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dlscenarios · 1 month ago

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Delicate

Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader SMUT

"Come here, you could meet me in the back"

Cw: SMUT, AFAB Reader + Reader wears period-typical feminine clothes, Ben catches feelings instantly (like an idiot), Why are all Bridgertons handsy, Vaginal Fingering, Pull Out Method/Coming on Stomach, Sex with Feelings, Is Vanilla a Kink?

I don't like this one as much as I liked Anthony's but I'm sure I'll write more for Ben eventually.

MDNI

It is oft said that second sons have more fun. They have the wealth and influence of a firstborn son, but they also have the freedom to behave in ways their elder brother could only dream of. This was the case with Benedict Bridgerton, second son of the late Viscount Bridgerton and only two years younger than the new one. While being one of the most eligible bachelors in London, he somehow manages to deflect wedding bells every time his eager mother brings around a single lady. He often escapes to White's for a stiff drink, but lately he has taken up going to parties thrown by the other unmarried men in the ton.

Benedict had never been a fan of Phillip Cavender — his soirées were always hit or miss — but tonight's actually seemed to be quite good for once. The spirits were high end yet no guest had thrown up the contents of their stomach thus far and the rooms didn't smell of sweat and sex. Of course, there was still the occasional couple in the hallway with their tongues down each other's throat, but the Cavenders' house had seen much worse based on the last few times Benedict had paid a visit. Though better than the last, the party was not exactly to Benedict's taste.

The only unwed Bridgerton brother — aside from Gregory who was not quite old enough for marriage — had just stepped outside with his glass to enjoy some fresh air when he heard a groan from the other side of the house. Benedict, though intrigued, decided not to butt in but subconsciously took a small step closer toward the sound. He took a sip of his drink before someone, supposedly the one that had made the aforementioned noise, stepped out from behind the wall, halting instantly once they spotted him.

You had been hiding on the side of the Cavenders' house, having been relegated there after the friend you had come with started getting debauched by a nameless lord in the hallway. It hadn't exactly been an unwanted change of scenery, the party had begun to take a turn for the worse when Phillip started chugging brandy straight from the bottle, but you would have preferred to gather your friend and flee had she not been taken up with someone.

When you rounded the corner, posture relaxed and hair freed from the coiffure it'd been in all night, Benedict's heart almost leapt out of his chest. He couldn't put his finger on why, but it had been the first time in his nearly thirty years of life that someone caught him so off guard. You took a startled step back, eyes widened after nearly running into the man.

You let out a small surprised squeak before clearing your throat. "Apologies..." you muttered, offering the stranger a quick nod of acknowledgment before turning to walk past him.

"Wait!" Benedict's mouth had worked before his mind. He couldn't let you leave. Something about you drew him in and after years of thinking he'd never feel the same flutter his siblings felt when meeting their spouses, a random partygoer gave him that exact feeling. However, now that he had your attention and you waited for him to speak once more, he couldn't think of anything that'd make you stay. Instead, he just gazed at you, studying every feature of your face, your hair, your chest...

"Sir...?" your voice came out meek but was enough to force Benedict back to earth. He blinked and straightened his stance, instinctively bitting his lip as he tried to think of what to say. Would a compliment be too forward? Too soon to ask for your time?

"Would you...care for a drink?" He immediately regretted uttering such a flubbed line.

Much to his relief, you tittered, "Sorry but I do not drink. Especially not at a party such as this."

Benedict nodded. There went his only idea...

You cut off his thoughts, "You seem familiar."

He looked up from the ground. "Do I?" He could track your eyes as they studied his appearance.

"You're a Bridgerton, aren't you?"

That made Benedict crack a nervous smile. Of course you'd clock him as a Bridgerton. Everyone in the ton knew his family and how they all shared the same features. "Can you guess which one?"

"Well...considering you are here and not with a wife, I assume you're Benedict. Unless you're the viscount hiding from the viscountess." Your smirk told him you were joking. If you knew Benedict's name, surely you knew enough about his brother to know he was too enamored to ever leave Kate's side.

He mirrored your smirk. "I assure you, I am not married." He paused briefly before asking, "Might I ask why you were out here alone?"

You sighed and pointed toward the Cavenders' front door. "My friend is in there. She's found some man to make her very happy, for turn of phrase."

Benedict let out an "ah" and leaned against the side of the house.

"Why are you out here alone?" you asked, clasping your hands in front of you.

"Not quite a fan of Cavender's parties. I only came because a few buddies asked me to."

"I am not a fan either. The man himself is so...distasteful. I do not understand why any respectable person comes here."

"What is your name, if I may be so earnest?" Benedict pipes in and the moment you answered, the very sound of your name became a tight yet comforting presence around his heart. It felt right, as if he had been searching for it all his life. He had never heard of you or your family before but meeting you hadn't felt like meeting the other strangers of the ton.

He couldn't even tear his eyes away from you, meeting yours as he suggested aimlessly, "Do you...wish to go inside? It is quite cold out here tonight. I'm sure we could find a room to stow away in."

It, in fact, wasn't "quite cold" at night in the middle of June, but Benedict chose not to correct his mistake either. You seemingly didn't care to call him out as well, as your reply came in the form of linking your arm with his, eyes still glued to each other's as he lead you through the house.

After escorting you into a vacant bedroom and shutting the door, Benedict downed the rest of the alcohol in the glass he'd forgotten about until then before setting it on a nearby table and sitting on the side of the bed, gesturing for you to sit next to him. His eyes trailed over your dress, taking in how it hugged you in places too improper to show off in any other occasion.

His hand subconsciously moved to rest on your thigh, just above your knee, as he spoke with a smirk. "Quite the dress..."

You smiled shyly. "My friend suggested I wear it."

Benedict seemed much closer than he had been five seconds ago, yet neither of you moved away. He replied lowly, "I should thank her then."

Without warning, Benedict leaned in and captured your lips with his. His hand squeezed your leg a little tighter when your hands moved up to his head, pulling him into you as you returned his kiss. His hand trailed up your thigh, aching to bring you closer if it were possible and, when he squeezed, you noticed how dangerously close he was to your ass.

Breaking the kiss, you pressed a softer one to his jaw before leaning back to meet his gaze once more. His own hand now cupped your cheek. Benedict leaned in again, this time resting his forehead to yours. Neither of you said anything, not wanting to ruin the moment with meaningless words, instead basking in the other's presence.

The air had changed and with it changed the way you saw the man holding you. Instead of Mr. Bridgerton, the most eligible bachelor and skilled eluder of the aisle, you saw Benedict, a beautiful, warmer soul than most men you had met in the ton. It left you wanting to know more of him. It left you wanting him.

As if on the same wavelength, the two of you leaned in once more, the hand he'd had on your cheek slipping into your hair as the kiss grew hotter. Benedict groaned into your mouth, instinctively rolling his hips into the air when you returned his moan. He broke the kiss, gripping your shoulder, softly panting against your lips.

"I want you..." he whispered, eyes shining as if he'd just then realized it. "I want you..."

Your hands held his face again, futilely steadying him when you felt the hand sliding along your back tremble.

"I need you..." Benedict muttered, pulling your lower half closer. "Please..." His hand trailed over your clothed leg again.

He could have blamed it on the alcohol had you declined. He would have accepted your decision, though shattering his heart, apologized and fled. Instead, he meticulously watched as you hiked up your skirt, bunching the fabric at your thigh. Without hesitation, Benedict slipped his hand under, passing your stocking and caressing the soft skin above it. His eyes looked up to meet yours, silently asking if you were sure. Your warm smile coaxed him into kissing you again, softer and sweeter than the two prior and ending much too soon, but then he pressed similar pecks to your jaw and neck. His thumb rubbed gentle circles on your thigh before moving up to squeeze your clothed breast.

Your breath hitched as he mouthed at your neck. The hand at your chest then groped your hip then finally rest on your ass. With another chaste kiss to your cheek and a limp tug to your skirt, he whispers into your ear, "Take this off. Lie on the bed."

Without wasting a second, after he pulled away, you reached back to unbutton your gown. Benedict's eyes were glued to your body as he followed your actions, throwing his coat and shirt to the floor in time with your dress. He helped you undress further, having to restrain himself from ripping off your stays. The moment your back hit the bed, Benedict was on you, caressing your newly-bared thigh.

Benedict lowered himself to capture your lips again. Warm hands slipped up your sides, one taking a breast into it as he planted another peck to your cheek, whispering breathlessly into your ear, "Perfect..."

His lips pressed a kiss below your ear before trailing down your neck, past your collarbone and stopping at your chest. He mouthed at your breast, showering the soft skin in languid kisses. The hand that once held one slid between your legs, the pads of his fingers wasting no time in circling your clit. You let out a gasped moan, instinctively curling into his hand. Benedict's lips met your jaw as nimble fingers rubbed just a little faster.

Your own hand, unsure of what else to do, sneaked up his shoulder and rested at the nape of his neck, guiding him in for another kiss. His tongue expertly clashed with yours when you felt a finger slowly push into you. Benedict swallowed your moan, unable to hold back one of his own as he felt your heat clench around him. He gently thrusted into you, thumb returning to your neglected clit. As your lips departed, a quiet smack echoing between your bodies, your hips rolled to match his movements.

The way your pleading eyes looked up to meet his almost broke Benedict's resolve. It was almost like an angel had fallen from heaven and landed right beneath him. He studied the way your lips parted to allow breathy pants to escape, the glass-like shine in your stare begging him for more, the way your back arched when he applied just a little more pressure to your bud. God, if he wouldn't kill to paint the very sight into the recesses of his mind.

Benedict was admittedly never a patient man — a trait all Bridgertons carried if his nearly thirty years of experience with seven siblings was any indication — so it should have come as no surprise when he started growing antsy. The ache in his trousers was growing harder to ignore and, with a dejected whine from you, he slipped his hand away to undo the buttons. Your eyes were glued to his newly bared form. Benedict resumed his position above, hands roaming your figure again. Everything about you was perfect.

His fingers dragged across your ribs, running warm, gentle lines over them as he whispered, "Are you ready?" He hardly heard himself, lost in his head, admiring your body in another once-over. However, Benedict heard your breathy "yes" clearly.

He took himself into one hand, holding the plush flesh of your thigh in the other as he aligned with your entrance. He slowly entered, breath hitching at the way your body welcomed him. Once he finally bottomed out, Benedict gripped your hips, blunt nails digging into them in a futile attempt to ground himself. He couldn't come before you, but the way you squeezed him, taking him as if created by God to do so, did not make that an easy feat.

Benedict was no virgin — hardly any man his age and status hadn't lain with someone — yet it suddenly felt as if he was. He gave an experimental, careful thrust, soon adjusting into a slow rhythm. As he gradually picked up speed, nearly resorting to recounting arithmetic from his schooling days to stave off the orgasm threatening to overtake him, one of his hands flew between your hips, thumb catching your clit once again. He needed you to come, needed to feel you tightening around him before he'd join you.

Maths could only do so much.

Yet, as if some higher power had answered Benedict's prayer, your back arched, muscles tensing and moans growing louder as your release hit. His thumb continued its assault on you long enough to guide you through your high, your toes curling and hands ripping into the silk sheets below.

Once your body retracted from his touch, Benedict pulled out, replacing you with his hand, your arousal dripping from his cock as he finished himself off, tightly gripping the pillow by your head. With a high moan, he painted your stomach with his spend.

He sighed and crumbled to the bed beside you, his hand resuming its spot on your thigh. Benedict laid back and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. He never wanted to let go, he thought with a subconscious squeeze of your flesh. As he replayed the events of the past few minutes in his head, the pieces were falling into place. His heart picked up speed, the satisfied expression he wore falling as he realized what he felt for you.

Benedict turned to your side, seeing that you too had been reflecting on the night as you bore up.

He never wanted to let you go, and the way you looked at him when you finally noticed his gaze told him that this wouldn't be the last time he'd see you.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader smut #benedict x reader #benedict x you #benedict x y/n #bene #benedict bridgerton x reader smut #kinktober 2024

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taradactyls · 5 months ago

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The full Bennet Family Finances endnote from Ch33

I’ve been doing some more maths (ch26 has the initial discussion) on the savings that our characters might do/should’ve done since it’s fascinating to me and some of the comments I’ve been getting have been making me think more about it. One of the common themes is surprise at just how negligent the Bennets were at saving, instead of merely being stretched thin by expenses. I understand this completely, as it isn’t something that’s explicit in an easily recognisable way for modern audiences.

So, where could they have been more economical? They don’t go to London, no one has a gambling addiction, all travelling (which was EXPENSIVE) is done cost effectively, and they certainly didn’t spend all the money on tutors and the like for their daughters. I’m sure there’s actual academic papers by historians on this (I miss my uni access to those so much) but I can take some educated guesses.

We know Mrs Bennet is just bad with household management. Part of which might mean ordering too much food (it’s mentioned she keeps a good table, so this is as close to canon as we can get) and perhaps not being efficient with what she does order, ie wanting different meats from night to night, instead of having the leftovers served as stews or whatnot, not keeping an eye on the prices of sugar, salt, etc to buy when they’re cheap, making special orders instead of purchasing what’s readily available, etc. We know none of the Bennet women assist in the kitchen (as the Lucases do) so that’s more work for servants and thus likely to contribute to the need of an extra servant or higher wages. Household management could also be more innocuous things like always buying the expensive bees-wax candles, instead of using tallow when guests aren’t around or in out-of-the-way rooms. And being inefficient with candle usage (this is likely a Mr Bennet flaw too, if he enjoys reading in his library at night) in order to have a room better lit than strictly necessary. There was a reason families all tended to gather in one room after dark, and the Bennets notably don’t. Also having fires in all the principal rooms instead of just the ones likely to be used that day. If there’s ways to be inefficient with funds when it comes to cleaning, I’m sure they found a way there, too. Basically, anything that requires forward planning to help with economy would be lacking.

But that’s all ‘essentials’ just done inefficiently, what luxuries might they have had? They have the income to warrant their carriage, horses, and it seems Mr Bennet does hunt, but that’s also a standard expense for his wealth, so let’s focus on what might be pushing them to their limits. Other than the over-provisioned dining table, which we’ve mentioned, nothing about their socialising habits seems excessive. Mrs Bennet’s love of fashion could be pushing her wardrobe bill up, Mr Bennet’s love of books could be a VERY expensive hobby, and of course – five daughters out at once. Having five daughters out (especially unnecessarily as Lydia and even Kitty were quite young to be out) cost a LOT of money. Lady Catherine was rude as anything, but her surprise at the fact was warranted. Other than money, it also meant the daughters were in direct ‘competition’ for the same limited amount of suitors, which theoretically might hurt the elder girls’ chances. Five distinct wardrobes for young women which needed gowns for all occasions, going through dance shoes and gloves very quickly, bonnets, etc, all added up. At the start of the book multiple hundreds of pounds a year would be going to keeping their daughters looking the part while mixing in society.

But Jane’s only twenty-one or twenty-two at the start of the novel, and came out at fifteen at the earliest. Yet the Bennets still never saved money, and never overspent their income, so there were other expenses they were able to drop which had been preventing them from saving money for the first sixteen or so years of their marriage. I think it’s fair to assume there’s random, one-time bigger expenses that were undertaken with any substantial spare money: perhaps the hermitage Mrs Bennet mentions is a newer addition, was the coach (which are normally ordered around the start of a marriage) refitted more recently, how often is the décor of Longbourn updated (and on that note, are things like the sofa reupholstered or completely replaced), do they impulse buy vases and sculptures, make sure whatever alcohol they do buy (which appears to be a reasonable amount for their class) is the expensive stuff, etc. Whatever it is, it’s a both parent problem. Mrs Bennet is bad at money management and instead of changing her habits or preparing her daughters for financial hardship puts pressure on them to marry (preferably rich, but she doesn’t seem to have a complaint about Wickham in that regard). Mr Bennet is smart enough to see that there is a problem and how to fix it, but after his first idea fails (have a son to break the entail and thus provide for his widow and other children – which doesn’t even necessarily mean the girls would get a dowry, just that they would never live in poverty) does nothing to reassess the issue or find a solution. He essentially shrugs his shoulders and lets his daughters shift for themselves. One parent is too stressed about money and only addresses it negatively, and the other isn’t stressed enough and doesn’t address it seriously at all. Neither do anything productive, even though changing their habits would be enough to fix it. I love them, but MASSIVE parenting failure on their end; and hinted to occur because the parents were too used to comforts and different themselves to be able to work together and act on a solution.

Now for some actual MATHS! Which, yes, I realise I am strangely excited about.

The idea that most of the Bennets’ money is spent by having so many daughters out at once seems to keep popping up in my time on the internet. So, I thought it would be interesting to see what their dowries could be if that five-daughters-out-at-once money wasn’t spent on other things before any daughters were out. Costs of this could vary a bit between families, and though we know Lydia’s expenses were almost £100 per annum that includes board and food as well as little gifts from Mrs Bennet, so we can’t simply multiply that by five and be done with it. But, given Mrs Bennet’s desire for fashion and the poor financial management we see from her and some of her daughters, it’s quite possible clothes were being bought new rather than pulled apart and remade more than they ought to be, so spending £50 to £60 a year on each daughter being ‘out’ seems reasonable. For the purposes of this, let’s look at a total of £250 and £300 a year for all five, and in the 4%s because that’s where the money settled on Mrs Bennet apparently is. After sixteen years of marriage (when we will assume Jane comes out) that’s £5,456 or £6,547. Meaning that just doubled their dowry, even if they save nothing else after that. If the interest is left alone, that’s more than £1,000 that’s added to it before the novel even begins. Suddenly Mr Bennet dying at the start of the novel would leave his widow and daughters with between £11,500-£13,000 instead of the meagre £5,000 they actually have.

And the girls didn’t all come out at once, so just to put some numbers to it for math purposes, let’s say Elizabeth came out one year after Jane, Mary two years after her, Kitty another two years later, and Lydia the following year. For simplicity, each girl coming out is going to remove the same amount of money (when realistically it’s likely Jane, who needs everything new, and Lydia, who’s spoilt, would have cost the most). With the lower estimates of expenses, that’s £8,062 saved at the time of the novel, taking the total for Mrs Bennet and the girls to £13,602 or £2,612 each, assuming nothing else is saved. At the higher cost for the girls being out, that’s £9,676 saved and £14,676 that they’ll eventually inherit a share of. Still below what they should have as dowries, but a vast improvement, and proof of why having five daughters out at once was an additional strain but not THE strain. It was just another element in a mountain of problems.

“But what if it was in the 5%s?” asks no one but me. I think they would stick to the more stable bonds Mrs Bennet’s dowry is in, but if they didn’t, the same situation as above would save £9,243 (or £14,243 total) or £11,090 (£16,090 to share or £3,218 each).

For pure funsies, the numbers if Mr and Mrs Bennet had also saved the interest of the £5,000 settled upon her (which by itself would grow to £12,324 in the 4%s) in addition to these savings are:

£20,387 (£4,077 each at the start of the novel) with the £250 expenses estimate. At £300 for all five daughters out, we get to £21,998. Both of these numbers suddenly mean the Miss Bennets would never have to fear poverty when Mr Bennet died and they would individually each be as rich as their mother was, and though they wouldn’t be counted as rich themselves, would at least have something respectable. They might not cost their husbands money to marry.

AND THEN if everything is in the 5%s but that original £5,000, and the interest it gains is also moved to the higher interest account, the grand total would be either £22,528, again assuming the £250 expenses, and £24,376 at the £300 estimate.

I’ve been doing some equations for Darcy, too. So, let’s talk about that next chapter, to give me time to really figure it out.

#fic:t3w #pride and prejudice #jane austen

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scotianostra · 3 months ago

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On August 27th 1788 the trial began of Deacon William Brodie, a respected pillar of Edinburgh society by day, a thief and housebreaker by night.

Brodie is said to have been the inspiration of Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, which was published a century later.

The prestigious title of deacon did not refer to religion, as many assume, but instead to his presidency of one of Edinburgh's trades guilds. His trade was as a cabinet-maker and his position as deacon of the Incorporation of Wrights made him a member of the town council.

The trial of William Brodie for breaking into and robbing the General Excise Office for Scotland took place at Edinburgh on 27th and 28th August, 1788. The story of his strange career is as enthralling as any romance. The double life which he so long and successfully led – as a respected citizen and town councillor by day, and by night the captain of a band of housebreakers – was the wonder of the country at the time. Nowadays you would call it a celebrity trial.

Brodie was quite rich with 10,000 pounds and three houses that he inherited from his father. He also inherited the business, allowing him to sustain the wealth. Traveling in the highest social circles, Brodie had the key to almost all of the richest people’s houses. Literally. No wealthy Edinburgh resident would ever think that such a respected man would keep a copy of their key in his drawer and that he would slip inside their homes after nightfall to steal everything worth taking.

During the day, he was a well-known gentleman who shared jovial times with his rich customers and enjoyed the company of highly respected persons such as himself, but during the night, Brodie could be found gambling in the dark corners of Edinburgh, accruing debts that forced him to consider a life of crime, and so, he became a thief.

After installing a lock in a rich man’s home, Brodie would also make a copy of the key for himself. Not because he collected souvenirs, but because he intended to visit those homes again, some other night when a burglary without breaking in but entering the house with a key would be his tactic. In this way, the man had supplemental payment to support his double life as a gentleman by day and a gambler in the evenings. On top of everything, Brodie had to support his five children by two mistresses who didn’t know of each other’s existence.

Allegedly, his criminal career began around 1768, when he stole 800 pounds from a bank that he sneaked into during the night by using a key. The Deacon’s nightlife was filled with gambling, robbing, and stealing. He didn’t mix his daily business and finances with his nightlife. Whenever he would fall into debt while gambling, he had the “ace key” that would pay off his debts.

Another source says that although Brodie had already robbed a bank, his real criminal career began in the summer of 1786 when he met George Smith, an Englishman. Brodie and Smith got into business together, targeting the rich people’s homes in Old Town. By the end of that same year, the duo had successfully robbed a tobacconist and a goldsmith’s.

Soon, the Deacon and the Englishman recruited two other members to their group: Andrew Ainslie, a shoemaker, and John Brown, a thief. In 1787, the gang stole tea from a grocer’s store in Leith. Back then, tea was a valuable commodity, a luxury that only members of the elite could afford to buy.

Encouraged by their success, the gang, led by the Deacon, decided to steal the revenues of Scotland from an Excise office in Chessel’s Court on the Canongate. They organized an armed raid, and for the first time, instead of welcoming themselves inside with a key, they broke in. However, they managed to steal only 16 pounds when they were caught. The unsuccessful robbery led Brown to claim the King’s Pardon the same night and named Smith and Ainslie as the culprits.

When his partners got arrested, Brodie traveled to London, and from there he boarded a ship to Amsterdam. But, since there was a reward for Brodie, he was tracked down in Holland and shipped back to Edinburgh. He and his friend Smith were tried on August 27, 1788. Although at first there wasn’t any strong evidence against Brodie, he was convicted after a disguise, pistols, and of course, copied keys were found in his workshop. After a trial that lasted only 21 hours, Brodie was hanged in front of 40,000 people on October 1st that very year.

You can read an account of his trial here https://archive.org/.../trialofdeaconbro00brod_djvu.txt

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #burglar

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cera-writes · 6 months ago

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An Unconventional Debut: A Bridgerton AU story — Remy LeBeau x F!Reader

~Part 1

Tags: slow burn, jealousy, teasing, scandals, forbidden love, and debauchery Prompt: Reader, who comes from the esteemed Everleigh Family, finds herself named Diamond of the Season by the Queen herself. many eligible bachelors are vying for her attention and potential hand in marriage, but she only wants to marry for love. Will she find it, or will her family arrange a marriage for her?

Prelude:

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow upon your face as you exited Madame Delacroix's dress shop with your handmaid. A triumphant smile played upon your lips. The lavender gown you'd chosen for the Trowbridge Ball had been a resounding success, and today's fitting for the upcoming Stafford Soiree promised to be just as delightful.

As you descended the steps, lost in a vision of silk and tulle, you collided with a figure as you exited the shop. With a startled yelp, you stumbled back, only to find a strong hand steady your elbow.

Looking up, you found herself face to face with a stranger. He was tall and handsome, with chocolate tresses tied back, a few loose strands grazing his cheekbones. His eyes were unusual, unlike anything you'd ever seen that held the glint of both amusement and something akin to surprise.

"Forgive me, Miss...?" he said, his voice a deep baritone, "seems ah done lost my mind for a second there, chérie."

"Everleigh," you responded, nearly breathless by how strikingly pretty he was for a gentleman. His accent was what really drew you to him. It was so unusual but it peaked your interest in him even moreso.

Regaining your composure, you realised with a jolt who this intriguing gentleman was. Monsieur Remy Lebeau, the enigmatic new arrival who had set tongues wagging throughout London.

"No harm done, Monsieur LeBeau," you replied, a touch of amusement dancing in your own eyes.

A smile played on his lips. "Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle. But where could a charmin' flower like yourself be bloomin' off to so quickly?"

You, ever the picture of propriety, explained your errand to Madame Delacroix's.

"Ah," he said, a hint of intrigue in his voice, "preparin' for another conquest, I see."

"Hardly, Monsieur," you countered, a touch of defiance in your tone. "A lady simply enjoys a beautiful gown."

Your gazes locked for a moment, a spark of something unexpected passing between you. Then, with a slight bow, Monsieur LeBeau took your hand and brushed it with a light kiss.

"Until we meet again, Miss Everleigh," he said, his voice a low murmur laced with French charm. "May your gown be as dazzlin' as you are, cherie. Tout le monde va être hypnotisé."

Flustered, you could only manage a breathless "Thank you," before he turned and strolled down the street, leaving your heart pounding a wild rhythm against your ribs. Perhaps the Stafford Soiree held more in store than just a new gown.

Once you'd returned home with your handmaid, you couldn't wait to have another run in with Monsieur Labeau. Perhaps you'd see him at the upcoming ball.

Your mother, Miss Alice Everleigh, noticed your giddiness. "My my, what's got my daughter so giddy this afternoon?" she inquired, quirking a brow as she sipped on her tea.

"I just met the most unusual gentleman while on my way home," you replied, lazily sitting down on the bergère.

"Oh, do tell." Your mother quipped, suddenly interested in what you had to tell her as she sat opposite from you on the chaise longue.

You were the only child of the Everleigh family, so securing a husband was detrimental. Luckily for you, you were named Diamond of the Season, so you should have no trouble finding a husband to secure your family's wealth.

"Monsieur Remy LeBeau. Have you heard the man speak? He had me weak in the knees, mother."

Your mother's eyes went wide, nearly slamming her cup of tea down on the table. "You are to stay away from him. I've heard of his reputation and you will not succumb to being another one of his...desserrés," your mother scoffed, appalled that you'd already made his acquaintance.

"Oh, do calm yourself mother. I merely just met him," you rolled your eyes.

"I'm sorry darling, it's just that you'll have a lot of gentleman vying for your attention this season and securing a husband, the right husband, is detriment to your standards, our standards as this family. We've worked so hard to get you to this point love," she explained, hoping to talk some sense into you.

You rolled your eyes, now more than ever, wanting nothing more than to retire for the night.

"I understand, mama."

That didn't stop you from dreaming about Remy that night though. His accent spoke pretty words in your ear as you dreamt of him, dreamt sinful things no lady in waiting should dream of.

The ball couldn't come soon enough.

#xmen #x men 97 #remy lebeau #gambit #gambit x reader #remy lebeau x reader #bridgerton au #xmen au #Spotify

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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The Vanity and Variability

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother's debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & Vhagar Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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The Targaryen family name was one of the most famous and respected in London. His father's great-grandfather had been a duke, so royal blood flowed in them, and their family estate had been part of the kingdom for centuries.

He grew up with a sense of his own uniqueness, which his grandfather, his mother's father, Otto, constantly reminded him and his siblings of, remarking on their upbringing, their gait, the way they spoke. From an early age, everything they did was to testify to their origins and properly represent them to the world.

They were not allowed to run or shout, they were not allowed to eat with their hands, keep their elbows on the table, swear or laugh loudly. He was not allowed to play with other children, instead he was expected to keep reading and expanding his knowledge, and at the age of twelve he could already speak French and Italian as well.

And then, during one of the fencing training sessions with his nephew that his grandfather had forced him to do, he lost his left eye. Luke, enraged at his loss swung his sword as he managed to pull off his protection and the blade sliced his left cheek in half.

Having learned that he was not allowed to cry or scream, he howled and sobbed into his pillow all night, praying that his grandfather would not hear him.

Neither his position nor his wealth could change his appearance.

Although his father had a first-born son, his elder brother Aegon, everyone knew that he would have preferred the family estate to pass to his eldest daughter after his death, his only child, whom he had fathered with his first wife, who had died.

They had spent their entire lives in the shadow of his affections for her, simply existing in large palatial spaces, unsure if they were of any use to anyone at all. Knowing that he would inherit nothing, that he had only his name and his disfigured, ugly face, he hid in the world of literature, disappearing for hours in the library thus forgetting the woes of his life.

He knew that eventually he would be forced to marry a woman of similar status to himself.

When he first met the Countess Rivers, a wealthy widow much older than him, he thought she could become his wife, he even suggested it to his grandfather. He, however, laughed at his suggestion, saying that this woman had only married the Count for money and had tricked her way into his bed and then deprived him of his life for sure.

That didn't stop him, after a few grand balls in London, from locking himself away with her in seclusion and enjoying all that was female flesh and female fulfilment, feeling for the first time that he was not a repulsive child, but a man.

Life, however, made a mockery of him again when it turned out that Aegon had lost such large sums of money at cards over the years that, despite the fact that his brother was now a grown man who had a wife, Otto had beaten him before his eyes with a cane as if he were a small child again.

Aegon wailed and whimpered as he laid on the ground, writhing in pain, still drunk, and his grandfather hissed between hits that he was their ruin, their greatest misfortune.

Then his grandfather presented everyone at the evening meal with the solution to the problem they faced.

"Borros Baratheon is an extremely wealthy general with as many as five daughters ready to marry, he is known for his immense love for them, so I am confident that their dowries will be appropriate and also, if we play it right, he will give us a loan so that we can pay our immediate debts. Aemond, you will travel to Chelsfield to rest a little and choose your future spouse during this time." He said lightly, and everyone around him froze.

He heard Aegon's loud, amused laughter as he clapped his hands, the sound echoing throughout the room in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

"An excellent thought, grandfather. Right, brother? There's nothing better than to fuck a country wench." He said taking a glass of wine and raising it to his lips, their mother slammed her fist on the table, silencing him with a hiss, his wife lowered her gaze, embarrassed and ashamed.

Aemond did not listen to him or his mother. He stared at his grandfather wide-eyed, his jaw clenched, his fingers outstretched on the table rubbing against each other intensely in a nervous gesture.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" He choked out finally, deadly serious, unable to believe what he was hearing.

His whole life, everything he'd denied himself, everything he'd learned was to serve who he was, his heritage, he hadn't been allowed to marry Alys despite her surpassing them all in stature, and now he was to choose from five simpering daughters of some village general?

His grandfather raised an eyebrow in displeasure.

"Ask your brother about that. Thanks to him we have no liquidity, we are finished. We need money, and Borros Baratheon has it. Marry one of his daughters and be happy you have plenty to choose from." He said impatiently, and Aemond got up from the table, leaving the room with a loud slam of the door against the walls.

He rushed into his room like a storm, ordering his servants not to let anyone in, and circled around his bed one way and the other, feeling like shouting, feeling like throwing something or destroying something, but he knew he couldn't do it, that it wasn't proper.

He finally knelt down in the middle of his room catching himself by his hair, burying his face in his arms and crying helplessly like a baby.

How many more humiliations did he have to endure in his life for God to decide that enough was enough?

How much more could he pray?

Why didn't God listen to him even though he went to church with his mother every Sunday, prayed in the morning and before bed with attention and focus?

Why was he not a good enough son either in the eyes of his father or God himself?

He knew there was no going back from his grandfather's decision. He knew that his mother would never defy him and his father would not take any interest in the matter even if he married a strange woman from the fair.

After a week he sat in the carriage that was to take him to Chelsfield and looked out of the window at the busy streets of London, inside sat with him Vhagar, his dog whom he had received as a gift from his mother for his tenth birthday.

She was beautiful, looking like a giant snow fox with white soft fur and a long snout. She was the only one he confided in, the only one he cried with, the only one with whom he could be weak, plaintive, whimsical, cheerful or happy.

Chelsfield was not far from London and they covered that distance in a few hours. Aemond pressed his lips together as he saw through the window a quite grand, country manor house of white brick, overgrown on all sides with ivy.

He saw a man in their army uniform step out, followed by a young boy and a whole bunch of girls in long high-waisted gowns.

He felt like throwing up at the sight of them.

When the door opened Vhagar was the first to fly out and despite him calling her she ran ahead, curious about the new smells and spaces. He felt rage when one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, who also looked to be the youngest, not yet pinning her hair into a bun, but having it partly loose, partly braided at the back of her head, ran towards her, reaching out to her.

He feared that Vhagar would bite her, unused to the sudden presence of strangers, her father thought the same, for he immediately moved towards her, rebuking her, but Vhagar only barked loudly and jumped at her, almost knocking her over.

The girl laughed out loud, catching her around the waist as if she was dancing and they both continued in such an embrace, Vhagar started sniffing her and licking her face.

He had never felt so embarrassed in his life.

Lord Baratheon greeted him with a few meaningless sentences, mentioning what an honour it was for him and that his room was ready, that he hoped he would find peace here and a bit of a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

He figured the last thing he'd find in this place was rest.

He nodded at his words, pulling his cylinder off his head and following him through the main door to his house, escorted by the curious stares of his daughters.

When he finally locked himself into the room that was to belong to him for now, he sat down on the bed and grabbed his head, feeling like he was about to pass out. He couldn't imagine spending every evening with them, forced to talk to each of his daughters in turn.

He hated talking to strangers, he didn't have the gift to converse easily and he put his thoughts together with difficulty into full sentences, and the more he stressed about it, the worse it got.

He figured they'd tire him to death here, and he'd still have to choose which one of these silly girls to take with him and, horror of horrors, marry her, share his bed and his life with her. He shook his head at the thought, sighing heavily.

He didn't leave until the evening, terrified and discouraged, unpacking in his room, which was small by his standards. He looked out of the window and saw a rather pleasant view of the park, trees and hills.

He heard barking and noticed how the same girl who had let Vhagar lick her face in his presence ran across the grass with her, acting almost as if she were a second dog, laughing loudly, throwing her a long stick again and again.

He had never seen Vhagar in such euphoria before.

What kind of house was this?

When it was time for dinner he dressed himself in proper attire, adjusted the black ribbon in which his hair was tied, made sure his eye patch was fastened tightly enough, and went down the stairs feeling as if he was going to beheading.

As he entered the room, which he understood was the dining room, he noticed a beautifully decorated long table, a large fireplace at the end of the hall, lots of portraits and landscapes on the walls , tables and chairs all around.

Everyone stood up at the sight of him and nodded at him, and he reciprocated the gesture, walking unhurriedly to his seat, which was to the left of Mr Baratheon, and which should have been occupied by his eldest son. He saw with surprise that his son was seated opposite him, and only then realised that he had not seen Mrs Baratheon anywhere.

"Let's eat." Ordered Mr Baratheon in his booming, low, throaty voice and nodded to his servants, who one by one began to put food on their plates. As he expected, Mr Baratheon immediately addressed him.

"I hope you find your room comfortable and lacking in nothing, Mr Targaryen." He said lightly, without overbearing or teasing, it was more a statement than a question. Aemond nodded without looking at him.

"Yes, thank you very much. I'm not missing anything." He replied indifferently, grabbing his spoon, wanting to immediately start eating to prevent further conversation. The girl next to him couldn't resist, after a few minutes she tried to initiate light conversation with him.

"How do you find the landscapes of Chelsfield, Mr Targaryen?" She asked softly, and he turned his cool gaze on her, thinking in his head that it was the cheesiest question he had ever heard.

She was the only one with fair hair and seemed to him to be the oldest, her breasts were large and full as were her other shapes, and she had a pretty, common face, but not enough to tempt him.

"They are pleasant." He replied coolly, putting down his spoon so that the servant knew to take his plate from him. The girl beside him fell silent, discouraged.

"The day after tomorrow we will all go to church. Will you accompany us, Mr Targaryen?" Another of his daughters sitting across the table asked him, looking at him curiously, her lips slightly parted, as if defiantly, which he found displeasing.

She was trying to coquette him, to show him physically that she was attracted to him.

"Of course." He replied just as dispassionately, immediately getting down to his second dish as soon as it was served in front of him, wanting to finish the meal as quickly as possible.

As soon as he had succeeded in doing so he stood up and calmly announced that he wished to rest after his journey and retire to his room. Mr Baratheon agreed to this without much concern, watching him closely as he bowed and left without another word.

As he locked himself in his room he felt relieved. He pulled off his tailcoat, staying in just his chemise and trousers, and sat down at the cabinet, which he opened and was relieved to find stationery, quills, inkwell and ink there.

He started to write a letter to his mother, but crossed it out quickly and crumpled the piece of paper, throwing it down with rage.

Why should he lie, reassure her that he was content, that he liked it here, when it wasn't true?

He felt like he was locked in a cage with no way out, he knew he couldn't poke his nose out of his room if he wanted peace and quiet and the thought filled him with despair.

Resigned, he reached into his trunk and pulled out the books he had brought with him to somehow sweeten this awful time, these weeks he was to spend in this feral house full of simpletons.

Only after a while did he realise that Vhagar was not in his room.

He cursed loudly, running his hand over his face, devastated at the thought that surely she was still with that girl rolling around in the grass with her.

He fought with himself wondering if he should just let them stay together since they wanted to, but he felt anger because this was his dog, his closest friend, and she was taking her away from him.

As if his life had taken too little from him.

He stood up driven by rage and opened the door, looking around with a pounding heart. He heard Vhagar growling and barking in one of the rooms and knocked on it quietly, hoping to settle the matter quickly.

He heard someone run up to the door and open it quickly, Vhagar flew out and jumped on him, which had never happened before and he rebuked her immediately.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her, trying to be quiet and don't wake anyone. She sat down, breathing heavily, her tongue dangled on the left side of her mouth bobbing from her rapid breaths, her tail scrubbing the floor with joy, euphoria in her eyes.

What was happening to her?

"I was just teaching her a new trick." He heard the whisper of a girl who preferred to greet his dog first rather than him despite the fact that he could be her future husband.

He looked at her coldly, frustrated and bitter, a smile and gentle contentment on her face, she was standing in front of him in only a nightgown and a shawl thrown over her shoulders, her hair already completely loose.

He felt ashamed, it was the first time he had seen a woman in such a negligee. Even during his close-ups with Alys, he had never undressed her, simply not having the time to do so. He looked away, tightening his lips.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed, whistling at Vhagar, and she moved after him, stopping once in a while, turning towards her.

He felt furious and grabbed her suddenly by the fur on her neck, wanting to drag her forcibly to his room, like a small child who wants to snatch a toy from another child, and she began to squeal in pain and pull herself out of his grasp.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She begged and he let go of her, suddenly realising that he was causing her pain and watched, panting heavily, as Vhagar ran back to her room.

The girl looked at him apologetically and went back there, he heard her whisper to Vhagar to follow her, not to be afraid.

He stared ahead dully realising that he had just hurt the only being in the world who truly loved him.

That Vhagar would now be afraid of him too.

He felt like crying.

Miss Baratheon finally came out of her room holding something in her hand, evidently a piece of meat from the roast that she must have taken to her room after dinner and using it to train her.

Vhagar came up behind her, sniffing what she had in her hand, but when she saw him she lowered her ears and stepped back, afraid he would do to her again what he had done a moment before.

The girl approached him quickly, handing him the piece of meat she was holding.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She said to him quietly as if they were acquaintances, but he decided he would not think of that, too distraught that Vhagar hated him so he knelt before her, extending his hand to her, and Miss Baratheon knelt beside him.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered and saw his dog begin to wag his tail again, she approached him slowly, uncertainly and sniffed his fingers, then licked them and ate what he held between them.

She pressed her white head against his chest, rubbing against him, and he felt a burning sensation under his eyelids, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"− I'm so sorry −" She said softly in a voice filled with guilt.

He heard her rise and looked at Vhagar, entering his room, and she ran after her at once. He moved behind them and watched in disbelief as she sat down on his floor and Vhagar lay down right next to her, placing her paw on her thigh, letting her know that she wanted to continue playing with her.

She had never behaved like this towards him and he had no idea what he should do with a girl sitting on the floor of his room in the middle of the night.

After a moment, however, Miss Baratheon stood up and looked at him, swallowing loudly, clearly realising herself that she shouldn't be there.

"− I'm sorry for the intrusion, I just wanted her to come in here − good night −" She mumbled almost running out and closing the door behind her, Vhagar wanted to run after her but didn't make it.

He lay down on his bed, distraught, and Vhagar ran up to him, having already forgotten the unpleasant event of a few minutes before, licking him devotedly and tenderly on the face.

"Traitor." He hissed angrily and regretfully, stroking her soft fur.

For the first time in his life, he let her jump on his bed and sleep with him.

Here, there were no his grandfather or servants to report this behaviour to him, which was completely unthinkable.

He fell asleep snuggled into her soft fur, ignoring the fact that she ended up taking up most of the bedding, pushing him to the side.

He thought it was an exceptionally pleasant feeling.

When he woke up in the morning he again felt the stress overpowering him at the thought of breakfast, the fact that this girl had probably blabbed everything to her sisters, saying that he was a violent, cold and aggressive man who hurt his own dog.

However, when he came downstairs with Vhagar his dog immediately ran to her to greet her, also coming up later to her father and brother, who called out to her, eventually making the rounds around the table, getting acquainted with each in turn.

"She's beautiful." Said the second of their sisters, slightly melancholy and hearty.

At breakfast, Mr Baratheon finally introduced his daughters properly to him taking advantage of the lighter atmosphere. He nodded pretending to try to remember their names, thinking with relief only that his youngest child had apparently not mentioned to him the commotion that had taken place during the night.

"I heard loud barking yesterday in your room. Why are you taking Mr Targaryen's dog for yourself?" Asked the girl who had tried to coquette him the day before, and from what he had just learned her name was Floris.

Her younger sister gave him a quick, apologetic glance full of guilt, her gown creamy and buff, pleasantly accentuating the shape of her breasts, some of her curls pinned back, some falling over her shoulders.

"I'm not taking her away, we've just become very friendly." She mumbled, and her sister snorted at her words.

"It's not appropriate." Said another sister, Cassandra, a blonde-haired girl who tried unsuccessfully to make light conversation with him.

He watched Mr Baratheon's youngest child collapse under more and more criticism, and thought with surprise that he felt no satisfaction from it.

"That's enough." Ordered Mr Baratheon, seeing that his daughter was on the verge of crying. "My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself."

He saw her lift her gaze to him, her eyebrows arched in pain, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out finally and he swallowed loudly, clenching his hand into a fist knowing that only he and she understood the context of that sentence.

He thought with shame that he had reacted too impulsively and aggressively in front of her, even though her opinion didn't matter to him, he couldn't get the expression on her face out of his head, her cry full of pain when Vhagar started squealing.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, looking at his fingers moving in an uncertain gesture across the table top, wanting her to know that he regretted what had happened, what she had seen. Floris sitting next to him moved restlessly.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, and her younger sister pressed her trembling lips together, fighting for a moment against whatever was rising in her throat, but finally gave up and got up from the table, leaving the room before the tears had time to leave the corners of her eyes.

Her older brother followed her out, saying he would check how she was feeling, and there was an uncomfortable silence broken by their father.

"That was unnecessary, Floris." He said impatiently, his daughter snorting at his words.

"She's embarrassing us all, I just gave her something to think about."

"What a pathetic thing to say." He growled, taking a sip of tea from his cup, setting it down on the saucer with a clatter of porcelain, and only after a moment did he realise that he had said aloud what he had thought.

He didn't dare raise his eyes, feeling the pounding of his heart, feeling that all gazes were directed towards him.

"With your permission." He muttered, rising from his seat, bowing and leaving the dining room, feeling like he was going to burn from embarrassment.

How could he say something like that?

He felt that he needed air and walked outside onto the dirt road, whistling at Vhagar who ran after him, deciding to take a walk to clear his head.

He walked for a long time, going through the forest paths and then strolling around the lake, amazed at the overpowering stillness that reigned all around, the birdsong, the rustling of the leaves, the freshness of the air.

In London, everything was fast, sudden, loud.

Tiring.

He sat down on the sand by the edge of the lake and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the water, to the sounds of nature, feeling Vhagar lay down beside him, sighing heavily. He continued like this for what seemed like an eternity, and decided that he could spend hours here, simply calming and soothing himself, hiding from the world.

He shuddered as he heard someone's footsteps in the distance, Vhagar instantly rising and literally darting towards the girl he would have recognised from a mile away.

He sighed heavily, turning his face towards the surface of the water, figuring he wouldn't pay any attention to her. Just as he thought, she sat down beside him on the sand, as he did, leaning her head against a long, old tree trunk.

She didn't say a word to him, however, letting Vhagar settle down between them, stroking her head, which she laid on her thighs. When he glanced at her he saw that her eyes were closed, that she was doing exactly the same thing he was doing.

She was running away.

He relaxed at the thought that she wasn't looking for a discussion or a intimacy with him and did the same as she did.

He shuddered, looking around, unsure of where he was or what was happening, running his hand over his face. He'd never fallen asleep outside before, much less in the middle of nowhere. He looked around and saw Vhagar lying on her back, sleeping soundly, embraced by Miss Baratheon, who was asleep snuggled against her fur.

He did not know what he thought of this sight, endlessly innocent and harmless. He was afraid someone had seen or would see them, but he didn't want to touch her, so he grunted loudly. She moved suddenly, blinking her eyelids rapidly, and rose to sit down, rubbing her eyes, as confused as he was.

Feeling that what had happened was uncomfortable to say the least, he stood up and whistled at Vhagar, heading back the same way he had come, leaving her alone.

She did not follow him and he felt relieved at the thought.

Halfway through, however, he stopped, feeling anxious, wondering if he should leave her alone in the forest. He fought the thought convincing himself that since she had gone there herself, she would return on her own, knowing the area better than he did, but on the other hand, he would never let Helaena venture this far, and she was still very young.

What if something happened to her?

He cursed in frustration and turned back, coming across her after a few minutes. She looked at him surprised, clearly not expecting him to come back for her.

"Did you forget something, sir?" She asked him uncertainly, and he rolled his eyes impatiently, turning his back on her.

"Come, for God's sake."

They walked side by side in silence, simply admiring the pleasant summer views of meadows and forests, not a living soul around them.

He had to admit that these views filled him with some strange sense of warmth, landscapes that he usually only saw in paintings now appeared before his eyes, even more beautiful, teeming with life and intense, strong colours.

They returned to the mansion together, which did not escape the attention of the household, he saw that Maris and Floris literally threw themselves at her as soon as he moved on, thinking he could not hear.

"What are you thinking? What have you done?"

"Nothing." She said impatient and resentful, fatigue and despair in her voice.

"Stop. I asked you a question. You forced yourself on Mr Targaryen again, didn't you?" He heard Floris's voice and stopped in mid-step, tightening his lips.

The youngest Miss Baratheon wanted to say something in her defence, devastated by the accusations, but it was he who spoke up first.

"How are you not ashamed?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at her, all three of them suddenly silent. "It's better to be silent sometimes than to confirm one's stupidity."

Floris probably didn't believe for a moment that he had said that, but when it finally dawned on her that he was deadly serious, she burst into sobs, running into the house, hitting him with her shoulder, Maris ran in after her.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she looked at him in disbelief, not knowing herself what she thought of his cruel words. He whistled at Vhagar and walked up the stairs to the inside of their mansion, leaving her alone with her thoughts about what kind of man he actually was.

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leiflitter · 10 months ago

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Hello from Blighty thoughts about Saltburn

As a continuation from my reply to @armands-eyefuckery because BRAIN

Aight gang let's have a lil sit down because there is a big ol angle to the film that I think is getting missed by a lot of folks who aren't from the UK because it's a very uh...

British Thing.

IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT OLIVER IS FROM THE NORTH.

Cut because Length.

Now look. I am not going to go into Thatcher and Her Crimes, but it's worth a google. I do bring it up in You're Almost Home because...

Lots of people are saying Oliver is upper middle class, and honestly? That doesn't track for me. At all. Yes, his parents have a detached house in a nice suburb and they went on holidays, but there's a lot of Very British Context to them that I really want to point out. Also remember, it's 2006/2007. That is also important.

First of all- Oliver's parents probably never went to University.

Really listen to them. How gullible they are- they believe that Oliver can study at Oxford, and be on the rowing team, and be in plays, and be top scholar. He's always been so clever. If Oliver was anything near upper middle class, his parents would be educated professionals. Oliver probably has dockworkers not even three generations back- his dad has management vibes, but he probably worked his way up in the 70s when all you needed was a good attitude and not to be an obvious murderer.

Secondly- let's talk about the house.

As someone from Down South who has also lived Up North, Oliver's Parent's house would not have been as expensive as people think. Let's assume they bought it in the 1980s- we ALL know that house prices are through the roof NOW, but even today there is a huge gap between house prices in the south and the north. 200k down South might get you a one bedroom flat, if you're lucky. 200k in Prescot can get you a 4-bed, semi-detached HOUSE. Check rightmove.

It is also important that the house is relatively new-looking, because over here Upper Middle Class people aren't really into new build houses- if Oliver was upper middle class, he'd be living in something Victorian or Edwardian. Probably somewhere with a good link to London, especially in 2007. It also means that Oliver's parents may not have even bought it outright- my parents got on the housing ladder via a shared ownership scheme. Oliver's parents aren't rich.

Now, the holidays. Mykonos. Another fun Brit thing is the package holiday. Here's a pretty interesting article about them;

Two adults and three kids could absolutely have gone to Mykonos every year in the late 80s/90s for far less than you'd expect, especially if they paid in installments each month.

I also mentioned about Ollie being from Merseyside specifically, but again. CONTEXT. Although Oliver isn't Liverpudlian (it's important, he's from NEAR Liverpool but not Liverpool itself) the North of England as a whole has routinely been fucked over by those in power. The government AND the royals and the very wealthy. It's still ongoing today- again, another fun source.

Remember when Mr Eats-Crunchies-Sideways called him a Bootlicker? That's fucking IMPORTANT. To many folks he IS a bootlicker. He is highly unlikely to have been raised to grovel at the feet of those with hereditary titles and wealth, and honestly he doesn't. I've written before about how Oliver Denies Felix Things and how that dynamic is important. Oliver likely hasn't been raised with any real deference to The Rich (except Princess Diana).

It also effects Oliver's response to Felix, because goddamn it THATCHER again- it is HIGHLY likely that Oliver has lived through a lot of homophobia. Internalised a lot of it. Felix's parents do not give a shit, but that was not the norm. Again, tried to hit on it in YAH, because times have changed since the 90s/2000s and people change with them, but no fuckin wonder Oliver never responded to Felix chirpsing him like a maniac. He's fucking REPRESSED when he's in Oxford, pals. It also makes sense with that weird Tumblr Dom shit he pulls; he's still fuckin weird about it, he's just being In Charge so he doesn't need to be vulnerable in any way. He is only vulnerable for Felix, and even then he can't SHOW felix that, that would be gay.

Leiflitter over'n'out

#leiflitter rambles #saltburn spoilers #saltburn thoughts #incoherent as usual pals #can't take the brit outta saltburn #yah!posting #saltburn brainrot #saltburn analysis

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thefaeriefeatherdark · 2 months ago

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A Bad Summary of some of the Gothic Literature I've read

The Castle of Otranto: A definitely real medieval manuscript about a very complicated inheritance crisis over a small region in Italy where in several people die, a priest shockingly has a son even though he's not supposed to, and a Santa Claus is watching from the background.

The Spider: A quirky girl causes a bunch of men commit suicide.

The Great God Pan: A quirky girl causes a bunch of men commit suicide.

Carmilla: A girl tries to create a lesbian polyamory via the only means that is obvious enough for the women she flirts with to pick up (because apparently kissing them and saying she loves them isn't), which is of course by slowly draining them of their blood so they may join her in undeath as vampires.

Olalla: A very horny, very racist Scottish guy really wants to have sex with every member of this noble family but specifically only wants to marry the one within whom the effects of inbreeding are least obvious.

The Jewel of the Seven Stars: A group of people have to deal the understandably angry ghost of an Egyptian Pharoah who is quite upset her body was stolen from it's tomb, all her stuff got taken away, and she got dragged to the hellhole that is London. Eventually her kidnapper feels a bit bad about this and decides to help her out.

Dracula: I mean everyone on the site has read this one.

Lair of the White Worm: The worst of Bram Stoker's longer form gothic works, but also the last. An Australian guy who is very excited to be there realizes that maybe England is a little haunted. Meanwhile he gets himself a wife with psychic powers, and plots against the Giant Snake who is planning to marry into wealth to escape her debts.

Phantom of the Opera: An incel decides to cause problems on purpose and also attempts desperately to woo a girl by threats of violence and his excellent singing skills. After finally managing to get her to promise to marry him by leveraging her boyfriend he realizes he's not ready for the commitment and dies. Also there's a guy called the Persian who is rad.

Frankenstein: A college student realizes he is not ready for a kid, even one he made with evil science, and spends the next decade running from his problems.

#Gothic Horrror #Gothic literature #Carmilla #The Great God Pan #The Spider #Lair of the White Worm #Phantom of the Opera #Frankenstein #The Castle of Otranto #The Jewel of the Seven Stars #Dracula #Bram Stoker

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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 months ago

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Chapter 2 - Pariah

Waking up in the Raymond Manor isn't exactly the most eventful, or even cheerful activity one can do. Katrina, of all people, would know after all. Her personal maid gets into her room, wakes her up, helps her dress - As though she's incapable of doing so herself! The audacity! - Then she is served breakfast, which consists of the same type of tea every damn day, and some bread and jam, or some scones. Nothing too much, of course, or her silhouette is going to get ruined.

Once the morning routine is over, and she's had her make up and hair done, she begins her classes. Not that she has the privilege of choosing what lessons she could do, otherwise, she'd have loved to pursue her love and passion for Science and Medicine. Ever since she's found her brother's hidden book stash, she's been obsessed with learning more. Alas, she was forced to study arts, languages and lady mannerism...

Of course, she was of the impression that each and every skill, no matter how little or insignificant, should prove useful, in one way or another; Though her parents simply wish her to appear aesthetically pleasing for her future husband. She's never going to be allowed to get a job, she's just supposed to marry her fiance soon and start popping out an endless string of heirs. Exist simply for the sake of others. Being born in a noble family where only appearances and wealth matter - A privilege for the men, a curse for the women. Lo and behold the blood purity of the Raymond family!

All day, every day, the very same, maddening things. Violin class. German class. French class. Latin class. Painting class. Manners class. Dancing class.

Katrina was at her wit's end. Her parents being unnecessarily strict wasn't helping either - They were of the belief that the sole role of a woman was to bring heirs into this world and look pleasing to her Lord Husband's eye. Katrina strongly disagrees. She had the mental capacity, the ambition and the strength to become someone worthy, someone relevant in society - And that can only be done if she manages to break free from the invisible bird cage she was locked in.

Eighteen years. It will be eighteen years in January that she's had to go through all this. Things had to stop, forever. Katrina was at her breaking point - She was dead set on escaping this endless purgatory loop and get the hell out of this place. Her mind was set. She was going to start living her life.

As the grandfather clock chimed midnight, Katrina hopped off her bed and kicked the luggage hidden behind the wardrobe; She threw inside a few comfortable dresses and all of her brother's secret science books. Once her bag was done, she took all the bed sheets and the rest of the dresses, tying them together, and to the edge of the bedpost and threw it off the window, climbing down, like in the story of Rapunzel.

The perk of living in London was that she knew exactly who she could go and ask for help - The notoriously strange Undertaker. After about two or three hours of walking though the dark, cobbled streets of this wretched city, and thankfully successfully avoiding all the strays, hobos and the drunks, she was able to find her way in front of the Undertaker's parlor. She firmly knocked on the door and trying the handle, she nonchalantly stepped inside, hearing the familiar eerie giggle echoing through the pitch black room.

All day, every day, the very same, maddening things. Violin class. German class. French class. Latin class. Painting class. Manners class. Dancing class.

"Oh dear, who do we have here? Are you not aware of the time~?" one by one, small candles started lighting up, revealing the creepy man and his large grin, standing inside a vertical coffin. "I believe it is exactly 3:15am, sir." Katrina answered, straining her eyes to read the dark clock from the parlor. "Is it not quite late for a young lady, such as yourself, to be going into creepy shops?" the Undertaker hummed in amusement. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but being 3 IN THE MORNING, I believe it is too EARLY." she put emphasis on the words, cheekily letting the luggage fall to the ground. "And with what purpose have you come here, in my humble parlor, at this early hour, much before the opening time?" the man quickly corrected himself, not without the complimentary chuckle.

"I need your help and I think you are the sole person in this disgusting, God-forsaken city, that could help me." the girl replied, slowly prowling around.

"You think, or you hope?" the man ticked her off. "A bit of both, Undertaker. A bit of both. So will you hear me out?" she couldn't help but sigh in annoyance at his antics. "I am listening... With a condition." Undertaker said. "By all means, do take a seat, my coffins are quite comfortable. I believe we have quite the interesting conversation ahead. It would be rude of me to keep a lady standing." "Why, thank you for your hospitality." as instructed, she sat opposite of him - A small table positioned between them. "You want to know why am I here, correct?" the man's grin only widened. "I am not certain you remember, but when I was young, my elder brother died of a disease and my parents allowed me to choose his coffin. Nevertheless, the day I came here, I became fascinated with... Science." as she spoke, she found herself standing up and walking around the parlor again. She noticed a skull on a shelf, and she picked it in her palm, stroking it tenderly. "After his death, I started studying my brother's books that he kept hidden under his bed. He, much like myself, was also science-orientated." "A noble woman, with all the commodities in the world, except for her freedom, thus, having nothing really at all. What a sad life to live, little bird." the Undertaker's comment made her snap a glare his way. "We are at the end of the 19th century and the role of the female gender is null. Birth-giving is not a relevant role. Looking pleasing is not a relevant role. And this is not normal at all! If the true capacity of all women that have to suppress their intelligence would be developed, then the world would have been much, much farther than it is now." Katrina exclaimed, returning to her seat on the coffin. "And you came here so that you -" the man was cut off immediately by the girl speaking. "So that I could help you with autopsies and -" but she, too, had her sentence continued. "Be able to study science at your leisure." the man seemed incredibly delighted at the story he was told. "I would be glad to welcome you as my new apprentice, then, my lady." "Katrina. Just Katrina is fine. After all, I'm not exactly a noble lady anymore. I am a simple, runaway girl. A pariah, if you will." the red head scoffed, looking away with disdain. "Any girl is a lady, my dear." the Undertaker corrected her. "Suit yourself. Just let me tag along. I require no payment. I just need to survive somehow." she cleared her throat, only to see the man waltzing to her coffin and pull her into his chest, petting her hair as though she was some kind of animal. "Worry not, child, for I will take care of you, for as long as you need." though Kat hasn't felt this awkward and uncomfortable in a long time, she had to admit, it was not a bad feeling altogether. "You have my thanks. And now... Regarding the famous Jack the Ripper case... What do you know?" Kat could feel a low rumble erupting from his throat, hauntingly resounding through the place. "What do you want me to know, little songbird?" he asked, his long nails tilting her chin up to face him. "Everything." with a creepy laugh, he lead Katrina to a back room, where different corpses were laid, and despite the late hour, they started her first official lesson in anatomy and forensics. "How greedy you are, my little songbird - I might just confuse you with a magpie." the man laughed at her.

"Either way, you would be copiously wrong. After all, Undertaker, I am a fox, not some silly bird." she harshly corrected him, not without a hint of condescence.

"You may wish to reconsider some day, my dear. The Queen is known to often indulge in fox hunts, after all; She loves her fox-fur clothes." he taunted her. "And noblemen are especially fond of pretty birds who can sing pretty melodies on command."

"You better cease with your ideas, Undertaker, unless you want me to rip your throat out and take over your business." she gripped him by the neck of his robes, roughly pulling her down to her level.

"You are so full of life, my dear lady - I can only hope that you will have plenty of years ahead of you to remain just as lively." hearing his ominous implication, Katrina bruskly pushed him away, though she eyed him suspiciously before crouching down to the farther-most coffin, waiting for the first lecture.

Until the Sun rose up on the sky, Katrina listened intently to every word that the Undertaker was speaking - Those which regarded the medical topic, at least - Though she soon found her eyes closing against her will, and it was decided that she should rest for a while, before the parlor opens and she gets to be shown how to help him business-wise also.

During her sleep, however, Kat had a flashback she never thought she'd remember again. It featured her brother, in his bed, before the night of the funeral. That night, she sat in a chair, near his bed, holding his cold hand, and weeping. It was getting colder and colder, especially since the room window was open and the winter's harsh breeze was whipping her skin.

However, when she got up to close the window, a most peculiar individual in a suit, with a gardening tool in his grasp, was in front of her, looking sternly, with piercing, glowing green eyes, of a shade much brighter than her own. They looked mystical... Otherworldly.

"Ex-Excuse me, sir... But may I ask... Who are you?" the little child gulped, trying her best to stay brave in front of the intruder. "My name is William T. Spears and I am here to collect your brother's soul." the man spoke in an impersonal, firm voice. "What do you mean? Who are you? No... WHAT are you?" she asked, peering straight into those supernatural orbs. "A Shinigami." he replied simply, taking out a small red book and rapidly flipping the pages, until he reached a certain profile. "Katrina Raymond, seven years of age, born on January 3rd." he read from the book. "You are about to witness your brother's cinematic record. Have these last memories as a divine gift." William readied the branch snapper. "Now stand aside, young one."

Scuttering behind him, William collected her brother's soul by impaling his dead body and before her very eyes, Katrina could see her brother's memories - With herself, with their parents and dog, with his friends from Weston college... And some other scenes that she couldn't quite understand.

"Remember this moment, young one. Your brother was unable to escape the grips of fate... Perhaps you may." William went to leave through the window, but just before he left, Katrina rushed to grab his waistcoat and made him turn to her. "Mr. William? Tell me the truth of my brothers death - Please! What did he die of? They said it's a disease... B-But I'm not sure how true that is; He didn't have that illness's symptoms!! I suspect foul play!" the Shinigami looked down at her tearful eyes, and something about her naive innocence, associated with the truth of her brother's death, made his heart break. He hated to admit, but children have always been a weakness of his. He looked at Katrina with pity, a pondering look on his face and said a single word, before looking away and leaping out of the room. "Disease". and thus remained the finality of her brother's epilogue.

As Katrina woke up, recalling the dream she just had, her vision still blurry; She stretched her arms - Only to see a food tray being shoved in front of her, and a grinning Undertaker, awfully jovial. "Good afternoon, little ray of sunshine~" "I didn't expect this-... But uh... Good afternoon to you too?" the girl muttered, her voice still hoarse from her sleepiness, only to straighten immediately. "Afternoon?! Is it afternoon already? Undertaker, you should NOT have allowed me to sleep in so much! I'm going to become a slob!" "Sleep is most important for a young lady like yourself to gain her strength - Surely, you know that already, don't you?" his reply only made her glare at him. "I will get ready as fast as I can and we can start working." she snatched the tray from his hands and began eating. "So diligent~! Yes, yes, we will have a most interesting day ahead! I strongly believe so!" with a melodic hum, the man waltzed out of her room, allowing her the required time to enjoy her routine.

After she finished eating and prepared for the day, Katrina dressed up in a simple, comfortable green dress; She wished she had black dresses - Alas, she owned only colours to make her look pretty, but nothing practical. As she idly started working on an autopsy, she unconsciously found herself muttering, again and again "Cyno... Matrix..." trying to relate it to something... Anything that makes sense... The memories she was shown that night...

The constant murmurs seemed to attract the man's attention, as he cocked his head to the side quizzically. "Are you saying something, dear?" "Oh, I apologise for disturbing you. I just remembered a past memory from my childhood and I'm trying to understand something that makes little sense... If, at all." she sighed softly, ruffling her hair, which was simply let down, for once. "And what would that be?" the Undertaker asked, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his hands. "Do you believe in Shinigami, Undertaker?" she abruptly turned to face him. "Like in those old stories?" he giggled lightly. "I know it sounds stupid, but I think I met one, when my brother died." Katrina sighed, annoyed with herself. "He somehow came in the room through the window... The third floor window, mind you... With a branch snapper or something... And he said he was there to collect my brother's soul." Undertaker's smirk seemed to grown "Are you sure you weren't dreaming, my dear? Might have been your young self's way of coping with the shock of losing your beloved brother~." "I don't think that's the case. He told me to remember that moment... It couldn't have been a coping defense mechanism - I have always been a rational person!" Kat exclaimed with mild frustration. "That sounds fantastic~. Anything else about this individual?" his voice almost sounded teasing. "I can't remember much... But he wore glasses and had bright green eyes... They looked as if they were glowing... Nothing humanly... And when he impaled my brother, I saw his memories! Yes, that's right - I was in his memories too! It had to be right. He said it was a... Um... Cyno... Matrix record? Cynomatrix... Is that even a word?" she tried to explain, though the puzzle pieces weren't fitting together. "Or perhaps... A Cinematic record~?" Kat's eyes widened comically at the sound of the key word. "Cine... Matic... Cinematic re- YES! You are correct! It was a Cinematic Record! Now the word makes much more sense!" she exclaimed in shock. "The story sounds stunning, but how are you going to prove it is true?" the man giggled at her, waltzing from behind the bar, and to her spot. "I can only try and pursue it somehow, correct?" she spoke firmly. "Dreams do come true, if you pursue them and fight for them." he answered enigmatically. "Do you know what else I've been dreaming of; Though, I think that finding a Shinigami would be far easier to accomplish than this one..." she muttered softly, only to earn a hum to continue. "You must have heard of Weston College, haven't you? The best College in the country?" "Oh yes, I see where you're going with this. You wish to attend this College, which would help greatly with your career, am I correct?" her cheeks warmed up slightly, serving as a positive answer. "I will see what I can do, dearie~." before Kat could answer him, the sound of the door bell softly chiming was heard, indicating the arrival of customers. "Do join us, my dear! Let me make my entrance though - Follow right behind!" "... Of bloody course..." like a child, he hid in a coffin, his eccentric, creepy giggle resounding through the whole parlor.

Sighing, and with her hands soaked in blood, Katrina kicked the door to the front of the house open, glaring at her boss. "Glad you joined us, dearie~!" he chirped, only to see his little apprentice march up in front of him and use his grey robes to wipe away the blood. "You are a menace, Undertaker." she scoffed, leaning back on the counter, her arms crossed. "Manners, my dear. This is Earl Phantomhive, I believe you know him by now." Katrina immediately snapped her head to look at the young, frowning boy with an eyepatch. "Phantomhive? Are you, really? Queen's Chihuahua and all that?" she found herself asking. "It is EARL Phantomhive for you." the young boy snapped at her like a brat. "Undertaker, since when did you employ such uncouth workers?" "Little Earl, Little Earl, don't insult my little fox, she might bite your nose in your sleep!" the man cackled in amusement. "That's right, Ciel - Didn't you know, Noble Women are not allowed to work, therefore, I'm just a simple apprentice." Katrina smirked down at him. "Who in the world are you?" Ciel asked perplex. "Don't you remember Katrina, Ciel? Daughter of the High Court Judge, Duke Nicholas Raymond - You used to play together when she was courted by Edward, right?" the Earl's aunt hummed in amusement. "Angelina, you have no idea how great it is to be seeing you again." Kat offered her a smile before pulling her into a familial embrace. "I am surprised they let you out of the house. How did you manage?" Madame Red smirked down at the girl. "I ran away, of course. I wanted to pursue a medical career, much like you. There are only so many paintings one can do before they go crazy." she chuckled casually. Whenever they would all meet up, Angelina was always the one she loved spending time with - Her, Rachel and Vincent, of course. "You should have come over to stay at mine. A funeral parlor is no place for a beautiful young lady like yourself to be at." Angelina whined playfully. "It's quite alright - I actually think it's a great place for me. I'm enjoying my stay here." the girl smiled back. "No wonder the Queen's letter mentioned a certain fox. That was you. I had no idea you became one one Her Majesty's companions." Ciel grunted in response. "Actually, I'm quite sure I was a fox before you become a puppy." Kat smirked down at him. "Now, I believe you should be introducing your companions. I don't recall you parading yourself with a young butler - Unless Tanaka somehow found the Fountain of Youth."

"Tanaka is home, with the other servants. This is Sebastian." Ciel threw a dismissive hand towards the butler.

Sebastian bowed at the lady, holding her hand and placing a kiss on it. "It is an honor, my lady."

"Likewise." as the man rose his head, Katrina noticed the magenta flash of his cat-like eyes, glowing for just a split second. "Lovely eyes." she found herself sharply looking in his eyes - He, also, though there was this hidden glint of mischief that seemed to be taunting her.

"And this is Lau, of the KunLun trading company." Ciel pointed towards his Chinese companion.

"Nǐ hǎo, wǒ měilì de húdié." the man smiled enigmatically at her, bowing slightly at the waist, though with some hint of royal vibes.

"I'm not sure what you said, but I hope you called me beautiful." Kat chuckled lightly, doing a little courtesy for him, before addressing the whole group. "You are here because of the Ripper thing, right?"

"Precisely~. Everyone's been scared because of the disturbance. But this isn't the first time I've handled this kind of thing." Undertaker hummed, as though he was high on opium.

"Not the first time? And what do you mean by that?" Madame Red found herself inquiring.

"It happened before. A case where prostitutes were killed. In fact, the way they were killed was similar too." Undertaker allowed his words to linger like dripping poison.

"The police didn't fuss about it much. Quite ignorant, if you ask me. Speaks volumes about how safe we are, as a society." Katrina scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"But the murdered prostitutes had all something in common." the parlor owner continued speaking.

"Something in common...?" Ciel found himself repeating in a voice barely above a murmur.

"What is it?" the butler asked in his master's stead.

"Well now, I wonder what. I wonder what it is indeed. Is it bothering you?" as Undertaker dragged his sentences, Kat couldn't help but pinch the bridge of her nose, remembering that he also asked for a price for her staying over, and though it was seemingly paid, she wasn't sure how exactly she managed to entertain him. She was going to have a blast.

"I see, so that's how it is. You're very good at business, Undertaker. So? How much money do you want?" Lau was the first to hum, realising the hidden meaning behind those words.

"Oh, no, no money here, I assure you. This buffoon isn't shallow enough to beg for this capitalistic kind of currency." the master of the place found himself laughing, throwing his arms up into the sky before draping them around his little apprentice's petite body, forcefully pulling her into his chest and petting her hair as though she was some kind of house cat.

"You've only just arrived, and you know me so well! I might as well cry!" he giggled, swinging the poor, dizzy girl back and forth. "You see, young Earl, I have no interest in the Queen's money! Instead, there is something, a single requirement that I have -" the man threw Kat back towards the coffin; though he might have miscalculated how hazy her vision was, as she got the heel of her boot caught in the corner of the coffin they were sitting on, and the lady unceremoniously found herself falling to the ground with a little squeal. "A FIRST RATE LAUGH!" the Undertaker was absolutely flying with euphoria, whilst his poor apprentice was dexterously caught in the rescuing arms of her black butler knight.

"That is no way to treat a lady, Undertaker. I will have to ask you to be more attentive when it comes to Miss Raymond's well-being." Sebastian mildly scolded the parlor owner, though he was in a completely other world. Despite all this, Kat didn't quite mind being held by the butler - In fact, the way his baritone voice spoke so close to her ear almost sent a shiver down her spine.

"That is quite alright, I suppose I have to get used to his antics, sooner rather than later. Thank you for the rescue, Sebastian... And do call me by my name, if you will." with a little help, the red head was able to sit back on the coffin, though keeping the safe distance from the madman.

"As you wish, my lady." the raven haired man nodded at her with a simple smile.

"Well then, if entertainment is needed, let me handle this. The sleeping Tiger of the Shanghai's New Year party, also referred to as my soul! This should satisfy you! Do you like it?" all the people inside of the parlor blinked in complete confusion at his attempt at... Whatever he wanted to say. It failed tragically either way. "It looks like he still won't talk, Lau. It can't be helped then. I, Madam Red, a Beauty of High Society, shall make my appearance now! If I ask him, he'll be sure to tell us!" though Madame Red boasted about her social butterfly status and proceeded to spew around all the gossips and dirty jokes that she knew, for at least an hour... Her attempt ended also in complete failure, and Undertaker was compelled to plaster both their mouths shut. "That was tragic." Katrina sighed, shaking her head in disdain. "Honestly, you will have to do much better than that if you want to get a laugh out of a man who serenades every cadaver he meets" "Come on, Earl, I've helped you many times in the past, can't you be nice to me just this once?" Undertaker whined, his fingers wiggling as long nails almost scraped as his soft cheeks. "It can't be helped." Sebastian spoke firmly, raising the sleeves of his coat. "S-Sebastian?!" gasped out his butler's name in shock. "It's the butler's turn now?" Undertaker hummed, a grin on his face. "Everyone, please step outside for a moment." the raven haired man instructed his companions. "You must absolutely NOT peek inside." "Entertain us, O, the saving grace of the little, helpless puppy." Katrina smirked provoking at him, crossing a leg over the other and leaning forward, unmoving from the coffin she was sitting on. The butler cleared his throat, and with a straight face, he spoke out his joke. "The strangest kind of table is the onion." said he, in that mild, alluring voice of his. "...The onion... A table? Are you high on opium, Mr. Butler? That simply cannot be." Katrina scoffed at him, rather amused at his attempted. "Oh, but yes it is, my lady. It is a vegetable." using the right emphasis to show off the validity of his previous claim, Undertaker found himself falling off the counter and laughing so hard that the whole parlor shook. Katrina, also, couldn't help but look away and hide her shocked laugh - How could a joke so bad make one laugh so good? "... I am appalled and impressed at the same time. You have my respect, Sebastian." the man bowed deeply in front of the lady, though she didn't miss the split second smirk and yet another flash of those bewitching eyes of his. "I am most honoured, My Lady."

As Sebastian gracefully invited everyone back to the parlor, Katrina had to get up and attempt to calm down the mortician, albeit, with the use of some dog biscuits, as she started telling them the story of the Jack the Ripper victims.

"Based on that laughter, I can only assume Undertaker was satisfied with the payment, therefore, it is safe for me to disclose the research I've done." Kat cleared her throat, a somber serenity taking over her. "All of the victims were female prostitutes and all of them had a missing, representative organ. If you haven't guessed by now, it's the uterus. It's been carefully taken away. In fact, I would say, it was accurately, surgically removed." "That is correct, my dear. Recently, this kind of 'guests' have been rapidly increasing. Their whole bodies dripping with blood, it's made me very busy. I am, however, thankful to my little apprentice." Undertaker hummed euphorically.

"The pleasure is all mine, by all means. If I may continue on this report and add up to the last fact of being 'carefully' taken away, one might conclude that, despite being few people on the streets at night, the culprit has at least the minimum anatomical knowledge, to perform such a clean and specific organ removal, in the pitch black of the back-alleys they were found in." the apprentice continued on.

"Very well, little fox, you did your homework well~. Young Earl, if he had to act on such a short time, he should slit the throat first and proceed to cut the stomach. It's easier to succeed this way. He will keep committing crimes, unless someone stops him. Can you stop him? The Notorious Noble - Earl of Phantomhive." the mortician taunted the little earl.

"The world of darkness has the world of darkness' rules. He wouldn't murder random people for no reason." Ciel concluded simply.

"A serial killer always follows a certain pattern. Should be easy enough to catch him." Kat nodded her head in solemn agreement.

"Then, want to join in the fun of one of the Queen's underground pet? I doubt you've done any legwork your entire life." the chihuahua smirked at the surprised little fox.

"Oh, you want me to join?" with the silent excitement and joy of a child, her sparkling green eyes shifted towards the Undertaker, awaiting for his approval.

"Take care of my little fox, Earl. Bring her home safe. I wouldn't want to see her becoming some ugly noble lady's fur scarf." the comment only made the girl glare at him and get to her feet, turning her back to the man.

"Foxes have rabies, Undertaker. We live together now - I would sleep with both eyes open from now on, if I were you." despite her threats, the man found himself laughing copiously once again.

"Sorry for intruding, Undertaker. Let's go."

With Ciel bidding farewell to the mortician, Katrina was guided to the carriage, where the group discussed the issue of the 'Season' that just barely begun, and how most people were perfectly arrived in the capital. Doctors, medical students, physicians and all kinds of aristocrats were included in the list. The butler affirmed he will be doing a report on all potential suspects. "Are you going to suspect me also, butler~?" the red head smirked challengingly at him. "If you do, I shall be awaiting for an alibi-search soon." Sebastian merely hummed, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, and with a nod of acknowledgement, he... Jumped out of the carriage. Though everyone was concerned for the butler's life, Ciel simply smirked, shrugging him off. Clearly, this butler was nothing human - He couldn't be, could he?

And exactly as she suspected, by the time they arrived home, Sebastian had both prepared tea and managed to write out an endless list of all the suspects and had their alibis verified. Oh, Ciel, what have you gotten yourself into, Katrina wondered, raising a quizzical, suspicious eyebrow at the disconcerting eyebrow at the man. All the ignorant idiots were fooled by his charm - Yet none was taking into account that nothing he was doing fell into the realm of the human power. "I'm just one HELL of a butler." he said, alluding a rather bizarre emphasis. Hell. Demons were from Hell. Could he, also? Certainly, if her dream of Reapers had any kind of validity, perhaps, angels and demons existed also, and roamed their earth, disguised as humans. A true wolf in sheep's clothing.

Serving their afternoon tea and snacks, Sebastian pointed out the only possible suspect on the list, none other than the Viscount of Druitt. Hearing that familiar name, Katrina found herself choking on a piece of scone. "Now that you mention it, I do recall he's been into black magic recently." Madame Red recalled some rumours. "Black magic? People actually believe in that rubbish?" Kat seemed genuinely surprised. "Still, he is suspected of carrying out some sort of ceremony at that "Secret party" . And to use those prostitutes as altar sacrifices?" Lau asked. "Sacrifices don't require you to be careless with the body, do they?" the girl asked, before stealing a glance at the butler. "Is he trying to summon a demon or what? Don't they like virgins?" just as expected - Or, perhaps, it was intended - Sebastian stole a glance at her as soon as she mentioned the demons, yet he remained silent. "Don't be absurd." Ciel reproached her. "At the nineteenth hour today, Viscount Druitt will be hosting a party. The seasonal period will be ending soon. I believe tonight will be the best time to investigate." Sebastian explained to them. "And I know just how to get everyone inside." Katrina's mischievous smirk seemed to cheer everyone up.

Thanks to the resourcefulness of not only Ciel, but Madam Red also, Katrina was able to get dressed in a beautiful green dress of a similar shade as her eyes; Her make up was light and feminine, though the eyeshadow and red lips were enough to bring out the subtle sultriness of her graceful features. In spite of all the uncomfortableness she had to endure, as she was never one for social gatherings and parties to begin with, there was little she could do to stop her laughter once she got to see Ciel being laced up in a corset by his butler and suffering the same agony women do daily. Not only that, but that pretty pink dress was rather adorable on him, and that wig went perfect with his eyes also. The poor boy could only glare and snap at his once friend for her pointed comments, though he was unable to retaliate much.

It was rather unfortunate for him, really, and Katrina wouldn't have quite minded being the bait herself - Alas, the Viscount's own nephew was her fiance, so of course he knows her well enough as it is. By the time they reached Druitt's mansion, she could only let out an amused breath, as old memories, all of them good, resurfaced. Her fiance was a good man, and out of every possible suitor, she was glad he was chosen... Especially as Edward was rather boring and too shy for his own good.

Undertaker would have received a life-payment watching poor Ciel struggling with the dress though, and it would be just as fun once she returns home and narrates the whole ordeal.

With Katrina in the lead, informing the guard of who she was, and the retinue she brought along, there was little room for questioning. She flashed a mischievous smirk towards her companions before stepping inside the manor and subtly looking around for the fair haired noble man.

Alas, as Madame Red and Lau dispersed themselves to blend within the crowd, the trio was left to fend for themselves once they heard the familiar squeal of delight that Lizzie, Ciel's fiancee, let out as she was gazing in awe and gushing about everyone, and unfortunately, discovered them, getting excited about their pretty outfits.

Evidently, if she were to get too close to Ciel, she'd recognise him, disguise or not, thus, Kat had to stand behind and distract her. With a nod acknowledgement towards the two, she sighed and walked towards the blonde girl, entertaining her a bit.

"Ah, Kat, your dress is so cute! And you look sooo pretty! I'm so glad to see you again!" Lizzie squealed, barely able to contain herself in one place. "Thank you, Lizzie, I'm happy to see you as well. It's been a while, hasn't it?" she hummed in agreement. "Too long!" the girl pouted adorably. "Soon, we should definitely meet again! I miss our short fencing spars!" she exclaimed happily. "And the tea parties!" the red head said. "Yes, definitely! It would be like old times!" Lizzie's sunshine happiness was contagious. "Certainly! If only Ciel and Edward would join us. Then again, neither can refuse a cute girl like you~." she winked at the blonde. "Oh, I'm looking forward to it! I'm sure my brother will be so happy to see you again, too!" Lizzie squealed in absolute delight. "So do I! Now, excuse me, dear, but I just saw someone I know and I'll go greet them. Enjoy the party~!" the two did their pretty courtesies to each other before taking off in different directions.

Picking up the pace, Katrina gracefully got behind the Viscount, tapped him on the shoulder and did a pretty courtesy to greet his relative by alliance. Once he turned to see what gorgeous lady was desperately seeking for his charming attention, he flashed a dazzling smile and did a courtesy back, picking her hand and placing a kiss on her fingers.

"Ah, young Kitten, you look gorgeous today! How lovely it is to see you!" Aleister's enigmatic smile was ever plastered on his face. "The pleasure is all mine, Viscount. You see, I came here with my dear friend who is not from around, and she really wanted to meet you. She is, if I might say, quite the lovely dove. I am sure you are going to love her company." Kat retorted a similar fake smile. "Oh~?" the blond smirked. "A young little bird, so eager to meet me? I am flattered! And where is she~?" his excitement sounded on the border of lechery. "Right there. The one dancing with her tutor." Kat purposely glued herself to the man, guiding his chin in the direction of Ciel, who was trying so hard to blend in and dance with Sebastian; Even potentially stop himself from puking from disgust. "Yes, quite lovely indeed, and so very graceful. Will you do me the honor of introducing us, my dear?" the low rumble of a satisfied hum generated the success of their mission. "Oh, of course, by all means." as if he could feel the boring eyes into the back of his head, Ciel turned his head, making contact with the red head, who gestured a wave for them to approach.

The Viscount, of course, being the charmer that he is, kissed Ciel's hand and complimented 'her'. "Quite fascinating. A lovely dancer, just like a robin." Katrina had to keep her smirk strongly out of control, and the tutor could see the way she was struggling to keep composed. It was quite endearing for one so supposedly sly to so easily break her vixen-like composure. "G-Good evening." Ciel tried his best impression of a girl's voice, though he found himself stuttering as he posed. "Please excuse her, she is quite shy." Kat placed her hand on the Viscount's shoulder. "Don't you mind it too much, though... I'm certain she's going to relax around you, once she gets to know you better." the emphasis on such well-chosen words were enough to make the Viscount smirk, dark plans already at the ready. "I shall thank you for bringing her along, you lovely Kitten." though there was something endearing about having such an adorable nickname based on her name, Katrina absolutely abhorred it when he was the one calling her so. "I believe you will both find each other's company quite... Intriguing. Adieu~!" with a giggle hidden behind the fan, the red head stepped away, allowing the two their much needed intimate, private moments, yet not without a wink addressed to the poor cross-dressing boy left behind in the hands of a lecherous pervert.

The plan was unfolding rather smoothly and Katrina watched, leaning back on the refreshments' table, as the Viscount dragged Ciel away to some other room, away from the banquet, all whilst she was savouring a rather expensive champagne. Alas, there was no water.

Like a silent phantasm, the butler made his way by her side, accompanying her. It would be rude manners to leave a lady unattended, and that went against his code of conduit. "Enjoying the evening, my lady?" "Hardly." Katrina scoffed at him. "Quite a pity, wouldn't you say?" the man slurred his words like a venomous snake. "At least someone is enjoying it." she found herself smirking. "Are you talking about the Young Master, or about his aunt?" Katrina had to shift her gaze to watch as Madame Red became to utmost center of attention and everyone was flocking around her like moths to the flame. "Both." she found herself chuckling. "Definitely both Young Mistresses." Seeing as there was little one could do at a formal ball, except for conversing and dancing, Sebastian bent his waist to courtesy her, extending a hand her way. "While we are waiting for the Young Mistress to return, shall we dance, my lady?"

Katrina looked down at his hand, them at his seducing visage, and she huffed in disdain. "How come a demon such as yourself finds the idea of mundane entertainment to be amusing?" "You make a valid point, my dear lady. However, it would, of course, prove most unfitting for someone of my dutiful position to appear to suggest, Heavens-forbid, any signs of disdain for what I believe is regarded as social etiquette on these fine occasions." the butler retorted immediately, yet not without using words that would combat her use of a devilish persona.

"Social etiquette? Surely you must be joking. Such repetitive displays are hardly 'social etiquette' so much as a dreary protocol. I, for one, tire greatly of it. No fool in his right mind could possibly consider this to be enjoyable." as to further prove her point, she unfolded her fan and flapped it lethargically, as though she was mocking Angelina herself.

The butler, however, couldn't help but smirk at the poison dripping from every word of dread she affiliated with the event. "Now now, I must advise that you pay attention to that sharp tone of yours. It's most unbecoming of a lady." "Says whom? This wretched social protocol again?" she let out a theatrically exaggerated sigh.

"Not at all. I simply fear that the Young Mistress may be expressing just enough surly, unladylike behaviour for the two of you. We are at a ball, after all." the man retorted with just as much content grace as before.

"As my current escort of sorts, I believe that the duty of keeping your lady happy and entertained is all yours. Surely social protocol has to work at least somewhat in my benefit." Katrina shifted her gaze deep into his empty, void-like eyes; There was nothing that she could see, let alone a soul.

"Oh my, you're rather a tricky one, aren't you?" a cunning smile was plastered on his face, ever so charming.

"If you truly are the model butler you claim to be, I don't believe it should present a problem to you." she, too, retaliated with a similar kind of provoking expression.

"A problem? Oh, good heavens, no. A challenge, perhaps. And my, how I do like a challenge." Katrina couldn't help but let out an empty half-laugh.

"For a demon, you jump quickly at preaching about benevolence and heaven's grace, when you're nothing but an evil wretch. How very amusing of one of your dreary position, having to pretend to be a human, when you're anything but. A slave, doing every bidding of a child and his obnoxious whims." she chuckled, her words though sounding like honeyed mead, were frozen and cutting.

"I believe I have already warned you not to unleash that cheeky tongue of yours, my lady. One never knows what they are up against." the man's face leaned closer to her own, breathing in her bewitching scent, teasing himself with just the lingering caress of the ghost of her soul.

"And if I do? Are you going to punish me, Sebastian? Bite my tongue and make me cry?" she approached him boldly, to the point that, if only she knew, she could sense the sweet perfume of death surrounding him. If only she knew how close to the truth she was, as her lips were brushing his own at almost an atomic level, so close, yet so far away, teasingly far away. "My, how I do like a challenge." and mimicking his own words, Katrina abruptly turned on her heel and walked out of the mansion, missing the way his magenta eyes flashed demonically, or that lascivious, thirsty smile that played on those tempting lips.

"Little kitten wants to play, how very endearing." he found himself musing. "As my lady wishes."

Katrina left the party before finding out the epilogue of the mighty quest they had embarked on, yet the journey back home was silent, save for the sound of hooves against the cobbled stone streets of London, and the wheels turnings painfully harsh, all the way back to Undertaker's parlor, where she was greeted with the usual grin. She hasn't even greeted him with words, save for a simple nod of acknowledgement, as she rushed up the stairs to change into something practical and wash away the make up that no doubt was going to cake soon on her skin. There was one thing alone that she loved more than anything, and that was the practical work she was doing with the mortician, alongside studying her science books. It was, by far, the only thing that could still get her excited... Although, the additional arrival of a certain enigmatic butler that may or may not fall in the realm of the supernatural was, without a doubt, receiving an honorable mention, if he was capable of getting her pulse rise and entertain her as well as he performed at the ball.

Once she was finally dressed in her comfortable nightgown, she returned to the autopsy room, only to notice a new victim on the table. "Enjoyed the night, dear?" She could only glare at him. "Hardly... Parties are just dull. Here is where I truly belong. True bliss comes from learning, not from exchanging sugar coated words behind a fan, wearing a corset so tight that you risk fainting." "The night is still young, my dear~." the Undertaker giggled at her, informing her that this, indeed, was another victim of Jack the Ripper, and they had a lot of work to do.

That night, as they did the autopsy on the new victim, discussed different theories and discovered her new passion for Astronomy and Ophthalmology - She told him about the newest discovery, from a Parisian scientist who created glass membranes that were placed on the eyes, serving not only an aesthetic role, but replacing the ugly glasses that people had to wear. Still, it couldn't be comfortable, wearing such large glass contacts on your eyes, and Katrina wanted to revolutionise this idea and create contact lenses from a softer material, perhaps more watery, like silicone; something that wouldn't inconvenience or hurt people, but also aid their sight. It was, however, in the middle of the autopsy, when Katrina looked up at the mortician and voiced a rather disconcerting truth. "This victim only proves my theory that the Viscount wasn't the real culprit. I warned Ciel before we left, but there was none better fitting - Or so they said. Surely, nobody wants the prime suspect to be their own aunt and last living relative, would they?"

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#demon standards #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x oc #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji imagine #black butler #black butler x oc #black butler x reader #black butler imagine #sebastian michaelis x oc #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis imagine #sebastian michaelis x katrina raymond #sebastian michaelis

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blackbutlerfandomnerddomain · 3 months ago

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Okay but picture this:

Doll arrives to the Kelvin estate on time before Ciel kills Baron Kelvin and Joker, and walks in just in time to witness Ciel shoot Kelvin. She manage to prevent Joker from attacking in response and pleads for Ciel to reconsider all while reeling of what's happening.

But, years of abuse and holding back all that pain was too much as she stares at Baron Kelvin plea on the floor, Doll snapped and took Ciel's gun and killed him. Doc arrived that moment, Sebastian took care of him the same way, Ciel orders Sebastian to make sure the other circus members aren't killed, Ciel was left outside the burning building with Joker and Doll before Sebastian arrived back.

Ciel and Sebastian promise to make sure all the Kelvin estate and it's wealth will be given to them in exchange they won't kidnap any children and none of them will die or go to jail. They leave, and Doll isn't quite the same after that.

By the end of the month there's a new name being spread in the Underworld and Charles Grey extended a gracious invitation for the party at the Phantomhive manor. On the night of the party, Ciel is shocked to be face to face with the new Baroness of the Kelvin Estate. . .

This is a little AU I had for a while thanks to this amazing moodboard I requested by @notjustdrwhoboards

@deadlystarchart also kind of inspired me to finish up the sketches I have of them so thank him!

Within this AU the beginning events are the same but things have changed during/after the Circus Arc where the Noah's Ark Circus troupe left the circus life to work on helping the workhouse, discovers it's gone and they were lied to, quickly made a well known name in the London Underworld with them successfully saving abused women and children and making great connections with others in the business like Lau and Undertaker. Things got better for them after having an "alliance" with Ciel Phantomhive to keep their history hush hush (i.e. Ciel not saving the children physically and how they know he's not the real Ciel Phantomhive thanks to Kelvin's obsessive behavior to point out which twin has asthma and for them Ciel will keep quiet of their crimes and the true nature of Baron Kelvin)

Songs to fit this AU to get the feel:

#black butler #black butler au #black butler doll #my art #Spotify #SoundCloud

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dyrewrites · 5 months ago

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Six Sentence Sunday

Okay, I have too many of these now. Thank you to @lychhiker-writes here @the-golden-comet here @kaylinalexanderbooks here @fortunatetragedy here and @songsofsomnia here

Have this snip from Before Deluca, I am tagging my taglist (muahah)

We didn’t sleep long. Whether worry or simply what we were, sleep rarely lasted when needed—yet often when desired. He woke before me to plan and prepare...and cover every inch of the room in silk and satin. I sat up under a pile of jackets, “My love.” “Mm?” He may have been answering, or he may have been cooing over the rosy ruffled monstrosity in his delicate hands. I asked more clearly, “Are we to wear our entire wardrobe today?” Breeches joined the jackets covering me, and a few shirts slapped against my face. Laughing for them, and his glee in throwing them, I kept teasing, “I will need more skin, and a few extra limbs, to make use of all this cloth.” “It is our first day out in decades,” he scolded, sudden and close, hands and knees on the mattress beside me—to pull the shirts off and see me, “I want to make a—” “Statement?” I finished, smiling wider for his huff, “if we leave this room in so much silk, the statement will be, ‘good morning, London scoundrels, my purse is oh so heavy won’t you please unburden me’.” “As if we couldn’t handle any who’d dare,” Pouting too sweetly he crawled closer to kiss my neck, “and what are we to wear on such an occasion if not our finest?” “The men before we docked,” I reminded, continuing with shorter breath for his teeth as he tried evermore to distract, “the revolutionaries,” He continued to ignore me, stealing my tongue with his, relegating me to thoughts, the soldiers intent on slitting our throats for the grandness of our ship? French soldiers, he reminded, fingers rubbing down my bare chest. Difficult as it was, I shoved him—gently—away to regain my breath and sense, “French soldiers who did not attack in French waters,” again those teasing fingers, drawing circles on my chest until I took hold of his wrists, “whose sentiments might be shared by the English we’re surrounded by.” “You want us to dress down,” more pouting, leaning again for my lips, “present ourselves as roturiers,” soft his kisses, too soft and sweet—deliberately so, “my perfect treasure, what have I done to earn such cruelty?” I’d managed until those last words to keep a fairly straight face, but the pitiful way in which he spoke them broke me. My laughter was met with rougher kisses, and his weight on my lap. But I escaped him, earning more clothing tossed at me—and more of his rich, heady laughter—for it. We settled on casual—still far too layered—that didn’t scream ‘wealth’ so much as suggest it in a soft, if haughty tone. Blues for him, reds for me, but instead of the cream, or white, or warm grays he often paired it with... “Black?” I asked, enjoying the softness less than that of his skin as I spread his covered fingers with my bare ones, “you never wear the black.” Snatching his hand away, he set it on my arm and pulled me out of the room, “You don’t wish to match, to compliment?” It did, compliment that is, shirts and socks and trim. All black. The dark color made my reds brighter, his blues lighter, and worried me to no end, “Last you chose black, we—” “None of that,” he cut without shushing, tapping our crew’s doors with the handle of his parasol as we passed them, “everyone up, we’re going out!”

No, I'm serious you're all tagged, share some sentences =P

→Before Deluca Taglist<-

// feel free to ask to be added or removed ^.- //

@watermeezer @starbuds-and-rosedust @thespacelizard

@your-absent-father @mr-orion @cowboybrunch @olliexwrites

@rowanmgrey-author @the-golden-comet @wyked-ao3

#writeblr #snippet #before deluca #tag games #six sentence sunday #oddly enough it doesn't even add up if you count each tag as six #because i don't know when to end a sentence

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aneurinallday · 2 months ago

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Green Eyes

Chapter 1: Arcadia

Thomas Shelby was lonely. There was a coldness in his bed that he couldn’t warm, an emptiness that he couldn’t fill no matter how many whores and paramours he brought back to his mansion.

His beloved Grace was dead - gunned down during a failed attempt on Thomas’s life. He’d watched the life leave her, one breath at a time, while he’d cradled her in his arms, helpless to stop her from slipping away. He’d felt her go motionless, and after some time, he’d felt her go cold.

Now he lived alone in his great house in the countryside, his only company the servants who tried to hide their fear, and a young son who was a constant, painful reminder of the life he’d lost.

Little Charles had been only two years old when Grace had been killed - barely old enough to understand the gaping hole that had been ripped through his world. Now he was old enough to not just ask how his mother had died, but to blame the one responsible.

She’d taken the bullets meant for Thomas.

To Thomas, it was almost a relief when work took him away from his country estate in Warwickshire and back into the city. Back into Birmingham.

The Peaky Blinders operated out of Small Heath, an impoverished, crime-infested area of central Birmingham - a square mile of grimy streets and rundown terraced houses, where steel foundries coughed out smoke and where gang violence was rampant.

As much as he enjoyed the peace and beauty of the countryside, Thomas would always belong to Small Heath, to its dirt and squalor and misery. It was the beating heart of his criminal empire; and even as his reach extended outwards to London and New York, it remained the seat of his power.

He missed it. He missed the stench of industry and the non-stop noise of the factories. He missed his pokey little flat on Watery Lane, where he and his siblings had lived just a few doors apart. He’d grown up there, and become a man there, and part of him hoped to die there. The filth of the Grand Union Canal was in his blood.

After meeting his brothers at the Garrison pub, they piled into a car, and from there, drove across the darkening city into unfamiliar streets. There, they kept their eyes sharp and their hands near their holsters.

Night had fallen, and they were no longer on their own turf. This was Cobb territory.

Cobb’s Boys were the only gang left in Birmingham that could still rival the Peaky Blinders in power and wealth. So far, they’d managed to coexist because they moved in different circles. The Blinders were bootleggers, bookies, and fixers; they made their vast fortune by smuggling alcohol and Chinese opium, rigging horse races, and manufacturing automobiles. Cobb’s Boys were pimps and hit-men. They weren’t stepping on each other’s toes.

Nevertheless, an overlap of interests was unavoidable. Thomas didn’t want to take over Cobb’s brothels, and Cobb didn’t care about horse racing; but Thomas was interested in establishing more smuggling routes and overseas contacts, and Cobb was interested in receiving Chinese opium at a discounted price. Both of them had something the other wanted.

Thomas had strongly resisted the suggestion of a Cobb-Shelby merger. He considered the Cobbs’ business dealings, which tended to be of a dirty and degenerate nature, to be beneath the level of the Shelby Company Limited. These weren’t the sort of men he wanted to break bread with.

Nevertheless, he’d accepted the proposal for a mutually beneficial alliance, which promised the Shelby family an annual cut of the Cobbs’ earnings in exchange for peace between the two gangs. After all, without money there was no Shelby empire, and without the Shelby empire, there was no Thomas Shelby.

So here he was, walking into Cobb’s kingdom, about to inspect one of the brothels whose earnings he would soon be claiming a cut of.

The Arcadia.

What Small Heath was to Thomas, the Arcadia was to Cobb. What had started as a tiny, grubby operation had grown into one of Britain’s most infamous establishments. Men travelled from all over the country to lose their minds here. What happened in Arcadia stayed in Arcadia, and the owner’s high standards ensured that its employees were the cream of the crop.

With his hands in his pockets and his brothers watching his back, Thomas walked through the doors into a sweltering haze of tobacco smoke, opium fumes, and musk. They passed through ostentatious gold curtains onto a crowded dance floor, where a pianist was hammering an energetic melody on a grand pianoforte, while people danced and revelled. Cobb’s Boys lurked around the corners of the room, watching the clients with sharp eyes.

A young man wearing a sleeveless, tasselled flapper dress was standing on the piano, singing a bawdy song with gusto - slightly drunk, but mostly on-key. His curly dark hair flopped over his eyes as he twirled, almost losing his balance, much to his own amusement. Thomas’s gaze lingered on him, until Arthur’s voice drew his attention away.

“There he is,” Arthur commented, nodding towards a figure approaching them. “The proprietor of this fine establishment.”

“The bastard,” John muttered under his breath.

Cobb was a lean and wiry man, blond-haired, sharply dressed in a tailored suit and colourful tie. He walked with a limp which did nothing to detract from his threatening aura. He greeted them with a grin on his face, but his eyes were dead and cold.

“Mister Shelby! Welcome to my den of iniquity - you won’t find one better on this side of the Atlantic.”

“Mister Cobb,” Thomas greeted him with a curt handshake. “Shall we get this over with?”

Cobb guided them to a table, where they sat on comfortable couches. Drinks were poured for them, and opium was offered but politely refused.

John was behaving himself, but Arthur was restless - Thomas could feel it. He was more interested in the nearby whores than in his little brother’s dealings. His eyes followed their enticing movements while he pretended to listen.

“A toast, gentlemen,” Cobb held aloft his glass, “To our agreement. May it prove lucrative to both our esteemed parties.”

They clinked glasses. It was hot - there were too many dancing bodies and too many lit pipes, and the fluttering fans did nothing but circulate opium smoke. Thomas had already begun to sweat.

“What do you think of her, Mister Shelby?” Cobb waved his arms in a grandiose gesture, indicating the Arcadia. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She could’ve been yours, if only you’d had the guts to take her by force.”

“Your line of work doesn’t interest me,” said Thomas.

“You’d rather sit in your little office and shuffle papers all day, hoping it doesn’t rain during the races?”

“I’d rather take advantage of the rich than the poor. That’s one of the many differences between us.”

“Oh, come now, Mister Shelby,” Cobb scoffed, “We’ve got a lot in common! We both like money. We both like driving new cars and wearing nice suits. We both served our country with honour, and lost parts of ourselves on the battlefield. I nearly lost my leg - you nearly lost your mind!”

Cobb laughed at his own wit. John opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas silenced him with a warning glance of his blue eyes.

“You’re no different from me,” Cobb continued, “The quicker you accept that, the better. Anyway, I didn’t invite you here to chat. I invited you here, so that you can see with your own eyes how the sausage gets made. To assure you that our service is of the highest standards. Care to sample the goods?”

The young man was still singing and dancing merrily, seemingly having the time of his life.

“I’m alright, thanks,” Thomas said.

“You don’t trust their quality?”

“I’m sure they’re good enough for your regular clientele. Whether they’re good enough for me is a different matter.”

A brief commotion distracted them. At another table, a man had grabbed one of the dancing women and yanked her onto his knee. His hand wormed its way inside her skirt. Laughing, she squirmed away, prompting him to shout and gesticulate angrily. She was quickly replaced by a different girl, who hushed his raised voice and began to rub his crotch through his trousers. Thomas watched them coldly.

“Does my business offend you, Mister Shelby?” Cobb chuckled. “These women needed work, so I gave it to them. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Women can do other work besides whoring, Mister Cobb. You could’ve put them in a school and taught them how to type letters.”

Cobb laughed.

“You’re a real man of the people, aren’t you, Mister Shelby? They call you a thug, but really you’re an altruist. You set up soup kitchens and charities and affordable housing schemes. You work with orphans and war widows, and crippled veterans, and all the other miserable cunts who need a leg up. You give the poor people of Birmingham what they need: better jobs, better lodgings, better lives. You’re a regular fucking saint. Except that’s not true, is it?”

He leaned forward.

“You act all high and mighty, like I’m beneath you. But you still shook my hand, didn’t you, Mister Shelby? You present yourself to the world as an honest businessman, with a respectable company and a bunch of fancy titles. But deep down, you haven’t changed at all. Deep down, you’re still just a common street rat, scrapping for coins in the gutter. You wring your hands over the suffering of these poor women, yet here you are, graciously accepting a cut of the money I make off their hard work. Now, how about you sample the goods, like I kindly offered?”

John and Arthur had grown tense, the latter’s knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. Thomas remained composed.

“You said this was the best whore-house in Birmingham,” Thomas said, “So go on. Prove it. Show me your best.”

“That’s better.” Cobb leaned back in his seat again. “Girl or boy?”

“I’m not fussy.”

“Come on now, you must have a preference. Every man does.”

“Well, I must not be every man, then.”

“How about both, then?”

“Just one will do.”

“Fine, be a bore. Hey, Green Eyes!” Cobb called out. “Client for you.”

The singer jumped down from the stage and began making his way over to their table.

“He’s a particular favourite of mine,” Cobb remarked, “You’ll see why.”

“How much for him?”

“Oh, he’s on the house. No payment necessary. Feel free to leave a tip at the bar, though.”

“How kind of you.”

“I am a generous man. Normally I’d charge three pounds for him.”

“Three pounds?” Thomas scoffed, “That fucking much?”

“He’s worth it. Trust me, I know.”

Thomas was about to change his mind - the thought of Cobb conducting quality checks on his own merchandise soured the appeal - but it was too late. The young man had already reached their table.

“Hello, gentlemen!” he said. His voice was bright and sweet. “You wanted me?”

“Come here.” Cobb grabbed the singer’s face and angled it towards the light, showing it off. “Look at him. Look at that face. If he had a cunt, I’d fuck him myself.”

The singer extricated himself with a laugh, but a hint of distaste curled the corners of his mouth. Cobb’s touch seemed to repulse him. He collapsed onto the couch beside Thomas, adjusting the shoulders of his rather ill-fitting dress. He was dolled up with a generous layer of cosmetics, which had become rather smudged. He’d been exerting himself, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and upper lip.

“Which one of you is mine?” he asked.

“That one,” Cobb answered before Thomas could. “He’s a valued business partner and a good friend of mine, so make sure he leaves satisfied. Now, would you excuse me, Mister Shelby? I have an establishment to run.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll send over some more drinks, and some girls to keep your boys company.”

Thomas nodded goodbye, and Cobb walked away.

“Fucker,” John grumbled as he watched Cobb’s retreating form. “You sure you want to go through with this, Tom?”

“I don’t see why not,” Thomas replied.

The singer turned to face him on the couch. Up-close, he was beautiful. Truly beautiful. His lovely face was still softened by youth, with a noticeable roundness about the cheeks. His eyes, surrounded by black liner, sparkled a bright green.

“What should I call you?” he asked. His smile was a wondrous thing to behold.

“Call me ‘Mister Shelby’.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mister Shelby. We can do it here, or we can go to my room. It’s nice and clean.”

“Up to you.” Thomas shrugged.

“Tom, I don’t like this,” John interrupted. “This boy belongs to Cobb. He might have something planned. I don’t trust that bastard…”

“I’ll be fine, Johnny. Our arrangement is as advantageous to Cobb as it is to us. He won’t jeopardise it.”

Green Eyes heard their exchange, and stifled a giggle.

“You’ll be safe with me, sir,” he teased, resting his curly head playfully on Thomas’s shoulder. “And if our service isn’t to your liking, I’m sure I can make it up to you.”

John looked disconcerted, but whether it was because of the young man’s flirtations or because of Thomas’s willingness to go along with them, Thomas wasn’t sure.

Arthur seemed to share John’s suspicion. He started to speak. But then the promised women arrived in a cloud of sequins and tassels, giggling and smoking, carrying trays of drinks with them; and Arthur’s mood lifted instantly.

“Come here, you,” he grunted, putting his arms around one of the women and pulling her onto his lap. “I’ve had a long day.”

“Fuck’s sake, Arthur.” John rolled his eyes, but his disapproval - and the wedding ring on his finger - didn’t stop him from smiling at the women.

“They’ll be busy for a while,” Green Eyes whispered in Thomas’s ear, “We’ve got plenty of time. Come with me.”

He tugged on the gang-lord’s arm. Thomas sighed and allowed himself to be pulled away from the table.

“Want me to come with you?” John called after them.

“No need. Have fun with the girls.”

#fanfic #aneurin barnard #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #smut #gay #romance #TW prostitution #TW abuse

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