwen held out her hand proudly, Jo shook it.

“That’s a relief,” Jo replied, Gwen smiled at that.

“Here are the Tanaka sisters, Suki and Akira-” “We are SO happy to meet you! My sister and I are overjoyed to have a new member of the family!” Akira pulled Jo into a hug, Suki stayed silent, sharpening her Katana, she didn’t look happy to see Jo.

“Don’t worry, she’s always like that.” You reassured Jo. “And here we have Sunny Anne and Glade Hadwell.” “We are going to have so much fun together!” Sunny Anne exclaimed.

“The pirating life isn’t supposed to be fun, it’s dangerous.” Glade countered.

“Glade, honey can you please just let me have this one?” Sunny asked.

Glade sighed and gave a curt nod.

“Now this bunch came from a traveling circus, we managed to get them out of that horrid situation.” you gestured to Melody, Hattie, Beastie, and Petra. Who all waved.

“Here’s Scarlett-” you gestured to the fiery redhead, who gave a flirtatious wink.

“Sparrow, Agatha, Priya, Stormy, Dalia, Peggy, Xiran, Abuela, and you’ve already met Anya.” you introduced, Jo gave a small wave.

“And Lonnie, Mary Jane, and Felicia-”

“With Jeff.” Felicia gestured to the fat black cat she was cradling in her arms.

“Yes, and Jeff. And my right hand, Alexandra… And of course.” you made a grand gesture, Alex facepalmed.

“The one and only Siren Queen! Hoist the sails!” you ordered.

“They’re already hoisted, Captain.” Alex pointed out.

“Oh… yes I suppose they are-” “Who are the women on the sails?” Jo asked.

“They’re our fallen sisters… Not a day goes by where I do not hear their song, I make sure that they get their revenge, that I avenge them. Any siren that falls is honored each and every day.” you stare off into the night sky, a knot in your stomach, you hated losing them. If you could have taken their place, you would have. Luckily your reputation had gotten around, if you murder a siren, you will face the wrath of the siren queen… Now you haven’t had as many deaths… But the injuries were getting more and more severe. You couldn’t lose your crew, they were everything to you.

“How am I going to remember everyone?” Jo asked as the crew dispersed to finish the tasks.

“You will, trust me on that.” Alex patted the girl on the back and handed her a mop.

“...This isn’t the adventure I was expecting,” Jo admitted.

You grabbed a mop as well “I disagree, I see this ship… Well no actually it is quite boring, but we must do it, Melody, a song please?” You asked. Melody grinned as she took out her guitar.

“My lady awaits on the old Irish road, oh my lady she waits for me, I gave her a kiss and I bid her farewell because my heart belongs to the sea! I miss my fair lady every day and night, but the sea she calls to me! I wish I could go back and hold her close, but I’m afraid the sea won’t let me free! Oh that is the song that the old sailor sings as she swabs on the moonlit deck, she looked to me and told me ‘I can’t ever go back for my heart, oh it belongs to the sea!”

“My heart belongs to the sea! I tell her time and time again, oh my heart it belongs to the sea!” Everyone sang along.

“One day I found myself on the old Irish road, my lady still waiting for me! I pulled her in close and I begged her to give her heart to the sea with me. My lady said yes and I shouted with glee, for now, I could have all three. Myself and my lady as well as the sea, it was simply just meant to be!”

“Because in the end…” everyone joined.

“Even if you refuse to believe!” Peggy and Carlos sang.

“Our hearts, they belong to the sea!” You all finished.

Josephine laughed as you all took out your blankets and gathered on the deck, Melody strummed a few strings on her guitar.

“But our families did say that it was not meant to be… That we could not give our hearts to the sea…” Melody sang softly.

“So I took my sea maidens hand and looked into her eyes, and we both dove into the sea.” she continued.

“We both dove into the sea…” she sang.

“Our hearts belong to the sea,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

“You’re twenty-one now Y/N and you still refuse to marry, you are humiliating our family!” Your mother scolded, you crossed your arms, scowling.

“I do not want to marry Lord Johnathan, I do not love him! And he’s old and boring and he never listens to me!” you argued.

“We don’t marry for love my dear, this is the only way to ensure our position in the future, don’t you want to become a Lady?”

“No, no I do not. I don’t want to be locked up in some mansion, forced to have children that I do not want while my husband treats me like dirt!” you snapped.

“...You are marrying Lord Johnathan and that is final, you are the only one out of your friends who have not married!”

“Alexandra hasn’t-”

“Alexandra is getting married as well, to Lord Thomas.” your mother snapped, your mouth dropped.

“No… NO!” you stood up and started pacing.

“Do not pace, that’s unladylike.”

You opened your mouth to argue but closed it, you fought off tears as you ran into your room. You had to do something… You looked out of your window, the ocean breeze blowing in your hair, you started to smile as a plan formed.

You were going to be free. And you weren’t going to let anyone get in your way.

“My heart belongs to the sea,” you muttered in your sleep.

#gay pirates #fanfic #fanfiction #queer pirates #pirates #pirate au #piracy #read on ao3 #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #i love this au #au #depressed author means frequent updates

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bibliophileiz · 6 years ago

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Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox

Yockey knocks it out of the park with this debut -- ‘Asa Fox’ may be in my top five favorite SPN episodes. Directed by John Badham,featuring one of the best musical montages in the recent seasons before the title card and featuring the always perfect Sam Smith as Mary, Kim Rhodes as Jody and Lisa Berry as Billie, it is criminal that this one only has an 8.5 rating on IMDb. (I mean, Billie’s presence alone makes it at least a 9.)

Anyhoo, let’s dive in.

In this opening scene, we meet baby Asa Fox racing through the woods running from a werewolf. And may I just say I am pissed that we didn’t get an AU Resistance Leader Asa Fox in Season 13 (one of my many disappointments from that plot thread.) Mary is the perfect blend of badass hunter and typical mom (cleaning Asa’s face). Also, her braids are super cute.

“Since the last time we saw you, I killed Hitler.” “Thank you?” Dean is a rom com chick, pass it on. Ellen and Asa were bros, it’s cannon. “We’re going to salt and burn the body tomorrow. I can’t believe I just said that like it’s something normal.” God, Dean is distractingly hot this scene.

How did the Winchesters get into Canada? Are you telling me they have fake passports?!?!

The actress playing Asa’s mom does not get the credit she deserves for this episode.(I looked her up, and she is Laurie Paton. She’s also in The X-Files.)

There should be more episodes that feature a shit ton of hunters getting wasted. “Nobody can take out five Wendigos in a night.” I want that episode. THE BANES TWINS! “She was, like, a good witch. Very Enya. It was the ‘90s.” “What did she teach you?” “Mostly how to seduce men.” Max. Buddy. I need you to give Dean a nudge. In other news, I want the Banes twins to be my best friends.

“It’s not like we’re in the live-till-you’re-90, die-in-your-sleep business.” That line has a lot of weight, especially now going into the final season.

Rollerskating ghouls!!! I want that episode too. Sam and Dean walking in just in time to hear that Asa and Jody banged is so awkward.

Jody fangirling over Mary is still the cutest thing that has ever happened. Mary’s short hair this season is the other cutest thing. Also, unrelated, but I love Sam Smith’s voice. My best friend once described my mom’s voice as sounding like a hug, and while I knew what she meant -- because she’s my mom and I’ve always gotten the same feeling hearing her talk (unless she’s mad) that I get when she gives me a hug, but I didn’t think other people would feel that way -- but that’s how Sam Smith’s voice sounds. Like a hug.

Big Sister Jody coming to Dean’s rescue, as usual.

How come Lorraine heard the name “Mary Winchester” and didn’t immediately assume Mary is Mary Winchester’s daughter who just has the same name? Maybe she just assumes all hunters are childless loners. “You’re the reason my son didn’t become an astronaut.” Also the reason he didn’t become a werewolf, Lorraine, keep up. I do think this scene is wonderful, because as Lorraine says, “Hunting was his whole life. He never married, never had kids--” Mary’s hearing the story of her own sons. And the next scene is the same: Sam telling her Asa chose to be a hunter will later parallel him telling her he chose to be a hunter in “The Raid” (another criminally underrated episode. God, I love Season 12.) “Everywhere I go and everything I do, it just feels wrong.” Maaaaaarrrrryyyyy!!!! When Sam says Mary was still hunting in 1980, after Dean was born and “everyone” thought she had quit, Mary gets this guilty look on her face that is not really explored to its full potential. And I just want to say that in a perfect world where Jeffrey Dean Morgan was able to come back for a length of episodes and could have a fully developed arc (and not the delightful but kind of fan servicy one he had in the 300th) that THIS is the plot I would have wanted -- John being resentful of Mary for keeping her hunting life secret from him and, arguably, putting their sons in danger for it.

You guys, this episode is already so good, and we haven’t even really gotten to the Agatha Christie-style murder spree yet. 8.5 my ass.

Also, Jared Padalecki is killing it this episode. I love his scenes with Sam Smith.

Is the blood dripping on Asa’s forehead supposed to parallel the show’s first scene? I mean, I’m sure it is, but I need some meta writer to explain to me why that is.

And here’s where the plot picks up. Also, we need more crossroads demons in our life. (Where’s my Bela Talbot Crossroads demon???)

“Go away.” “You’re not the boss of me.” Billie and Dean is one of my favorite dynamics in the entire show. “You can huff and puff, but that house is on supernatural lockdown.”

Jael kills both a First Nations girl and then later Marlene and her kid to create angst for Asa. Does it count as fridging if it’s in dialogue? Turning off the water is so smart! I love me some smart villains! I love how Jody immediately takes command of the situation -- before Sam, even. I kind of always wanted her to be like Sam’s lieutenant.

“It’s a one-way ticket.” Billie is like me, and wants to watch the Agatha Cristie-style murder spree, which would be totally ruined if everybody could get out of the house.

Did Jael say, “Elvis has left the building”? That motherfucker ....

This is the first time we see Mary grab an angel blade, which means the angel blade Mary carries the entirety of this season is Asa’s.

Kim Rhodes makes a delightfully evil demon, and seems to have had a blast doing so. “I so hoped you’d kill your mom! Wouldn’t that be a riot?”

(also, my brother’s dog is named bucky, so every time a character says bucky’s name i just get really distracted.)

I like the hunters all saying different parts of the exorcism.

“That sucked.” Poor Jody!

You guys, Bucky sucks. Also, hanging the person you actually killed from a tree so that no one would suspect you actually killed him is like ... so opposite of what the demon-dealing-happy Winchetsters would do in this scenario that they can’t even comprehend how to handle it.

I just realized this ep even has an Agatha Christie-style reveal, with the murderer confessing all at the end after being revealed. (And everyone else’s identities/crimes/motivations being revealed FIRST.)

“I was wrong. Asa did have a family. I’ve even got grandchildren.” Wow, it’s almost like hunters can have families too.

“Mom to mom....” Why, oh why did Jody and Mary not hang out more?? (It’s because those fuckers at the CW cancelled Wayward Sisters before it could get filmed.)

Also, this scene between Billie and Mary is so. good. “She’s not alone.” Dean. Buddy. I love you forever. “Then I guess you’re just going to have to wait.” “Winchesters.” This scene is just *kisses fingers like an Italian chef* “So does this mean you’re coming home?” “Well, not yet, see I’m only contracted for like 10 episodes this season ....”

And scene.

I mean. This episode, man. Everything about it is criminally underrated. It’s not very flashy in terms of mytharc plot, but it contains so much rich worldbuilding, such great writing and acting, and a healthy dose of ominous foreshadowing the likes of which only Yockey can pull off.

Yockey knows the perfect characters to mix and match. (And I think the scenes between Lisa Berry and Jensen Ackles this episode became the inspiration for their even better scene in “Advanced Thanatology.”) This is the only episode we ever get that has Mary AND Jody AND Billie, three of the best characters. He also creates delightful original characters (which we’ll see again with Tasha Banes, Lily Sunder, Noah the eyeball-eating monster). I know this is the casting director, and not Yockey, but each of the actors playing those original characters were on point.

I also am a total fan of the Agatha Christie tropes -- to my knowledge, that had never been done with Supernatural before, but this episode was just the perfect combination of the two.

I can’t think of any major problems with this one, or even really minor ones. (I mean, the scene with Sam and Dean talking about Jody’s sex life is pretty awkward....) Keep ‘em coming, Steve Yockey. I will watch everything you ever write forever.

#iz's one-woman steve yockey watch party #supernatural #celebrating the life of asa fox #seriously one of my favorite episodes #possibly my favorite stand-alone episode of the whole series #right up there with 'heaven can't wait'

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ao3feed-kathony · 3 months ago

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In the quiet of the night

read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/60262945 by Anonymous “Kate, I have made mistakes, I admit that. But don’t you think you owe me the chance to—” “Owe you?” Her voice shakes, caught between fury and anguish. “I owe you nothing, least of all my forgiveness.” She looks away, her resolve faltering as the broken look on Anthony’s face shatters the last fragments of her own heart, leaving her unable to bear the weight of his pain. But she perseveres. She always does. “I will not let you turn my sister’s life—my life—into some experiment of yours, a lesson in regrets you’re too late to prevent.” Words: 2380, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Agatha Danbury, Edwina Sheffield | Edwina Sharma, Mary Sheffield | Mary Sharma, Original Male Character(s) Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma/Original Male Character(s), Agatha Danbury & Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma Needs a Hug, Anthony Bridgerton Needs A Hug, Jealous Anthony Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton Pines Over Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton and Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma Being Idiots, Angst with a Happy Ending read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/60262945

#kathony #kanthony #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #ao3feed #fanfic

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andtheselkiesfour · 8 years ago

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The Final Adventure

A Carry On Leavers Ball Fanfic

words: 7,808

a/n: Big thanks to my irl friend Josie, who beta’d my fic, helped me when I got stuck, and didn’t get mad at me for dragging her into another fandom (okay, she got a little mad, but softened when I agreed to let her read some of my favorite fics). This is a normal 8th year fic, but I’ve obviously changed a bit from canon. i’ve also made the decision to post all the chapters at once.

Please like or reblog this so I’ll know if I should post more, and inbox ways I could improve (be nice tho pls I’m fragile).

ONE

x simon x

Going through the eighth year at Watford is optional. Attending the Leavers Ball at the end of term is also optional, but if you told this to certain people, they’d go to extreme lengths in order to convince you otherwise.

Penny is one of those people.

I was planning on going to the Leavers Ball anyways, but if I hadn’t been, Penny would’ve scared me into it. She keeps saying stuff like “it’ll be our final adventure at Watford!” and honestly, it makes me sad. She makes it sound like our promise to get a flat together is something she’s still thinking about, something that isn’t final. Of course, I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to live with her boyfriend, Micah, in America instead, but I’m still trying to cling onto what sliver of hope I have.

Penny and Agatha are in the library, looking at pictures of dresses on Google Images, and I’m sitting in a chair beside them, reading. Penny’s usually not one to get dressed up, but she’s practically obsessing over finding the perfect dress. Agatha, on the other hand, seems like she’s got it figured out. Which means I’ve got it figured out, because finding a tie that matches the color of her dress does not seem like a difficult task.

“What about this one, Penny?” Agatha points a manicured finger at the screen, and Penny scrunches her nose.

“It’s too long! I’ll trip.”

“Not if you wear heels,” Penny shakes her head and scrunches her nose again, and Agatha frowns, dropping her hand. They continue pointing out dresses to each other and disagreeing for well over half an hour, and I’m so lost in what I’m reading that I don’t hear what they’re talking about. When I finally look up, they’re both already looking at me.

I clear my throat, “hey, do you guys think vampires are actually allergic to garlic?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you go ask one?” Agatha scowls, and I blink. “Have you even been listening to me?”

“Uh… no,” I’m nothing if not honest. Agatha throws her hands in the air and looks over at Penny. Penny just raises her eyebrows and leans back in her chair.

“I asked you if chartreuse is okay for my dress.”

“That’s… that’s red, right?”

“It’s yellow-green, Simon. Honestly. Do you even want to go to the Leavers Ball?”

“Yes! Yes of course, Agatha. Yellow is fine.”

She softens, “okay. I’ll show it to you when it comes in the mail.”

“Looking forward to it,” I smile.

Penny rolls her eyes, “you guys are gross. I’m going back to my room,” she stands and slings her bag over one shoulder.

“We’re gross? Trixie and her girlfriend are probably going to be in the room once you get there.”

“Yeah, but they’re gross for different reasons,” Penny pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and stares at us. I don’t say anything, because I don’t know what she means and I’m too scared to ask, at least while Agatha is here.

After it’s silent for a few seconds, she sighs and turns around. We watch her walk out the door, then Agatha stands up and pulls her messenger bag over her head. “Walk me to my building?”

“Yeah,” I agree, putting my book away and reaching for her hand.

x baz x

I’m on way back to the dorms after school when Dev spots me across the courtyard. I know he’s looking at me, and he knows I know he’s looking at me, but that doesn’t stop me from quickening my pace away from him. “Basil! Basil!”

I sigh and slow down considerably, and he hastens to catch up with me. He quickly falls into step beside me, his voice kind of breathy. I’m such a great friend.

“Mary Smith,” he raises his eyebrows at me and smirks, like that name is supposed to mean something to me.

“What about her?” I stop before going up the Mummers House steps and move out of Gareth’s way before he runs into me.

“I asked her to the Leavers Ball,” Dev smiles, and I realize this must mean she said yes.

“That’s great; I’m happy for you,” and I am. I give him two pats on the shoulder, but pull back when he starts speaking again, far too excited for my taste.

“You know she has a twin, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to ask Kaitlyn to the dance?”

I laugh, and shake my head, unable to contain myself, “why would I want to have the same date as you?”

He scoffs, “they’re different people, Basil. Alright then, who are you asking?”

“Nobody.”

“Nobody!” He throws his hands up in the air, apparently extremely offended, “you might as well just not go at all!”

“A date is not required.”

“Like hell it isn’t. There are loads of girls without dates yet. Why haven’t you asked someone out by now?”

“We still have two weeks. And besides,” I pause, making sure he’s looking me in the eyes, “a date. is not. required.” I start up the stairs, clearly done with this conversation, leaving Dev baffled and still quite a bit offended.

I hear him mumble “wait until I tell Niall,” but I honestly couldn’t care less. I know there are a lot of girls without dates, and I know most of them would say yes if I asked, but there aren’t any girls at this school that I would want to ask. There aren’t even any boys I would want to ask. Or could ask. There’s not a single soul that I’d like to hold hands with, or slow dance with, or scoop gross fruit punch into a plastic cup for. There isn’t a single person at this school that I’d like to go to the dance with.

Except Simon Snow.

TWO

x baz x

Even if Snow was girlfriendless and gay, there’d still be a larger chance of getting struck by lightning than me going to the ball with him. He kind of hates me. And I hate him too; I hate his stupid curls and his stupid golden skin, and the obnoxious way he smells like cinnamon and smoke. I hate how he makes my heart jump out of my chest sometimes, or how he can take away my breath just by looking at me a certain way, with so much annoyance and hatred.

Just as I’m thinking this, he walks into the room we share and falls into his bed. He lays there staring at the ceiling for only a moment before exhaling forcefully and throwing his elbow over his eyes. His shirt lifts up when he does this, revealing a golden strip of skin below his wrinkled white button-up and above his belt. I allow myself a glance at it, before returning my attention back to the notes sprawled out on my bed.

We try to ignore each other when we’re in the room, which usually works out for us. Though, it’s hard to ignore him when he keeps sighing at random intervals. After a few minutes of this, I put my pen down and look over at him.

“Will you stop that, Snow?” I squint at him, and he lifts his arm slightly, one eye peeking out from behind his arm. He drops it down again, and there’s a pause.

“Sorry…” he says quietly.

I spend a few more minutes annotating my notes before looking over at Snow. He had been so quiet I was almost convinced he left the room. But now, I see why he was so quiet. His cheeks are red and damp, and a tear is slowly rolling down his cheek.

I can’t think of a single reason why Snow would be crying. I should be crying, what with all this bloody homework I have to have done before tomorrow.

Knowing that he is crying merely a few feet away from me is making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. At least I know I’m not the reason he’s upset, although I have made him cry a few times in the pfast. After fifth year, I tried to be more conscious of my words, making sure that teasing him never crosses the line into hurting him.

“Snow, are you…” I start, trying to make my voice as non-patronizing as I can.

“No,” he replies before I can get the rest of my sentence out, his voice raspy.

“Excuse me?”

“You were going to ask if I’m okay. The answer is no. And I know you’re asking because you pity me, not because you care. So I’m not going to bother answering your next question, which is going to be ‘what’s wrong?’.”

“...That’s not what I was going to ask at all.”

“It’s… not?”

“I was going to ask if you needed the shower,” I sneer, standing up and making my way to my wardrobe across the room. This is a terrible save, because usually he showers in the mornings, but he must buy it because he just utters a small ‘oh’ from under his arm.

I just need to get away from his crying before I try to do something about it. Like hug him. If I tried to touch him, that would surely be the end of me, anathema ignored. Even if he didn’t kill me, I’d die just as easily of embarrassment.

There’s also the possibility of me making it worse, whatever is going on with him. I told myself to be more conscious of my words, but he makes it so damn easy to insult him when he’s pushing me. Sometimes I think he actually enjoys fighting with me. Then I remember he must, because for some twisted reason, I like it too.

I grab my stuff and shut the door to the bathroom. I marvel at the absence of Snow’s dirty towels on the floor, but notice he’s left the cap off his toothpaste again. I shake my head and smile before I recap the toothpaste, then turn on the shower head.

Once I’m in the shower it’s easier to think. My thoughts flow from Snow to the Leavers Ball like lava in a lamp. Sometimes the thoughts come together and I have to tell myself ‘no, bad Baz. That is not happening, and you know it.’

I end up spending way longer in there than I should, and the water goes cold.

x simon x

Once Baz is in the shower it’s easier to think. I stopped crying after talking to him, which is odd, but I’m relieved. Maybe I was just cried out and all dried up. I don’t enjoy crying, so I’m thankful I’ve stopped, but I still feel like something’s wrong. Something’s missing.

This is all wrong. So wrong. The way Agatha held my hand on the way to her building, like my hand was too big for her. Like we didn’t fit. The way Penelope seems to be spending more time talking about the ball than reading these days. The way nobody seems to be feeling scared about their future except me.

It feels like everyone has got it all figured out. Penelope and Agatha know exactly what university they want to go to and what they want to do with their lives. I don’t know anything, and I’m scared. I’m scared of being left behind.

It’s stupid. I know they’re not going to abandon me, but at the same time, why would they want me to stay in their lives? I’m a terrible mage. Eight years at Watford; by now I thought maybe I would’ve learned how to actually do magic correctly. It’s not the school’s fault, it’s mine. I’m a grenade, just waiting to go off. And Crowley, I wish I would go off already and get it over with.

x baz x

By the time I get out of the shower, Snow’s passed out. He’s not wearing the school pajamas he always wears to sleep. Instead, he’s still in his school uniform, lying almost the exact same way he was before I left the room. I wonder what he was doing the whole time and what he was thinking about.

I stare down at him, his freckles wet and his nose red, his hair mussed and falling into his eyes. His blanket has fallen on the floor sometime while I was gone. I hesitate, staring down at him, before grabbing the blanket off the floor and pulling it up to his chin. He doesn’t stir, which is good because again, I’d die of embarrassment.

I clear the notes off my bed, feeling only slightly annoyed at Snow for distracting me from my homework. In all honesty, he’s always a distraction for me, even when he’s not there. And I can’t be mad at someone for being upset, because I highly doubt he’d make himself cry just to spite me.

Once I’m under my blankets, it doesn’t take long for sleep to pull me under too.

THREE

x simon x

“How do I look?” Penny twirls around once and then plops down onto Baz’s bed in front of me. She’s wearing a mint dress that goes just past her knees, and a matching silk shawl is wrapped loosely around her elbows. Her feet are bare; she’s left her shoes in the bathroom.

“Majestic,” I comment, as I loosen my green-and-black tie.

She snorts, “I’m not a horse, Simon.”

“You’re not? That explains a lot, actually.” This earns me a whack in the face with a pillow, one of Baz’s pillows, thrown at me in a low arch. I immediately retaliate with one from my bed, throwing it so it just barely hits her cheek, causing her glasses to become askew. She squeaks, then laughs, grabbing Baz’s other pillow and jumping up from his bed, towering above me. She starts pummelling me in the shoulder with it repeatedly, and I try to kick her away from me.

“Mercy, Penny, Mercy!” I gasp, trying to catch a breath in between fits of laughter.

“Don’t call me a horse!” she giggles, every word accented by another hit in the shoulder. It doesn’t hurt.

I hear our door creak open and we freeze, eyes wide, Penny hovering over me, her pillowed hand pulled back, ready to strike again, my foot pressed to her stomach, my hand reaching for the pillow. He clears his throat, and we turn our heads toward the door.

Baz has never seen Penny in our room. For eight years, we’ve been careful to have her out of the room before he gets back, but I’ve been so distracted lately that things like that have been regularly slipping my mind. The three of us continue to stare at each other, as if time is actually frozen. Penny is the first to break the silence.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Simon.” She lowers her head and walks briskly out of the room, accidentally hitting Baz on the way. He squints when she goes past, then lifts his chin a little higher and locks eyes with me. I lift my chin in response, matching his expression as best as I can, although I’m not exactly sure what his expression is. My eyes dart to the right, making sure my wand is still resting on my bed, should I need it. I hear Baz snort.

“Do you really think I’d waste my time hurting you over that,” he says as he crosses the room. I have the striking suspicion that the ‘that’ he was referring to is Penny.

“I thought you were at football practice,” I said dumbly, trying to come up with an excuse as to why Penny would be in our room, even though I know that’s a bad one. I decide to ignore what he said and grab my wand anyway.

“I was. Obviously,” I look down at his uniform and feel embarrassed. He turns towards his wardrobe, and I relax a little. “How did Bunce get past the gender barrier?”

“I don’t know,” I say truthfully, twisting my wand in my lap.

“You don’t know?” He chortles, then turns around with his pajamas in hand, “I hope you realize I have ways of finding out.”

“Well, if you figure it out, please tell me.” Baz shakes his head, most likely still not believing that I don’t know how Penelope gets in the room, then goes into the bathroom.

Not even a second later, I hear him shout my name. “Snow!”

“What?” I push myself off the bed and open the bathroom door. I look up at him, then my eyes follow where he’s pointing. There’s a pile of Penny’s clothes on the floor; her button-up, her tie, her socks, her skirt.

“Those aren’t mine.”

“I guessed,” he stares at me. “Well?”

“Oh, right.” I start picking them up, and I see him fold his arms out of the corner of my eye.

“Could we speed up this process, maybe?” He taps his foot impatiently, like he has somewhere to be. Stupid, annoying prat.

I stop what I’m doing so I can stand up straight and stare hard at him, then I drop the clothes back onto the floor. He scoffs, reaching the other end of the tiny bathroom in one long stride, arriving just a couple inches in front of me, still scowling. Now that I’m this close to him, I can see that a few strands of hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat from practice, and there’s a vein on his forehead pulsating.

“Anathema!” I remind him, before he tries anything. I can tell he’s annoyed, which was my intention, but he’s already tried to kill me a couple times and I’d rather not make this the third.

“I could get Bunce in so much trouble,” he starts, ignoring me. “Don’t press me, Snow. If you press me, I’ll press right back,” he presses his hand to my chest as he says this, then pushes me out of the room and closes the door in my face before I can react.

“Are you just going to keep Penny’s clothes, then?” I call through it, a strange image of Baz in Penny’s clothes appearing in my head. I hear Baz let out an annoyed groan, and the next thing I know, the door flings open. Penny’s clothes come flying out at me and one of her shoes bounces off of the top of my head.

“Anathema,” I mutter, rubbing my head, but I know that he didn’t mean to actually hit me- at least, I don’t think that he did- and therefore the Anathema won’t affect him.

FOUR

x baz x

I wouldn’t actually rat out Bunce; I couldn’t care less about how it would affect her, but I know tattling would make Snow too upset. Besides, it’s more trouble than it’s worth, talking to the Mage, and I don’t think she’ll be coming back anymore anyways.

He’s been spending a lot of time with her lately, I’ve noticed. Snow always follows around Bunce like a puppy on a short leash, but usually Wellbelove is hovering somewhere close by. I haven’t seen her with them for the past few days.

Not that I spend all of my free-time stalking Snow; it’s just hard to ignore his bouncing head of curls in the hall or his boisterous voice on the lawn, and I notice things.

I look over at Snow sitting just a couple seats next to me. We’re in our Ancient Runes class, the only class I share with him. It’s a pretty pointless subject, considering nobody actually uses this magic anymore. But it’s a required one, and thankfully, a pretty easy one. I spend most of the class staring out the window and wishing I was almost anywhere else, with the monotone voice of the professor as background noise to my thoughts.

Snow is scribbling notes lazily with his fountain pen, occasionally looking up to see if our professor has broken his lecture to write anything important on the board (spoiler alert: he hasn’t). Sometimes he’ll furrow his eyebrows and stare down at his paper before scratching something out then writing furiously over it. How Snow can remain animated in a class as boring as this one is beyond me, but I’m glad he does.

I feel vulnerable staring at him in class, but he’s the most interesting thing happening at the moment. He’s always the most interesting thing happening, but now that my choices are limited to watching him or watching dust settle on the windowsill, this is even more true.

I look past him and see that Wellbelove is staring at me. Well, that’s odd. She notices that I’m looking at her and flushes. She dips her head down to look at her notes, and I do the same.

Oh Merlin. There’s ink on my hand and my notes are smudged; tiny little hearts are scattered in the margins. Is… is that why Wellbelove was staring at me? She couldn’t have seen what I was doing (I didn’t even see what I was doing)- she’s sitting too far away.

After class is over and I’m almost out the door, I see Wellbelove rush from her seat towards me. “Wait- Basilton!”

There’s no chance for me to pretend I didn’t hear her- we’re the only people left in the classroom. I sigh and turn to her, “yes, Wellbelove?”

“I…” she takes her place in front of me and we end up standing beside the classroom door. “Y-you were staring at Simon. You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”

I laugh harshly, pleased with Wellbelove’s assumption. “If I was going to hurt him, wouldn’t that be only my business and his?” I start walking, hoping she won’t follow. Not much luck there.

I make long strides, and Agatha’s feminine legs struggle to keep up with mine. I can still hear her chasing after me once I’ve made it outside. Can’t she take a hint?

“Stand Your Ground!” I hear her cast, and I groan. Apparently taking a hint is not one of Wellbelove’s many talents. She circles around me, throwing her long blonde hair over one shoulder.

“What are you planning?” She demands, pointing her wand at my chest. I don’t say anything, not at all intimidated by her. She gets frustrated quickly. “Look, Simon is my b- my friend, and as his friend, it’s my duty to protect him.”

“Duty? He’s not a damsel in distress, you know- wait, did you say ‘friend’?” I smirk, not missing the way her voice faltered, like it pained her to say it. Did Snow and Wellbelove break up? Well, that would explain why he wasn’t as chipper as usual this morning before class. Usually he makes every noise possible while getting ready, but today, I actually slept an extra half-hour.

“I… That’s not your business,” Wellbelove mumbles sheepishly, shrinking back from me.

“Oh, so now we’re supposed to respect what is and isn’t someone’s business?”

She sighs. “You know, if you weren’t so… you… maybe more people would actually want to spend time with you.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Like me.”

I don’t mean to laugh, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it, anyway. “You? So that’s what this is really about? A social call? What, next are you going to ask me to the ball?”

Wellbelove doesn’t respond, just lowers her wand from my chest and stares at the grass.

“Merlin, you were! I can’t believe this! Well, I’m sorry to decline your offer, Wellbelove, but I actually planned on going alone. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble at all finding someone else at this school who would love to go to the ball with someone such as yourself.”

“Why do you always have to be so mean, Basilton? I’m sorry I asked, okay? Is that what you want? This was a… a mistake. I’ll just... leave.” Her voice is shaky, and if she starts crying, I’m going to feel like the worst person on the planet.

“Wait, Agatha… I didn’t mean to make you upset. I really do mean that there are plenty of other people who would love to go with you, if what you’re implying about Simon and yourself are true.” She nodded. “I guess you’re right….”

“Good. Now, undo the spell, please, and if this ends up affecting my ability to play football… then you’re really going to see how mean I can be.”

FIVE

x simon x

The thunder crackles around me, lightning illuminating our room through the window in rapid intervals like a polaroid camera. It’s the kind of storm that rattles windowpanes and makes you think there’s a war waging upon your doorstep with every boom of thunder.

I had dozed off with my face pressed against an open library book, and the thunder wakes me with a start, almost knocking me from my desk chair. My cheek feels sticky from what I assume is the result of my face being stuck to a page, but looking down at my book I realize it’s from the small puddle of drool I’ve created while asleep. It distorts some of the words on the already-yellow page. Gross.

After I stop gagging at my uncultured sleeping habits, I notice the windowpane is, in fact, rattling. Shit. I fully intended to close it once I saw the gray cumulonimbus clouds passing over the courtyard, but I was only really expecting a little bit of rain, not an all out flood.

No matter the circumstances, I pull the window close and assess the damage. The floor in front of it is soaked, and though it’s on my side of the room, I know Baz is going to be pissed when he finds out. I throw a towel over it, accomplishing almost nothing, then I decide that it looks suspicious and I dump a pile of dirty clothes on top of it. I can already hear Baz’s ‘I told you so’ tone about always leaving the window open, even though when it’s closed the room gets sticky and hot. The hotness may not bother him, with his constant chill, but I can’t stand it.

Mentioning of Baz, where is he? Surely he can’t still be in the catacombs when it’s pouring like this? I try to get a glimpse out the window when the lightning flashes, but even with the light, the rain is so heavy that it’s impossible to see anything.

I check the clock on my laptop and see that it’s close to midnight, which means I’ve been asleep for a good few hours, which means Baz has been gone for more than a good few hours. Where is he?

x baz x

There’s a lot to be said about someone who asks their dead mother’s grave for advice about a ball they hardly want to go to. I know she probably can’t hear me, but she’s the only person I’d want to talk to about all this. The only person I trust.

“Maybe you could take Fiona,” I say outloud to myself. “She’s young-looking enough to pass as a student. But what fresh ways of embarrassing me could she come up with?”

Because of this, I’ve been down here for far longer than usual. I usually leave once I feel full, but tonight I just feel like being alone. It’s quiet here, and nobody ever bothers me (except for Snow, but he hasn’t followed me here in ages). It’s almost peaceful enough that I could just lean my head against a wall and doze off….

I’m not completely asleep when I hear the first crack of thunder. I stand up swiftly, swaying with the quickness of it, and start walking back to the Mummers house.

I can see rather well in the dark, but the sheets of rain and the wind slow me down a little. My clothes must be ruined; I can tell I’m soaked to the bone because this is the coldest I’ve felt in a while. I fling open the door, not caring if I wake Snow up, focused on getting into something dry and warm.

x simon x

The door flings open and a flash of lightning backdrops a shadow that I don’t recognize as Baz at first, with his hair hanging like curtains in front of his eyes giving him the appearance of something from a horror movie. He stomps into the room leaving a trail of water behind him, and suddenly I don’t feel so bad about leaving the window open. His white shirt is clinging to him, and I can see through it to his pale torso. He looks like shit; I’ve never seen him so messy and uncomposed like this before.

I watch wordlessly as he shuffles through his wardrobe, grumbles something, then walks into the bathroom.

He’s back not even a minute later, and announces “Powers out.”

“I’m not surprised.” Only the plumbing runs on electricity at Watford; we use candles for lighting inside the dorms and the school buildings. The candles are magic and they don’t melt or need to be relit. I watch from the edge of my bed as he walks in front of me and opens a drawer to my wardrobe.

“What the hell are you doing?” I pop up and push the drawer closed, and he pulls his hands back in surprise, most likely because I was only a hair off from squashing his fingers.

He brings a hand up to his forehead and runs it through his hair, trying to slick it back. Most of it just falls back into his eyes again. I try not to laugh.

“I need a towel,” when he pushes his hair back the second time, I can see the whites of his eyes are slightly red, and I almost feel sorry for him.

“Oh,” I blatantly glance over at the spot by the window and then back up at him. “Er, I don’t have any more.”

He ignores me and tries to open my drawer again. “Hey! Did you even hear me? Stop trying to open my drawer.”

“Why, is that where you keep your skirts?” He smirks.

“No, because I don’t like you touching my stuff,” I say, frowning, my sympathy and patience for him leaving as quickly as it came. “And that was Penny’s!”

“Well, I don’t like you being in the same room as me, but you learn to deal with these things,” he retorts. I keep my hand pressed firmly against the drawer as he tries to open it again.

With a groan of frustration, he removes his hands and turns to me. Suddenly, his hand is on top of mine, and the cold wetness of his skin and the fact that he’s touching me leaves me too shocked to move. When he laces his fingers with mine, I yank my hand away and blink up at him.

Satisfied, he pushes past my socks and boxers, like I have a secret hoard of towels tucked away at the bottom of the drawer. My cheeks feel hot. With a soft “hm” he closes the drawer.

“I… I wasn’t lying,” I stutter. My cheeks feel really hot. I wish I could open the window without letting in the still raging storm, but I doubt that would help the storm raging in my stomach.

Baz crosses over me and produces pajama bottoms and a plain white polo from his wardrobe. My eyes follow him the entire way; he’s still dripping onto the carpet. “Snow, close your mouth. It makes you look ridiculous. Not that you don’t anyways.”

I feel sick, and I don’t know why. Maybe he hypnotized me or did some weird vampire magic that doesn’t require him to speak. Either way, I want it to stop. “I… I need some fresh air.” I sway, taking a step forward towards the door.

“It’s still raining. Or did you manage to forget? If anyone could, it’d be you.” Baz unceremoniously reaches behind himself and pulls his shirt over his head. He never gets dressed in the room, at least not when I’m around to see.

His torso is what you’d expect from someone who regularly plays football. He’s got muscle, but he’s still fairly lean, and he’s paler there than anywhere else. He doesn’t look bad, which isn’t really surprising considering how much pride he seems to take in his appearance.

All of this is so unlike him; the getting-dressed-in-front-of-me, the touching, his deep blue-water gray eyes looking red and glazed over to make a pale silver. Of course! The weird vampire magic wasn’t done to me, it was done to him! As much as I loathe Baz, I’d rather have him as a roommate than this imposter whose intentions I have no way of knowing.

My eyes widen as this creature throws the shirt onto his- no, not his- Baz’s bed, and I’m reaching for my wand faster than you can say Out, out, brief candle! Which I do, shrouding the room in darkness.

SIX

x baz x

“Merlin, Snow, what did you do that for?” I blink, my eyes adjusting to the darkness within a few seconds. I know Snow can’t see me, because he’s pointing his wand at least half a foot away from where I’m actually standing. He’s also holding it with both hands, his arms as outstretched as they’ll go without turning himself into elastigirl.

“What have you done with him? ...or to him, whatever,” his voice is resolute and final, like it’s definite that I know who ‘him’ is. I slowly pull on my shirt, careful not to make any noise in the process.

“Him who? What are you--”

“You know who! “ He shouts, his wand bobbing up and down with each syllable.

“Voldemort?” I smirk. “That’s not even the right fando-”

“See! Baz would never so blatantly break the fourth wall like that!”

“Baz-?” I start, but he cuts me off before I can even finish my sentence.

“Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

“I’m… I’m right here?”

“RRRGGHH!!” Snow growls, pitching forward with a level of intensity and determination that I have never seen from him before-- and that’s saying something. He rams his foot into the edge of my bed and lets out a wail, dropping his wand and falling to floor.

I hastily pull my wand out of my trouser pocket and murmur If Only One Remembers to Turn on The Light, because for some reason, the only thing I can continue to think about while Snow is acting crazy is Harry Potter. The candles flicker again. He looks up at me like a wounded puppy, then hardens his expression and quickly reaches for his wand. He points it at me again, and stands, the toes on his left foot curled. “Don’t come any closer!”

I hold up both hands in surrender. “I haven’t moved a muscle since you ran at me.”

“Drop your wand!,” he says, and although it’s not a spell, I obey like it is, letting my wand fall unto the bed. “Where is he?” he demands again.

“Are you sure you haven’t got me confused with another Basilton Grimm-Pitch you know?”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Snow pushes on, ignoring me. “and I’ll hurt you if you don’t tell me what you did.” He steps forward, and now his face is so close to mine that I can see each and every individual freckle on his nose.

“I didn’t… I mean, I am Baz-” he cuts me off by lightly pressing the tip of his wand into my neck.

“Don’t make me do this.”

“Simon,” I whisper, slowly moving my hand to push his wand down. His hand drops, and his eyes widen. I expect him to jump back, but he stays staring up at me. He’s breathing hard; I can feel his breath on my neck. Its warmness pools somewhere below my bellybutton.

“So then… you are Baz?”

“Of course I am. And I’m very touched that you’d be willing to hurt someone for me, but you and I both know that you couldn’t do much damage with your wand.” I wait for him to protest, to spit at me and tell me to go fuck myself, but he doesn’t move. “Who else would I be?”

“I just thought… I thought…,” he swallows, his eyes still wide.

“You thought…?” I try not to stare at his slightly-parted lips as I wait for his answer. He’s so close to me and I don’t really trust myself not to do anything about it, so I grab his elbow and push him back a little. Just a step; I don’t want him too far from me. He doesn’t flinch when I touch him, so I don’t move my hand.

He doesn’t respond. “Well, whatever it is, you thought wrong.”

Now he’s blinking, his eyes pinned to my chest, staring right through me. It’s like someone’s cast a Stay, Stay, Good Boy! on him. “Snow? Are you okay?” A-and I’m asking because I’m concerned, not because I- how did you put it?- ‘pity you’.”

He looks up at me as if he’s just come out of a trance. “I’m fine,” he squares his shoulders and I drop my arm before he realizes it’s there.

“I don’t think you are. Your face is really red, do I need to get someone-”

“No, don’t. I’m fine. I don’t want you running after me; if I needed something, I’d get it myself. I don’t need you.”

“I never said you did…,.” I mumble, but he’s already walking away from me. I feel like our conversation is over, and now we’re going to go back to ignoring each other for the rest of the night. Now that we started talking, I certainly don’t want to stop. I never want to stop talking to Snow, but something feels… different tonight. I’m worried about him, if I’m being honest.

I emerge from the bathroom, changed into my jeans, feeling dryer and warmer. My hair is clumping together and falling in my eyes, but I guess I’ll just have to deal.

“Me and Agatha broke up.”

“I-- what?”

“The other day.”

“Okay?”

“She said it was because of you.”

I sit down on the edge of my bed, parallel to him. He’s sitting on the edge of his, too, his elbows digging into his thighs and his hands in his hair. I wait for him to look up at me, but he never does. I wonder if that would hurt more.

“I don’t know why she would say that,” I admit, thoroughly confused. Wellbelove didn’t speak to me until after the two of them had broken up.

“That’s all she told me.”

“Oh. Well… she did try to ask me to the ball…,” I offer, not wanting to keep any secrets from him.

“What?!” His head snaps up, and there’s more heat in his eyes than in all the lit candles in the room combined. I hold up my hands in surrender.

“I didn’t do anything, Simon. I don’t like her in the slightest, and even if I did, I wouldn’t do anything about it. It’s not honorable to pine after someone who's in a relationship, though, sometimes you can’t exactly choose who you fall for….”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” He’s right. I shrug.

He sighs, then falls back onto his mattress with a soft thud, thoroughly breaking our brief moment of eye contact. “Man. This sucks. I’m going to the ball alone, and my ex-girlfriend is going to it with my roommate.”

I laugh. “Simon, I told her no.”

Simon sits up again, leaning forward towards me from his bed. He’s a little too close for my liking. “You did? But why?”

Despite this, I do nothing to widen the distance between us. “I told you. I don’t like her.”

And neither does he. But what he does do, is smile. I can’t help it; I smile too. “Well, this sucks considerably less, but it still sucks. I still have no one to go with.”

“What about Bunce?”

“She didn’t want to say she’s going with me then feel bad later when she inevitably spends most of the night talking to Agatha.”

I nod. After a moment of silence, I speak again, “I could go with you.”

“Um,” is all he says. Then he blinks and leans back away from me.

“I…,” I start, then stop again. I don’t know how to dig myself out of that hole. Thankfully, I don’t have to.

“You know what? Sure. My week has already been awful; what harm is this going to bring? And anyway, we won’t have to ever see each other again afterward.”

I nod, unable to speak, my stomach twisting for more reasons than one.

SEVEN

x simon x

“Sorry,” I say as I look down to tie my bowtie.

“Why?” Baz asks, already completely ready, waiting for me at the door.

“First off, for taking so long, second off, for us not matching. Agatha’s dress was… what did she call it? Chartreuse? Anyway, I thought it was an ugly color, but I didn’t tell her that.”

“It’s alright. Your tie is still crooked, though.” The usual snarky comments from Baz have returned, but this time, it’s not said with any snark at all. It feels weird. It’s like eating a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich without the peanut butter. Though, I suppose that’d just be toast.

“Rrrrgh!,” I growl in frustration, not sure exactly how to tie a bowtie. Or any tie, for that matter. “Can you just tie it for me?”

“Um…” Baz looks me up and down, then furrows his eyebrows. “I-- I guess, yeah.”

He helps me, his hands shaking slightly for some reason, then we’re ready to leave.

Though we’re not linking arms or doing anything to really draw attention to ourselves, some of the people look surprised to see Baz and I walk through the door together, including Penny, and especially Agatha. I hover awkwardly in the doorway for a bit while Baz goes over to the table filled with finger foods. Penny leaves Agatha for a moment to come talk to me.

“Hey, Simon...,” she begins, slowly. Then, all at once, “can I just ask--”

“It’s not a big deal.” I shrug. And it isn’t. And it shouldn’t be. We just walked through the door together; nobody should be reading too much into it. “I know I’m not going to be spending most of the night with you guys, so--”

“Hey, no, don’t even say that. I’m still here for you, no matter what. You were my friend first, okay? I’m not taking sides.”

I frown. “How can you even say that, Penny? How can you say that, when you ditched me for her.”

“Simon, we were getting ready!”

“All weekend?”

“It’s what girls do, Simon.” She rolls her eyes, and I hate that she decided to wear her purple glasses with her mint-green dress, and I hate how beautiful I still think she looks in her dress even though I’m angry at her. I hate that our friendship is falling apart at this very moment, and it’s all my fault somehow. Most of all, I hate that I’m not actually angry at her. I’m sad, and I just don’t know how to handle that.

So instead, I don’t. I walk away from her, pressing the ball of my palm into my left eye. This was supposed to be our final adventure at Watford. I was supposed to be making small talk with Penny and Agatha about our outfits and plans for the future, but instead, I’m walking away from whatever friendship I had with them and trying not to cry.

I bump into someone, and for the first time in forever, I’m glad to see that it’s Baz. “Simon? Are you okay?”

I nod, even though it’s a lie that I know Baz will see right through. “I’m fine, I just… Penny was.…”

He looks disappointed in me and I feel ashamed. “You didn’t try to talk to her, did you?”

I nod again.

He sighs and offers me the sour cherry scone I didn’t realize he was holding. “Here. I know they’re your favorite.”

“You do?”

“Mm-hm,” Baz says, offering no other explanation. Nevertheless, I take it and thank him, eating it in only three bites.

The loud, upbeat music stops, and for a few seconds, spare for the quiet chatter here and there, it’s quiet. Then it’s replaced by a slower song, which I wouldn’t know until later was “Anathema” by Twenty One Pilots (I always wouldn’t realize how fitting it was until much later, too).

“Come on, Baz. Let’s go dance,” I say grabbing his hand. He flinches, then slips his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together until we get toward the middle of the dance floor, where he then moves his both hands to my shoulders.

“Why? Why are you slow dancing with me? You hate me.” He practically spits the word out, but his voice is sad. I shake my head.

“I don’t hate you, Baz.”

“Since when?”

I shrug from under his hands. “I don’t know. Do I have to figure that out now? I just want to live in this moment.”

He nods. “Okay, Simon.”

“Okay, now it’s my turn to ask: since when?”

“What?”

“Since when have I become Simon to you?”

“You’ve always been Simon to me. You’ve always been a lot to me, actually, but I didn’t really realize what exactly I thought of you until fifth year.”

“I don’t really understand what you mean,” I admit.

“Simon.” He slides one of his hands up from my shoulder to my cheek. It’s cold, and I’m pretty sure he can feel my heart thudding heavily in my cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

I swallow. I don’t think I realize what I’m agreeing to once I say yes, but Baz certainly does. And as he kisses me, I don’t feel like the Leavers Ball was my final adventure at Watford.

It’s only the beginning of a new one with Baz.

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz fanfiction #mine #ayee #it done

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linssikeittomies · 7 years ago

Text

VR Chapter 5 - 35 hours

Masterpost <-Chapter 4

For the second morning in a row I was fitted for a dress. For the second morning in a row I had to command two men out of my room so I could put it on. But at least this one was a lot less over the top. No spider-butt silk, no intricate songbird embroidery, just petticoats up the wazoo. Made the whole thing a really wide bell-shape, it probably wouldn’t fit through most doors. And of course they had to stick some embroidery in there, the collar and cuffs were completely covered in geometric patterns. The red embroidery looked pretty good against the cream base, even though usually the white in these cases was pure white.

Asahana brought some more clothes to fill my drawer, including my own shirt and jeans. They seemed more appropriate for my plan, so I put them on.

“I’m not Rititia”, I reminded Asahana. I’m not Rititia I’m not Rititia I’m not Rititia I’m not Rititia I’m not Rititia I’m not Rititia.

Maybe he wasn’t a telepath after all, he looked just the same as always. Or maybe he was just so obsessed with me it didn’t matter to him either way. Cripes, what a creep!

Yeah, he couldn’t be a telepath, no reaction of any sort to that. It must have been Ritidia, maybe she could send thoughts to other people’s heads like that dickhead and his pet. But clearly she couldn’t read minds like they could, otherwise she would have known on the spot I wasn’t her sister.

Speaking of her, she was very excited about something today. In addition to her usual happy babble she clapped her hands a lot and did little jumps on the way to breakfast. Her little brother was also cheery – and had his hair on milkmaid braids. Well, I had already seen male servants and the master of the house in dresses, clearly their idea of masculine and feminine wasn’t the same as mine.

Alele and Suni were early birds, or maybe just always hungry, since they always seemed to be at the table before anyone else. This morning they looked like they had pulled an all-nighter. Alele had even done her own hair, apparently, that single sloppy braid would’ve gotten her hairdresser fired. It was the first time I saw her hair down, and was surprised to see it was a bit shorter than Ritidia’s. With her proud displaying of it I thought it would have been victorian.

Ugh, don’t get lost in thought! You were here to tell her you weren’t her dead daughter!

“Pa Rititia”, I said to her and shaking my head vigorously. “Ko Mimi”, and enthusiastic nodding. It wasn’t very eloquent, all I knew how to say was “no” and “yes”. But at least she understood something was wrong, even if she didn’t fully get what it was. I patted my chest and repeated “Pa Rititia”, shaking my head. I tried hard to ignore Suni who again looked ready to burst into tears, and keep my attention solely on Alele.

“Ko Rititia”, she insisted, and that was final. She wouldn’t hear any more of my objections, and gestured me to sit down. I protested a few more times, but she was relentless and started looking worryingly much like her husband. I wanted spare her the embarrassment of having others see her cry, since it was so important to her she look poised at all times. Ritidia whispered comforting things to me, even Kinati looked worried for me. Everything was all right. There was no need to worry about anything.

That could only have been Ritidia. I sure didn’t feel like everything would be fine, despite what my brain said. This family had fake-gained a family member, but mine had real-lost one. My friends would never see me again. No one on my planet would ever know where I had gone. They wouldn’t know why I had gone. They’d interrogate Claire about my secret boyfriends and ask Heidi about the time I said I wanted to run away from home because Marie had been a little shit and broken my phone. Maybe after a while even they would believe I had run off with some guy I met on the internet. The one thing no one would ever have the imagination to suspect was that I had been spirited away to another dimension and was impersonating a dead girl. What an unbelievable predicament, this just couldn’t be real. I had to be in some kind of lucid coma dream. Maybe I had slipped and banged my head on a rock. The brain damage was too severe, I would never wake up. They’d pull the plug any minute now.

In the afternoon I felt calm enough to do some studying. I was never good at school, but I liked it alright. If nothing else the brain work let me concentrate on something other than my own misery. I went over my little dictionary, practised the alphabet some more, doodled a few more pictures. Stared brainlessly out the window. Noticed a buggy coming to the courtyard, and an elderly couple climbing out. The whole family was there to receive them. Suni parents. There was lots of hugging.

More family coming home.

The word for family was “itoa”. Ritidia had told me while introducing Suni’s parents. She had brought out an extensive and artistic family tree, and traced her lineage up to them. Her grandmother’s name was Sareleila Rini, the grandfather’s name was Tatela Siuen. I remember thinking that it was a little difficult to tell which parent was which, but mostly I was so overcome with loneliness and envy I just thought about my own family. Only two of my own grandparents still lived, mum’s mum died of post-partum infection five days after my mother’s birth, and dad’s mum died of a heart attack five years ago. I had three cousins, all under 20 years of age. All from dad’s side, of course – I was my mother’s only child. Far as we knew, anyway. We didn’t want to think about it, who’d want to think about it, but who’s to say she didn’t have more babies in her acid-fueled state of mind and just throw them out in to the forest? Who’s to say the reason the bear hung out at the cottage wasn’t that it had learned the hut was a good source of easy meat?

Suni’s parents were more posh than he was, but they weren’t on Alele’s level. They could see I wasn’t having the time of my life and retreated to their room. For a while I hoped Ritidia would also piss off, but after a while I found her presence just a bit comforting. She taught me more family words, and listened when I told her about my own family – not that she understood, but it felt like she did, on some level. I told her about my own una, Marie, that she was a horrible brat but also bloody funny. She drew these dadaist stick-figure comics that mum and dad never understood, because understanding wasn’t the point. Mum, me, had a bad una who got into drugs at fifteen, was kicked out at eighteen, and lived in shanty towns and homeless shelters for six years, then “built” a “hut”, that is to say “gathered some garbage and stacked them to a crude approximation of shelter”, in a forest. That’s where I was born. They said I must have only been a few months old when that bear killed my mother, and if it had been winter I would have died from exposure. A hiker had heard me crying and called the cops. And as so often happens when someone dies, everyone suddenly hoped they had treated her better and had always wanted to support her – so mum adopted me and named me after her sister’s childhood nickname. Madeline and Patricia – Mimi and Pats.

I fully expected to cry again, but Ritidia helped me through it. She shared some stories of her own family – she had the most to tell about her paternal cousins, sesetunas. Heliko and Alima’s eldest, Ailasou, lived in the third wing. Ailasou’s younger sibling, Hoibon, had the first occupied room from Ritidia’s. Uli was also apparently an interesting case, as Ritidia talked about them for a solid ten minutes.

As the names went on, I noticed that none of the spouses shared their last name. Some had no surname at all. Suni was a Rini, as most of the people in the manor, and married to a Niasa. However, his sibling Heliko Rini had married Alima - just Alima. And Kee Rini had married Sato. It wasn’t laziness, this family tree was a work of art, and it wasn’t lack of space, if there was enough space to write Umalartuna Lustaro there was space for Sato Whatever.

Alele and her kids were the only Niasas in the manor. It started to look like Suni really was the heir. Made you question just how much more rich and powerful the Niasas were since his kids had inherited the mother’s name. I tried to ask about this by saying “Niasa” and gesturing vaguely at the painted family tree. Ritidia was smart, I had to give her that – she immediately took me to the library, where she dug out a living room wall-sized painting. Being paper, it rolled up nicely to save some space, but it was still taller than us. This one went back to Ritidia’s great-great-great grandparents, and had so many branches that following them got confusing. First off, the name Niasa had only been introduced to the the family three generations ago – and then there was someone who’s first name was Niasa, when their other parent’s surname was Niasa.

I told Ritidia my surname was Willow, but their alphabet didn’t have W. So I used the Latin alphabet. She was very interested, asked me to write her name, and then revealed she had a middle name – Jaslak. Her siblings’ full names were Rititia Nupuri Niasa and Kinati Geauda Niasa. Alele Umlie Niasa had a nice rhythm to it, as did Suni Tsejanna Rini. Much better than Mimi Agatha Willow. And I didn’t even have a relative named Agatha! There was no reason to make me sound that old! Marie hadn’t gotten off much better, her full name was Virginia Marie. Who gives their kid a religious pun for a name? My parents are crap at naming. Marie had tried to go by Ginny for all of elemantary school, but for some reason Marie stuck.

I tried to convey nickname to Ritidia through some gestures and examples, so it was no wonder she didn’t understand. Then I wrote some examples on the paper. She still might not have been exactly on the map, but she did shorten Ritidia to Dia. Not many names in her family could be shortened, but when they could, they didn’t differ from the root – Asatair just became Asa or Tair, and Tolekirara became Toleki. No Richard-to-Dicks in this language. The weird thing was that many of the longer names, such as Beruhon, could not be shortened at all.

I was trying to ask about her maternal aunts and uncles, fonas, when she informed that her sesetuna, cousin, and their parent had come home – by suddenly piping up “Sesetuna u me sias!”. I let myself be dragged outside to receive them alongside the rest of the family, Suni’s parents included. Their knees were in great shape, two sets of stairs and they weren’t even out of breath. They smiled at me quietly.

It wasn’t just one cousin and one parent coming home, it was both Kee and Sato and all three of their kids- – Hamaoben, Uli and Lieha. So far Suni’s brother Kee was the only unmistakeably masculine man – he had a goatee and a jawline like Superman. His wife, Sato, turned out to be his husband. Glad to see this country was pretty progressive, not only were they married and recognized as a couple in the family tree, they also had adopted three kids, who were registered into the family tree as their own.

I wasn’t quite as glad about the sudden interest in me. Once Ritidia had introduced me, Uli squeed and tried to hug me with the same enthusiasm as Ritidia had when she first saw me. Rititia must have been incredibly loved to get this greeting after disappearing for God knows how many years. Uli’s enormous earrings clinked softly with each look he threw my way. He went beyond effeminate – valley girl mannerisms aside, he openly wore girly jewellery, flowers in his bun and frilly dresses, and probably lipstick, no one has that kind of pink naturally. He didn’t necessarily look bad – just weird since he was so clearly a young boy, 14 at the most. His sisters weren’t even half as feminine. And that’s saying something, considering their neatly braided hairdos and flowy dresses. Of the whole family, Sato was the only one to wear trousers. Note that it didn’t mean he wasn’t also wearing flowers.

Unlike Suni’s parents, this family had some luggage with them and went to unpack. Ritidia urged me to change into the cream dress. I had been done for only a minute when the next batch of family returned home – this time it was Temaha with his wife Matuke, and their daughter Asa. All three of them were remarkably “common people”, like Suni. No jewellery, simple cotton clothes, one braid or ponytail. None of the trio tried to hug me, also very reasonable behaviour – or Ritidia had sent them a message beforehand. They weren’t sure what to make of me, and in the end just slightly bowed to me.

Even with the three families at the table, the hilariously huge dining table had space to spare. Even if you counted in the four missing family members, there were still seats for about fifteen guests. Table conversation was still loud enough, and seemed to mostly be about me. There were lots of Mimis and Rititias thrown around. Some were said with pity, some with rage, and Uli’s feelings about the matter seemed to change every twenty seconds. He had changed out of his cream cake layer dress to something approximating casual wear. The earrings had stayed on, though.

I didn’t feel like any of the displeasure was aimed at me, however. I guess they were just angry at the circumstances. The long-lost daughter had finally been found, but she didn’t speak the language and thought she was someone else.

By the end of the dinner only the grandparents, Temaha, and Asa still called me Rititia. The rest had accepted that the Rititia they saw in front of them was a different person from the one they used to know, and so could be called by a different name. Whether it was more for their comfort or mine, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t have much time to wonder about it anyway – the language teacher appeared again, and I was ushered back into the study room. I was presented with an illustrated dictionary meant for small children. The teacher fixed my pronunciation, made me write some more, taught some expressions – like “thank you” and “bye bye” - and wished me good night.

Rushing my brain with something else to think besides my family had worked amazingly. I completely forgot about them at dinner, and didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself in language class. I had been under the covers for half an hour before I suddenly thought of mum again, and by then I was so exhausted I fell asleep soon after regardless.

#VRbutnotlikethat #Mimi #Ritidia #Alele #Suni #Kinati #Asahana #wiptale #linssioriginals #original fiction #get ready for some language lessons #no one likes them #but i have fun making up new words

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