#so Her poor bum isn't hanging off

[x22817]

The🛏Bean🛏Bed

It's in the perfect spot. It's just about the perfect height. It seems to be comfy. Herz lays here when I'm out working. The window (sun bonus) looks right out to where my car is so I can see Her when I pull back in!

[ugh154628]

July 5th, 2019. "Cece" posts about video regarding "Ricky" (Sam) and I.

Note: This was days after she began selling my photos and printing one on a coffee mug.

"The person I was with for 2 years, Sam--"

"I wasn't really sexually attracted to him for most of our relationship."

Meanwhile, saying he stopped having sex with him later because he "guilted" her into sex, but apparently she's saying here that she never wanted to and then here, she was lying, as shown before.

"Now that he's got a new girlfriend he acts like our whole relationship was just this fake thing."

"And it wasn't, it really wasn't, we had a great relationship."

Meanwhile (context will come in later posts, if it isn't already obvious with the "guilting into sex" thing):

"And I'm so mad at her, for cheating us out of a friendship because she can't understand the reality of things."

The reality, before we even dated. No one "cheated" her out of friendship. He cut her off on his own:

"Toward the end of our relationship when I wanted more alone time, because I was feeling crowded, I was feeling trapped, I was feeling like I wanted to escape, so I would encourage him go go hang out with his friends, and you know what? He never wanted to."

Relatable, because he thought me being piled in college homework from taking too many classes that were hard for me already (I have dyslexia/dysgraphia, math is NOT easy), working over 40 hours a week between two jobs on top of it, planning music events in between, and dealing with his psychotic ex harassing me constantly on top of it and making me extremely busy/exhausted meant I didn't love him anymore or some shit:

"I'm being treated like I was some master manipulator, like I planned our whole relationship and you know, paid for literally everything for the first year and a half--" / "I was the only one with a job the first year and a half of our relationship."

And meanwhile, one of the many recent posts by "Cece" regarding me being a bum and somehow taking his money from him or forcing him to spend money on shit, a few as examples:

And also, my actual experiences:

- One of the few times I asked him for help was around the time I started a new job and needed help paying for the car insurance / registration renewal. Because So we could BOTH keep using MY car to get to our jobs or other shit. He also used my car for nearly 2 years and I normally paid for the insurance fully by myself, as well as the title. Him using my car just as much is also why we split the cost of gas. When he helped me once, it wasn't for the entire cost either. By 2021, it was the only time I actually asked for help with money. Any other times it was him willingly buying me things without me even asking.

- We were splitting the groceries when we lived at his parents, but then, we ultimately stopped splitting the groceries after maybe a year of living together in our rental, because he said he was "too broke" to buy groceries. Even though he was spending like $30 dollars on Papa john's home delivery a night (I can't fucking eat that shit anymore by the way, stopped way before the first year of living with him because it started to disgust me), and he probably another $30 a day on Jimmy john's to work as well as energy drinks. I was using a $30 tub gfuel in 45 days, buying microwave meals and real food, and saving a shit ton of money doing that. Also, those dinners he cooked that "Cece" posted about, saying I "never came home to eat it" because I was "fucking other dudes"? I fully bought the ingredients to that shit. But REAL quick before anyone continues reading, check this out regarding THAT dinner:

Anyways, I was still letting him eat half the food I bought. Even though I was fucking buying it all.

- Not to mention, "Cece" talks about me having poor decision making skills? Nah, I would say he was the one with the poor decision making skills because he got a fancy car with a 300 dollar payment and expensive insurance before even moving out of his parents. Not accounting for an eventual house or rent payment in his future, as 23 year old. Meanwhile, I got a slightly older and reliable car (2012 Toyota) with a longer loan life and 160 dollar payment. I was approved for a $280 dollar car payment but I chose not to max it. Because I was realistic about my financial position and allowed for a buffer for other bills or emergencies, as well as occasional fun stuff. Because I actually balanced my priorities properly and matched my finances accordingly. I wasn't made of money, I had some rough moments regardless, but I was able to be a little less broke than him (EVEN THOUGH HE MADE MORE THAN ME MIND YOU) by being more careful with my spending/chosen debt - to avoid the type of misery his financially inept ass landed himself in. Also, his credit card debt first accrued when he drop thousands on building a PC, fast food, and multiple $4 dollar single drinks a day and it sure as hell wasn't paid down by the time we moved out a year later.

"Ricky" was having friends over a lot around this time, and giving away the food when I was spending the money on it without asking, so I asked him if we could chill on having people over a little. It does make me feel bad to say no to our hungry friends when they hang out and I wouldn't say no to them, even though we needed to, which I get. But not when I'm NOT the one spending the money on the food whatsoever. But the thing is, I was spending the money on that food anyways and I was trying to be careful. I definitely was not in any position to help people like that right before Christmas, needing to renew my car's title, etc. And I'm not obligated nor will I be expected to throw myself under the bus without being asked either.

So yeah, he would give food to our friends when I wasn't home a lot. When I was paying for groceries for BOTH OF US by my fucking self. And when I couldn't afford to feed a bunch of fucking people. Which is why those messages even happened, although I didn't come at him directly about it. Just said I didn't want people over as much. I felt disrespected as fuck by it though because he was going saying how "broke" he was but not helping me get any of the food, and THEN, gives away what I WAS BUYING FOR BOTH OF US to others as if he has any fucking place doing that let alone assume I'm okay with that then, do it without asking.

Also, I was the only one cleaning up after guests every time. I was extremely busy and got sick having to deal with messes every day, which could ultimately be minimized a little bit if friends came over less for few. I was the only one really cleaning in general, while I was working full time and in school. I would also come home to a dirty house, him never doing his half of the chores for WEEKS, complained or ignored me when I asked NICELY, until I ultimately caved and just did it all myself. To top this off, he claimed to be mowing/trimming our yard and the neighbors with the mower and trimmers they let us use. Come to find out the following spring after we broke up, he NEVER did. I got a letter in the mail from my disabled neighbor who's husband had died awhile back, asking for her trimmers back. I ultimately went over and asked why she wanted them back since the grass started growing in her yard, and apparently, he never did the yard work like he said ALL THE WHILE telling me he was mowing both ours and the neighbors yard "just to be nice" LOL. Never happened. Fucking disgusting to not only lie about helping someone with their yard, but lie about helping someone disabled and abandoning them with a mow job that takes literally 15 mimutes a week. I did it. I would know. And I still have the letter she gave me.

And oh, I'm sure he's doing a great job of doing all of those things for "Cece" now. Wouldn't be the first time a manipulative narcissist treats other people in their life better to make their exes look crazy. Classic deception.

AND coming home to meals/my half of the leftovers I planned on eating, to save money, as well as all the snacks and desserts - gone. He would eat every single snack in a matter of days before I could even have ONE. So, I had to keep re-buying groceries for me, AS WELL AS BOTH OF US, last minute and unplanned for in my budget, which made ME even more broke.

- He also got over draft fees because he wouldn't leave the house and go to the bank to deposit the cash I gave him once, he had several days to do this, which fell back on me. I had to give him 50 and work with $30 for gas (when my tank was almost empty), food, etc. for 2 days.

So please, tell me... who was impacting who financially again?

"He's been fake in a lot of ways. It's true."

"Some of the shit that's come out of his mouth, like our whole relationship -a two year relationship- that was phony..

He would have never said that to me before her."

"When you told me he didn't want to be friends, you know like when I started dating Brody.."

"I did tell her that I will never forgive her, and that's the God's honest truth...

...it really is."

You are a creepy, obsessive, manipulative, stalking, and lying ass bitch. Eat. Shit.

Next post here:

[thewriterowl]

Can you write something for new hope luke and dark din

Luke hearing from Biggs that there was a very intimidating Mandalorian on Tatooine; "hear he is a bounty hunter. But he just seems different you know? I'm leaving today so you don't have any one to look after you...so stay away ok?"

Luke tries to, he doesn't want to break a promise to his only friend or worry anyone but he is so curious. So he goes into town to take a little peek at this terrifying man and is awe struck....it's hard to miss the man who stalked the streets so confidently and had such an air of danger to him. Everyone in the streets avoided him, kept their heads down, and made sure not to catch his ire. By the time Luke makes his way into the town, there was already terrifying stories about him and that he was hired by the Hutt's but even they seemed unsettled with him. Something about him was...off. Scary.

Luke was still very curious but kept his distance.

Sadly, he decided to visit Motto's garage to see if there were some power converters he could trade so he could try and get his own speeder (which was about five generations old) and get it at a better speed. Sadly, she doe not; all her focus is on the highest paying customer she's had in ages. He is bummed but happy for her to have such a high paying client.

As he is leaving he runs chest first into an armored man. Arms wrap around him, keeping him steady, and he gasps to see the feared Mandalorian who looks at him and then breathes out, "mesh'la."

Luke squeaks out an apology, thinking this is an insult, and made a move to leave but was gripped on tight.

"Where are you going, sweetheart?"

"U-Uhm. Home, sir."

"Hmm...not right now you're not."

And then Luke has to hang out with the guy for a few hours. Luke is surprised to find he isn't too bad, a bit intimidating, sure but was funny with a dry wit and was weirdly kind to Luke, buying him power converters, and the most expensive treats on Tatooine, giving him credits to give to his family (and no matter how hard Luke refused, the man will not let him say no)

Luke is let go but with a dark promise, "I'll see you later, cyar'ika."

Just a day later the man arrives and tells Owen he is there to pick up his bride. That throws the family off and Din says he has provided a dowry and will provide more given his status but he will be marrying Luke and taking him with him now. And there is a clear threat there and Luke knows if he does not do as told, his family could be in danger--but by agreeing means they would be protected...there isn't much choice and so he agrees.

Luke is swept away from Tatooine and brought to Mandalore where he is informed that the man who has demanded his hand is actually the king.

Luke is tracked constantly. he cannot dress in something simple or cheap, he is expected to be at his king's side and support him while also being pampered senseless, he is to raise their children, and just...it is a lot of traditions he is told he must take but his family will be forever taken care of because fo him and they may even come and liv in the growing city if they so wish.

Poor Luke is just made to be a beautiful prop that is adored by his husband and people but has almost no freedom or control in his life.

At least when things get rough with the rebellion, Luke just has to ask and Din is providing assistances...which helps them take down the Galactic Empire...but causes the rise of the Mandalorian Empire in its place.

[100yearoldcomics]

March 5, 1922 Bringing Up Father by George McManus

TOP PANEL [ID: Jiggs clutches onto a crescent moon as he undergoes a barrage of rolling pins thrown up at him from the ground. /end]

MAIN CONIC [ID: Maggie admires her reflection in a hand mirror while Jiggs sits on an armchair behind her, reading a paper and smoking a cigar unhappily. /end] Maggie: I'm so excited! Lady De Bility is coming to call on us this morning. Maybe we'll get into her set! Jiggs: It's bad enough to live in her city!

[ID: Maggie screams as she sees a man lift himself up on their windowpane. Jiggs catches her as she faints backwards. /end] Maggie: Help! Look! It's a burglar! Jiggs: If it ain't Finny Bones, I'm a goat. I didn't know he wuz out of jail! He ain't a burglar. He's a second story man!

[ID: The Jiggs' butler announces a new guest. Maggie prepares to beat them as Jiggs wrings his hands. /end] Butler: Excuse me, mum, but there's a queer looking person at the door and... Maggie: I'll attend to him myself! Jiggs: If it's Finny an' he's comin' to see me, I'm sorry for him!

[ID: Jiggs sits worriedly in the living room as he overhears Maggie's fight. /end] Finny: H-E-L-P! LET GO ME NECK!! HELP!!! LETTUP, LADY!! Jiggs: Poor Finny!

[ID: Maggie returns to Jiggs, threatening him with a rolling pin. Jiggs falls off his armchair onto the floor, cowering before her. /end] Maggie: As for you, you big bum! Just think! That loafer might have come here just while Lady De Bility was here. I'm tired of talking to you. Jiggs: I git just as tired of listenin'.

[ID: The butler returns. Maggie points at Jiggs, implying he needs to straighten up. /end] Butler: Lady De Bility! Maggie: Brush off your clothes, put on your coat, comb your hair and fix yourself up! Jiggs: It'll take a doctor to fix me up, I think me neck is broke.

[ID: Maggie delightfully greets Mrs. De Bility while Jiggs stands sadly behind her with his hands in his pockets. /end] Mrs. De Bility: Oh! Mrs. Jiggs, won't you join our committee to help men who come out of jail! Maggie: I'd be delighted! Jiggs: I wish she'd git up a committee to help me git out at night!

[ID: Mrs. De Bility sits on the couch as Maggie sits in front of her on a stool, uncomfortably. Jiggs stifles laughter next to her. /end] De Bility: I sent one of our subjects to see you: Mr. Finny Bones. Did he tell you his interesting story? Maggie: Er, no. He-- he hasn't. I haven't talked to him yet!

[ID: Jiggs whispers in Maggie's ear. /end] De Bility: Well, you must hear his life's history. Life has been a hard fight for him. Jiggs: I think I kin git him for you, Maggie. I know where he hangs out.

[ID: Jiggs walks into Dinty Moore's place and talks with Finny. Finny, beaten and bandaged, sits on top of a wood stove. Three other men (including Dinty) sit around a card table, playing poker. /end] Jiggs: Say, Finny, Maggie wants you to come back to the house with me. Finny: I'll go under one condition. Tell her to give you fifty dollars in advance.

[ID: Jiggs talks to Maggie, who stands on a marble balcony, giving him the stink-eye. /end] Jiggs: He says he'll come over fer fifty dollars, not a cent less. Maggie: The brute. I suppose I'll have to pay it.

[ID: Jiggs happily joins Dinty's poker game. /end] Jiggs: If anybody phones for me or Bones, we are not here. Dinty: That's the easiest money you ever made, isn't it, Bones? Finny: When you go home, Jiggs, tell her the reason I didn't show up. I wuz holdin' out fer fifty more!

[fckwritersblock]

Act 1: While We’re Young

Chapter 5

Erik ‘Killmonger’ Stevens x Black OC

(Unedited.)

Tuesday

January 10th 2005

Last night was the only night I'm allowing myself to cry over him and his 'return'. What good would it do me? No, I was gonna take Erik and whatever he had to throw at me by storm.

Waking up the next day, I feel refreshed. Like a brand new person with a more positive mindset. Today I had 3 classes and I'm determined to have a good Erik free day.

That whole Erik free thing went out the window as soon as I got to my first class.

Double O Computer Programming 1 was a junior class, however I'd taken it during the summer during my first year at UC Berkeley. DOCP 2 wouldn't be available until next semester but I needed to have a class since this was my first year on the actual campus. Thankfully Miss Hill really needed a T.A and the fact that I could help with an algorithm that tied into thermal nuclear astrophysics had her sold.

Right after I finished taking attendance, she barely got a word out before the door swung open revealing Erik as our late comer. I quickly glanced at the sheet in front of me, scanning for his name. I was so use to calling him N’dajaka when we were kids, I completely skipped over ‘Erik Stevens’. I huffed rolling my eyes, arms crossed over my chest. His timbs were the only thing heard shuffling across the room making hid way toward the front of the class. Wordlessly he handed Miss Hill before his eyes were on me. They scanned me from top to bottom, before locking with me a smug grin on his lips.

"Hey Lona," my jaw dropped.

Before I could get out a word, Miss Hill opened her mouth, looking up from the paper he handed her.

"Welcome Erik, sorry for the confusion."

"It's all good," he shrugged.

"Im Miss Hill, and I see you already know my aid. As I explained to the class prior to taking attendance, If I'm unavailable feel free to email or call her during the hours listed on the sheet." She is then took a sheet from me and handed him to me. "Other than that, find a seat."

He nodded pretending look over the sheet before averting his gaze back on me.

"I'm definitely gon do that."

Fuck my life right?

Well, Erik just so happened to be in the Calculus class I skipped two days ago. I thank God my record was squeaky clean and Mr. Kennedy accepted my poor excuse before I was quickly reminded the man upstairs has a sense of humor as the only available seat was next to Erik.

"The person next to you will be your partner for the remainder of the semester so let's take the next 15 minutes getting know one another hmm?." Mr. Kennedy instructed.

I couldn't suppress the groan that slipped as Erik casually leaned back in his chair, examining me.

"You heard the man, get to know me."

"I know all I need this know about you Erik."

"Oh so I'm Erik now? Like that?" He spoke cool, calm, and collected like our exchanged was normal.

I gripped my pencils tight, my knee bouncing up and down my body tense.

"Let me set things straight now. We don't need to talk to one another. If it doesn't have anything to do with any of the classes we take together, don't want to hear it. When you see me act like you don't know me. We clear?"

The expression on his face was unreadable before his lip twitched slight him responding.

"Crystal."

Wednesday

January 24th, 2005

It had been two weeks since Erik showed up here.

Ok that's a lie.

Apparently this man has been here. And to top it off, this mans name was in every bitch mouth like the second coming of Jesus Christ. From what I've observed though, he doesn't say much, or gives any of these broads much attention. He don't say much in general actually, he's really good at blending in. He got that laid back, mysterious, bad boy vibe going for him and these females out here hella into that.

But when he opens his mouth, that cocky bastard sure knows how to disrupt my entire soul at least while we're in class.

Outside of class though, he acts like I'm invisible.

It was like he never knew me. And honestly, I don't know how to feel about it. I know that's what I said I wanted but it bothers me just the same.

Today in particular though, he argued me down during our Calculus class. We had one problem to figure out before we could leave class today. You and your partner were supposed agree on the answer, and heaven forbid he just agree with me so we can get out of here. Math was always my subject when we were kids, nothing has changed. I was damn near about to say fuck it when he started laughing.

What in the entire fuck it so funny?" I was fuming.

"You," he shook his head. "You really hella mad."

"Um, YES!" I damn near shouted fed up. "You literally been tryna convince me it's 5 when it's-"

"Chill. I know the answer is 3 girl. C'mon, let's go." So smoothly he closed the book, grabbed his bag and headed to the front.

I was so upset, I had to let him do all the talking when it came to explain to the teacher I'll answer and how we got there. I know I open my mouth I wasn't going to say anything nice.

"Girl what crawled up your ass and died?" Donise questioned with a stank look as we sat at one of the benches outside of the library.

"Yeah What did Erik do now," I could hear teasing in Tatiana's tone so I flipped her off.

Only giving a brief explanation, I went on a mini rant about what happened in class 20 minutes ago. Donise's thought it was funny, while Tati just shook her head.

"I still can't believe it him," Tatianna glanced as a group of guys from across the quad headed our way, Erik included.

"Yes, and I wish it wasn't."

Tatianna was the first real friend I made in a while. I was actually tutoring her online for a while before she found out I was 4 years younger than her. Our friendship started off as a trade. I was her tutor and she both convinced and enrolled in a mentor program to help me with my social skills. I didn't speak to anyone much when Erik left, but I got into a lot of fights. According to the school counselor I was taking out my anger and abandonment issues on.I have meds to tame the anger, and while I haven't had to take them in a while Eric definitely bring that anger out of me.

"Girl that's just sexual tension. You got to fuck all that out." Ashley put in her unwanted two cents.

"Trust me when I tell you on God it isn't."

"Well if you out to holla, then trust and believe I will." She tossed her hair over her shoulder

I didn't really mess with Ashley like that, but she was Tati's frat sister which made them 'friends'. That little thot pocket will screw anything with legs, D, and a pulse and I'm not bout that life. Plus she messy as fuck and I don't trust her as far as I can throw her.

"I don't doubt it," I smirked as Donise said exactly what I was thinking.

Donise was coo' though, I meet her when I first got here 2 months ago. Believe It or not she was apart of the welcome comity for MIT and turned out her and Tatiana were already friends. Once she figured out  who I was, I was shot to the front line during registration and everything.

"Anyways, y'all going Ant and them party tomorrow?" Ashley questioned probably tryna bum a ride.

"What party?"

"The Que's," Donise answered. "The dudes with Erik are frat."

Now this was news to me. I met most of them before but I had no idea there were in a sorority. Examining them, I guess it all made sense. Most in the clique sported some sort of purple and yellow lanyard either around their neck or on their keychain that hung from their jean pocket as if  they wanted everybody to know who they were. Which I wouldn't doubt.

"Ladies! What we chattin about?" Moses questions every bit of his thick English accent tapering off every word.

"Our plans for mañana," Tati answered l

"Word. Y'all coming to the party tomorrow?" Jay spoke playing with a few strands of Donise's curls.

"Tomorrow? It's Thursday." I said confused. "Ain't there class the next day?"

"What's the matter, you can't hang?" I glared at Jay, knowing he was only chastising me because him and Erik were close, according to Tati.

I swear to God men gossip more than women do. Rolling my eyes I spared Erik a glance and he looked like he was waiting on me to respond.

"Oh, I can definitely hang."

I couldn't hang.

Around midnight I was  in the bathroom throwing up everything, damn near hug in the toilet as my surrounding looks so blurry and I can barely function. Im not sure when I'd finally finished, but I could feel someone picks me up and out the bathroom and soon everything goes blurry and then black.

Tag list: @kitesatforestp @xsweetdellzx @justgetitoverwith0 @letsshamelessqueen-m @cmkcolove @readingaddict1290

[danceworshipper]

Aight fuck it sexuality swap au where Gracie/Charlie Tessa/Chiara

Gralie

- Charlie ends up crushing on Gracie in the beginning of second year when she and Tessa become friends with Bill. He knows immediately that it's a crush too because I feel like this kid is super in tune with his emotions so he pulls Bill aside and tells him and Bill laughs at him, realizes he's serious, and apologizes because yikes Gracie's rough around the edges

- It's a cute little crush though, super innocent, and Gracie just "uh, you're Bill's brother, right? sorry, what was your name?" stomps on his heart when he tries to talk to her in class

- But then they end up partners for a Charms project so she kinda has to talk to him (sidenote Flitwick paired them together because he knew about Charlie's crush my guy's a wingman)

- Gracie actually loves it when Charlie goes off on one of his many tangents about dragons because dragons ARE super cool, why do people say this kid is weird??? And she ends up taking him into the little friend group

- They hang out a lot after that and Gracie watches all his Quidditch matches - she only cheers for him when Slytherin isn't playing though, because she's not going to cheer against her own sister

- It's a strictly platonic relationship until year 4. Charlie's crush on her gets stronger but he hides it pretty well, and he's basically committed himself to a life where he'll have to watch her love someone else because he's just the silly dragon guy and she's a warrior who deserves someone as cool as she is

- Gracie teases him about his little ponytail one day after he starts to grow his hair out and Charlie just *heart eyes* at her, and Gracie starts to realize hey wait Rowan does he like me oh no I think he likes me what do I do and poor Rowan has been watching this trainwreck for years wondering how Gracie only just figured it out

- Gracie sucks at emotions. Once she realizes Charlie had a crush on her she stops hanging out with him as much because she just doesn't know how to act anymore. She doesn't want to encourage it, she doesn't think; it makes her feel weird thinking about kissing him, but she doesn't know how to let him down nicely. Rowan is hitting her head against the wall because her best friend is an oblivious idiot

- The Celestial Ball comes around and Charlie is super bummed out because the robes his mother dug out of storage for him are hideous and it's not like he can buy new ones, plus Gracie isn't talking to him really so he just decides to not go. But Gracie finds out that he's not going and it makes her sad? She doesn't really know why but she decides that she has to force him to go like she did with Rowan and Ben so she gets him to admit why he won't go, and Gracie's stupid rich kid self just buys him new robes that maybe kinda match her dress but not really because that would be weird haha why would she want to match, and Charlie feels like he has to go now even though he feels bad taking the gift

- And obviously when he gets there and he and Gracie are totally matching he freaks out a little, and he's terrified but she had to do that on purpose right?? So he asks her to dance and she says yes and doesn't know why she feels really weird again Rowan help

- But that's how they get together. Gracie gets a metaphorical smack to the face while she's dancing with Charlie and figures out that he makes her feel weird because she likes him, and she blurts it out like an idiot right then and there

- There's some drama throughout the years obviously because they're cursed teenagers but the first kiss happens in the Portrait Vault after Vance skidaddles. Charlie just looks so damn sad for her that Gracie forgets about her brother momentarily, and by seventh year they've started making plans to move to Romania together

- And that's exactly what they do! A year or two after graduation the two of them get jobs over there at the dragon sanctuary (Gracie as a team Healer) and they get married a few years later. All of Charlie's drinking buddies are always excited to meet Gracie because this guy gets drunk and then literally only talks about his wife, so this woman has to be special. Also Charlie takes her name because he wants to be fully hers (simp(same though))

- They don't actually have biological kids because the nature of their jobs felt too dangerous, but one of their friends gets killed and leaves behind nine year old triplets, two girls and a boy, and Gracie goes off and demands custody of them before Charlie even finds out his friend is dead. The kids' names are Sorina, Elena, and Florin

Tiara omg that name

- Just like in normal world, Tessa is the one to find Chiara when Fenrir attacks the school. She figures out Chiara's secret way before the girl tells her, but doesn't even tell anyone, even her sister

- Chiara tries to push Tessa away, even after Tessa proves multiple times that she's not scared and that she truly wants to be Chiara's friend. Eventually Chiara gives in, but refuses to hang out with Tessa in a group setting. Then when Chiara figures out that Tessa literally told no one about her being a werewolf (because who wouldn't assume Tessa told Gracie?) she decides that Tessa is the best person she's ever met. A little while later she comes clean to Gracie, Rowan, and Liz and the five of them become good friends

- Years pass. Tessa gets really attached to Chiara, and Chiara grows a little more open over time but she still mainly hangs out with Tessa, and they get mistaken for a couple a few times but they laugh because the idea is absurd LOL but also they do kinda act like a couple. They go on picnics and sit cuddled up under trees and hold hands with tightly interlocked fingers for Merlin's sake

- Sixth year Tessa forces Chiara to audition for the school play with her, just for fun, she said, we'll never actually get cast, she said. The play has nothing to do with that dumb tlsq btw, but it's a play based off of the many fairy tales where a young girl has a terrible life and whatever. But then uh oh, Chiara gets the lead and now she's freaking out, so Tessa helps her practice her lines. And Chiara is a brilliant actor, mind you, so Tessa just completely forgets to read the next line sometimes because she's in awe of Chiara's delivery

- One of the scenes is a marriage vow scene (because fairytales are weird and have kids get married) and Tessa feels so flustered doing that scene with Chiara, and she shouldn't because they're just really good friends but maybe Tessa might want to be more than that???? And Chiara is really into the scene, like her performance feels really really real haha but it's definitely just acting haha right??? And Chiara figures her crush out during this practice too, and one time she has to jerk herself away from Tessa because she almost leaned in to kiss her - gay panic all around

- The play goes flawlessly, and Tessa's in the front row cheering her damn heart out when it's over. She also feels really flustered because the vow scene didn't look quite as good as it did when Chiara practiced it with her

- Chiara gets overwhelmed at the afterparty so she leaves early and goes outside by the lake. Tessa finds her there and sits with her for a while. Then Chiara gets an odd look on her face, and she's blushing, and she makes Tessa stand up with her and she takes Tessa's hands

- She starts saying the vows again. But she's not using the character names, and then the line about something that happened in the plot is now about Tessa saving Chiara from herself when she didn't take her potions that one time, and Tessa can't breathe anymore and doesn't know how to talk and cuts Chiara off in the middle of a sentence by kissing her

- They get married directly out of Hogwarts, and they move into a cozy home in a secluded area where they can keep their creatures. Tessa still does her Quidditch stuff like normal world and Chiara works at the ministry for a little while doing creature stuff, and when Kettleburn retires she applies for the COMC Professor position. They end up in a magazine together as Cutest Celebrity Couple once

- No kids, just creatures and being the cool gay aunts to Gracie and Charlie's kids

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter II: The Woman In Beige

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, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Author’s Note: If you have any questions or concerns about these warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

-Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER  | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢

. . .

DECEMBER 17TH, 1891

LONDON, ENGLAND

The outside of the Globe theater was alight with bustling crowds as Oscar Wilde's London premiere of Salome had just concluded for the evening.

You were never partial towards theater. In fact, it made you wonder how a show could captivate such a diverse audience, as you watched formally clothed aristocrats and their servants cringed amongst the middle-class plebeians as they exited the theater through the matching front doors. Little did they know, the real show would take place inside of the closed carriage you waited in, peering through the red blind that covered it. Your thumb ran over the smooth pommel of your dagger. You focused on its smooth entirety as you sat back in the carriage to wait, distracting yourself from the consuming darkness.

Thankfully, Felix Keating, the wealthiest factory owner from Birmingham, valued his privacy. He opted for a carriage that had a single window on the door. This made his carriage an ideal place for you to intervene and elude any potential witnesses, considering the man had little to no time alone. In your case, it was less than optimal, but strategically, it was going to do the trick.

You stared at the wall of the carriage across from you before squeezing your eyes shut. You tried to focus on something concrete- perhaps the weight of your weapon, the tickle that your wool scarf gave your lip as it concealed the bottom half of your face. You inhaled deeply, reaching out for the drape of the window to let a fraction of light, but you froze and for a moment, you were...gone. When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in the hallway of your home, a lantern burning dimly in your hand as you heard two men talking- one voice familiar, the other strange.

'Lass? I haven't the slightest-'

'Just hand over the money and we won't have to blow no one's brains outta their skulls.'

Gunshots. Blood.

'Has she already been broken in? Lord knows what she was doing here with that old bum.'

'Doesn't matter, she's ours now, isn't that right?'

'Whore?'

Cold.

Piercing pain in your neck reminded you that you were in a carriage with years of difference from that morning. You had a job to do as you heard approaching steps and the posh voice of the factory owner himself. Before sinking to the corner furthest from the door, you took a generous inhale of the drafty air and focused on how it filled your lungs, rather than the poorly timed panic that the darkness insisted on showing you towards. You wiggled your toes in your black boots and wrinkled your nose, which served as tics that you had cautiously picked out years ago to help ground yourself when necessary. You held the dagger in your hand, the blade ready to pierce a sinner's flesh.

"That playwright will bring tears to the steeliest of lads. Quite brilliant. I must write to Wilde," Felix Keating's dulcet voice sounded as his coachman greeted him. "Reckon I could stick my nose into the theater enterprise, Her Majesty is quite interested in renovating these rubbish theaters," Keating mused, his muffled voice growing closer by the step.

"A clever investment, Mr. Keating," the coachman validated as you hugged your legs, making yourself smaller in the corner of the carriage, your head down and hood up. The door opened and you held your breath, as your heart pounded against your ribcage in protest. "May I offer you extra linens for warmth? The wind's just startin' up."

This wasn't the first time you've had to hide in order to carry out an assignment, yet the adrenaline between waiting and pouncing was always riveting.

"Ah, no Horace, I'll be 'right," Keating took his seat, more focusing on lighting his cigar. The scent caused you to tense, reminding you of the conman, someone smoked as if his life depended on it. He was a smart man that would scold you for the way you grew past his death. He'd be disappointed in you, a relentless advocate for diplomacy. Ask questions, shoot later.

"Right. If you change your mind, you gimme a holler," Horace, the coachman, shut the door as Keating settled himself with an exasperated sigh. He pushed the short drapes that were concealing the window, allowing the city lights to illuminate the small quarters and simply watched the street go by as Horace told the horse to "get walkin".

Without wasting another moment, you got to your feet, your dagger precariously reflecting light that shone through the window.

"Who is it? Who's there-" Keating started to shout, immediately sitting to attention as you used the whole of your arm's strength to shove him back against the wall that he was previously reclining against. Your nondominant hand barely fit around the circumference of his clammy neck, but nevertheless you were able to force his head back completely, his torso following in suit. You squeezed firmly, your fingers digging into the warm flesh and you could feel his hurried pulse with ease as you kept your back straight and legs strong. The angle was awkward, seeing as you were bent over in a moving carriage, but your balance was more than you gave it credit for. "Why- please!" he gasped for air, his glasses low on his nose, threatening to fall to the floor. "Stop! I have...money! Take anything you want. H-Horace!"

"Shut up!" Unintentionally, your grip tightened as you shoved his head back into the wall again, causing Keating's extinguished cigar to fall on the cushioned seat next to him. His hands flailed in panic as his chest tensed with effort as he tried to yell out to Horace again. "Maggie Calvert," you snarled as your petticoats moved with your short steps closer. Your nose could have touched his while you held his sightline. You adjusted your hold on the wooden handle of your dagger in your dominant hand before impelling the blade between his fourth and fifth ribs and close to his midline. "This is for her."

His body froze, his mouth agape. You couldn't tell if he recognized the name, but you wanted him to. A greedy businessman of his caliber deserved to think about someone other than himself during his last few moments alive. You pushed your dagger until both quillions were making contact with his white shirt. You have the dagger a small jerk for maximum damage before pulling it out, allowing blood to immediately gush out of his wound. Finally, your heart rate was beginning to slow with the rush of merely completing the task and you let go of his neck, your fingers aching from being tense. Keating was choking as he tried to yell or scream, or perhaps curse you, but the blood that was rushing into his collapsing lung was going to keep him from doing so.

"Maggie Calvert," you repeated solemnly, using Keating's long coat to clean off your dagger and tuck it into your pocket bag, one of the two large pouches that were nestled between your skirts. The body was limp and the strangled hacking had finally come to a stop. After all, the blood had stained your stomacher as it had come up through his mouth during his final moments of struggle. However, the compensation you were about to receive for this task would more than cover it. Unfortunately, it left Horace with more than a mess to clean up. Blood was a stubborn substance.

. . .

DECEMBER 20TH 1891

BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND

Before you could knock, the door of the brick building flew open, causing you to jump in surprise.

"Miss Y/l/n," Eric Calvert's muddy green eyes were glassy with unshed tears as you pushed the hood of your cloak off of your neck out of respect for the modest home. The housing in Birmingham, an industrial town, was much different than London's. It was more compact, the air was more polluted with factory smoke. The Calverts seemed to be better off than most common families, but that meant nothing in this case. Factory conditions were poor, even after the reform laws from the 1830s. You were blessed to be introduced to more lucrative work upon your arrival- drawing money straight out of pockets with the most genuine man to have strolled down the cemented walkways of the city. "Please, come right in," he gestured with his gloved hand, moving out of your way as he removed his hat and bowed.

"Mr. Calvert," you offered a tight-lipped smile at the bowing man. In the hand that pressed against his chest, Eric pressed his grey hat into it, like a proper gentleman. The gesture had only fed into your discontentment, while Eric seemed no better off. You weren't blind to the pallid shade of his face, the withheld energy in his stance. "You mustn't bow to me," you assert, waiting for the man to right himself as he frowned.

"Oh, please... Mr. Calvert's my father." Eric said with a miffed shake of his head, raking his fingers through his sloppy waves of hair. The two of you walked down the short hall that led into a big foyer. A fireplace was on the far side with several articles of outerwear hanging on the mantle to help warm them from snow, you presume. The scent of the burning wood brings you a foreign nostalgia that ideally, you would've failed to notice. The past deserved to stay where it belonged- in the past. The only hearth you were to be a part of was your own.

"Evelyn, dear! Draw some tea, she's come back!" Eric called his wife, who seemed busy in the kitchen that was located in an attached room. "Hurry!" You presumed that he felt apprehensive about being left alone with you, which was fair.

"Just a minute!" Evelyn called from the attaching room, the door left ajar. You were right to assume that it was a kitchen of some form, seeing as the general layout of this building resembled that of your own home, the fuss of her brown petticoats catching your eye. You wished she'd move with more urgency. You had yet to eat properly, seeing as you were more occupied with moving efficiently over the past day or two. At least the vicinity was warm, allowing you to pull off your thick gloves and tuck them into either pocket bag as Eric led you to a small area near the fireplace. There were two big loveseats across from each other and with a rug in between. The cushions were patched together with random sheets of fabric.

There was a single photograph in a hanging frame over the fireplace's mantle, the glass dirty. It was Eric and Evelyn, jubilant in light, fancy clothing as they cradled their baby girl between them. You understood how the couple found themselves in such desperation to acquaint themselves with someone like you when they had once smiled without any semblance of malignity. She was stolen from them, and it had seemed that the world was prepared to let the men at fault see their own children grow up. You were the one to right that wrong- by driving your knife between the ribs of Felix Keating and watching him choke as blood filled his lungs. His eyes tearing as he begged for mercy when Maggie Calvert, who was no more than nine, died in his workhouse because of his cheaply built machinery. She wasn't given a chance, so who was Keating to think he deserved one?

"She'll be uh...right out," Eric smiled at you again, repeating the words of his wife, those of which you had no problem hearing. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncomfortable way he held himself, as opposed to the haughty attitude he sported during your first meeting. He was dubious that a mere lady like yourself (months shy of twenty) could hurt a fly, much less hold a body count to her name. Yet the morning prior, the bustling headlines of The Daily Telegraph reached Birmingham, selling quickly as they covered the murder of Felix Keating, owner of many iron manufacturing factories who narrowly escaped an immense prison sentence for a major accident in his Birmingham factory a week before.

"Oh my, Eric," Evelyn entered the main room, precariously balancing a steaming teapot and a modest spread of small bites on a tarnished, silver tray. "Where have your manners gone?" she tutted, setting it down on the oakwood table before turning her attention to you. Her blonde hair was tied in a disheveled bun, droopy and with tendrils falling out of it like spider legs that swayed as she moved.

"My manners?" Eric began to protest, only to be interrupted by his wife again. You found their dynamic as a couple quite refreshing. After all, you would not have been there, had Evelyn worked to contact you without her husband's knowledge.

"Miss Y/l/n, allow me to take your cloak," Evelyn gestured to the many hooks that were nailed into the fireplace mantle where there were drying articles of clothing hanging, narrowly dodging the short flames.

It was difficult to compel yourself to smile, but the corners of your lips turned upwards anyhow. There was a line where social niceties ended and another where gullible kindness started. This was the latter as they knowingly welcomed you, a murderer into their home because you made an ally out of yourself. "Don't trouble yourself any more than you have, Mrs. Calvert. My time here is brief," you found satisfaction when she shook her head and began to pour you a cup of the steaming tea, despite your words. Thankfully, she made no attempt to sit with you.

"Brief?" Evelyn repeated, gently passing the delicate teacup to you. The warmth spread over your palms on contact as you brought the rim to your lips. Your hold was improper, though necessary, seeing as the finest details are what make the best disguises. Only the wealthy held their teacups with so much consideration. Besides, the warmth was much more satisfying when it went beyond the tips of your fingers. "I reckon a woman such as yourself is a tad busy," she concurred, causing you to tense in surprise. You were rarely referred to as a woman.

"Quite," you mused after her, taking a contemplative sip of your tea. "I ought to be at the station in less than an hour," you lied, gently tapping the tips of your short nails on the warm cup. All that was necessary was payment and crucial parting words. The assorted bites on the tray were beginning to seem unappealing, the longer you stood there. "But we must discuss a few things-" you start, only to be interrupted by Evelyn, which was common.

"Your fee. We have the first installment," she gestured to Eric with her chin, her smile long gone as he offered a small pouch made of different, threadbare, fabrics. While you had already discounted your normal charge for the couple's situation, they could hardly afford a fraction of the sum.

"We've tried to save as much as possible. Take it. It's the least we can do at the time," Eric spoke, linking his arm with his wife's. Reluctantly, you hold your cup in one hand and deftly slide the pouch into the pocket bag between your petticoats. They would have felt worse if you refused to take their money. After all, you avenged the silenced death of their girl.

"It's plenty, thank you," after finishing the rest of your tea, you proceed with your original thought before they could try to pass their relief for protest. You had to recite the practiced discourse that you gave to every one of your patrons before making your leave. "Now, the two of you will be suspects to the Yard, be cautious," you put emphasis on your words by meeting each of their gazes. "You must avoid London and keep your heads down. Do you understand?"

"And... what happens to you?" Eric asked, sipping out of his own teacup. His shoulders were still unnaturally squared and attentive as he actively avoided your sightline. "Where are you off to?" his focus quickly turned to Evelyn, who was untangling her arm from his and bringing the tray back into the kitchen.

"The distance from Birmingham to London is great, she'll starve before she returns!" Evelyn stopped to yell from over her shoulder before leaving the door open behind her. In the kitchen, she promptly began to wrap the biscuits in napkins.

"Nevermind me," you coaxed Eric back to the conversation by answering his question. You smiled once again as you put your cup on the table and begin to put your gloves back on their respective hands. "You need to make certain that you both have an alibi for the night of December 17th, I cannot stress this enough, Mr. Calvert," you looked up from your gloves, pulling them so they covered your forearms again.

"I assure you, Miss Y/l/n. We were both working in that refinery- until dawn," you had no doubt about the truth to that statement, though any Peeler would press further. That part was to the Calverts to handle, seeing as you had played out your role. Pursing your lips, you took a generous inhale to soothe the ominous pit of anxiety that had settled in your stomach.

"Sure," you pulled your hood back over your head as Evelyn returned with a minute basket. It was covered and you wished you still had your appetite from when you had entered their home.

"Here you are," Evelyn allowed you to take the handle in your non-dominant hand. In a city, it was always smartest to have your dominant hand free, which was yet another insignificant habit that you had inherited from the old conman. What was the date? December 20th, which meant there were still a few weeks before it was the anniversary of his death. Otherwise, the most difficult twenty-four hours to bear out of a calendar year.

Evelyn was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. After all, for most women, motherhood was a privilege and it had been torn away from her. She was attempting to care for you as she would have for Maggie...had she lived to nineteen. Tears were welling in her eyes as she watched your hand extend to briefly touch her shoulder. "Take care," you said, finally meeting Eric's green hues that were tearing up as well. "I can show myself out," you shook your head dismissively when he moved to go to the front door with you. Evelyn needed to be coddled more than you did.

. . .

JANUARY 5TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

Evenings at home always unsettled you, being the start of an all-too boring night, which made you feel restless- itchy for action. Rather, your quiet home always put you on the height of your guard, even as you were sitting behind the short shed, submerging your assorted gowns and petticoats into the warm, soapy water that bubbled in your wooden tub. It was a tedious, once a week process that perhaps irked you more than cooking. With a huff, you directed your stress into the iron grip that you kept your washboard upright with, rubbing fabric over its ridges.

The water made your fingers prune and the stool under you caused your bottom to grow sore, the longer you had to sit there, toiling away until each article was hanging on your makeshift clothesline- fastened with pins. When you were a girl, you had about twice the amount to wash and yet, you enjoyed the task because there were two more hands to make light, fun work of it. The conman liked to sing to pass the time- the lyrics had taken you ages to comprehend, seeing as your English had challenged for years. He was anything but a schoolteacher.

You cringed as your hand slid down the washboard too quickly, causing the hot water to splash back up at your face. The weather was foul, the winter in London was always tempestuous and the warm water on your face had only reminded you of how little warmth your wool scarf provided. It was wrought with holes by now, but you couldn't bring yourself to give it away, you've had it from the day you arrived...nine years ago. Dismissing the thought, you allowed the cooling water to run down your forehead, passing the slope of your nose, until it finally fell and assimilated with the top of your stomacher.

You squeezed the wet petticoat, turning it in order to ring the water out. Although you could have been more thorough, the boredom that came with domestic chores was causing you to rush and find something more occupying to start. The tranquility of the night was eerie, an uneasy contrast to the violent life you led.

The sound of approaching voices caused you to pause, your hands pulling the washboard out of the water to hold, ready to swing. The petticoat that you had been wringing out fell back into the wooden tub with a quiet splash. The soap suds ran down your forearms, dampening the brown sleeves of your gown.

"No entiendo por qué la señora quiere una chica. Podríamos bombardear el sitio de Phantomhive más rápido que esta pérdida de tiempo," the voice of a woman spoke quickly, in a language that you couldn't identify. A denomination of Latin? Knitting your eyebrows, you conceded, deciding to focus on what you could understand. Bombard, Phantomhive. Bomb?

Vaguely, you recognized the name 'Phantomhive' from the newspaper. The Earl Phantomhive ran the Funtom Company, children's' toys and confectionery.

"Quiere su nombre lo más lejos posible de esto. La chica es una asesina exitosa, así que sería más discreta que los explosivos," a masculine voice responded, a stiff twig cracking beneath one of their shoes. You scowled as you shifted your weight from your left side to your right. The washboard was a viable weapon, but it was simply a matter of timing. Their silhouettes were getting closer, each short and clad in neutral earth tones.

"A menos que te interese en enredarte con ese mocoso," the man chuckled. He wasn't secretive or trying to be discreet. By the way he trudged, he was probably leaving deep tracks in the slushy excuse for snow.

"No tengo un deseo de muerte, a diferencia de ti. Callado!!" The woman said, her voice suddenly at a harsh whisper.

"Ah. There," the man spoke in English, finally a language that you could comprehend. "Y/n Y/l/n?" He asked, pulling down his scarf to expose the rest of his face. In comparison to yours, his accent was much thicker. Your grip on the washboard didn't waver.

"Who are you?" You demanded, stepping forward to stand your ground as they approached you. The pair wasn't visibly armed, their figures weren't particularly threatening to you. The man merely smiled at you while the woman to his side scowled.

"Diego- and uh, Carmen. Peace! We come in...uh, peace," Diego stammered, stopping at a respectful distance from you while showing you his empty hands as they beckoned with his rapid words. He seemed amused with your choice in weapon and assertive stance. "Carmen," he elbowed the sour-faced woman, causing her to grunt and hold her gloved hands up as he was.

"What brings you here?" They must have knocked at your door and came around when there was no response and a dim light behind the shack. Their winter gear suggested that they had some tier of wealth or deft hands in thievery. If it was business, this wouldn't be the first time you were asked to aid in stealing. However, as tempting as the offers were, you turned each one down. 

"Business." Carmen answered this time, her hand slowly reaching into her jacket pocket. "No fret. Is just a letter," her English was just as mediocre as yours had been, years ago. Your eyes followed her hand as she pulled out an envelope with a dark red seal. "Business for our...líder?" She explained and looked at the man, leaving a long pause before her last word. It was essentially 'leader', but the stress was on an 'i' sound instead.

"Yes. Leader," Diego cleared his throat in a weak attempt to mask a laugh as you dropped your washboard back into the washbasin with a short splash. You ignored him as you took the letter from the woman, your wet hand causing the ink on the front to smear. It read your name, Y/n Y/l/n, in a pompous script, the illegible type that royalty and aristocrats penned. "All you needa know is there."

The Undertaker was supposed to be the partition between yourself and clients. Who did he think he was to give these servants your address? You'd have to give him a stern reminder for the next time you cross paths. With a frown, you pushed the envelope into your pocket bag, allowing it to jut out due to its dimensions.

"Is this all?" You asked as you waited for them to either leave or proceed with more broken commentary. Your lips were pressed together in a tight purse, a fresh lump of apprehension growing in your stomach. However, you couldn't let it show as the man sheepishly removed his hat with a shallow bow. It was more unctuous than anything as it only caused your scowl to deepen.

"Yes, Miss. We can... be going now," Diego righted himself and put his hat back over his dark curly hair. You didn't offer either of than a proper dismissal for the favor of going back to your washing and ruminating over the letter. It merely had a location, date, and time with no further information. No explanation of identification. You could appreciate the impudent nature of it, as this 'leader' assumed you had no plans for January 10th or presumed that you would handle any conflicts yourself when they were approaching you for your services. It was crude of them to assume that you still took orders.

. . .

JANUARY 10TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

Perhaps it was curiosity or a lapse of judgment that led you to board a train and throw caution to the wind. Whatever it was, your default prudence seemed to abandon you at each instance you dared open the letter that you were given- if you could call it that. The paper inside merely had your name, a distinct address, time, and date all in a presumptuous formality that made you want to tear it to shreds. But you refrained and instead, rolled your shoulders back and down as you knocked on the painted door of the lofty residential home that coincided with the address in the letter. The walls were constructed with sturdy brick and there was smoke wafting out of the chimney. As you predicted, the entirety of the property before you suggested wealth, just as the note and the delivery had.

You knocked on the door, the letter in your hand as you waited several long, cold moments before a woman greeted you. Most of her features matched Carmen's, deep olive skin and brown hair that was tied back. "You are late," she spoke, disdain clear in her voice as she ushered you through the open door and into a foyer. You were only late by a few minutes, according to the clock on a passing wall. "My mistress is impatient," the woman added as an afterthought as if that fact was supposed to faze you into an apology. Her accent was quite notable, pronounced, and sharp like the other servants.

As she led you to a winding staircase as your gaze trained on each room that you passed. They were each decorated in a modest fashion and the colors were left to a simple tan palette. It was more simple than you would have expected from the manor's proud exterior. The woman cleared her throat, "Doña, she has arrived," she knocked twice on the closed door before opening it, revealing another woman. She stood behind a mahogany desk, watching you with relaxed shoulders. The bay window behind her illuminated the silk of her beige dress, contrasting her tan skin as it hugged her slender figure. Beige was uncommon at the time, given the dullness of it, although this woman wore it like a badge, using the simple color to allow other parts of her appearance to stand out.

"Leave us, Andrea," the woman's gaze had yet to leave yours, causing you to look away in mild discomfort. Once the door was closed again, she extended her hand to you, speaking again as you cautiously shook it. Her grip was confident and warm against your bare palm. "It is my pleasure, Princess Helena. I feared you would disregard dear Carmen and Diego." You retracted your hand, the name causing you to meet her eyes again.

"Y/n," You corrected, your mouth running dry as you calculated each of your words, down to the syllable. This foreign woman was able to unravel each of your lies within the latest nine years and frankly, it took every bit of your skill to remain composed. The conman would assess the person standing in front of him and decide if they were entitled to the truth that they were trying to extract. He would run through each advantage and disadvantage and return to the same conclusion- murder was always an option. After all, it was the only sure way of containing sensitive information. "Y/n Y/l/n," you repeated, causing the woman to laugh, her rounded cheeks eclipsing her eyes.

"We may both employ our pseudonyms, then. Address me as Doña," she sat in the red, cushioned chair behind her. Doña raised her eyebrows at you expectantly as she motioned towards the decidedly less opulent wooden chair across from her. You complied, frowning at her as she leaned towards you. Her smile only seemed to expand. "I have a task for you, Y/n. Only you can complete it for me."

"I know there are other services in London you might have requested," you contradicted, sitting back in the uncomfortable chair as you showed no qualms in testing her.

"No," Doña said with a simple shrug of her slender shoulders, "I need you to eliminate the Earl Phantomhive- the Queen's Guard Dog who puts an end to anyone she names. The graveyard to his name exceeds even yours. Although... it seems to be watered with the blood of the innocent, instead," her smile finally melted, causing her red lips to lay in a natural frown. In the streets of London, her lip color was enough to impose any of the filthiest assumptions about her.

"How does this concern me, specifically?" You asked. As your interest piqued, your eyebrows furrowed and you found yourself leaning towards the edge of the desk, rather than sitting slack against the wooden chair. The notion of the proprietor of a children's company having blood on his noble hands was more endearing than anything, especially to someone such as yourself, living substantial evidence that no one was who they appeared to be.

Your eyes followed Doña's hand as she opened a drawer in the desk, pulling out a pristine, folded newspaper. The masthead read 'DIE SUEDLlCHE POST' (THE SOUTHERN POST), a German newspaper with the headline of 'PRINZESSIN MARIE-LOUISE GIBT IHRE VERLOBUNG MIT PRINZ ARIBERT VON ANHALT BEKANNT' (PRINCESS MARIE-LOUISE ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO PRINCE ARIBERT OF ANHALT). There was a picture within the columns of words of your twin sister as she sported a gaudy dress and faux-smile as she beckoned the public into her personal life. Seeing Marie's matured face resemble yours so flawlessly was disarming and you only remembered to release a breath you had been holding when Doña spoke again. "The Queen trusts the Earl implicitly- enough to put the safety of her granddaughter in his...capable hands. At any mere threat, the Princess will come overseas to stay under his protection," she paused, smiling again as she unfurled the groundwork of a meticulous plan. "The monarchy is quite predictable, no?"

You had to give her credit for her unwavering confidence. The idea that she implied was beyond mad and yet, she sold it well. "We intercept her transportation before she reaches the port," Doña raised her chin as she explained, her expression smug to challenge you. Someone had trained her to manipulate others, just as the conman had done for you. She was reflecting your body language, while keeping her own polished mannerisms as a subtle attempt to establish trust, but express her own certitude.

"And you intend for me to take her place," you finished mapping out her plan for her, almost speaking in disbelief. Reclaiming your past? Your sister represented the whole of what you had resented in Germany; the wealth, the social faux pas, down to each ruffle of every gown. "Kill the Earl within his own estate," you bit the inside of your bottom lip, keeping yourself in the present.

The door opened behind you, the startling sound of a crying baby caused you to jump and turn your head to the source. A frazzled Andrea, the servant who greeted you, held a crying infant in her arms as it squirmed. "Doña, su hija te necesita ahora," she said, offending you as again as the two individuals conversed in a foreign tongue, ignoring your confusion.

At the sight of the distressed child, Doña's expression curled such as milk did. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes staring at it in disdain. Her glowered response came quickly as she gestured with her hands, "debes llevártela. Andrea, deberías saber mejor que interponerme cuando estoy ocupado con los negocios."

Immediately, and to your relief, Andrea left the office with a mumbled curse that you couldn't decipher. The baby was still crying. "You never learned Spanish?" Doña mused, her hands slowly returning to the wooden surface that separated herself and you. At least you had been correct in assuming it was from a Latin dialect. "That was my daughter," she explained with a careless shrug, causing you to frown. Your mother always spoke of you with the same amount of indifference, if not more than what this woman expressed, calling her daughter a 'that'. Bearing witness to that treatment left you vulnerable to frustration, an emotion that distracted you from the clear thinking you were trained to maintain.

"Earl Phantomhive," you said, bringing her back on topic before she could fiddle with your strained heartstrings any more. "It's a personal vendetta, is it not?"

"Ah. Correct," her face grew serious again as she brought her heavy stare back to yours. For a moment, you looked down at the newspaper- at your beaming sister and her Prince. "The Earl killed my husband after my whole family," Doña said as she shifted in her seat. Her eyes pried into your soul as if she was weighing each of your sins and virtue against each other in that moment. "I cannot rest until he feels the same anguish. What do you say?" She asked, raising her thin eyebrows, leaning forward in her seat.

For the first time that afternoon, you understood the woman sitting before you. You understood the lingering pain behind every smile, the loneliness behind her confident handshake. For that, you didn't need her to prove that the Earl was deserving of just intervention when normally, you required a means that ensured you that you weren't being sent to murder an innocent. The Calverts allowed you to read the court records of Keating's failed prosecution. But in this case, you recognized the raw emotion in her face. You saw it weekly in your employers and it used to stare back at you in the mirror...before you grew.

"Fine," your shoulders relaxed as you shifted in on the wooden chair, tempted to retreat, the more she invaded your space.

"We will begin our preparations immediately, then. We may discuss the finer details over tea."

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

"Diego and Carmen have returned," Doña entered your room without the formality of knocking, even though Andrea was in the middle of preparing you for your arrival to the Phantomhive Manor while you were attempting to keep yourself present. You gave your toes a discrete wiggle while they were crushed in tall heels. At least the slight pain was grounding. "Your personal effects will be included with ours," she added as a suggestion for you to respond. Over the week you had spent in her presence, you learned that talking to her was an exhaustive endeavor when most of the time, all you needed to do was listen. Meanwhile, Andrea was finishing your complicated hairstyle behind you. She tied strands of your hair into braids that led into a single low ponytail behind your head. Frankly, the steps she took had you standing there for ages, but you didn't protest, as opposed to the riot you always threw in Germany.

"At last," you stared at your reflection in the mirror before you, willfully ignoring the addition of her behind you. It was almost difficult to recognize yourself, considering you were staring at the visage of your sister, Marie as you dawned a sky blue gown that was embroidered with white designs around the bodice and top petticoat. The neckline had simple ruffles that covered the top of your stomacher, alternating with lace. Your skin was smooth to touch, almost delicate with the amount of cold cream that Andrea had insisted on smothering over every inch of you each morning and night. Even the apples of your cheeks were lightened with a gentle hand of pink rouge. "Putting that off to the last day was careless."

"At least our princess needs not to remember her privilege," Doña smarted, her red lips pursing in a sardonic grin. "Only her grace."

"And what of the princess?" You asked, turning away from yourself to give the packed trunks in your room a quick once over. They were each packed with fine clothing and luxury products that Doña had procured over the week, whilst important belongings of your own had just arrived, according to the woman herself. The conman's watch stayed with you for each task, whether you wore it, forced it into your pocket bag, or wrapped around a garter.

"Her steamship was supposed to dock about an hour ago. It should be in the process of sinking in the North Sea." The words had no effect on you, other than perhaps, relief. While Marie was your sister, you grew up in her looming shadow, her constant jibes, and haughty smiles. Her death secured your role in perhaps, one of the most complicated schemes you have ever dared take part in and did well to rid the world of another self-absorbed leech. Doña's hand gave your shoulder a patronizing pat as she smiled, "peace, Y/n. Your face is too young for frown lines. Remember, princesses haven't a care."

"You would know?" you asked, pressing your lips together and gathering your breath in a shallow inhale. The statement affected you more than it should have, but you blamed the superior tone that Doña attempted to pull over you. Although there were many years separating the two of you, it gave her no right to treat you as a child. You believed that Evelyn Calvert said it best- you were a woman, a lady that deserved every brutal sentiment that the world had to offer. "I believe the monarchy in Spain ended years ago."

"Someone did their reading."

"Enough," you glared, "I believe it would be best to allow Andrea to finish here. Before I stain this gown with your-" Andrea gave your hair a slight tug to tighten the hold before she gave you a quick once over. She seemed proud of her work- turning a runaway back into a princess. Quickly she patted a bit of power over the exposed junction between your neck and shoulders, adding some to your throat. Rather than making you appear paler, it was mostly translucent and served as a more natural aromatic while hiding blemishes. Andrea then left and quickly returned with a white coat that ran down to your mid-thigh. Deftly, she buttoned down the middle of it, closing both sides with little effort, seeing as it was made to be snug over all of your tight layers.

"-No, I believe that is quite enough, Y/n. Don't forget- we are allies, love." Doña reminded you with a smile. "In fact, I retrieved something else of yours to prove it," her hand disappeared into the deliberate fold of her pocket bag, revealing a small box. It was a black velvet that was soft in your hand. "Go on, she prompted, nodding at the box with her chin, "open." Slowly, you opened the box as it revealed a breathtaking emerald ring. The band's soft rose gold shone in the sunlight that came through the windows as small diamonds lined its circumference and outlined the expensive gem itself.

It couldn't be-

Your breath hitched as you took the ring out, putting the box on the vanity to your side as you looked at the interior of the band, your eyes wide as the engraving read 'Prinzessin Helena Victoria, 5/3' (Princess). It was your family ring, the exact one that you had given to a young boy because he was too poor to buy himself a proper jacket. All he wanted were a few coins for you to buy his newspaper, but you had no currency at the time. Instead, you gave him the ring and changed his life, rather than allowing the damned thing to burden you any more than it already had.

"That ring has seen...nearly all of Europe before returning to you," Doña said as she watched you slide the ring back over your satin glove. It fit your ring finger perfectly. Marie was made a completely identical ring, emerald, rose gold, and diamonds. You shared the same birthdate with her, being twins. "It would have been wiser to procure hers, but we must make do. You may never take it off." She was right. Though the ring was in fact, a smart decision to make your appearance more legitimate, the engraving could just as easily be the end of you.

"I understand." You confirmed, with a generous inhale. You felt your chest expand against the confining corset you wore.

"Andrea, ¿está lista ahora?" (Andrea, is she ready now?) Doña asked the servant, who was cradling her daughter, a chubby infant in her skinny arms, seeing as she finished tending to you. Andrea was not given enough credit, seeing as she took care of you, the baby, and everyone else within the household. She seemed to be around the age of Doña herself, perhaps younger, though missing a ring on her own finger. You owed her more respect than Doña, seeing as she took the time to teach you bits of conversational Spanish. Sitting in that house for a week while most individuals spoke in their native tongue was frustrating to you, and she cared enough to alleviate some of that pressure.

"Yes. You all should be going. Marie would have been near to our destination." Andrea said, before leaving your room to presumably, get Diego and Carmen to load the carriage with the aforementioned trunks. She left you and Doña alone, in temporary silence.

"Diego and Carmen are escorting you," she spoke, ushering you to leave the room behind her and start to the carriage that waited in front of the brick manor. "They are dock workers to you since the Queen called for finesse; minimum security." Marie's steamship was private- it made sense that she'd only have a few individuals as personnel. Although, they were likely dead at the bottom of the sea with the intended princess. "I will be in contact," her eyes, once again, stared into you, but you refused to falter. At a time like this, it was important to appear confident, even when there was residual panic racing through you.

"I won't be long," you replied, quite sardonically. The Earl Phantomhive was just a boy, about two years younger than you. He had a butler and four servants and an opulent estate that gave you plenty of opportunities, space, and minimal witnesses. You have surmised much harder conditions in the past, considering you've posed as a maid and drowned a woman in her own bathtub since she kidnapped and sold little girls to the highest bidder. That case had reached a particular soft spot within you, although it made you sensitive to the scent of rose water.

For a moment, you were back in that bathroom. The steam of the heated water hit your face in droplets as the curvaceous woman thrashed, her knees peeking out of the water, kicking. She was screaming, but it was garbled by the water as she choked on it. You had to use both of your soapy hands to press her forehead against the porcelain tub and apply moderate pressure around her trachea before she went limp...

"I'm sure," Doña rolled her eyes as she opened the carriage door for you. Diego and Carmen came out the front door with the small trunks in their arms. Carmen's tan features were still warped in her perpetual scowl, but Diego beamed at you, his eyelashes fluttering. You squeezed your eyes closed before opening them again, repeating the process multiple times while wrinkling your nose. It was, naturally, still cold and unlike the staff, you were only given a coat and gloves to stay warm. How Doña stood her ground without sleeves in this weather was lost to you.

"Andrea, fixed you up real good, Your Highness," Diego said, leaving Carmen to finish packing the carriage as he approached you. He bowed at his waist, over-exaggerating the movement. You had come to the conclusion that he was an excitable puppy dog, personified in a man. It was hard to imagine a man like that had the nerve to use the handgun in his holster. You frowned, the sight of firearms never failing to unsettle you, despite your line of work.

Trap the gun.

You urged yourself to focus on the people in front of you and the task that was rapidly coming into fruition. "You ought to ask her for a hand," you shrugged dismissively, the jab subtle as you shrugged and showed yourself through the carriage door. You sat down on the cushioned seat, closing the door and staring out the window of the carriage. Though you could have afforded a simple goodbye to the staff, your growing demand to be alone was overwhelming. Even the carriage, though it was white and an unassuming beige upholstery lined the seats, you had to force yourself to stay present.

Felix Keating.

"Y/n, we're pulling out now!" Carmen's grumpy voice announced as she knocked twice on the closed door to get your attention. She and Diego were to be driving the carriage- as Doña said, they were acting as port attendants to substitute Marie's dead servants. Your fingers wrapped around the pommel of your dagger, giving it a long squeeze.

"Fine!" You responded, watching the street from your window as it slowly passed by, paired with the trotting hooves of the horse that dragged you to your possible demise.

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

The Phantomhive manor was on the outskirts of London, shielded within the countryside by a thin forest line. As it rolled into your sightline through the small window of the carriage, you shamelessly allowed yourself to gape at the sheer size of it- the height of the walls, the militant stone masonry, and expansive stone garden that surrounded the cobblestone path. The cobblestone caused the carriage to bump clumsily and you could hear the sound of the packed trunks shifting around, even though they sat in the front with Carmen and Diego. To you, having so much space for one person was simply a waste- you made do in a shoebox that was going to be comparable to a linen closet on this property.

There was no describing the intimidating grace of the noble manor that stood proudly before you- although it was the furthest from your first complicated infiltration and as much as you tried to repress it, grew up in a castle. However, even Glücksburg was feeble in comparison to the fortress that your carriage slowed to a stop in front of. Diego wasted no time in opening the door, allowing more of the afternoon light in. You shuddered as the cold, once again, attacked your face and outer extremities, despite the petticoats that Andrea had precariously piled under your gown.

"We have made it, Your Highness," the joke was obvious in Diego's face, the apples of his cheeks too perky with his enthusiastic smile. He needed some of Carmen's restraint while the latter required at least a semblance of his warmth.

Your Highness. The form address was foreign to you. It was nothing but a burden that weighed just as much as the genuine metal around your ring finger and the tight corset that restricted your torso. But this was your role- at least for the next week or so. Your smile was small enough to not seem horribly forced, though anything but enthused. Restraint was something Governess Lydia always stressed, making it one of the single things she had in common with the conman, who never let you forget about the strength of words. This task required you to heed lessons from the both of them, which was unfortunate, considering the conman represented the best two years of your life, while Governess Lydia was the embodiment of your poisonous girlhood.

"Your prudence is more than appreciated," you accepted his hand as he helped you down the two, rather short stairs of the carriage. This was it- now you were Princess Marie of Schleswig-Holstein. Her identity belonged to you- rather than a withering corpse in the sea- however Doña had managed to get her there. For your own sake, you found it easier not to ask. You didn't need the blood of your sister on your conscience while you embodied her likeliness. Or at least...what you could recall from your spoiled bias and hourly etiquette classes in the castle. "Thank you, Diego," you let go of his hand once you stood on your own feet. You didn't need to look at him to know that he was shaking his head, discouraged that you were being kind to him simply because you had to. Prior to the carriage ride, you'd told him to see Andrea and give her a chance to improve his scraggly appearance.

"Of course," he responded with a hasty bow. Diego shut the door with a slam, clumsier than he needed to be. You pretended that all of your doubts were conveniently left sitting on a cushioned seat- as dispensable as a glove. Confidence in your own vast skill sets was going to get you through this and the blade of your dagger between the Earl's ribs. "To the door, Your Highness. You'll catch cold." Diego led you to the door, leaving Carmen to unload your baggage. The door opened immediately after he knocked, revealing a simpering man.

"Wir heißen sie herzlich willkommen, Eure Hoheit. Ich hoffe, dass Ihre reise bis zu diesem punkt angenehm war.," (Our deepest welcome, Your Highness. I do hope your journey was pleasant to this point,) he spoke, his German succinct as if he was a native speaker himself. Following his practiced welcome, he bowed, the silver accessory that was pinned on his lapel moved as he did. A gloved hand pressed politely over his heart as he righted himself at your nod. In this case, you would have preferred him to speak to you in English, seeing as the whole of the experience was already quite out of body for you. "Bitte, treten sie ein." (Please, come in).

You complied, reluctantly crossing the tall threshold. Diego was behind you and silent as you took a moment to look over the barren foyer around you. "Sie haben ein schönes anwesen. Danke, dass sie mein Refugium beherbergen - Ihre Majestät kann mehr als exzessiv sein," (You keep a lovely manor. Thank you for housing my retreat- Her Majesty can be more than excessive,) you replied, noting the butler's endearing features. His face was pale as if the moon decided to bless him with natural illumination and in contrast, his hair fell in black tresses that framed his face. His smile was too perky for his darker disposition.

"Es ist unser privileg, mit ihrer sicherheit betraut zu werden." (It is our privilege to be entrusted with your safety.) The unctuous pleasantries were in excess. A little went a long way, especially for you, who tended to be brief towards every accessory- every pawn. As a girl, that efficiency labeled you as ill-mannered, as Lydia, the uptight Governess, cautioned you.

"Gibt es einen namen für sie?" (Is there a name to call you by?) It was more appropriate for his master- the rudely absent Earl, to introduce him properly, but you were growing weary of having no name to associate with the man. You tilted your head, thinly smiling at the butler who immediately stood to attention to respond. He had more effortless poise than you did, but at its essence, it couldn't be hard. Between your intense life in the monarchy was nearly a decade of living amongst the middle class and working for anyone with the fortune to pay you.

He bowed again, the palm of his right hand returning to his heart. "Natürlich. Mein Name ist Sebastian, mein meister-" (Of course. My name is Sebastian, my master-) he was interrupted by the door opening again, proceeding with three individuals and Carmen entering the foyer, bringing the trunks that were in the carriage. There were only six boxes, but the shorter boy out of the group was holding three heavy boxes instead of one.

"Sebastian! Where should we be putting these?" A woman asked rather loudly, as opposed to the smooth dulcet of Sebastian's German. Her voice had a clear, animated quirk of an English accent and it took you a moment to return your brain to the language, seeing as focusing on one at a time rather than two at once was simpler. Then you entered her sightline, causing her to shriek in surprise as she gasped. "Princess Marie- Your Highness!" she dropped the box, sinking into a clumsy excuse for a curtsy. At your side, you could hear Diego attempting to stifle his laughter. As for yourself, you weren't one for sudden noises and had to feign understanding. By the end of the day, your cheeks were going to ache from constantly having to smile.

"Your Highness, these are the other servants of the house," Sebastian finally spoke in English as he gestured with an arm to the two men and the woman. As the three other servants put the trunks down. The woman's face was red under her disproportionate glasses as she looked from the older man to the younger one at her sides, searching for validation for her abrupt enthusiasm. "Our gardener, Finnian-"

"-Finny!" He interrupted with a bright smile, before meeting Sebastian's eyes and shrinking. Finny cleared his throat, his gloved hand rubbing under the hat that covered the nape of his neck. "Please, um...call me Finny, Your Highness." In front of him were the three trunks that he had been carrying- stacked vertically. One alone was heavy for even yourself, but he seemed unaffected.

"Right...Mey-Rin, the maid," Sebastian continued. Mey-Rin's face was still red as she looked at Sebastian and then you, uncomfortable with the attention of the room on her. "Our cook, Baldroy."

Baldory seemed to be the most composed of the three. Notably, there were strands of grey in his blond hair as he regarded you with an easy simper, his shoulders relaxed. "Good to meet ya," he said with a simple nod of his head. His voice reminded you of the conman's- perpetually at ease.

"And ...Tanaka- the executive director of the Funtom Company," Sebastian said, guiding your attention to a small man that watched you from behind Baldroy's legs. He wore a monocle and seemed to hold a cup of tea as he bowed. The executive director of the Funtom Company was a frail man?

"Oh but, that's how he is- he rarely goes into his full size," Finny chimed in, once again, cutting himself off at Sebastian's pointed gaze. He only gave you more questions than he had answered. How was such a large estate taken care of by such a small cast of individuals?

"Might I ask about the Earl himself?" You didn't feel the need to properly introduce Carmen and Diego, seeing as they were only supposed to be distant dockworkers to you. Marie wouldn't have thought twice about them, seeing as she was her own sun, moon, and savior. Instead, she would be miffed that a mere Earl had the self-importance to show tardiness in meeting her.

"Our master should be with us in a moment. Please allow me to show you to his study," Sebastian said, easily making a transition from the exhaustive introductions to sitting in. "In the meantime; you three, take Her Highness's belongings to her quarters." This time, Baldroy picked up Carmen's neglected box as she stood at Diego's side. The three of them responded enthusiastically as if they were excited to be given a laborious task from their superior.

"Sure," you agreed, more than aware that this was going to be a temporary goodbye to Diego and Carmen, the final allies you'd speak to before heading into a minefield of social complexity, corsets, and lies. You turned to Diego, almost unsure of how to let him depart. It was almost pathetic of you, growing tongue-tied from a simple goodbye. The duo had no semblance of sentimental value to you. All you had was yourself, a dagger, and a large sum of money waiting for you.

"We leave you in capable hands, Your Highness," Diego smiled as he bowed, before quickly winking at you.

"Farewell," Carmen added, her expression illegible as she too, bowed and left with her counterpart.

"Right then," Sebastian led you up the massive staircase. Each step was narrow and troublesome but you attempted to tread smoothly. "Would you care for tea? You toiled through quite a long trip..."

. . .

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[reviewsbyracine]

I SAW AN EPISODE OF LAW AND ORDER: SVU: “Babes”

With everything crazy happening in the world, it is important that we still depend on the little things that make everything feel right. For me, I know that I can always depend on classic episodes of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit to help me feel at home. There's something strangely soothing about Benson and Stabler working together to solve a sex crime. (And yes, I know that Christopher Meloni left the show nine years ago - as far as I'm concerned, the Stabler episodes are the only episodes that matter.) When it comes to rewatchable episodes of SVU, I always come back to “Babes," a season ten episode. So with nothing better to do, let me tell you why it is possibly the best episode of SVU ever created.

"Babes" starts with our usual fake-out cold open: characters just trying to enjoy a night out before stumbling on a gruesome crime scene and then we never see them again. This time, it's the last diners at a restaurant. Despite holding holding up the kitchen staff from going home, the gentleman on the date asks to order desserts (despite the fact that they seem to be eating salads) and suggests flambé because it's "exciting." The irate waiter tells them that "the only thing that's flaming is the maître d'."

Just then, a man on fire can be seen screaming and waving around just outside the restaurant. Yes, that's right: SVU set a man on fire and made a visual gag out of it. A poor bus boy throws pitchers of water on the man as he collapses dead into the restaurant.

Stabler and Munch arrive at the scene (Benson is at a conference for… some reason) and meet up with M.E. Warner, who shows them that our John Doe is not only charred to a crisp but is also missing his private parts. When Munch asks where the victim came from, Warner tells them with a straight face to "Follow the bloody brick road."

Someone give SVU's joke writer a raise because John Doe's not the only one who's on fire tonight.

Back at the station, Warner rehydrates his fingerprints (what?) and discovers his identity is that of a homeless man named John Galli. They visit Galli's father, played by Michael Badalucco, a man who hates cows more than coppers. Mr. Galli informs them that his son had been targeted by "Street Cleaners," a vigilante group that runs around beating up homeless people and posting videos of their exploits online. Planning a sting to catch the Street Cleaners in action, Tutuola suggests they "introduce them to the laziest, filthiest bum they've ever seen."

Smash cut to: Munch pretending to be a homeless wacko screaming conspiracy theories into the night. No joke, this edit is hilarious.

Anyway, the Street Cleaners run out to beat up Munch and are quickly arrested. The detectives take off the perps' ski masks and one of them is a girl. The music treats this reveal like it is the most shocking thing that could ever happen. Obviously, they didn't kill Galli - SVU always throws a red herring at you in the first ten minutes and this episode is no different.

Returning to the station, Stabler and Munch find a blowtorch that was found at the scene and can be traced back to the science lab at Blessed Heart High School. Their guide at the school is Max, the president of the school's chastity club (remember this for later), who informs them that the only student who has access to the lab after hours is senior Alec Bernardi. Stabler and Munch spot Alec, who immediately looks guilty and tries to escape the cafeteria. Munch tells Alec that he looks like someone lit a fire under his ass.

"Fire?" Alec asks, sweating. "I don't know anything about a fire."

Smooth, Alec, real smooth.

He's got a burn on his hand so it's obviously him. They bring him to the station for interrogation, where Benson returns from her conference just in time for Alec's mother Peggy to burst in. Peggy is played by the incredible Debi Mazar, so even though the episode was cruising along at a comfortable seven or eight, the energy level has now been dialed up to eleven. Alec is proud of mutilating and immolating Galli and reveals that he did it because Galli raped his little sister Tina and got her pregnant.

Benson speaks with Tina, who vehemently denies being raped. However, she is pregnant. Turns out, she seduced Galli to get pregnant on purpose because she and her friends are in… you guessed it… a pregnancy pact! That's right, this episode's ripped-from-the-headlines story is the Gloucester High School pregnancy pact, where a bunch of teenaged girls got pregnant on purpose.

Benson tells the girls that they are stupid. "What's the big deal?" one girl asks. "That vice president lady's daughter is gonna have a baby. Why can't we?"

The pact's ringleader is Fidelia Vidal, who is excited that she and her friends are "totally gonna be the hottest MILFs on the block." Her father, Not-Bobby Canavale, wants Benson to leave because she is scaring Fidelia with some truth talk. Suddenly, her boyfriend bursts in, having just heard the news of her pregnancy - and it's Max, the chastity club president. Oops. Fidelia's baby daddy is not Max but is instead a twenty-two-year-old rapper named Dizzer.

Let's talk about Dizzer. In an otherwise perfect episode of SVU, Dizzer is a straight-up garbage character. Dizzer is a white rapper who works at a place called Skribble Skratch Records. His motto, airbrushed on his shirt, is "reckin' decks 'n' gettin' sex" and he attempts to get a fist bump from Tutuola, calling him a "brother." Again, this guy is white and he is trying way too hard.

Stabler hands him a court order for a DNA test and the detectives leave to let Not-Bobby Canavale know that they're actually getting stuff done this episode and everything's going to be alright. Not-Bobby Canavale goes to Fidelia's room so they can go get the amniocentesis done and make a DNA match, but her door is locked. Stabler shoulders the door open because he's an animal and the parents and detectives are met with a disturbing sight:

Fidelia, dead, having hanged herself on her ceiling fan.

Obviously everyone is distraught and it's a genuinely shocking moment. Not-Bobby Canavale comforts Max, and Michael Badalucco is spotted moping in the crowd to remind us that he is still in this episode. Fidelia's mother lets the detectives know that someone online was calling Felida names like "slut" and "whore." The email address leads them back to Dizzer, but he denies having sent the harassing emails. His alibi is that he was taking part in a threesome in Brooklyn and reminds the detectives of his motto/airbrushed shirt. Tutuola looks ready to punch this man. The detectives take his phone into evidence and thankfully we don't have to deal with Dizzer ever again.

Tech agent Morales proves that the IP address actually came from an internet cafe and holy shit the culprit turns out to be none other than Peggy Bernardi, seen in some seriously unflattering ATM camera angles. Peggy proudly shows off a onesie for her new grandbaby that says "My grandma is a GILF" and high-fives Tina. When Stabler and Munch confront her about her harassing emails, Peggy goes off on a warpath about how Fidelia ruined her kids' lives and kicks the detectives out of her house. ADA Greylek suggests that they hit Peggy with criminal impersonation and reckless endangerment, among other charges, and Munch reminds the group that Peggy only used words against Fidelia and to arrest her would go against the first amendment. Good ol’ Munch, always a voice of reason. Before they have time to commit to what exactly they're arresting Peggy for, word comes in that a mob has formed outside Peggy's apartment, led by Not-Bobby Canavale. Stabler and Munch arrive to rescue-arrest Peggy.

On the stand, Peggy says that sending harassing emails to a hormonal teenaged girl was "just a goof." A large television is presented so that Peggy can awkwardly read her fake-teenage bibble-babble to the courtroom. We get to learn what "OMFG" and "STFU" mean. In her last message to Peggy, Fidelia writes that her "fath is knocking," implying that their conversation was ended because Not-Bobby Canavale was at the door. However, Tina suddenly comes to a realization and informs the courtroom that "FATH" actually stands for "first and true husband" in some dumb chastity club lingo.

Stabler and Munch realize that Fidelia's "FATH" was Max, who comes clean: when he realized that Fidelia had cheated on him and didn't love him, he killed her and faked her suicide. Case closed.

Max and Alec are put away for their crimes and Peggy is let go. ADA Greylick gives Peggy some unnecessary attitude and Peggy goes fully ballistic, strangling Greylek and screaming "I'm a good mother!" Greylek tells Stabler to "collar that bitch for assault" but Stabler sees poor Tina in tears, having witnessed everyone she knows and loves fall apart in front of her. Mr. Galli offers to take Tina in, given that she is pregnant with his grandchild, and promises to help her raise the baby. The episode ends on a rare moment of kindness.

So what makes "Babes" the best episode of Law and Order: SVU? The episode features a lot of "ripped-from-the-headlines" moments, from the Gloucester pregnancy pact to the the suicide of Megan Meier. There are some genuinely funny moments in the episode and the performances are pretty great, especially Debi Mazar. And while Benson isn't featured all that much, it's a pretty heavy Munch episode, and he's always great. The episode starts with a homeless man on fire with his penis chopped off and still somehow finds a way to get more crazy by the end. "Babes" is a season ten episode, which means it's SVU in their bonkers prime, a few seasons before Stabler left but long enough into the show's run for them to feel blindly confident in what they were doing. If you are able to stream this episode, I highly recommend checking it out - it will almost definitely improve your day.