#I mentioned the family business and his mother's sister and the family not approving
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Hiiii 🦜
So I had this idea for the ice queen/tyrant king au! How about he got everything ready for the proposal (location, the words all that) he is in the middle of his speech when he gets interrupted just seconds before he popped the question, so he tries again but the same thing happens and he thinks that the mood is ruined and doesn't propose.
Gil felt a chill in the air as soon as he walked into Thena's office. He gulped, staring down two of the women he was most afraid of angering in the world. He buttoned his suit jacket, "Imo."
The short, grey haired woman glowered at him. She barked, "hello, Disappointment."
"Okay," Gil sighed heavily, dropping the veil of respecting his elders pretty quickly. She looked appalled, but he walked past her towards Thena at her desk. "You okay?"
"Of course," Thena smiled, although he could see on her face that she hadn't exactly been having a friendly chat with his aunt. "We have been discussing...business."
"Like what?" Gil grumbled. Why today? Why today of all days?
The ring box in his pocket felt like it weighed a ton.
His aunt seated herself on Thena's meeting couch, situating her jeogori just so around her. She glared at the two of them, "sit."
Gil frowned, but Thena rose from her office chair to indulge the woman. He looked at her, reaching towards her but not making contact, "you sure, Ice?"
She gave him a smile, which he took as a yes, following her to sit across from the esteemed head of his family. He sat beside Thena stiffly, both of them reserved in posture and seated an appropriate distance apart.
"I came to see what you've been doing," his aunt began again in English, although she had a way of making it sound like the entire language was beneath her. "Fooling around here."
Gil frowned, "and what does that mean?"
"After burning our alliance with the little heiress' family," his aunt huffed. Although, it was a little funny to think that even those considered her allies had taken up the mocking nickname for her. "We expected you to return home to make amends and repair some of your family's reputation."
Thena snuck just her eyes over to look at him.
But Gil just shrugged, no remorse - and barely any respect - to it. "And I told you that expecting me to marry the little heiress was always out of line. I have my own business here, and I am too old for you to be ordering around like a child."
"You are a child" the woman snapped at him again, only her age and experience allowing her to snarl at a grown and middle aged man--a gang leader, at that. "You are my sister's child."
Thena looked at Gil more openly this time, watching to see him react. He was only becoming more frustrated, and she could understand why. But he was probably about two carefully chosen words away from getting completely excommunicated from his family ties.
"Ungrateful," his aunt slapped another singular word onto him to label everything that had happened in the past year-and-some of their lives.
"I don't-" Gil paused as Thena put a hand on his arm, which he just now noticed he had crossed stubbornly.
"I understand," she said to the woman gently, although his aunt looked disgusted to be addressed directly by Thena at all. "But Gil is right. He does not need your assistance in his life or his business here."
His aunt took a long look at them both, her hardened stare enough to cut down anyone less resilient than hardened criminals. "Gil?"
Gil snorted, uncrossing his arms and taking Thena's hand in his, holding them both on her thigh. His aunt had a good pokerface, but he knew that as far as she was concerned, this was as bad as watching him feel Thena up in front of her. "What did you really come here for, Imo?"
She eyed their connected hands like some kind of varmint. "I came to see what was keeping you here--wasting your life and our business!"
"I'm here for the woman I love!"
Both women looked at him as he raised his voice. He would apologise later, but this was important. Thena gave his hand a squeeze, "Gil."
"I am here because my home is here," Gil stated proudly, staring down his terrifying aunt. "Thena is here. I said it to the little heiress and I'll say it again."
"Gilgamesh," his aunt drawled as a warning for him to very quickly rethink raising his voice and arguing with her.
"No," he continued, turning his hand in Thena's and linking their fingers together. "This is the woman I choose!--the soul that matches mine! I will not consider anyone else and I will never be happy unless it's with her beside me!"
"Thena is the sun of my world," Gil clutched at his chest, rumpling his shirt as if trying to keep his heart from ripping through his rib cage. "Everyday starts and ends with her, or it's a waste. Every minute I spend without her is a waste."
His aunt was thoroughly unmoved by his romanticism.
"I never cared if I was happy before," Gilgamesh professed, and not to gain any sympathy or pity tears. But just out of honesty, "I didn't think it mattered. I was raised not to think it mattered. Business is business, and family is family, and anything else isn't important. That's our way, right?"
It was a way that Thena was also familiar with; and why she had erased herself and all ties with her family from record.
"But I didn't even know what happiness was!" Gil laughed, unable to resist looking at Thena any longer. He smiled. "I had no idea just how happy I could be, if only for her."
His aunt cleared her throat. "That is-"
"Will you let me finish?!"
"Gil," Thena soothed in an instant, her velvety tone washing over him and relaxing his wound up muscles. She looked at his aunt for him. "We are together. That is all you have to report back to your family."
"Is that so?"
"It is," Thena pressed, her eyes sharpening again. "I do believe I told the little heiress to convey that message for me when I sent her back to you--incomplete as she was."
The matriarch lifted her chin to look at Thena dead in the eye. Perhaps she hadn't believed that it was someone calling themselves the Ice Queen who had actually cut off the girl's finger. But it seemed that the woman of Gil's choosing was even stronger than he was.
"Gilgamesh is mine," Thena stated with no room for argument. She brought her left hand up to sit atop their joined ones, "and I am his. That is all I have to say."
Gil sat up straighter as his aunt's eyes bounced over them both. With nothing left to lose, he scooted a little closer to Thena. If his aunt was about to kill him then at least he could die with Thena holding his hand.
"I see."
That was it? Gil watched as his aunt brushed off her jeogori needlessly, the lines of her face relaxing as she let go of whatever malice she had come bearing. He frowned, "that's it?"
His aunt shrugged, giving what might have passed as an indifferent frown. "It seems the Ice Queen drives a hard bargain."
Thena smiled at the woman, and he could almost imagine his aunt smiling back (if she ever smiled, which she didn't). "I do."
"Fine," his aunt sighed. She looked at them again, "if pale is what you want. A little bony, though."
Gil scowled, pulling Thena closer to him (in a way he was sure would make his aunt positively mortified). "I don't know what you're talking about. She's perfect."
"Gil," Thena attempted to admonish him subtly.
He just smiled down at her, tucking herself closer to him as his aunt stared them down. She was going to give him hell for embarrassing her later, but for now, she just looked cute.
His aunt stood and didn't bother excusing herself, having seen enough. She walked to the door, where Kingo was very obviously listening and waiting to open it from the other side for their guest.
Kingo bowed to the woman as she walked past, still not looking back until she reached the elevator. She looked at him, "you."
"Yes, ma'am," he responded crisply and respectfully. Some clients and allies he could have a little fun with; this woman was obviously not one of them.
"The wedding gift. I'll have it sent here."
Sharp. To the point. Kingo bowed again, "yes, ma'am. The Ice Queen thanks you for your...patronage."
"Hm." And with that, the woman stepped onto the elevator, ready to make the long journey back to the ground floor and the infinitely longer journey back home.
His father would not be happy to hear that she had not dragged his son back to him as she had promised to. But she had made her sister a promise about prioritising not just Gilgamesh as a family member, but as her son. And she had not seen her sister's son smile like that in all his years working in Korea. Perhaps she had never seen him smile like that at all.
#Ice Queen/Tyrant King AU#pt 2#it's not exactly what the ask had in mind#but I hope you still like it Butterfly!#we're getting there!#almost!!!#I have actually been trying to write out this scene for I don't know how long#so I'm glad I got the opportunity#but listen#I forshadowed!#I mentioned the family business and his mother's sister and the family not approving#not that it matters#Thena is like I am who I am and I am going to marry Gilgamesh#Gil is like: the audacity??? of my fucking family???!!!!??!?!?#Gil is happy without their input#His aunt is like hm...I approve of the pale one#Gil is like thanks I literally did not ask#Thena is still willing to visit his family to honour mostly the memory of his mom#Gil is like no I'm not letting anyone else anywhere near you#Imo sent us a beautiful gift that's enough#Thena sends back a parasol she has made with the pattern of her heirloom lace as a thank you gesture#Imo uses and says her daughter-in-law gave it to her proudly#little heiress' family is frothing at the mouth
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hello!! i absolutely love your time-travel au!! i saw on one of your posts that you said you have a lot of thoughts on the dovecote family- i was wondering if you’d be willing to share any of those thoughts?
Hi!! So happy to hear you've been enjoying the time-travel au :)
I'd love to share Dovecote family thoughts and to hear your (and also everyone's) thoughts as well!
So without further adieu...
Dovecote Family Lore
Some background info - TBOSAS mentions the old guard for some families in the book and I sort of took that idea and ran haha
So within the various families that make up the old guard, I like to imagine a hierarchy exists within them. There's families at the very top and also minor houses
And all these families that are part of the old guard have family crests and even Latin mottos to distinguish themselves from the nouveau riche and the lower classes (both Capitol and District) Is it a bit pretentious? Yes. But that's part of the fun
I see 'Dovecote' as one of the minor houses - old enough for the Latin motto and family crest, but not as prestigious as 'Ravinstill' or even 'Phibbs'
family crest ideas: a dove? a pair of them? idk but I'd like to incorporate the bird into it
motto ideas: I have like way too many, but these are my current favourites (My translations might be a bit rough 😅)
Alis grave nil (nothing [is] heavy with wings)
Ad astra per aspera (to the stars through difficulties)
Amata bene (well loved)
Cor aut mors (heart or death)
~~~~~
Also THIS idea that the Dovecote family is well-respected amongst the old-guard, but nobody knows where they first made their money/wealth and where exactly it comes from right now
I think it'd be funny if nobody in the Capitol can agree on how the Dovecotes are part of the old guard. They just sort of appeared one day on records and that was that
Nevertheless there are theories: some say the family is built on blood money (ie. a crime family /mercenaries /assassins elevated to the old guard either through blackmail or some notorious deed). There's some that think they're some vassal house that was elevated to this standing for some good deed or other
Also Dovecote clementines 🤭 (I keep adding this to a lot of my other AUs)
They're as tied to the Dovecotes as roses are tied to the Snows
The fruit are especially sweet when compared to the average clementine and nobody has a clue where their supply comes from
They have it year round even when they're not in season
It's a semi-recent thing, it started in Clemensia's parents' time as teenagers
For the Dovecotes, the clementines are a way to communicate things - there is no one thing it represents (ie. I love you / be careful / you are dear to me etc. )
Random lore about our Dovecote family members in this AU
Clemensia is an only child
Endymion Dovecote and Aelia Dovecote née Beauchamps have a running joke whose charm Clemmie inherited (it's Endymion, the Dovecote genes are strong here)
like father, like daughter, especially the Dovecote smile. Also both of them seem to be able to befriend anyone, they really do have friends everywhere
Endymion is an indulgent husband and father
I had this in a different AU, but I liked it enough to want to maybe add it here; how part of the Dovecotes being sort of anonymous in their circles is because of their control on the media - unless Endymion approves it, nothing about the family is published. Especially if it's about his daughter
Because the movie promo had Clemmie talk about D1 and D5, I decided to connect D1 to her mother's family.
Her mother (Aelia) comes from a merchant family - so, wealthy but not part of the old guard. The Beauchamp family owns a jewelry business, Lavinium. And pre-war that was THE place for the elite to shop at
Clemensia stands in line to inherit the business from her maternal uncle (family inheritance in the Beauchamp family can be messy hehe. Doesn't help that her uncle has no children of his own and instead has 2 sisters with their own children)
Actually there's this one dialogue I have about Clemensia between Livia Cardew and her own father - inspired by that line in Dune
Livia has a bit of a motive here to be Clemmie's friend and to stay her friend
Livia's mother owns the biggest bank in Panem, there's no way she doesn't hear from her parents about her classmates' family's finances
Livia's father is probably one of the only people to have a semi-good grasp on what the Dovecote finances are like because he manages the accounts
Because the Capitol is still recovering, Lavinium isn't earning as much as it had pre-war. And the Dovecote accounts don't have any deposits from them either
Livia's father: I hear you've recently become good friends with the Dovecote girl. Well done. Make sure to keep her close.
Livia (age 8): Because she's a possible heir to Lavinium?
Livia's father: No. Because she is Endymion's daughter.
Yet the Dovecote family is considered is recovering quicker than anyone can explain
The salary of the secretary of energy pays well, but not that well.
Dovecote family rumours are hard at work again haha
#clemensia dovecote#dovecote family thoughts#rambles#crack au#time travelling clemmie#capitol family lore#try not to ramble? haha task failed successfully#thanks for stopping by!#tbosas au#the ballad of songbirds and snakes
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My Most Unswerving Devotion
Chapter 4: The Duke's Ball
Regency! Soma Jarlskona x F!Reader
Summary: Since coming to Norfolk to stay with your family, the conversations have all revolved around matrimony. Just when your aunt has found a match for you much to your chagrin, quite by accident you fall for the wealthy Duke of Cambridgeshire; Soma Guthrumsdóttir. Can circumstance truly keep you apart?
A/N: Our heroine arrives at the home of the Duke and explores the splendorous halls of her manor. I hope you all enjoy this update! I would love to know what you imagine your ballgown to look like, please visit my ask box and let me know there!
Read it on Ao3
You spent the next week buried in letters from Oswald, the rate of your correspondence had your aunt whispering about how you were surely in love, and how marriage couldn’t be far off. Yet that could not be further from the truth.
If she could’ve seen the true nature of your letters she would have been severely disappointed by the mention of Oswald’s other amour, Valdis, and that you were set to help him woo her and gain approval from her elder brothers; whose names you had come to learn were Brothir and Broder. They had fled from a gentleman in Denmark who was completely set on possessing Valdis even if that meant against her will. Due to these circumstances, the brothers were very apprehensive when it came to other alternate matches for their younger sister.
So while you busied yourself with ways that Oswald could entreat himself upon Vadis’s brothers, your new friend had set about procuring all the names and likenesses that he could of the lady gentlemen about the countryside.
In his most recent letter, Oswald assured you that at least three would be in attendance at the ball hosted by Soma Guthrumsdóttir. This list included the lady gentleman from the picnic, Birna Knudsen the daughter of some wealthy Scandinavian merchants, and the equerry to the Duke’s estate. Eivor Varinsdóttir, a friend of Oswald’s and apparently the Duke as well, was the orphaned child of a land-holding man in Norway who was adopted by another wealthy man. She and her brother had come to England to establish their own fortunes here. And of course, there would be the fabled Duke of Cambridgeshire herself, Soma Guthrumsdóttir, as she was the host. Yet you doubted your chances of even meeting her.
While it was customary for the guests to introduce themselves at a normal ball, a masquerade was quite different. All you had to look for was the presence of women dressed as men with masquerade masks.
As you pondered the worn threads of the handkerchief while sitting at the old mahogany writing desk, you couldn’t help but feel a slight tinge of bitterness.
Perhaps if you had been born wealthy or of better station you would have the luxury afforded to the women within the Duke’s inner circle. A life full of adventure and opportunity, and the freedom of financial choice. After all, it all came down to the money, it was not having it that put your future in jeopardy. Should your mother’s older brother have been more generous perhaps you wouldn’t have been forced into considering marriage as an economic proposition instead of one of amorous devotion.
Perhaps all the books you have read have completely spoiled you, and true love didn't exist after all.
You envied your new friend and his fortune in being a man, and his lady love for her vehemently protective older brothers blocking any idea of marriage.
You tried to shake the nasty feeling as you stood and paced about your room. Counting your blessings helped a bit to shirk the cruel sentiments away, you had made a friend, and he was willing to play at being your pretend suitor so that you could avoid matches at least till the end of the season. You had a mystery to unravel and a lady gentleman to chase, no matter how hopeless it seemed at times. And your uncle had just paid for a new dress to be constructed for you at the beginning of the summer, perhaps at the behest of your aunt and her insistence that your simple fashions would do little to win you the hand of a young man.
But nonetheless, it had arrived from the dressmakers at just the right time. The elegant piece hung from the top of your boudoir now, with all its splendorous beading and embroidery. Its matching masquerade mask was fashioned with feathers and set upon a sculpted rod, with a loop for the wrist fashioned with a string of pearls. Truly the most opulent garment and accessories you had ever seen.
A pack of fortunate blessings indeed.
Regardless of the events to come at the ball, you resigned yourself to make the most of the evening.
ꕥ
On the evening of the ball, it was raining.
You had stayed quiet while the maids helped you dress and affix your hair into a fashionable style with adjournments that complimented your dress in just the right way. They whispered and giggled about the joys of a ball and what a sensible event a masquerade could be for a burgeoning courtship.
Apparently, all ears in the household were aware of the supposed romantic attachment between you and Mr. Egerton. You made a note to inform Oswald tonight that you would be limiting your letters to once a week before rumors could spiral completely out of hand.
With your wrist freshly dressed with new bandages to cover the bruising and decorated with a pearl bracelet since gloves were out of the question due to limited mobility in your fingers, the maids stepped back to admire their handiwork and excused themselves back to other tasks.
“Are you alright miss?” One of the younger girls asked as the other two slipped out of the room with baskets of linens and your tray from afternoon tea.
You glanced over at her and offered a polite smile, “Yes, I’m alright, thank you.”
“If your wrist troubles you miss I could fetch some ice?”
“No it's quite alright thank you,” you hoped desperately you looked dismissive and that she’d leave.
With a final nod, she collected her basket of things and shuffled out of the room leaving you alone with your thoughts at last. You rose from the vanity stool to stand by the large window of your bedroom.
You rested your temple against the chilled glass watching as delicate droplets of summer rain hit the glass. Your thoughts were an incoherent mess, and your head was beginning to ache. Within a few hours, you would arrive at the home of the Duke of Cambridgeshire.
There you would have to scour what you could of the faces of party guests all dressed in finery and hidden behind masquerade masks. All while at least appearing cordial to the young men in attendance. Perhaps, you could “lose” your dance card in the gardens, and then any attempt to secure a dance with you could be rebuked. For it would be positively impolite to promise dances to anyone if you couldn’t keep track of who had asked for dances.
Or you could “forget” to place them in your handbag altogether. Where would you positively have the space? You turned your attention to the handbag stuffing the handkerchief inside with a vail of peppermint smelling salts should you need them. You briskly made your way down the main staircase and into the foyer where your aunt and uncle waited for the carriage to be brought around front.
Ever the demure gentleman your uncle was dressed plainly in a simple suit, clutching his simple silk mask. Your aunt, however, was dressed extravagantly in a bright lilac brocade, a gauzy gossamer shawl wrapped around her shoulders, with her hair done up full of adornments. Her own masquerade mask much like your own was worn around her wrist on a bracelet, the gaudy thing looked heavy, all decorated with gold and feathers.
She was so busy fussing over your uncle’s plain appearance, that when she finally caught sight of you she startled.
“Oh- my dear niece don’t you look just lovely! If you haven’t captured the heart of Mr. Egerton already you surely will tonight!” She swept her arms in large motions, making a full circle around you.
“Didn’t the dressmakers do the most wonderful job, dear husband?” She asked your uncle, though you weren’t sure she really expected him to answer.
“You look lovely Miss (Y/N),” your uncle nodded politely to you and walked towards the doors at the sound of the carriage wheels crunching on the wet stone pathway. “Now come on ladies, we don’t want to be late for the masquerade.”
You followed his lead and stepped out into the late afternoon air, despite the rain it was mildly warm out, and the smell of petrichor permeated the air with an almost iron quality. A butler held an umbrella over your head as you made your way to the carriage door, carefully lifting the skirts of your ballgown so they weren't ruined by the water that pooled in the rocks. On the horizon, you could see stretches of pink through the light spots in the clouds as the sun set just beyond the cover of rain.
As you took your seat you released a long breath and gazed out the window. Oswald had agreed to find you once you arrived, ask for a dance to keep your aunt satiated, and then after you would slip away and begin your investigation. All you had to do was survive this carriage ride.
The whole of the carriage ride from your uncle's estate to the home of the Duke your aunt tittered about the humidity inside the carriage, the length of the ride, and the abysmal subject of the perversion of a woman to think she can take the title of a man. While you couldn’t help but wish that the sound of the rain on the carriage roof was loud enough to drown out her idle prattle, your uncle repeatedly rebuked her attempts to stir contempt toward your host.
“If you cannot bring yourself to be civil towards our host, I will have this carriage turned around at once,” your uncle stated plainly as he fiddled with the silk of his masquerade mask for the umpteenth time. “She has kindly extended an invitation to us, I do not understand where you have gained such a predisposition to dislike the Duke, but if you must. Please save the rest of us the misery of hearing you commiserate about it.”
Your aunt sputtered clutching at her gloves, “M-my love, but haven’t you heard she- she lays with women.”
“Must you really recycle that old rumor? Are you afraid she’ll steal all the young ladies of the countryside away from you?” Your uncle gave her a pointed look that suggested she say no more on the subject.
“What would it matter if she did?” You asked softly as you fiddled with the wrap around your injured wrist.
“What would it matter-” Your aunt’s statement was cut short by a knock on the roof by the carriage driver.
The sudden disturbance caused all heads to turn towards the windows, there in the shimmering night, lay a magnificent manor house.
Even in the rain, the front was lit up with tiny glittering fires that shone off the cream-colored stone. Two mirrored staircases led from the oblong drive to an elevated terrace decorated with the boisterous blooms of hollyhock and delicate primroses, a Grecian colonnade held up a balcony lined with wisteria. Meticulously groomed hedges protected red-blooming crepe myrtle trees that hung heavy with blooms framed the front of the elegant home.
Identical glass doors lay open sending the raucous sounds of music and partygoers across the drive and waterlily-filled fountain, wherein the center three bare-breasted Grecian maidens poured water from painstakingly carved amphoras down into the pool that traveled the length of the drive.
“It's… breathtaking…,” you whispered moving ever closer to the window feeling as if you looked away from the dream before you it would disappear.
“It certainly is, the old Duke did have a flair for the dramatic,” your uncle affirmed as the carriage rolled to a stop between the two staircases.
“I doubt the naked maidens were his addition,” your aunt quipped as servants dressed in deep Aegean blue vests approached with umbrellas.
Your uncle turned towards her sharply, “If you must make comments perhaps we should return home. (Y/N), would you like to stay?”
For all her previous bluster your aunt fell silent as all eyes turned to you. Now it was your decision. Stay and look for the truth, or go.
Mustering your courage you smiled politely, “I can ask Mr. Egerton to bring me home in his carriage come the parties end.”
“Then it’s settled,” your uncle nodded to the servant who drew open the doors and you climbed out of the dark humid carriage and into the dewy night air.
“Be polite!” Was the last cry from the woman you left behind as you climbed the stone staircase and raised your masquerade mask to your eyes.
Finally, your hunt for the lady gentleman would begin.
ꕥ
Oswald met you in the main foyer, his own mask lifted so you could see his face, the mask pushed upwards mussed his blonde curls.
“Miss (Y/N), you’re here! And unchaperoned?” His voice was chipper yet cautious as he looked around for your aunt and uncle curiously.
“Due to, unforeseen… prejudice, I am attending unaccompanied yes, perhaps, it would be alright if I were to join you in your carriage for the ride back to Norfolk at the end of the night?” You asked moving your own mask aside so you could speak better.
“But of course! I couldn’t leave such a friend stranded,” he smiled and offered you his arm. “Come with me, I’ll supply you with a tour.”
The interior was just as splendorous with wide-open common spaces and glamorous furnishing. Once you looked up to see the visage of a goddess draped in gold painted upon the ceiling, her long golden hair spilling around her like the rays of the sun, her face tranquil and her hands outstretched.
Seasonal florals draped window sills and the edges of stairs, with spiraling candles decorating open spaces, illuminating the guests in a warm golden hue. The smell of orange flower cordial mixed with that of fresh fruit and decadent cheeses on table tops. Waiters stood in doorways and common areas with trays of ratsfia and punch, others with water and ices.
As Oswald guided you around the wide sprawling rooms decorated with paintings and sculptures, opulent rugs, and elegant drapery you became acutely aware that you were amongst a different sort of company here. Something about the energy that radiated from the very walls and the people that filled the rooms oozed safety and community.
While it was likely that societal rules still applied here, you pondered which rules exactly, surely not the same rules of the society your aunt clung to so vehemently. The ones where women wore dresses and men wore suits, where propriety was following the exact societal pressures to the letter. Women married men and had babies, and most certainly didn’t go about the countryside kissing other ladies.
After Oswald had shown you around the quieter rooms with their art, the pair of you entered the main ballroom you were quickly overcome by all the sights, colors, and smells.
A small ensemble of performers played jovial music from a raised platform in a far corner, filling the space with sound. Here people danced and laughed, chatted, and clapped along with the music. Everyone dressed in their finery faces obscured by masks of all kinds.
The heat of the bodies all around you made you glad of the open doors along the exterior walls, they bid glances out to the manicured gardens and the cool stone columns that lined the veranda.
You motioned for Oswald to halt and picked a place near enough to the doors that a gentle night breeze could cool your heated skin. He obliged and led you towards the nearest unoccupied high table. Thankful for the reprieve you placed your handbag down on the table. It was becoming difficult to hold up both your masquerade mask and the weight of the handbag with only one hand.
Now with the space between you and your companion, you felt free to let your eyes wander about the room. For a moment they lingered on a tall blonde woman dressed in blacks and blues and stayed there. You took account of her stylish men's suit, another lady gentleman. Her own mask was styled to look like a raven decorated with black feathers and silver detailing. The embroidery of her suit jacket was styled like that of the ancient Viking wood carvings and ravens. Oswald must’ve caught your glance because he leaned in so you could hear him over the din.
“My friend Eivor,” he said, and you recalled the name with a nod. “The woman wearing the cat mask with her is Valka, an old friend of her’s recently came from Norway.”
You nodded observing the pair, Valka was dressed elegantly yet almost simply in black, and her hair was wrapped in a black scarf making the natural ashen color of her mask stand out against the black silk. Soon a middling-height red-headed woman dressed in cobalt blue joined them from the dance that just concluded.
Oswald tapped the table lightly, “I’ll be right back, what do you say to a capillaire? Or perhaps a rose water?”
“Just a rose water would be fine thank you,” You nodded and waved him off letting your eyes continue to scan the crowd.
You spotted at least two other women dressed in gentlemen's clothes upon his departure and began to wonder if Oswald was really right about the country being filled with lady gentlemen. Maybe you operated in the completely wrong circles after all. Flushing you began to wonder how many ladies were in attendance that like you, held sapphic tendencies.
How many people had fled the ball before even entering the otherworldly manor house at the sight of the bare-breasted maidens alone? Or was the mention of the Duke’s name and her reputation alone enough to scare people away.
You noticed a tall lady gentleman weaving through the crowd, her dark hair pulled back, her own masquerade mask the visage of a horse. She approached the blonde, Eivor, and her companions and began speaking to them in a bright and affable way. From the musical lilt of her voice, you recognized her from the picnic as Birna Knudsen, the equerry of the estate.
That was two of the lady gentlemen Oswald had mentioned accounted for, you bit your knuckle as you glanced around the room curiously. Where would a Duke be in a place of such affluence and lush?
Oswald returned just as you had begun to admire the beautiful frescoes that adorned the ceilings.
“One rose water for the lady,” He said as he passed you the fine coupe glass.
“Thank you,” you took a sip and couldn’t help but sigh, the cool liquid helped to chill you. “I hadn’t realized how hot I was feeling.”
Oswald nodded as he sipped his own drink, “I hope you won’t find it an impertinence but I was thinking about joining the revelry…”
You shook your head quickly, “No please, go enjoy your evening.”
“Well, if you're so eager to be rid of me,” he teased but smiled. “Come and find me should you need anything (Y/N).”
With that, he was gone and you were left alone with your glass of rose water and a puzzle to unpick.
After a bit more time people-watching in the main ballroom, you picked up your handbag and decided to explore the open rooms of the manor at your own pace. In one room you found a pianoforte which was being played by a younger girl, who would surely have been very good if not for her singing. In another room, two men sat whispering and chuckling to themselves their hands clasped together affectionately. Neither seemed to notice or care about your presence or any other person in the room for that matter, one of the gentlemen leaned in close, cupping the other's face, and planted a sweet loving kiss upon his nose.
You felt flush upon seeing such a private moment of affection and fled the room. Embarrassment fluttered in your chest as you ducked out onto a balcony, blushing you leaned up against a wall. You could not begin to comprehend how you felt, the moment of intimacy burned in your mind. The idea of being so open with the one you love, in such a public space as a ball, regardless of gender.
You sighed and stepped away from the wall and walked along the edge of the overhang, letting the cool mist from the rain that bounced off the stone cool your flush skin. From your handbag, you pulled the handkerchief, its worn threads soothing your piqued nerves.
How strange, you found yourself thinking, that such a small thing could provide such comfort. You closed your eyes and sighed leaning up against one of the Grecian columns letting the soft plip-plop of raindrops on stone, cooled evening air, and the sweet perfume of evening primroses wash over you.
In your thoughts you were there again, the lady gentleman’s hands, gently caressing your injured wrist, her brassy voice tranquil and kind. You could still smell the grass, and feel the warmth of the afternoon sun, yet around the edges, the memory was beginning to fade.
The sound of footsteps brutally yanked you from the echo of your encounter. You stood up straight and turned to face the person who interrupted your reverie.
There stood a lady gentleman, her rich brown hair pulled back into a loose bun and some strands hung loose about her neck and chin, her face was uncovered by a mask allowing you to examine her strong features more thoroughly. She had a strong jaw and a quizzical brow, her stormy gray eyes caught the candlelight and shone like fresh foam on the sea. She was dressed elegantly in a black waistcoat lined with shimmering yellow silk, and her vest was embroidered with all manner of florals and the sign of a snake on the lapel. In her hand, she held your mask, you must've dropped it in your haste.
“Miss, I believe you dropped this,” She approached slowly, her honey-rich voice dripped with concern and something, like confusion. And yet you knew exactly who it was, in all your waking dreams you would know her voice.
She paused steps away from you, quickly examining your form. In the most tender voice, that almost cracked on every syllable, “Dove… is that you…?”
#soma jarlskona#soma jarlskona x reader#ac valhalla#regency au#soma x reader#soma ac valhalla#regency inspired#austen inspired#i hope you caught all the little character references#sorry for the cliffhanger but i am for all intents and purposes evil >:D
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Count Baurendouin & Lord Francel, a Conversation in Approval
Rating: G
Category: Gen Fic
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Characters: Baurendouin de Haillenarte & Francel de Haillenarte. Etienne Greystone mentioned.
Summary: When hearing via rumor is all the information he gets in regards to his son and his beau, Count Baurendouin de Haillenarte has taken matters into his own hands to finally arrange a meeting. Here is what has happened after, in the wake of Etienne's footsteps leaving the manor, and Francel comes face to face with his lord Father, who means to exchange some few words.
Sneak peek:
It was, or, would have, under most circumstances, been rather a nerve-wracking affair. But, Francel will find, as he sits in his chair, pulled up to his desk, a cold window at the rear, illuminating his paperwork with the setting sun, a chill overtakes him, a dreadful calm, at first. He knows his lord father, but will have perhaps… not given way for his lord father to know him. To keep such details as they had been, from the direct line of sight of his family, and–do not take that to mean he does not trust Etienne, oh but he does. Do not take that to mean he is embarrassed. For, lord Francel knows not how to be, on behalf of another man. In fact, there is nothing but pride, nothing but adoration, nothing but the fire in his fingertips when their hands touch, and the way his heart flutters into his throat to be looked upon by him. No. Francel will have, in some manner, yearned for this. The approval of such important men in his life, his father– his Etienne. For they to come together, a whirlwind of emotion, thought, ideas abound within him, such that calm will no longer hold sway over him now, and his heart will race in his breast and his ears will prick as if he could hear a modicum of their conversation from floors above, and rooms away.
What more can he do, then, but to replace his quill, he had not been writing anyways, and push away from his desk. To glide with urgency to his door and swing it on oiled hinges in a way that had he any strength in his arms, it should have surely protested. The hallway is empty, the doors to both his brother's rooms are closed, and his sisters is ever vacant for her post in the Sea of Clouds. To traipse down the carpeted hallway, the flats of his shoes are silent, as he eases himself down the stairway, his hand marks a light trail down the banister, and his jaw nearly hurts for how tense his long ears are as he listens intently, as if, still there were anything to hear from here. The foyer is marked with pedestals of their high house gifts in front of the parlor, where Francel stands at a distance, watching eagerly. The door is closed, and a manservant is positioned patiently outside of it. His fathers. The man, a stately, older elezen, will look his way and offer no change in expression but to politely dip into a bow. Francel’s smile wobbles, and he bows his head in return.
Francel will pass the parlor, begging to stop to listen at the door, but for the ‘guard’ stationed there, and will begin, on passage, to rub his forefinger and thumbs together at his sides, as he makes his way to the kitchen. With his back turned, and distance growing between he and the parlor, the manservant smiles.
Unknowing of the passage of time, for while it seemed quick, perhaps, as if no time has passed, it may also, within a blink, feel as though all the time has passed at once. And, indeed it will have, for Francel makes busy with a lady servant in the kitchens, together, for he had fretted, and she had seen it, to help knead the dough for sugar cookies for the lady mother. While he puts some of his weight into rolling it out, a cup of coffee is poured for him, and he will wash his hands and take it gratefully while the maid begins to cut out shapes.
“I hear, mi’lord, if I may be so bold as to bring it up, that we have a guest of some import.”
Oh, how he shall nearly startle, such that he must grasp his coffee cup with both hands, and the liquid within will ripple with the tremble that courses through his arms, and down his spine. He will raise it, to hide the way his mouth curves, in one moment, an upwards quirk, the other, a downward slide. He has, to this point, no clue what it is that is being spoken about, and what conclusion the count will come to.
“To me.” Francel murmurs, unoffended. “So very important to me.”
She looks up, fitting a heart shaped dough piece unto a greased pan.
“It has been some time, my lord, perhaps you should go.”
He takes another big drink of the coffee, it does not steel his nerves, but it is hot, and it warms his belly. He sets it aside on the counter.
“I am sorry I did not finish your coffee, miss Olivette.”
She smiles downwards, placing another shape of cookie. “I beg your pardon for making it so late.”
But Francel is gone, the door to the kitchens is slowly swinging shut, clicking with finality as Francel makes his way down the foyer again. At the far end, he can see the exit to the manor, and his fathers manservant is closing the door, behind, whom he will assume is Etienne. And his heart sinks. This whole time, Etienne had been so near, and yet, so far. He clenches his fingers at his sides, his hands empty of Etienne’s within his own, and his cheeks not graced by his warm mouth. There are no strong arms which would have taken him ‘round waist and drawn him into that inferno of heat… The manservant, from aside the door, and from a hook, takes an embellished cane, inlaid with a red gem, the body of it a sleek, stained black, and carries it back towards Francel whom has stopped right at the parlor door. For the manservant, he gently opens it, and the servant bows low, as Count Baurendouin steps without, hand held out, for which the servant will place the head of the cane within and Count Baurendouin will tap it a few times on the burnished red wood flooring of the foyer.
“Ah. My son.”
Francel dips into a bow, as his father leans upon his cane, and while not necessity, provides ease of existence, in his bid to not show too much weakness. Francel is another story.
“Lord father.”
Count Baurendouin turns, and with his cane by his side, a slow, and steady tap upon the wood of their manor with each step.
“And so, to scurry about, like the little manor mouse you are, your nose twitching away, your big ears a’swivle.”
Lord Francel flushes, as he steps in behind the Count, only slightly behind, and to his left.
“Please my lord, do not think less of your son for his curiosity, for his… worry.”
Had Francel been any more anxious, he surely would have been kneading his hands together, his fingers twisted into a knot, and the circulation, poor as it was, cut off for how he worries himself into a bundle. Instead, his hands remain by his sides, but for his thumbs and forefingers rubbing together.
“Ye who should know nothing but composure.”
Chastised again, Francel chews his cheek unseen, looking straight ahead as they walk, the Count as his guide. The Manservant a respectful trail behind them.
“As you know,” count Baurendouin begins again, “Your eldest brother, Stephanivien eschews tradition with a certain finality, and it should be said that he and I do not see eye to eye on this.” Francel peeks over nervously. “But, whom was it, then, that caved to see his happiness restored?”
Francel dips his chin, without looking away.
“You, my lord father.”
Count Baurendouin nods resolutely. “And, I am curious, lord son of mine, with whom you chose as your closest, and only companion since childhood. Of which accompanied us hither and thither to our guest home in the Lowlands, on hunting trips and adventures.”
“Ser Haurchefant…” It was hard to say, but it comes out, strong, resolute, without stutter.
“Ser Haurchefant…?” The count seems pedantic in that moment.
“Greystone.”
The count opens his mouth, making an ‘ah ha’ sound.
“So he was, even after all he did, to only be knighted, and, never recognized fully as son of House.”
But here the Count looks over finally, stopping outside of a door at the end of a winding hallway. He turns to Francel. Because he knows this could be a sore spot. It has been years, but the loss of what had been ones only friend, can be a hard pill to swallow when forced to open ones mouth repeatedly for it.
“Oh, ye of little faith.”
The Count sighs, and the manservant comes forward then, opening the door to what appears to be an office, great walls of books on either side, a plush leather chair, a fireplace smoldering in the distance, a dark, starry window. Francel looks instead to his lord father.
“I want only the best, only the best, for my children. Maybe then, maybe before the War, it would have been different, but not now. Now, I can see, you have done well for yourself. And in him–well, he is interesting.”
Francel feels light, as his lord father speaks, a lightheadedness that makes him rock onto his heels, and then back onto his toes, regaining his bearings. A smile begins to flutter at the corners of soft lips.
“I asked him to return for Starlight.”
Francel will jerk his head so quickly back onto the count that his neck kinks, and he almost hisses. Dark blue eyes wide, mouth a soft ‘o’.
“Now that is a look unbecoming a young lord.” The Count raises one groomed brow. “I trust you shan’t let bad habits rub off on you.”
Francel immediately straightens his back,
“Nay, my lord father.”
With one last resolute nod, the Count turns to enter his office, leaving his son in the doorway. The Manservant bows to him, and then passes him by to attend his Count. Francel, the smile he returns is giddy indeed.
And in the end, it would be blessing enough, for now.
#final fantasy xiv#francel de haillenarte#my writing#friends oc#etienne greystone#baurendouin de haillenarte#i pooped this out so fast during work I had to write something I feel like there was more I wanted to say but I worded myself out on monday
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Do you have any OC’s for Lackadaisy who didn’t make it into the fic or who were made after you started writing? I love hearing about all of them so much
;v; wagh
So 2~3 of these kitties are connected to Devil's Moon characters but probably won't show up (or at least, will only be mentioned), and two arent related to it at all.
Viviana Carmina Holst - Slyvester's wife, who Ive thought so much about but may not even show up "on camera" LOL. A calico with auburn hair she keeps in a fairly old-fashioned style, to match her more modest dress. She's thin and has big, bright green-brown eyes.
She's quite sociable, observant, easygoing and a terrible cardshark. She loves company and doesn't get it nearly as much as she'd like; they live in a modest yet well-decorated home outside St. Louis city limits. Carmina comes from a large Italian family. She was the first of her siblings to be born in America. She's always been known as Carmina to them (there were already three Vivianas in the extended family), and Vivi to her husband.
Because she and Slyvester could not have children, they adopted three nephews after the boys' parents passed (Carmina's side). The boys are now grown and the two oldest are quite successful. The youngest still lives with them to help his mother, as Carmina is disabled and Slyvester works a lot, and they've yet to find a live-in nurse that suits them.
Carmina and Slyvester grew up together in the same Italian-majority neighborhood; his family is Danish and was one of the few non Italians on the block. Carmina's parents approved of him bc he agreed to convert, they knew he wasn't a drinker, and they were relieved their sickly daughter was able to get married and have someone take care of her for the rest of her life.
Flynn's Family - I've thought a lot about them but I don't think they'll be super relevant or come up, alas. His older brother Seamus is fairly important to the business, but rarely makes himself known. He has some pretty bad physical and mental damage from the war, so tends to be anti-social, plus years of Flynn's emotional manipulation have taken their toll. Tomas was the youngest and the golden child, died in the war. Flynn couldn't stand him. Sorcha was older than Tomas but younger than Flynn, I'm still unsure what happened exactly, but she's not around her parents anymore. They didn't really dote on her like they did the boys, or Tomas.
Their mother was tall and slender, while the father was more stout and broad, and a little shorter - only Seamus had his build and coloring, the rest of the children were looked and were built like their mama. All of them had orange and black markings but the Flynn we know is the only chimera.
I keep wanting to think of more for the family - their history, and appearances and whatnot, but then I pull back because it "won't be relevant" in Devil's Moon ... well, might do it anyway bc I just like writing family dynamics and drama, lol. I already wrote a ton about Carmina so might as well.
Okay these two are 100% not UTDM related and from an Arkham Horror board game/kinda tabletop bc we rp'd it a ton. The setting is 1920s anyway, and I forced my friends to play and make lackadaisy OCs (it was my birthday damn it 😂). These two characters rotted a crater in my brain for 2 weeks straight and I still like em a ton. Sister Marguerite was mine and Father Elijah was initially my partner's but I have since stolen him haha.
Sister Marguerite, formerly Adelaide Whitaker. Wheeww... so much to say here but I'll condense it. Originally from a wealthy East Coast family, she was forcefully sent to a "wellness and manners" sort of school for "esteemed ladies" that was really just a ruse to hide her pregnancy. It wasn't a Magdalene asylum/laundry, though. She lost the child, but a handful of nuns showed her such kindness (and she'd had religious-fixated OCD for years that her family actively made worse anyway) that she converted to Catholicism and began the process of becoming a nun once she was old enough. She's happy with her current life, enough that her OCD has lessened somewhat, but ofc there are still bad days. She often fixates on physical purity, baptism and "healing water"; most of her sisters chalk her "peculiarities" up to her extreme devotion and are willing to overlook her bad, spiraling days bc shes v dear to them. She's a good-hearted woman, quiet, and doesn't scare easily. Puts others before herself again and again.
As a cat, she's white with unsettling sectorial heterochromia, big slender ears, and an odd face. Lackadaisy cats are generally pretty cute but she's meant to be more "homely". Her eyes are more unnerving than striking. This is the photo that was the first inspiration for her, though this kitty is very cute, haha. If she were human I think she'd have bright eyes and a very plain face. I've drawn her but my art is pretty oof! I need to keep practicing bc her face and headshape in particular are kinda different.
Actually considered reworking her backstory to be one of Jack's many siblings; he did have a sister who ran off, but thats kinda irrelevant in UTDM rn. If anything itd be mentioned in an epilogue.
Father Elijah - A handsome man from a good Midwestern family. They were disappointed when Elijah joined the church, feeling like he was wasting his potential. He's always felt close to God and wanted to help others, but he's also a deeply scholarly person and loves theology, even if some things he studies would be considered heretical. This doesn't necessarily mean he's open minded, especially to those he considers "irredeemable", but he's always polite, protective of his flock and usually a pretty affable guy.
Elijah certainly has some kind of mental stuff rolling around in his noggin; I don't want to call it disorder or illness, especially since he doesn't really have a name for it at the time period (like Marguerite with her OCD). In the tabletop, they came to Arkham together as allies and quickly became rather ... obsessed with each other. He's very fixated with Marguerite, believing her to be a pinnacle of what a godly person should be, and later believing she can actually speak to angels (or is one??). He wants so much of her attention, to hear her opinions and interpretations of faith. To say he puts her on a pedestal is an understatement. Calling it "romantic" interest isnt the whole picture, and too simple for... whatever the hell he's got going on. Marguerite admires him deeply but in a more "inspired" way. Platonic is also too simple for what she's feeling, but her attachment certainly isn't as deep as his.
As a cat he's an orange tabby with pretty blue eyes. Meant to be a really tall good looking dude, a contrast to Sister Margy. Maaany women in the church have admired him but he's never considered or indulged in feelings like that until Marguerite; he doesn't even consider his appearance much. Just tries to keep tidy. I also terribly drew him real quick for the tabletop. I think his ears should have kind of a cute shape and he's got extra fur around his face :3 Still not sure on what sort of tail he'd have, though.
Shoutout to tabletop!Father Elijah who dual wielded a pistol and giant crucifix on the regular, constantly threw himself into danger to save Margie and slowly became twisted by the dark powers he was trying so hard to stop 👍🏽 One of my favorite scenes was both of them jumping into a portal together, then getting separated bc we rolled poorly and they both got HP/Sanity down to 0. Elijah woke up in the hospital in extreme pain, left without fully restoring HP and ran all the way back to the church to find Marguerite. They held each other at the altar for a while and she gave him her rosary bc he lost his crucifix in the void. and they promised to never leave each other again and stayed attached at the hip in spite of the usual eldritch horrors. normal arkham horror things. I'd love to make Arkham LCG cards for them; theyve already got custom cards for the 2nd edition board game (but now my other fixations and nerdness is showing so ill stop here).
(shoutout to that poor eldritch-corrupted NPC who sister marguerite believed needed a baptism to restore him, so father elijah held the dude down while he almost drowned and margeurte prayed over him and one party member witnessed all this and told the others so EVERYONE avoided "those catholic freaks" for the whole session sdkdskfs)
#most of my lackadaisy OCs went to UTDM in some way soooo yeah lol#its my baby what can i say#i also made canon Lackadaisy investigators for Arkham Horror 2nd#id LOVE to make investigators for the card game bc its so cool but alas i dont get to play much#so im not confident in investigator balance and abilities and such#god this is so niche even for this blog lol#anyway weird priest and nun my absolute beloveds#libra says#need a tag for when i talk really dumb shit#anons !!
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what's your take on michael and kay's relationship in the films? do you think michael actually loved her?
Absolutely, I do!! I've done so much research and analysis on them both in film and the book because I'm obsessed with them as a couple LMAO. I've written straight up essays on here. You can find them here, here, here, and here.
To sum up the most important parts from all of them to prove my point:
Michael also makes this clear to Kay after he becomes Don too. Michael reminded Kay countless times throughout the book that he wanted to marry her, that he wanted to slowly be transparent to her about the nature of his family first. He really worked on building the love and trust in his relationship with Kay because he believed in having a future and a family with her, with or without the family business.
Michael even thought about changing his last name (seriously) for the sake of Kay’s reputation.
Michael said gently, “Will your parents approve of me?” Kay shrugged, “I don’t care,” she said. Michael said, “I even thought of changing my name, legally.”
Kay came in after him and put her arms around his waist from behind. “When are we going to get married?” She asked. “Whenever you say.” Michael said.
Mind you, Michael is not in any way desperate to marry Kay or in an urgent need to. This is all solely built on the trust, affection, and bond they have in their relationship together. He mentions marriage a lot more to her than she does to him.
When Michael had returned home from Sicily, he told Kay that she was the only one he was ever “in love” with:
[Kay:] “Why do you want me to marry you after never calling me all these months?” [Michael:] “You are the only person I felt any affection for, that I care about. I didn’t call you because it never occurred to me that you’d still be interested in me after everything that’s happened. […] I want you and I want a family.”
“You know, when I came home I wasn’t that glad when I saw my family, my father, my mother, my sister Connie, and Tom. It was nice but I didn’t really give a damn. Then I came home tonight and saw you in the kitchen and I was glad. Is that what you mean by love?”
He put his arms around her and kissed her gently on the lips. Her mouth was sweet and he gently pulled her down on the bed. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to make love to her and Michael felt an enormous happiness. He had spent the war years fighting in the Pacific, and on those bloody islands he had dreamed of a girl like Kay Adams. Of a beauty like hers. She opened her eyes and hen pulled his head down to kiss him. They made love until it was time for dinner and the theater.
Michael refused to listen to anyone else asked/told Michael he should get surgery done for the bits of broken bone in his face due to McClusky breaking his jaw, even 2 years after the injury healed on the outside of his cheek. Kay was the exception to this of course! Michael wanted Kay’s opinion, and subsequently “got his face fixed”:
She knew that Michael had done it against all his own inclinations. Had done it because she has asked him to, and that she was the only person in the world who could make him act against his own nature.
And lets not forget when he said...
“You were all that I loved and valued most in the world and now I’m losing you…I’ve lost you anyway; You’re gone and it was all for nothing. You need to understand that I had a whole different destiny planned for us.”
And keeping in mind these following points:
Michael could have remarried any time after his divorce from Kay and had more children/a second son.
Michael wore his wedding ring for another 10+ years.
Michael was still trying to win Kay, apologize to her, get close to her in TGF3.
Michael moved onto Kay barely a year after Apollonia’s death.
Michael referred to Kay as “his wife” even after she remarried.
Yes, in full truth I do believe Michael loved Kay. I believe he cared for her deeply and was in love with her to the fullest extent. Their relationship and romance as a whole is so much better fleshed out in the book than the film but of course Michael is also essentially two different people when you compare him to how he was in the novel versus the film. I get why he's portrayed differently, but it's so easy to gloss over the truth of him and Kay if you don't actually sit to think about what they had and what Michael held together for their future together. ❤️
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Next Gen Overblots(Trigger warning mention of uncomfortable things)
So, I have posted Twst Next Gen a few times but not a lot since I haven't had many ideas for them. I do wanna talk about what the next Gen overblots revolve around though, so nobody gets confused.
Communication.
The next generation overblots revolve around communication within their homes, since not many parents and children can communicate resulting in bad things happening like disowning each other or multiple fights that lead to nothing, some even getting physical. I decided to take Communication Problems and base the overblots after them between the Blot Kids and their families.
The overblots in order are Mary Rosehearts(The daughter of Riddle), Thunder(The son of Shadow), Ramona Howl(The daughter of Livia and Jack), Anne Schoenheit(Daughter of Vil and Golden), Lily Ashengrotto(Daughter of Azul and Evonie), Juniper Zigvolt(Son of Sebek and Cerulan), and lastly Star Shroud(Daughter of Idia)
I will spoil each communication problem for each of the blot kids, but first things first, I decided to mix it up and not have it go in the direction of the original story that their parents went through, and yes there is still an MC that lives in Ramshackle with a beast that wants to learn magic. So now let's dive into the problems behind each Blot Kid...
Mary and Riddles communication problem has to do with Mary's more rule breaking chaotic side, she fears that her father despite being lenient with her about things would not approve of her breaking rules or allowing most to get away with them, so she turns prim and proper when he visits her, this does cause her to snap when Jackie starts scolding her on not talking things out with her father. The MC uses their Vision Pen and gets the backstory from Mary. Once she is awake, Riddle apologizes for making her feel the way she did and comments that nonetheless he loved her and was proud of her despite her more chaotic side.
Thunder and Shadows communication revolves around Shadows neglect towards the boy always leaving him with Livia and taking care of Thunders twin more. Thunder feels like a burden to his father and ends up breaking down when Scorch Viper confronts him about it. Thunder is a docile Blot Kid but he ends up attacking the moment Shadow bursts into Scarabia to see if his son was okay, causing a fight to break out. When he's defeated and the backstory is told, Shadow tells Thunder that he looks like his mother which was why he couldn't stand to look at him but he had loved him with all his heart despite neglecting him, promising to do better and help Thunder reach his goal.
Ramona and her families communication problem stemmed from too much praise on Clover whenever Ramona tried to tell her parents how good she did in royal classes or show off what she knows yet she was always told to not brag and stood by as Jack and Livia praised Clover even though the girl was struggling. Ramona ends up snapping after her teammates ended up praising her then turned their backs and started saying that Clover did better than her during the Spelldrive Contest. She only goes for Clover, ignoring everyone else in her way but is defeated by her own sisters UM. Jack and Livia tell Ramona that they were sorry for hurting her feelings and that they just wanted her to be a normal kid and not have to mature so fast because she was royalty, telling their daughter that they were proud of how smart and independent she was.
Anne and her fathers communication stems from empty promises. Anne admired her father's growing up, and followed in Vil's footsteps but she was more lenient with what she would eat and didn't mind getting herself dirty. Her dad's only made it to her plays once and afterwards made empty promises to help her practice and see her perform, becoming overly busy with Vil's modeling and in the process causing Anne to push away and distance herself. She overblots during the VDC because Hunter informed her that neither Vil nor Golden were coming causing her to break down into tears and accidentally activate her UM 'Terror Mirror'. Vil and Golden arrived after she's beaten and her backstory is shown, telling her that they WERE coming but got into an argument with Vil's manager even firing them for calling Anne's VDC performance childish. Both call her their biggest pride and joy and hugs her as she cries letting her inner crybaby out.
Lily and Azuls communication problem stems from his favoritism towards Ramona and Clover, disliking how her father would turn away to praise or talk to them, leaving her alone and feeling left behind. She snaps when Azul scolds her for getting angry with Clover for wanting to help, yelling at him that he should adopt them if he loved them so much. Ramona brings Azul to safety before facing Lily with the other present characters. Azul apologizes at the end and states that he never meant to choose another child over his and that she is the only child that holds a very special place in his heart. Azul promises to give her more time with him when he's free, spending daddy daughter time with his only girl.
Juniper and Sebeks communication stems from Sebeks undying loyalty to the Draconia Family, causing the boy to hold some resentment towards them since Sebek comments on the daily that he should be proud to one day join the army. Juniper wants to be a writer but never found it in him to tell his father in fear of being disowned by him, so he wrote his own stories and made drawings in secret when he wasn't training. He plotted to have the royal family overthrown with an Elemental Spirit but was caught and it caused him to overblot. Sebek is stunned when his son snaps at him after he was defeated and his backstory revealed. Juniper yells at his father that he wants to write not fight in an army and possibly die for a family he resented. Sebek scolds him for a few seconds but then hugs Juniper and asks to see his writing, praising his son on how well written his stories were and recommended showing them to Rollo. Sebek apologizes and smiles, calling his son the next Greatest Writer in Twisted Wonderland.
Star and Idias communication stems from her parents divorce and her father's overprotectiveness. She's been shielded since her father divorced her abusive mother after Idia found out that Star has been hit with a whip more than once and has scars on her shoulder blades from it. Since then she's been sheltered and Idia's been overbearingly protective of his kids, childproofing every thing that his hands can fix, thus causing Star to get annoyed since she's become capable of protecting herself. When her father comments that she's too weak, she snaps at him and yells that she's not weak which ends with her running out and coming into contact with a Blot Monster causing her to overblot. She is rescued by her friends and Idia, and the two talk out Idias overbearing protectivness. Idia says he's sorry and explains that he never wanted to see that look of fear and pain on his daughters face, promising to trust her more to defend herself and even hugging her to seal his promise.
My first thought when I made the overblots was "What should they have in common", and at the end of every overblot backstory the kids say "I wish I didn't exist", which is how most kids with family or friend communication problems end up thinking driving them to self harm or even suicide. I usually base my characters or other things on real life stuff that happens in the past or present, and I wanted the Overblots of this generation to tackle the problem of communicating with your loved ones and letting them know how you feel and what could be done to fix it, because you never know how the other person thinks of you or what's going through their head.
So, I might write overblot scenes for the kids, I've already written one for Anne Schoenheit, I might do Ramona, Thunder or maybe Star next depending on my friends/writing group.
Thank you for coming to this little thing I dumped on you guys, I might reveal Next Gen events that I am working on, anyway bye~
@anxious-twisted-vampire @yukii0nna @writing-heiresss @zexal-club @marrondrawsalot @yumeko2sevilla @abyssthing198
#twst oc#disney twst#disney twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland next gen#twst next generation#next generation#next gen oc#twst riddle rosehearts#riddle roseheart#riddle rosehearts#twisted wonderland riddle#twst riddle#dad jack#twst jack#jack howl#twisted wonderland jack#twst idia#idia shroud#idia#twisted wonderland idia#idia twst#twst sebek#sebek zigvolt#twisted wonderland sebek#sebek#sebek twst#twst vil#twisted wonderland vil#twst vil schoenheit
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Lian and the Capitalist Fuckboy AU 4/?
1. 2. 3. 4 (here) 5.
She will have terrible scars for the rest of her life, but she will have a life to live.
Once the white mages clear the grounds of the Feng’s Kugane house, the entire family descends on (ascends to?) it. Hancock is made to sit in the dining room and eat until Mingtao is satisfied he’s had enough.
Lian’s mother and twin brothers take her to bathe while her father and twin sisters strip the bed, remake it and thoroughly clean the room. Hancock isn’t really thinking clearly, mind mostly buzzing with the fact that Lian will recover and live and be okay. But even in his distracted state, he has a moment of disjointed confusion. Shouldn’t Lian’s sisters be the ones helping with the bath?
But then he remembers the twin boys are strong white and black mages respectively, which make them much better bath attendants for someone only half-conscious. They were also large enough to carry her and move her around without aggravating the lingering wounds and new scales. It was only his Uldan-Hyur sensibilities that found it strange.
As he mechanically chews a fresh meat bun, Hancock remembers Lian mentioning that gender wasn’t really a concept for her people. Some people were large, others were small and that didn’t particularly affect anything other than procreation and even then, she’d said, there were workarounds.
Mingtao pushed another bowl of soup at Hancock.
He wasn’t too, too familiar with Lian’s sandi. Mingtao didn’t really care for business and his Hingan was about as broken as Hancock’s Shuiwen. So the two sat quietly in the dining room.
At a stunned kind of distance, Hancock watched the Feng servants bring in more tables and seats to fill the dining room. Despite knowing Lian’s family was large, he’d always taken the size of the manor to be a symbol of the family’s affluence more than a practical purchase. Hancock mentally tallied the rooms against the number of family members and found it a much tighter fit than he’d previously thought.
Hancock remained at the table even once the food was cleared by the servants. He took his cue from Mingtao to stay out of the way. His choice was solidified when Mingyun joined them with a pile of papers and Lian’s assistant.
Mingyun greeted his brother with a clap on the shoulder before sitting next to him. Across the table, he shot Hancock a long-suffering grimace, though his posture was still loose with relief.
“Work’s built up,” Mingyun said in Hingan. “Sakurai-san’s a great asset, of course, but too much of our work requires direct family approval.”
Sakurai Mikana, sat on Mingyun’s side, nodded. “There was only so much I could do communicating everything via linkpearl.”
“The benefit of being, myself, a proxy,” Hancock said.
Mingyun didn’t look up from his papers, “Well, if Nanarito doesn’t appreciate you enough, we’ll take care of that.”
Mingtao asked something in Shuiwen and they had a short back and forth before Mingyun snorted and looked up at Hancock just to roll his eyes.
“A-Tao thinks I’m getting ahead of things, but he hasn’t been subjected to the matchmakers yet.”
Mikana made a comment in Shuiwen that had Mingyun chuckle and pat his brother’s thigh. “See? I know what I’m talking about.”
Mingtao made a sour face, and got up, saying something dismissive with the word kitchen in it.
Before Hancock could parse all of that, Lian’s mother entered the dining room and gestured for Hancock and her son to follow her.
She took them to a different room than Lian had been using before. The bed was visibly larger and made Lian look tiny and fragile. She was wrapped in an orange, silk, sleeping robe to protect the fragile, new scales. The still-healing wounds on Lian’s face were free of bandages, but covered in a green paste. The largest splotch was on her left cheek, which, at least, no longer showed signs of infection.
Lian was asleep, but her skin, though still pale from long illness, had a flush of life that had Hancock’s heart in his throat.
Hancock was ushered into the seat at the head of the bed by Lian’s mother. He wasn’t ignorant of the blessing that was and gave her the most polite thanks he knew in Shuiwen.
“Enough of that,” she replied in Hingan. She had an accent, but was clearly very practiced in the language. She sat on the opposite side of the bed and ran her hand over the crown of Lian’s head. Lian’s hair had been dried and braided after the bath. “That’s your place. We’ve known that for a long time.”
“We’ve known way more than that for a long time,” Minghong chimed in. He was leaned against the wall at the foot of Lian’s bed. Both he and his twin held complimentary staves.
“Be nice,” one of Lian’s twin sisters said. “You don’t want to scare off dage now.”
“If her smothering hasn’t done it by now, nothing will,” Minghong said.
“See? I told you a-Tao was in denial,” Mingyun said.
Hancock smiled helplessly. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Oh. He doesn’t know,” the second of Lian’s sisters said.
“Sh, sh, no one tell him,” the first sister said.
“You were just telling me not to bully him!” Minghong shot back.
Lian’s parents burst into laughter. Mingyu followed, then the rest of the siblings. It was probably the first time they’d laughed in days. The catharsis of relieved tension hit Hancock like a physical force and he found himself joining in even if he didn’t quite understand what was so funny.
...because it certainly couldn’t be that...
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hi ! i’m kay (she/her) and i will be the brain(cell) behind kitae. i’ll link his information down below, but i have an overview under the ‘keep reading’ if you’d like to go ahead and take a glance. i wanted to do something new and make a single father muse, but rest assured that won’t be his entire personality ! he’s just a former rich kid struggling to adapt to a life where bills take precedence over pleasure (booo).
please message me if you'd like to plot! or comment here if i can approach you. warning: the backstory and plots/connections are easier to read in this post as opposed to the links.
Profile | Backstory | Plots/Connections
BACKSTORY
he was both born and raised in the cheongdam-dong residential area of seoul, south korea. his father is on the board of directors for seoul national university hospital, and his mother is an heiress to ‘danjin’ group (the equivalent of sk group). his younger sister currently attends seoul university.
he grew up privileged and excelled in the arts (especially painting), but was forced to take up many extracurriculars such as piano (advanced), guitar (intermediate), golf (amateur), english (fluent), and taekwondo (red belt).
his relationship with his parents was neither good nor bad. they weren’t particularly active in raising him (they left that up to the hired help), but they weren’t neglectful. they desired to maintain their social status and were determined to see their children succeed. grades were kept under a very watchful eye, hobbies were manufactured, and friendships were forged out of preexisting parental connections.
still, they loved each other.
as for his sister, they were two peas in a tightly wound pod. they were (and still are) fiercely protective of one another.
art became his escape from an early age – not that life was tough (how can it truly be when the spoon hanging out of your mouth is not silver, but gold); when familial duties mandated he begin preparing to enter society not as a mere socialite, but an active participant, he used art as a vessel.
“did you know van gogh created a painting every 36 hours?” “you could’ve stepped out of a wang meifang portrait and i wouldn’t have known the difference” “sketch me something, kitae.”
and the people loved him. and he reveled in the attention.
COLLEGE
tw: brief mention of potential abortion
much to his dismay, his parents did not allow him to pursue a major in art history. considering they were footing the bill for his education, he agreed to major is business management.
it was in his first semester that he met someone who he considered to be the love of his life (name: tba).
his parents did not approve of her, at all. she was born overseas and encouraged kitae to follow his dreams of being a painter. this was, of course, frowned upon by his parents.
in his second year of college, kitae found out he was going to be a father. he tried to persuade her not to keep it – but she refused, wanting to continue the pregnancy. safe to say, kitae was nervous as hell.
and he was right to be. this new information did not excite his parents in the slightest. they threatened to cut him off financially if he were to remain in his girlfriend and baby’s life. but he did, anyway. this caused him to have to drop out of college after three years.
everything was going well – until their daughter turned 6 months old and the gf (i need to find her a name fr) abandoned them both, leaving only a note.
DAEGU + SUNSET
kitae heard from a friend of a friend that a club in daegu ran illegal fighting rings – and he wanted in. taekwondo had been something he excelled at before being forced to quit in order to concentrate on his studies. taking his extensive knowledge of combat and mixing it with years of pent up anger and frustration made for a dangerous concoction. but it worked, and he began winning. and winning. and winning. he fought under the name 'onyx'.
until a cataclysmic back injury almost left him paralyzed. he drained his savings paying off medical bills not only for the surgery (that left him with a slight limp every time he overworks the muscles in his back), but also for the months of physical therapy.
once he could finally walk he began to take up odd jobs here and there. a party planner (kids parties only, and he only really ever blew up the balloons), a store greeter (sometimes they made him twirl a sign), and various other jobs ranging from humiliating to borderline illegal.
until finally, two years after his injury, he sees an opening for a fitness trainer position at gwangtaeg gym. now that he feels (for the most part) and appears perfectly healthy, he’s ready to begin a steady job that will actually keep the lights on in his little one bedroom apartment he shares with his almost 4 year old daughter.
though even he knows it’s a matter of time before the streets beckon him once again.
WANTED CONNECTIONS/PLOTS
i’m honestly up for anything! but here are a few ideas to jumpstart off of.
he likes to hit up glogolf late at night because he can’t stand not being good at something so simple as hitting a ball with a stick. will you give him pointers? bond over your shared shittiness at golf? etc?
he carries around a little sketchbook with him – but what happens if he leaves it behind? will you happily return it, or will your generosity come at a price?
his daughter wants one of those cheap plushies from the claw machine but he’s been here the past goddamn hour and can’t seem to win one. also, he’s out of coins. will you help him out, or will your generosity come at a price? just don’t tell security he’s been digging in the fountain for loose change.
the flaky teenager that (admittedly, he doesn’t pay enough) to babysit his daughter couldn’t make it, so he’s forced to bring her with him to the mall. the gym, however, is not the most stimulating environment for a toddler. so, when she wanders off it comes as no surprise she’s bumped into you at (insert store/kiosk). kitae is determined to make it up to you.
unable to take his eyes off of you when you come in for your scheduled workouts, kitae is shocked to find that you plague not only his thoughts, but his dreams. an artist at heart, he begins to sketch little things about you. your tattoos(?), the chain that’s always dangling from your neck(?), your profile, etc. upon finding out you work in the mall, he’s made it his mission to get you alone…to get you to come back to his place…to paint you, of course!
you’re annoying. and rude. and if kitae could burn holes into the ground and watch it swallow you up, he would. that was his first and last session as your instructor and he’s just lucky he does not have to see you ever again. what are the odds that the newest signup for his self-defense class (a side hustle his boss was gracious enough to let him conduct in the gym), is you? he needs your money, and you need the skills.
generic connections i’m always down for:
confidante: self-explanatory. we can plot out the backstory, but he’s relatively new to daegu and sunset so i’m mainly looking for new friends instead of old.
friend with benefits: self-explanatory. kitae can’t exactly bring people home to his place so when he’s at the mall he able to…curb any desires he has (and as a former playboy, he definitely has many).
someone that knows of him from his streetfighting days. not personally, but you recognize him enough to put his job in jeopardy if anyone were to find out.
also open for connections involving his ex (such as an ex-friend of hers), daughter (such as an unlikely babysitter), potential lovers, and any others that can arise due to his personality.
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The Indignant Pawn, Chapter XIII: The Land of the Living
Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.
You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?
OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault (once in the prologue), objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: some kissing (I mean, there is a wedding), religious mentions
Author’s Note: I’m not sure how but I wrote this in two sittings. My hands hurt! Also, in my take on Black Butler, Tanaka plays the cello. Sue me. And one more thing, this is one of my favorite chapters I’ve written for this fic. Hang onto your hats, folks.
Happy Reading!
- Dan
⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢
MASTERLIST
. . .
APRIL 1ST, 1892
LONDON, ENGLAND
“Thank you, Nadia. This length should do just fine,” you said, turning in front of the long mirror before you to observe the dress’s hem. As you preferred, it reached the floor without dragging like a train.
Your gown for the ceremony was light green, a delicate shade of sage matching the ceremonial decorations you would have to wear to represent the monarchy. The dress had layered tulle tied off and sewn down the front of the bodice, flaring out in ruffles down the petticoat. The bracelet sleeves ended a little above your wrists, sufficiently covering your scar.
“You are simply breathtaking, Your Highness. I almost pity the bride,” Nadia said, referring to the traditional idea that no woman should upstage the bride on her wedding day. You made no attempt to. From your perspective, Cornelia and Lord Edward’s wedding was near meaningless. All you cared about was using the night of distraction to attempt to carry out your mission.
“I wouldn’t say that,” you disagreed, frowning at the freshly polished tiara on your vanity. Sebastian took the liberty of cleaning the Honeysuckle & Scroll tiara sent by Queen Victoria, along with the rest of Marie’s ceremonial decorations from Germany. Surprisingly, Maire’s handmaidens didn’t send those valuables with their rightful owner. Instead, they stayed safe in Germany until Victoria requested they be sent to the Phantomhive estate.
The Queen expressed considerable worry in their accompanying letter, but her love for the Midford family was victorious over any consternation. After all, Alexis Leon Midford, the groom’s father, was her Head of the Garter, and his mother was a beloved Phantomhive. She approved of her granddaughter overseeing the festivities in her stead. If only she knew which German granddaughter that was, exactly.
Before Nadia could argue, there was a stiff knock at your bedroom door.
“Your Highness, my master humbly requests your assistance,” Sebastian asked tactfully in German, so Nadia wouldn’t understand the infallible Lord Phantomhive needed help.
You rolled your eyes, answering in English. “I am in the midst of my dress fitting. How urgent is the problem at hand?”
“Quite pressing, Your Highness,” he said, as unctuous as ever. If you opened the door, you would surely see the butler’s dark eyes narrowing from how difficult you were. “It is preferable if you attend to him in the front room in your wedding number.”
“Is he not in tutoring with you at this time?”
“He begs of you, Your Highness.”
“What could the Earl need from me in full formal dress?” You asked incredulously, stepping off the small podium Nadia brought from the shop. You gestured for Nadia to follow you as you moved to the door, swinging it open to reveal the lanky butler. He wore the same glasses he always did when he held lessons for Lord Phantomhive.
“It’s a matter of…social etiquette,” Sebastian answered carefully.
You understood his strategic word choice when you met the Earl in the front room at the bottom of the main staircase. A frazzled Mey-Rin used the wall to help remain upright, making a dramatic show of being dizzy. Sebastian’s violin sat on one of the side tables next to Tanaka, who sat with his cello between his legs. A metronome clicked methodically.
Mortification flashed on the Earl’s face, causing him to redden to the tips of his ears. “Sebastian, I told you not to bother Her Highness with such a meaningless waste of time,” he cringed at his words, his fists clenching and unclenching.
“No, thank goodness, you’re here, ma’am! I never learned to dance like this! I’m just a maid!” Mey-Rin surged back to life upon your entrance. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, master; yes, I am!” She exclaimed, hastily bowing to Lord Phantomhive and you before scampering out of the main room. She took the narrow hall that led to the servants’ quarters, likely in search of her co-workers for comfort.
“Wait, Mey-Rin!” Phantomhive protested, but she was too far to hear.
“So…this urgent and pressing matter is Lord Phantomhive’s mediocre dancing technique?” You surmised, equal parts amused and terrified. Even when you were undergoing daily dance lessons, your skills were passable at best. Marie was the dancer. On top of that, your last class had to be nearly a decade ago.
Due to their uselessness, those particular granules of knowledge sank to the back of your mind, like phantom limbs or atrophied muscles.
“Quite. The wedding is tomorrow, and my Lord has been too stubborn to hire a tutor,” Sebastian sent a pointed look at the Earl, who looked as if he would pull out his pistol and shoot that very moment. “I know royals receive extensive training in these areas. I was hoping you might have something to teach him.”
“My dancing is perfectly adequate!” Lord Phantomhive protested.
“Your Highness?” Sebastian prompted, and despite your best intuition, you took measured steps toward the indignant nobleman. You felt like your actions were determined for you like there was a puppeteer manipulating strings tied around your limbs.
“All right,” you surrendered, standing directly before Lord Phantomhive. You ignored the irksome discomfort of several pairs of eyes on you. “We’ll start with the Viennese Waltz. Bow and ask for my hand,” you dared the Earl to defy you. If Sebastian was forcing you to help, he would listen.
“Your Highness,” Lord Phantomhive cleared his throat, “shall I have the honor of dancing this set with you?”
“Yes, you may,” you said, lowering yourself into a shallow curtsey while he bowed. You were in perfect sync, sinking and rising together.
Lord Phantomhive gave you a final questioning look before hesitantly taking your right hand in his and putting his left hand under your shoulder blade.
This was the hard part. You called on your lessons from Governess Lydia as a child, although you barely listened to those at the time, either.
“Start with the box, Helena-Victoria. Step back, together, right, together, forward, together, left, together. Repeat. It’s a circle. Think of a race track,” Lydia said sternly.
Duly, you heard Sebastian calling out the rhythm along with the metronome. But for the first time, you purposely listened to Lydia.
“We do side whisks to keep from getting lightheaded. Right foot, left foot behind the right, repeat. Fix your posture and stop staring at the floor. You are a princess; you stand up straight and never bow your head to anyone.”
The Lydia in your head was much kinder than the Lydia you knew.
“Four natural turns, four side whisks, and repeat. You are not a fool. Think it through, and it will come naturally. What did I tell you about your posture? Can you follow simple instructions, or are you defective?”
That was a lie. No conception of Lydia was kind.
“Look at me, Lord Phantomhive,” you said, silencing your fabricated governess. You could be a better instructor. “Don’t look at the floor; you’re an Earl, and Lady Elizabeth will find it offensive. Look at me.”
Asking Lord Phantomhive to look at you was a mistake. Your stomach twisted as he complied, bringing his gaze back to meet yours.
He was uncharacteristically quiet but staring as intently as ever. It made your heart flutter, rightfully flustered from being analyzed so closely and at such proximity. You never stood this close to the Earl, save for the time you pushed his tea out of his hand to save his life.
It was easy to forget that the Earl wasn’t an unattractive young man; his perfect complexion and prominent, angular cheekbones were the pinnacles of offense. He looked otherworldly, like a vampire or some kind of demon with his sapphire eye. His hair almost wholly covered his eye patch.
“Your Highness?” Lord Phantomhive questioned your little stumble caused by your inattentiveness. Your staring.
No, not staring, gawking.
“The reverse box is forward, side cross.” Lydia reminded you.
You cleared your throat, “we’re going to complete a reverse box now. That’s forward, to the side, and back.” All you wanted to do was tear your eyes away, but you couldn’t after demanding he look at you. You could do difficult things; you killed Felix Keating in a moving carriage, shot two men after they killed your best friend and assaulted you, and hid the bodies after. “Good. You’re not hopeless, Lord Phantomhive,” if you could do both those things, you could look a ruminative nobleman in the eye while dancing with him.
“I appreciate your help,” Lord Phantomhive said, casting his pride aside. There wasn’t much he disliked more than swallowing his pride and asking for help or muttering a word of gratitude. In that way, the two of you were the same. Yet, he’s done both for you numerous times.
And you’ve done both for him as well, numerous times.
“I’m out of practice too, my Lord. We both needed the practice,” you admitted, laughing as you took a more dramatic step than necessary, making the ‘natural’ turn more pronounced. You pulled him along by your clasped hands, picking up your pace to match the ¾ rhythm a Viennese waltz typically started at. You were moving slower to help Phantomhive (and mostly yourself) master the steps.
You were strong, capable of accomplishing impossible tasks, but you couldn’t help your riotous smile. It hurt your cheeks.
“This is faster than the proper rhythm! You read music. Shouldn’t you know this?” Lord Phantomhive protested, but his tone was fond. “I’m leading. You must follow my tempo.”
“Then you ought to allow me to lead!” you suggested, deaf to the music stopping. Until Sebastian spoke, drawing the dance to a stilted stop.
“My sincerest apologies, but there is a call on the line for you, my Lord. From Scotland Yard, regarding an old case,” Sebastian said, all too eager to ruin a moment where the two of you weren’t wholeheartedly miserable. The butler didn’t have either of your best interests at heart; you were sure. “He says the matter is dire.”
Lord Phantomhive hesitated, giving you a final long look before taking his hands away. “Right. If it’s a…dire matter, I shall tend to it. Of course,” he said, smoothing his suit. “Thank you, Your Highness. Sebastian, see to lunch preparations for after this call.”
“Of course, my Lord,” Sebastian bowed, helping Tanaka move the instruments away.
Phantomhive swiftly dipped his head before starting up the stairs to his study.
They left you with Nadia, who grinned like a lovestruck child. “Your Highness,” she gasped once everyone was out of earshot. “That was…intense.”
“It was a dance lesson,” you dismissed, returning to your quarters to allow the seamstress to help remove your gown. “I feared he would step on me.”
“Forgive me, but that was more than a dance lesson. You and Lord Phantomhive…there’s-”
“Your primary commissioner is Lord Phantomhive’s fiancée, Nadia. Please, just do your job and give me a hand with this dress. That is an order,” you snarled without meaning to, killing the beaming smile on her face.
“Forgive me,” Nadia repeated skeptically, doing as told.
. . .
Sebastian prepared a beautiful lunch table, but his master never joined you, no matter how slowly you chewed.
“My Lord sends his regrets, but this call from the Yard is much too… blindsiding for him to proceed without a proper strategy,” the butler said, refilling your cup of tea.
“Blindsiding?” you questioned, searching Sebastian’s face for any clues. There were none. “What do you mean?”
“I’m afraid it is classified information between the Queen’s Guard Dog and Scotland Yard,” Sebastian said, “but please allow me to assist you in any other way, Your Highness.”
Frustrated, you dismissed Sebastian and didn’t see Lord Phantomhive for the rest of the day. Not by choice, the Earl simply didn’t join you for supper, dessert, or cards.
Maybe everything was in your head.
. . .
APRIL 2ND, 1892
LONDON, ENGLAND
“Look at this sunset!” Lady Elizabeth praised the fuchsia sky, peering through the curtains in the carriage. The golden sun set, casting warm hues through the carriage, highlighting her blonde hair, catching the diamonds in your tiara, and somehow making Lord Phantomhive appear paler. “I think this is a blessed evening.”
You were in the second carriage of the wedding’s church procession, the first being Cornelia and her father and Lord and Lady Scotney, the groom's parents. Looking out the window, you saw the white carriage directly in front of yours and the pair of light gray horses pulling you.
Lord Phantomhive was handsome in his warm gray jacket and a baby pink flower tucked into his jacket pocket. It matched his tie, and his fiancée's dress, of course. The pairing stung, although your rational mind knew the color match was to honor their statuses as maid of honor and best man. Lady Elizabeth practically glowed, accented in gold jewelry. Her hair fell to her waist in waves. You caught her eyes flitting towards her betrothed every few seconds, looking for a compliment.
He merely stared at the carriage door, the floor, and the ceiling. Anywhere that wasn’t you or his cousin, really. He was always moody, and social events weren’t his idea of fun. If you could be anywhere else, you would be. Carriages gave you enough anxiety.
“Yes, it’s lovely,” you responded, feeling like a dress-up doll of your sister. You wore her entire cast of princess regalia, shipped from Germany: the Honeysuckle & Scroll tiara, the National Order of Merit sash with the royal insignia brooch pinned over your breast. You hoped you didn’t look as ridiculous as you felt.
As your carriage neared, the bells tolling in the church grew louder, echoing throughout the city. Lanterns lit the church’s perimeter, lining the front staircase and aisle. Blossom petals littered over the ground, symbols of good luck and virtue. You watched Cornelia, and her father make the slow trek up the flowered staircase and through the doors to the congregation first, followed by Alexis and Frances. Then it was your turn; you walked in stride with Lady Elizabeth and Lord Phantomhive between them, climbing the stairway and walking down the aisle.
The wedding string quartet to the side of the altar played Handel’s Arrival of The Queen of Sheba, a joyous and majestic sound. The church had beautiful acoustics, making the expert playing sound even more euphonious.
You reddened as the guests in the pews bowed as you passed them, only straightening as you moved past their aisle. Although your entrance was strategically planned for after the bride, you still felt a pang of guilt for momentarily stealing her spotlight. On either side of you, Lady Elizabeth and Lord Phantomhive split to join their respective sides of the altar; Elizabeth to Cornelia’s right and Phantomhive to Edward’s left.
In the front row to the right, you stood in front of your chair while the rest of the wedding procession filed in, sitting once the bridesmaids took their places to Elizabeth’s side. Edward’s groomsmen, except for Lord Phantomhive, had been waiting for the bridal party’s arrival.
The quartet’s music slowly quieted as the bald priest straightened his back, addressing the audience. He cleared his throat, waiting for Richard Burton’s affirming nod before speaking. Naturally, the bride’s father had to confirm his consent to make the ceremony valid from the law’s perspective. “Dearly beloved, you have come together into the house of the church so that in the presence of the church’s minister and the community, your intention to enter into marriage may be strengthened by the Lord with a sacred seal,” his gravelly voice commanded the sanctuary’s attention.
The priest began with a prayer, but you stopped listening. In fact, you doubted most of the wedding party at the altar was doing much prayer, either. Lord Phantomhive fought himself, but he was looking at you, to the light your diamonds refracted on the tall ceiling and to the inquisitive look on your face.
He needed to decide, was he looking at you, or was he not? What prompted this indecision, anyway?
Your fingers fiddled with the second salt shaker hidden in your gown’s pocket bag.
“Lord Midford, please repeat after me,” the priest requested, reading the vows to Edward. The groom was distracted with his bride, taken by the sheer expanse of her dress and face, illuminated by soft brushes of makeup. “Lord Midford?” the priest repeated patiently.
“Right-- In the name of God, I, Edward Midford, take you, Cornelia Margaret Burton, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow,” the groom blinked rapidly, holding back tears. It was a sweet juxtaposition to his crisp knight uniform.
Cornelia repeated the same vows after the priest, surprisingly much less tearful than her counterpart. Instead, she smiled brilliantly, practically bouncing on the soles of her heels.
“Very well,” the priest said, leading the congregation in another prayer to bless the couple’s wedding rings. You took the opportunity to observe Lord Phantomhive again; he wasn’t looking at Elizabeth or you, pointedly so. While he was dressed beautifully to match the other groomsmen and the blush blossoms that surrounded the arch behind the couple, the solemn look on his face told you that he was mourning. There was a fake, idle smile on his lips, but the rest of his face wasn’t in it.
What was wrong?
You cringed as the couple exchanged rings.
“Edward, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit,” Cornelia repeated after her groom, completing the exchange.
The priest spoke, “Now let us humbly invoke God’s blessing….”
You thought back to the day prior, the dancing. It was your only interaction with Lord Phantomhive, and it was, as always, enjoyable. He smiled, and it was more than the vacant and foolish look he offered to the congregation.
Until Sebastian interrupted you with the call from the Yard.
“In the sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss!” The priest exclaimed, allowing an eager husband and wife to spring into one another’s arms and share an impassioned kiss in front of their closest family and friends. And you, a disguised interloper.
“Go in peace to glorify the Lord with your life,” the priest managed to bellow over the audience. You stood as the rest of the guests did, clapping appropriately.
The bells tolled once more, marking the ceremony’s conclusion.
Hand-in-hand, Edward led Cornelia down the aisle, through the church’s open doors, and into the waiting carriage to prepare for the dinner and reception. The rest of the wedding party followed.
You trailed behind Lord Phantomhive and his future bride. They were next, and they knew it.
Your fingers wrapped around the poison in your pocket. Was there any sense in caring for someone who didn’t care for you?
. . .
The wedding party sat in the middle of the round guest tables in front of the towering wedding cake. The newlyweds sat together, their groomsmen and bridesmaids fanning on either side respectively, save for your seat next to Lady Elizabeth’s.
The attendants served dinner while the immediate families gave their speeches. Richard was first, bringing tears to the bride’s eyes at the mention of her dead mother, Margaret Burton. She died of consumption when Cornelia was three, but Richard was sure to lift everyone’s spirits by insisting that she was proud of her daughter for taking in her legacy and becoming a nurse. For the most part, you ignored Alexis’s speech, savoring the creamy mashed potatoes on your plate.
After dinner, most guests took to the expansive dance floor, waltzing with their partners. You were the only guest left at the table, as no one dared ask a royal to dance with them. Thus, you took the opportunity to unscrew the lid of your salt shaker and pour its contents into Lord Phantomhive’s flute of champagne. With the number of toasts the couple planned, the Earl was sure to finish his champagne by the night’s conclusion.
You silenced any guilt by watching him waltz with Elizabeth. Her hand in his, his hand under her shoulder blade. Four natural turns, four side whisks. It was the Viennese waltz that you taught him. In response to your unadulterated rage, you took a long, calming drink out of your (unpoisoned) champagne. The acrid taste stung your tongue, but it was better than simply looking on. It was a miracle you didn’t break the stem of your glass.
“Care to dance, Your Highness?” a new voice asked, startling you. “You seem lonely. Too beautiful to be alone like this,” he said, reaching for your hand. He pressed a kiss to your family ring while he sank into a formal bow. The stranger’s accent sounded like Cornelia’s father. A New Yorker.
You raised an eyebrow, reclaiming your hand as soon as the American righted himself. “Who’s asking?”
“My name is Cooper Finley,” he said purposely as if he expected a German princess to know his surname’s ‘significance.’ But you knew, and it made you grin venomously, seeing that this was the avarice-ridden and the overly confident man you helped Lord Phantomhive outwit. This was the graverobber that stole bodies and sold them to medical students without familial consent. Your instincts told you to rebuff him as brutally as someone of your stature could, but you caught Elizabeth and Phantomhive again.
She smiled, laughing as if her betrothed said something undeniably hilarious.
“If you can keep up with a waltz,” you smarted, willing yourself to look playful. Dancing with someone like Cooper Finley was narrowly better than standing abandoned during a waltz.
“Can I take this off your hands? I wouldn’t want you to overindulge,” Finley said, taking Lord Phantomhive’s poisoned champagne flute before you could protest. It had been close enough to look like yours, potentially a second round from a server. He finished the full flute in one go as if it were a common tavern beer.
“Better not to be wasteful, correct?” he asked rhetorically, roving his tongue over his lips, locking eyes with you. It made sense, Finley’s shipping business was failing without Lord Phantomhive’s support, and now he was seducing a princess in an effort to become a German duke.
“Shall we?” you ignored him, offering your gloved hand to lead you to the middle of the dance floor when the previous song ended. Guests parted for you upon sight, giving you the necessary room to dance with your unexpected partner.
Finley took your hand, and his free one sat below your shoulder blade, as custom dictated. He wasn’t a bad dancer, nor hard to look at. In fact, he carried a small resemblance to Cornelia and her father with his close-cropped brown hair and heavy-set eyebrows. If you weren’t aware of the selfishness and cruelty behind his hazel eyes and seductive grin, you might have found solace in dancing with him over the Earl.
“What are you up to in England, Princess Marie?” Finley asked, leading you into a turn. You scoffed.
“Your Highness,” you corrected him, “and just what are you doing in England, Cooper Finley?”
He laughed as if he hadn’t expected you to correct him. “Sorry. Your Highness, Princess Marie. I’m here for business. But I managed an invitation because I’m the bride’s cousin. I’m a representative of her dead Mama’s side of the family.”
You wondered if Lord Phantomhive knew this. Regardless, Cornelia’s cousin was going to die in about a week due to lethal thallium ingestion. You doubted you would be the first to say that he deserved it.
At least you understood where the familial resemblance came from, dead Mama’s side.
Finley must have attributed the alarm on your face to his cavalier manner of referring to Cornelia’s deceased mother. He put a sad smile on his face, “it’s alright. She died when we were all in the crib. Not so near and dear to our hearts as Uncle Richard says.”
“Do you always speak of such unseemly things during a waltz?” you asked.
“You’re too easy to talk to, Your Highness, Princess Marie,” Finley said, moving the hand from your back to fix your sash. His hand lingered on the royal decoration for a moment too long.
The waltz was hardly halfway complete before Phantomhive intervened, forcing the both of you out of your natural turn.
“Mind if I cut in?” It was the first time since he willingly looked at you in the past two days. His jaw was set.
“Lord Phantomhive,” Cooper Finley said, any semblance of seduction melting off his face like a mask made of hot candle wax. “We were in the middle of a dance.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you, Finley,” the Earl snapped, each of his words clipped. “Your Highness?”
“What about Elizabeth?” you demanded, pulling away from the New Yorker to better face Lord Phantomhive. The rest of the guests danced around you, doing a convincing job of ignoring the drama amongst them.
“She’s dancing with Lord Scotney,” his betrothed was laughing with her father as he twirled her around on the other side of the dance floor. Edward danced with his mother, and Cornelia with her father. They were hard to find through the various pairs of dancers; Phantomhive must have watched you the moment you left the dining table.
“You’re excused, Mr. Finley,” you said coldly, dismissing him.
“But Princess Marie-”
“That is a direct order,” you insisted, finding the line extremely effective.
“You will regret this,” Finley surrendered, crimson with embarrassment. He pushed past Lord Phantomhive to return to his seat or, more likely, seduce a bridesmaid.
Lord Phantomhive wasted no time taking your hand and sweeping you into a turn. His movements were jagged, distracted by his anger.
“What did he want with you?” he demanded, his grip much more potent than it needed for a dance.
“He looked about ready to drop down on one knee for me,” you said dryly, keeping your face aloof, refusing to look at the Earl. You were far from the Earl’s property, a piece of property he needed to protect when it was threatened and ignored when he felt like it. He scowled at your response. “He wasn’t anything more than I can handle,” you added, and it was the truth. Cooper Finley was going to die, partially by your hand.
“What is vexing you then?” Lord Phantomhive asked gruffly as if he hadn’t been ignoring you for the past two days. “You told me yourself not to look down during a waltz.”
“You,” you gritted honestly, “you are vexing me,” you admitted. “Are we or are we not friends?”
Phantomhive hesitated, struggling to pick the words he wanted to say. He was painfully close; you could smell his bay leaf scent. The hints of soap. The chandelier made his tiny diamond earrings sparkle. They were studs, easy to miss.
He drew closer. You wondered if he could feel your heart at such closeness; your torsos were practically pressed together.
“Ciel, my brother needs you in the powder room,” Elizabeth’s sudden presence forced you apart as if strong electric shocks suddenly sparked between you. Her voice quivered, and her eyes were glassy, “please,” she added as an afterthought, guiding Lord Phantomhive away with a hand on his shoulder.
They left you alone in a sea of people. You saw Edward across the way, still engaged in a smooth waltz with Francis. Far from the powder room.
Your eyes stung, and you took a difficult breath in. Even your chest felt tight, and the tiara on your head pounds heavier than it was seconds ago. Without a second thought, you pushed past the dancing guests, making a beeline for the ballroom door and exiting the building.
You leaned on the side of the building the moment you managed to get outside. The fresh air cleared your lungs, and you stared up at the night sky, a black abyss above you, speckled with stars.
Everything in your life was complex, your job contradicting your heart, Lord Phantomhive clashing his duty with his. His commitment to the Queen, to his fiancée. That was probably why he couldn’t look at you. By embracing how he felt, he would betray almost every aspect of his life: his family and his responsibility to the crown. Differently, than Doña imagined, you were ruining Ciel Phantomhive’s life. Only, doing so by this means was almost more damaging and cruel than plunging a knife between his ribs.
“Elizabeth!” you exclaimed as the blonde came through the same doors you did.
She jumped, startled by your outburst. Her eyes still looked glassy, filled with unshed tears. Her face was red.
“There you are, Your Highness. I was…looking for you,” Elizabeth admitted, her smile several degrees less vibrant since the ceremony, but genuine still. She was a kinder person than you. “I apologize for interrupting your dance with Ciel, but I wanted, needed, to talk to him. And you. Alone.”
“Please, I don’t deserve an apology from you,” you admitted, mouth running dry with guilt. Elizabeth trusted you to be her betrothed’s dear friend. And instead, you…you didn’t know what you were. Any label that could be put on it undoubtedly surpassed the bounds of friendship, which was a betrayal.
“No, it’s all right,” Elizabeth’s voice was uncharacteristically strong as she rounded her back. She took your hands into hers, grasping them tightly to make you look at her. “He loves you how I wish he could love me,” she insisted, nodding at you as if the gesture would help you understand, “but he can’t love me like that. I love him and you, so I will… do what’s best for all of us,” Elizabeth had an actual princess’s grace.
“I don’t love him. We truly are friends, Elizabeth. I swear,” the words were heavy on your tongue and obviously false. You didn’t believe yourself.
Elizabeth chuckled, likely appreciating your attempt to spare her feelings. “He fusses over you the same way my mother protects my father. And you look at him the way my brother looks at Cornelia. I know what love looks like, Your Highness. I can’t believe it took me so long to realize.”
“Call me Marie,” you stole her betrothed; the allowance was the least you could do. You ignored the nagging part of your brain that would’ve given anything to say Y/n.
“Lizzie,” she corrected, pulling you into a rib-crushing hug, to your surprise. Your back cracked in her robust embrace, but you didn’t care. Instead, you wrapped your arms around her as well, sighing. It felt as if you were Atlas, and the gods removed the weight of the sky from your shoulders.
You relished Lizzie’s warm embrace for a few more seconds before she released you and helped smooth out your crooked sash and pinned brooches. When satisfied, she grinned again and linked her arm around yours.
“Come now, Marie, Cornelia should be preparing to throw her bouquet. If we’re to make Ciel propose to you soon, winning this is the best way to do it!”
All of the single women huddled behind Cornelia’s short frame like bees to honey. She stood with her back to the crowd, lifting her small bouquet of pink peonies, waiting for you and Lizzie to push past the women.
“Are all my ladies ready?” Cornelia exclaimed, casting a quick gaze over her shoulder at the eager throngs of cheering guests behind her. Dozens of arms around you sprouted up impatiently, the shorter women balancing on the tips of their toes.
After a slow count down from three, the bride tossed the petite bouquet over her head with all her strength. It sailed straight down the middle of the crowd. If you were indeed Marie, the nudging ladies around you would have trampled you by then.
“Throw it here!” Samantha, one of the members of the bridal party demanded. She didn’t say much to you, but from what you gathered, she was also a heiress from the States. In front of you, she threw her arms up in the same determined way a soldier might shoot his bayonet.
However, as Lizzie requested, you held your ground and jumped for the flowers. Typically, you found such superstitious activities ridiculous, but there was no harm in participating, especially when you won.
With an uncharacteristic cheer, you caught the bouquet and immediately hugged it in your chest in case anyone attempted to take it from you. You looked down at the peonies in disbelief, laughing as the crowd around you dispersed. No one would fight a fully decorated princess for something so trivial.
“A fantastic, unplanned victory for Her Highness, Princess Marie-Louise of Schleswig-Holstein!” Cornelia cheered, leading the applause around you. “We’re all looking forward to the invitations to your royal wedding in Germany,” she joked, lowering into an innocent curtsy when you rolled your eyes.
“Congratulations,” Lizzie simpered in approval, only for the expression to melt when she spotted something over your shoulder. Her eyes turned stormy. “Now you must go to him,” she ordered, pointing at Lord Phantomhive as she pushed you toward the exit.
As if he heard her, Lord Phantomhive turned to the both of you, meeting your eyes before tearing his gaze away again. He twisted the door handle and left.
“Go!” Lizzie repeated, nodding towards the door. You shoved your bouquet into her arms and obeyed.
It was the sloppiest attempt at a run you ever made. You picked up your heavy petticoat to make room for your frenzied steps, your heels echoing against the floor as you moved. Who knew numerous layers of tulle were this heavy? You had to let some of your skirts fall to keep your sash from falling down your arm.
You opened the door and let it slam behind you, rapidly scanning the gardens outside for a hint of the nobleman. How hadn’t you noticed the beautiful outside scenery during your conversation with Lizzie? There was a water fountain and surrounding shrubbery and rose bushes lining the trail to it….
You could see his lean silhouette sitting on the concrete rim surrounding the opulent water fountain. With a curse, you pulled your skirts up once more and followed the cobblestone, yelling the moment you were in earshot.
“You, Lord Ciel Phantomhive, are the worst!” You yelled, disturbing the peaceful, secluded area. The only previous sounds were the fountain’s running water, small squirrels chittering about, and the soft breeze rustling the greenery. Now, your enraged voice and winded pants distracted from the scene’s ambiance. You let your petticoat fall back to the ground and removed your gloves to air out your sweaty palms. Your heart drummed in your chest, anticipating his response.
“What has you vexed so? Even now, you’re refusing to look at me, and yet you interrupted my dance,” you demanded, standing before his sitting person, arms crossed.
“I interrupted your dance because Cooper Finley is a bastard!” Lord Phantomhive argued, standing to his full height.
“And as are you!” you refuted, jabbing your finger to his chest, right below the flower tucked in his jacket’s pocket.
“Your Highness,” Lord Phantomhive spat your pretend title like a curse, like the lie it was; a far cry from his fond sarcasm. “You don’t understand, I know,” he said gravely, looking at you as if you’d committed a crime. All you did was allow your feelings to grow too deep.
You stepped forward, forcing him straight against the water fountain’s rim. Cold droplets of water fell on you, but you ignored them.
“Do not ‘Your Highness’ me! I know what you know, how you feel! Elizabeth told me so!” you yelled, eyes wild. Was it so terrifying that you could…like him? Were you so bad? Or was it his own feelings that terrified him?
“And I don’t care! I- we - can make it work! Don’t you understand?”
“What is there to understand, Princess?” Lord Phantomhive asked, all too calm. If anything, he looked tired and surrendered before the fight had even begun.
It was as if a dam had broken within you, one that had been keeping all your resolve at bay, separating your undulating desire and forcing it into a mighty rush, unwithstandable. Irresistible. Omnipotent.
You reached upwards, your bare hands cupping Lord Phantomhive’s face as you balanced on your tiptoes to kiss him. You squeezed your eyes to a close as you kissed him with the most false confidence you had ever employed. It was novice and uncoordinated, but you made up for it with sheer passion. His lips were just as soft as they looked. Your lungs burned, reminding you of the long breath you were holding, but you didn’t care.
You wouldn’t have noticed that your tiara had slid off if it hadn’t fallen against the cobblestone with a sickening crack. The sound forced you back to the land of the living. The real world, where you kissed your target, Ciel Phantomhive.
Breathlessly, you retreated, standing on your feet properly. You refused to look at the meaningless relic behind you, even if it had shattered into a million pieces. If Phantomhive wanted to break eye contact, he would have to.
He panted, but his pained gaze didn’t move from yours. Instead, Ciel bent down, his slender fingers resting on either side of your neck. From where he positioned them, his fingertips could feel your drumming pulse. Ciel’s hands were cold, contrasting your warm skin, heated by chasing after him. It sent shivers down your spine.
He kissed you long and hard and just as cluelessly. Your heart pounded. Your legs felt weak, as if they might give in at any moment.
Ciel kissed you, and it was like nothing you had experienced before. Not even the stolen kisses you suffered years ago, the ones plucked from your lips like a defenseless flower. This kiss wasn’t stolen. It was shared, warm, and sacred.
Your fingers tugged at his jacket, demanding Ciel remain close. He tilted his head, clumsy lips keeping a soft rhythm with yours. It was as natural as your midnight duets, his violin slotting with your harp. Only now, it was his soft lips sliding and pressing with yours. The fit was perfect, like two puzzle pieces destined to connect to form a bigger picture.
All you wanted was to be as close to the nobleman as you could manage. You craved the expanse of soft skin; you wanted to hear the overlapping thoughts speeding through his sharp, intuitive mind. The caustic, genius mind you came to enjoy.
You didn’t care who you’d need to hurt or what you’d need to keep the brilliant warmth burning in your chest. You’d do anything to make the sweet taste of Ciel’s lips familiar. He tasted like the oolong tea they served before they cut the wedding cake.
Besides, what was stopping you?
Elizabeth gave you her blessing, and if you’d need to pretend to be a princess for the rest of your life, you could bear it with Ciel at your side…so long as he never found out the truth.
You could find a way to convince him Y/n was dead or a construct the Undertaker confirmed as some kind of hoax to tease the Queen’s Guard Dog.
Before the thought of stopping had even crossed your mind, Ciel pulled away. He cautiously removed your hands from his waist by the wrists (when they moved there, you were unsure).
“There is nothing to make work, Your Highness,” Ciel Phantomhive said grimly, releasing your wrists. His lips, stained by your pink lipstick, were pursed. He sidestepped from where you trapped him between your body and the fountain, abandoning you yet again.
. . .
Tags:
#ciel phantomhive x reader#ciel x reader#ciel phantomhive x you#ciel x you#black butler#black butler fanfiction#black butler fanfic#Black Butler Fandom#black butler x you#black butler x reader#black butler x y/n#ciel phantomhive x y/n#anime fanfic#anime fanfiction#sebastian michaelis#historical fiction#historical romance#victorian era#victorian romance#the land of the living#the indignant pawn#chapter 13
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Young Bride: Given In Marriage
Cecily is a young woman who will get married.
by Lady Mary. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Chapter 1
I grew up in a very conservative family. My father was the boss in the family business, which was created by his father, which was my grandfather. My mother took care of the house and the children, whatever else she wanted to do the approval had to be given by my father. A wife was to be her husband's adornment and calling card; I, my sisters and brothers were brought up with this motto.
Cecily? Father is calling you. I was pulled out of the activity by the voice of one of the brothers, Arthur.
I am on my way. I nod as I put my knitting aside. I run it over the fabric of my blue dress a few times to smooth it out and present myself impeccably in front of my father.
My father was a traditionalist. Together with our mother they took care of our impeccable dress. Especially the girls. Our dresses, because that was all we could wear, usually reached our ankles or mid-calf. Anything shorter was inappropriate. Tights were also compulsory. My family believed that ladies from good homes should always have them.
I nod in respect as I enter my father's study. He sits in his swivel leather-covered chair, looking as perfect as ever in his suit trousers and white shirt, ironed by my mother.
He said in a cordial tone, indicating a chair for me to sit down, then said; “Mother praises you immensely, you have become a great help to her. I am extremely pleased about that.”
“ Thank you, Father. Praise always makes me happy.” I said with a smile.
“Therefore,” Father puts the stack of papers aside. “I thought you were mature enough to think about your household”.
“My household?” I repeated in surprise. I felt my face turn white.
“This is what awaits every woman. I thought my mother and I had instilled this in you all.” The man walks around the desk and sits on its edge almost beside me so that he can brush his fingertips against my cheeks. “You are our great pride. You will be the same for your husband. Lucky him.”
“So... who will it be?” I ask timidly.
“You will find out in time. You will like it. Of that I am certain.” Father blinks one eyelid at me. “First the engagement and a few... procedures involved.”
“Procedures?” I asked.
“Your mother will prepare you. You have nothing to fear. Well... That is all. You may return to your duties, my child.”
“Thank you, father.” I bow my head before I leave my father's office.
My preparations for the nuptials began almost immediately... although I did not know to whom I would be married. I also still didn't know anything about the procedures I was to go through and my father had mentioned them.
“The doctor will be with you shortly, lie still, my lady.” The maid instructed me.
In fact, there was nothing wrong with me, but it was necessary for the engagement to be announced. That is what mother and one of my brothers said.
So I was fulfilling a commitment. I lay in my huge bed, dressed in something like a nightdress, but much shorter than a standard one, for here the linen material ended above my knee.
I didn't wait too long as the door to my room soon opened. I saw a man with blonde hair and at first sight he was two heads taller than me.
He placed his brown leather bag on the table that was next to the bed.
“Lady Cecily? I'm doctor Mason. I am here to confirm your readiness for the sacrament of marriage. I understand that this is your first examination of this kind, but I assure you that you have nothing to fear.” The young doctor sent me a weak smile. “ At first, I ask you to move down toward the base of the bed and spread your legs.”
“What? “ I could not believe what I had just heard. Red was on my cheeks almost immediately.
“Lady Cecily. It would be far better for yourself to do it voluntarily. Neither of us wants it to be unpleasant, do we?” he warned.
I obediently move down and spread my thighs. I seek solace in looking at the ceiling of my bedroom. It was decorated with hierubines that were supposed to watch over the cleanliness and good conduct of the girls.
“Wider. Lady Cecily, I will have to say a word to your father and husband-to-be. None of them will be pleased.”
“Excuse me... I never... “ I'm at a loss for words, but I spread my legs as he asks me. This contributes to the material of the garment falling up over my stomach and the man can now see my femininity.
“It's very nice...” I feel the touch of a stranger's single fingers on me. In a place so carefully hidden. The blonde man takes a seat on the stool between my legs. “I can see the hymen. It is not too thin That's good. Your spouse will be pleased with this gift. Are you sinning?”
“Am I sinning?” I ask almost in a whisper.
“Have you ever touched yourself in a sinful way? In places... that you shouldn't have? Don't lie. I'm a representative of the church. God listens and can punish.”
“No, no, never! I swear.” I plead terrified, but almost immediately I let out a shrill scream. I feel something inside me.
“Relax, it's a good sign... Your husband will have something to work on.” I watch as the doctor slides one of his fingers out of the copper. “With God's Grace, you will not be a less fruitful woman than your mother. Undress.”
I untied the 3 bows on the front of the shirt without protest. I didn't want my future spouse to think I was a troublemaker. I am far from it. I rose to a sitting position when asked to do so.
“Considerable for such a young person, but very nice. 85d to my eye.” He affirms, squeezing both my breasts in his hand, which makes me squeal. “Sensitive... Your husband will be really happy. Have you eaten anything since yesterday?”
“No, my mother told me not to eat anything after breakfast yesterday. The test could give bad results.”
I look up as the man walks away towards his leather bag. He looks for something for a moment.
“You have a wise mother. Kneel down politely on the floor.”
I do so, but first I throw on and tie my petticoat. I see the doctor smile but say nothing for a long moment. He takes slow steps towards me with something shiny in his hand, but I can't see what it is.
“Open your mouth wide.” he ordered.
I do so immediately and unexpectedly the doctor stuffs something into my mouth, sort of like a bite block that a dentist might use, and ties it at the back of my head. My mouth opens even wider, which causes a slight pain.
“Take it easy. Put your hands behind your back and let them stay there.” The man sighs somewhat amused. “Now listen to me carefully. We must see how much you can take... it's very important.”
Take? I understood absolutely nothing. I wanted to talk to the man, but my mouth was opened by some metal. I could not form anything into words. I kneel impatiently as the man walks towards his bag again and firmly presses something to the wall mirror. I am unable to see it for a long moment. Then at last I see it! I have heard about this... but a long time ago I put it out of my mind. Wives had to please their husbands in many ways when they were pregnant, often doing it with their mouths, wrapping their lips tightly around the penis to please the man. The doctor came to me and helped me to stand up, leading me to a kind of test where I knelt down again, facing the mirror.
“I know that the lesson programme for female marriage preparation talks about this. However, I understand that you may have forgotten. What you see is a dildo. Silicone. Here on the side.” He points his finger to the right side of the tool. Numbers appear every few centimetres.
“This will tell us what level you are starting from. Hence the spider gag in your mouth so you can get the best possible result.”
I look at the man, at the reproduction of the male penis. It is so big and thick... I can't take it. Indeed, it's a good thing I haven't eaten anything... although my stomach is starting to hurt just thinking about it.
“Go ahead. I won't finish this visit until you take.”
I squeeze my hands together behind my back and slowly slide the dildo into my mouth. I start to choke when I feel it at the starting point of my throat and almost immediately pull my head back, causing me to cough and my eyes fill with tears.
“Try again,” he orders.
“I ca ca.” I want to say I can't make it, but I can't form any words and all doctor can hear is sobbing.
“Take it easy. Many young women fail to do this properly.” The doctor kneels beside me. “I'll push your head and hold it for a while Okay? This might hurt a little.”
I nod in acknowledgement that I agree, although the truth is that he didn't need my consent. I felt his large but gentle hands sink into my brown curly hair and after a moment he pushed my head without indicating. I'm running out of air, so my hands are almost immediately on the wall to push back. My saliva flows out of my mouth onto the floor and mixes with my tears. Soon the push subsides and I gasp loudly for air.
“10 centimetres. Perfect for a start, young lady.” I feel him unbuckle the strap from the spider gag on the back of my head and pull out the dildo.
“In the face of everything, I can confirm that you can marry. You can stand up, Lady Cecily.”
Although I was still a little stunned, a smile appeared on my face. My parents will be proud, especially my father.
“Thank you doctor and... I apologize for my behaviour.”
“Nothing has happened. Fortunately, you turned out to be as obedient as you are said to be.” The man hides the instruments in his bag and pulls out a notebook. “You bleed regularly, according to your mother... The only thing I can recommend is vitamins. This will help in creating a family and in bringing new life into this world.” He speaks confidently and writes down on a piece of paper, which he seals at the end. “God bless you, young bride.”
I say goodbye to the doctor, and immediately after him mother enters the chambers, before whom I bow as I did before my father to pay my respects.
“The doctor has praised you. Father is delighted. So is your fiancé.”
“Who is it? My fiancé?”
“Daughter... These things only happen at the altar.” She says amused by my question, which I could ask several times a day. “Now you must be clothed and this must go back to its place.” She points to my belt, my virginity belt.
I have worn this attribute of maturity since I started menstruating. This has happened to every young woman in our faith. Without it, we might have sinned and tarnished the honour of the family, thus derailing any chance of a favourable marriage. It was locked with a key, and this was put in father's possession. On the wedding day it will be given to my husband.
“Do married women... have to wear it too, mother?” I ask as she helps me put it on and then locks it.
“Depends on their husbands. When they are in a blessed state, they usually don't, at least in the later stages of pregnancy.”
I look at my mother. She was only 36 years old and pregnant, another fruit of my parents' marriage. My mother has never been without a child for more than 2 years. My parents believed that procreation was the purpose for which God created man and woman. They fulfilled it scrupulously. The Church also had this as the highest value of human life, especially of a woman.
“Your underwear needs to be replaced. This one is too childish for a married woman.” mother says. “The same with your dresses... but here your spouse will have a word.”
“I will put on your corset. A young married woman has no right to hunch over.” Mother pulls out my white Victorian-style corset from the wardrobe, to which I obediently allow myself to adorn and tie it, even though it was an uncomfortable piece of clothing.
“Can it be a little looser, please?”
“Wait a minute. You will soon get used to it. Look here, my dear.” I turn to the mirror & see my image. No one dreams of such a waist.
I smile because I would be lying if I didn't like seeing how small I can be at this point on my body.
“Will my sister Elizabeth be coming to my nuptials?”
“It is hard to say. She is expecting a baby. It is a delicate time for a woman. You will see for yourself soon enough.”
A woman puts a white dress with embroidered sunflowers on me. My shoulders were prominent, so I was a bit surprised by this choice by my parent. However, I immediately understood that this little boldness was meant to imply that I was expecting the wedding. Exactly. Wedding!
“So when? When will it happen?” I ask.
“In a few days... Our faith wants a girl to become a woman on her fertile days, preferably on those... the most important ones. Yours is coming.”
For days afterwards, preparations were underway for the big event. The family and the servants were preparing for my wedding.
My belongings were packed, although most of my clothes remained. I was assured that a wardrobe tailor-made for a married woman awaited me in my new home. Mostly my cosmetics, bedding and a small collection of jewelry were completed.
I was obliged to go to bed early. Like a younger sibling, I was supposed to be in bed by 8.30 p.m. already. All this so that I would not be a tired bride. I was also taught the art of make-up and made sure my body was smooth. Husbands did not tolerate unnecessary hair.
“Lady Cecily, a box for you.” a servant said from the hall.
“A box? At this hour?” I ask surprised when the maid puts the box on my bed. It was of considerable size and wrapped in cobalt ribbon. I have never received a package before bedtime. “Thank you. You may go.” I had just come out of the bath wearing my robe and my belt was off for the bath.
I waited until I was alone and with great excitement began to open... a gift? I guess you could call it that. I took a deep breath and lifted the lid.
My God... what... white lace underwear appeared before my eyes. I took one part, which was supposed to be panties, but... it didn't cover anything.
Only after a while did I see a small card. I take it in my hands with a trembling heart.
"Hello My Spouse-to-be. I'm sure you're surprised by the contents of the package. Consider it a gift for the night that will make us soon married.”
“I will be extremely pleased to see you in it. I believe that you care about pleasing your husband.”
“Nevertheless, I know that you are a woman undefiled in deed or word. But I want to let you have a taste of the married life. I've discussed this with your parents, so you don't have to worry about me tarnishing your good name.”
“At the bottom of the packet is something like an egg and a gel. I would like you to moisten your womanhood and gently insert the egg as deep as you can, my doll... "
I lifted the full material of my underwear and pulled out a pink ball from under it. It did indeed look like a small egg. I took a deep breath and placed a few drops of gel on my fingers. I opened my legs and this opened up my womanhood. I rubbed some of the gel in, but thought it might be worth doing with the toy itself. I breathed deeply to relax and do the job properly. I moaned several times, feeling my hole being expanded and trying to swallow I took a piece of paper in my hands to read the rest of the letter.
" Once you've done that, put on your belt. We don't want a sinful moment to come over you. Give the key back to your maid who is waiting outside the door.”
“Then take your phone and call the number below...”
“Your future husband"
I was extremely uncomfortable in something inside. I was taking big steps, and it was apparently going to stay in me for an unknown amount of time. After putting on my virgin belt, I handed over the key to the maid who was indeed waiting outside the door
I sat on the bed, but this position was uncomfortable and I did much better when I lay down. I picked up the phone and with my thoughts swirling I called the number indicated. I did not wait long, because the call was answered.
“Um... hello? Lady Cecily?” I heard a warm male tone. Nice one.
I've been waiting for your call. So I believe you did what I asked for?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Okay.. so we can start.”
“Start wha, ah, ah!” I screamed as I felt some vibrations in my womb, but almost immediately closed my mouth with one hand and the vibrations stopped.
“ What's wrong, doll?” I heard the man's amusement. “Forgive me. Apparently that's too much to start with. I want you to lie down politely. Relaxed and closed eyes.”
I felt the vibrations again, but were much softer. But I couldn't help but sigh.
They grew stronger every moment, and that made my breathing heavy. I felt the muscles in my lower abdomen tighten and the tension grew.
“Oh My...” I sigh loudly, but then the vibration stops. “What? why...”
“You need to rest, little doll. I cannot let you reach the pinnacle of pleasure. It awaits you only in our life together.”
“It was wonderful. Thank you... what's your name?”
“You'll find out soon. Now go to sleep as a good girl.” He said, then hung up. I experienced something like this for the first time... and it's not the end, apparently. So, the life of a married woman... was also pleasurable?
By Lady_Mary for Literotica
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Thankfully, only the immediate Bun family seemed to be enjoying breakfast in the kitchen. Revati wasn't sure if she could handle another spontaneous party. On the other hand, she wasn't sure if she could handle the fact her sister was also there, sitting next to Auntie Saffron. Mr. Bun was busy taking steaming plates of food out of a large yellow box. Mrs. Bun was sitting between Basil and Vanilla. Dityaa and Auntie Saffron appeared to be engrossed in an intense conversation about "fan waving."
"Bridgadeiro, you never mentioned that your friend has such a charming sister," Auntie Saffron remarked, shooting the bashful Dityaa a smile.
"I didn't? Must have slipped my mind; I only met her once four years ago," Bridgadeiro said, helping his father with the food.
"Can I help?" Revati asked Mr. Bun.
"Get the bag of cricket flour out of the sink and pour it into the funnel at the top of the creatrix," Mr. Bun said helpfully.
Revati, assuming the basin shape on the bench was the sink, began to root around.
"Wait a second, is that the boy you rescued from the wasteland years ago? Is that whose home I'm in?" Revati heard Dityaa yell with surprise.
"You don't know whose home you're in? I assumed you came here with Rarify," said Mrs. Bun.
"It's Revati, Mum!" Bridgadeiro said.
The flour bag had a cartoon of a cricket wearing a top hat and a cape. It seemed to be looking down at Revati with snooty judgment.
"I'm sorry I keep getting her name wrong! It's so rare meeting people who don't have food names," Mrs. Bun protested.
"It's not rare off the space station, Mum. In fact, most people I met on Mars didn't have food names," Bridgadeiro replied.
"You mean your name doesn't mean some sort of dessert?" Auntie Saffron asked.
"Oh no! Our mother named us both after the goddess Lakshmi," giggled Dityaa before taking a sip of her tea.
"A goddess! Fancy," Auntie Saffron said with an approving sniff.
"Our Amma is an atheist; she named us after her dead sister," Revati corrected her, pouring the flour into the creatrix. Revati had only used a creatrix a few times, but as far as she knew, the flour added vitamins and minerals to the sand.
"Must you be so morbid and dark about everything? Would it really hurt for people to think we were named after a goddess?" Dityaa sighed as Revati poured the flour down the funnel, her eyes gazing out the kitchen window. Outside lay a pretty little courtyard filled with paper daisies. A metal gate closed everything off, and above the gate, Revati could see a patch of blue hair. The creatrix made a pinging noise, and the doors swung open, revealing steaming apple turnovers.
"Can I eat alone outside, or is that incredibly rude?" Revati asked.
"Well, it could be considered rude, but you did ask..." said Mr. Bun.
"Oh, trust me, she's being polite; I've seen her eat off the floor before," Dityaa said.
Revati chose dignity and stormed past Dityaa, only to pause for a second to smash some of the pastry on the back of her head.
Outside, Paulette was leaning against the garden gate. She was holding a smoking stick to her lips and appeared to be inhaling the fumes.
"I see you escaped the cocoon," Revati said. Paulette had changed into a dramatic black sort of outfit covered in specks of red mold.
"Fire kills most fungus," Paulette said with a small shrug before breathing out more smoke.
"Is your name even Paulette?" Revati had to ask.
"When your parents knew me, my name was Paulina," she said, and Revati sat down to eat her smashed-up pastry. The cake, like all creatrix-made food, had a peculiar metallic aftertaste.
"My parents knew you? I highly doubt that... my parents never seemed to know anyone," Revati replied, and Paulina's lips flickered upwards briefly.
"You really do look so much like a female version of your father Jay, personality-wise however you're so much like your mother Sugafana," Paulina merely replied.
"I like to see myself as my own person," Revati said as she bit into the pastry again.
"I like to see myself that way too," Paulina replied and then squinted at something far off in the distance. Revati peered over the gate. The Duke of IO was marching across the lawn, his feet actually melting the golden grass.
"Do you trust him?" Revati asked Paulina.
"Of course not," Paulina scoffed.
"Good, neither do I," Revati replied, opening the gate so she could brush past Paulina.
The Duke had stopped. His robotic body was perfectly still, hands clenched, head to one side.
"Did you watch the logs?" He asked Revati.
"I watched the first one, but then I got bored, too much singing," Revati replied.
"Too much singing? TOO MUCH SINGING?" the Duke screeched with outrage before raising a hand. Paulina suddenly squirmed in and grabbed the duke's hand, glaring at him.
"We don't have time for one of your silly little Royal fits," she growled. "She doesn't know the entire story!" The Duke protested.
"She doesn't need to! Now get back to hiding in the barn," snapped Paulina, and with a huff, the duke walked away.
"Was he going to kill me?" Revati asked.
"Kill you? The Duke cries when he accidentally bumps into someone!" Paulina remarked before throwing the burning stick into the ground and stubbing it out with her foot.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do besides worshipping apples," Paulina said before sauntering off in the direction opposite the pond.
"I'm going to follow that Paulina lady," Revati said to Bridgadeiro as soon as she entered the kitchen.
"Why? You shouldn't have a crush on her; she's far too much like you," Dityaa said.
"I don't have a crush on her! She's suspicious and possibly evil," Revati said, patting Bridgadeiro's shoulder reassuringly.
"That hasn't stopped me before! I've fallen for evil many times," Auntie Saffron said, determined to be part of the conversation.
"No one is following anyone! We need to head into town for the crowning of the Organic Apple Queen," Mr. Bun suddenly said.
"We do?" Barley asked, looking up from a screen he had been reading the entire time.
"I thought we skipped that; you said it was an arcane relic of gender conformities and sexism," Vanilla remarked dryly.
"Yes, but that was before we had two ladies who can enter the lottery," Mr. Bun said with a bright smile.
"An apple queen lottery? Delightful! I'm in," Dityaa smiled.
"I'm not doing that," Revati replied.
"All contestants get a free apple cider," Bridgadeiro replied, and Revati rolled her eyes.
"Fine," Revati sighed.
#comic#nanowrimo2023#nanowrimo#science fiction#life on mars#speculative worldbuilding#speculative fiction#saying farewell to armageddon
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Part 2: Sleepover
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Robert Fischer x OC
Summary: Alice comes over to the mansion for a sleepover.
Word Count: 1,710
Notes: Warnings for references to emotional child abuse.
Masterlists: Main • Series
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“I don’t know, Dana…isn’t Alice a little young for a sleepover?” Jocelyn said into the phone, fingers tapping anxiously against the counter as she considered what Dana was asking of her.
“Oh, she’ll be fine. It’s just for one night. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“She won’t get homesick?”
“Hm? Oh, I don’t know…maybe. But she’ll get over it.”
Jocelyn had to bite her tongue to keep from saying that she didn’t really think that was how children worked.
“Please, Joci? It’ll just be for one night.”
She rubbed at her face. “What about Celia?” she had only met Alice’s older sister twice, in the time that she’d been fostering the friendship between Robert and Alice, and she couldn’t say that she particularly liked her all that much. The girl was a brat. Not to mention that Robert didn’t seem to care for her much either.
“She’s already going to a friend’s house for the evening.”
Jocelyn sighed. “I…suppose it’s okay. If you think that she’ll be alright.”
“Oh, thank you, Joci! I really appreciate it! I’ll drop her off around four, okay?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” Jocelyn said, nodding to herself and bidding Dana goodbye before hanging up the phone. It really wasn’t that big of a deal, she supposed. Alice needed a place to stay for the night while her parents went out, and Maurice wasn’t even going to be home, since he was away on a business trip.
“Robert?” she called, stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room. Her sweet boy was sitting on the floor in front of the television, watching a documentary on sea otters with his stuffed koala hugged to his chest.
“Yes, Mama?”
“Alice is coming over.”
His head snapped around to stare at her, eyes wide and alight with excitement. “Really?”
Jocelyn fought back a smile. “Yes, really. She’ll be here in a few hours. She’ll stay until tomorrow afternoon, okay?”
He wriggled with joy, cheeks dimpling with his smile. “She’s going to stay all night?”
Jocelyn nodded. “Yes. All night. Hey,” she leaned in closer to him. “How about we go clean up your room, hm? That way, there will be enough space that we could put a blow up mattress on the floor and she can sleep in your room, okay?”
“Okay!” he jumped to his feet, the koala still clutched in his arms, and began to bound towards the stairs to his room. Jocelyn followed after him, eyes lowered as she smiled. He was still quiet and solemn whenever Maurice was around, but since he’d met Alice, Robert had grown more confident and outgoing. Happier than she’d ever seen him before. The friendship had been of a huge help to him, and she’d done everything in her power to encourage it. Her kind boy desperately needed a friend, and Alice was just as sweet as could be. Gentle enough to not hurt her highly sensitive baby’s feelings, but just brazen enough to help coax him out of his shell.
Maurice didn’t approve, of course. He thought that Alice’s family was too poor and lower class for her to be fornicating with the heir to his empire, but Jocelyn ignored his objections and did what she could to undercut his attempts to discourage the relationship.
And she sensed that poor little Alice needed the bond with Robert just as much as he did. The more time she spent talking with Dana, the more she realized just how obviously she favored Celia over her younger daughter. And Alice noticed. Even though she was likely too young to fully understand, she noticed that her mother loved her older sister more than her. And it hurt her. Jocelyn could see it in her eyes. Poor, sweet, kind little girl.
Maybe this sleepover would actually be a good thing for her. Get her out of the house and around people who actually appreciated and cared for her rather than constantly, wrongly, telling her how her sister was better than she ever could be.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Alice,” she said, very gently. Alice glanced up at her with enormous, dark brown eyes from where she was standing, holding tightly to Robert’s hand. She had been looking around the mansion with her mouth half open, eyes huge as Robert guided her from room to room, giving her a tour of the home. Jocelyn could see the beginnings of an intimidated, insecure expression crossing over her features.
“Yes, Mrs. Fischer?”
“Do you like cookies?”
Alice nodded, eyes lighting up.
“Would you like to make some?”
She looked at them both, then down at her shoes. “I dunno how,” she said, like it was some great source of shame. Like she was prepared to be scolded.
“That’s alright. Robert and I can teach you. Right, Robert?”
He nodded vigorously, his presence and offer of help seeming to soothe Alice’s insecurity. “Okay,” she said, following Jocelyn into the kitchen with Robert, their hands still twisted together.
They made a mess of her kitchen, and in the end both children were covered in loose bits of flour, licking gooey chocolate from their fingers, but it was alright. They were happy and giggling, Alice seeming to be much more comfortable. And that had been Jocelyn’s primary goal in the first place.
Mission accomplished.
∗ ∗ ∗
She was lounging on the couch, reading a book and keeping one eye on Robert and Alice while the pair played together. She really didn’t understand why Dana was always complaining about Alice being a problem at home. In the few hours she’d been with them, she was nothing but a delight.
Jocelyn had a sneaking suspicion that a lot of the things that Alice got blamed for were actually Celia’s doing. But no one in that house ever listened to Alice’s pleas and attempts to claim that she was innocent of any wrongdoing. Not when their precious Celia had already pointed her finger.
Wetting her lips, Jocelyn turned a page, once again wondering to herself if whether or not she should confront Dana about her attitude towards her daughters.
No, probably shouldn’t. She didn’t want Dana to get angry with her and stop letting Alice spend time with Robert.
Checking her watch, Jocelyn sighed, putting her bookmark in her book and setting it aside.
“Time for bed, kiddos.”
They both pouted and whined, but still allowed her to usher them upstairs. Jocelyn watched over them as they got ready, fussing over the air mattress she had set up on the floor in Robert’s room so that he and Alice could sleep in the same space. They had plenty of guest bedrooms, but she figured that it would be good for both of them to get the true sleepover experience. Robert hopped into his bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin, watching with his head tilted curiously as Jocelyn helped Alice get settled on the air mattress.
“That okay, honey? Is it too firm? Too soft?” she asked. Alice shook her head.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Fischer.”
“Alright,” she tucked the blankets in around her, brushing her hair slightly away from her forehead before bending to place a small kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, Alice.”
Those big brown eyes stared up at her in bafflement. Her heart broke a little at the idea that Alice very likely had never had a parent tuck her in before. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Jocelyn went to Robert, ruffling his hair adoringly before pulling the blankets up around him as well.
“There you go, my sweet boy. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mama.”
She just about melted into a puddle at the words, but managed to maintain her composure; placing a kiss on his forehead. “Right, if either of you need anything, I’m right down the hall,” she went to the door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Mama.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Fischer.”
She shut the light off and closed the door, leaving the light on in the hall for them, hesitating. There was a temptation to stand out there and see if she could eavesdrop, knowing that they would likely stay up for several more hours, talking quietly to each other in the darkness. But she decided against it, instead heading down the hall to her bedroom, changing into her pajamas and turning on the television on the wall in front of the bed. She settled in for another few hours, wanting to stay awake in case either of them needed her for anything. Finally yawning, glancing at the time on the clock by her bedside, she turned off the television and stretched, hauling herself out of bed to go check on the kiddos one last time before going to sleep herself.
Very slowly turning the doorknob so it didn’t squeak and startle either of them awake, Jocelyn poked her head into the dim room, heart skipping at what she found.
The air mattress was vacant, the blankets pushed aside. Alice was instead curled up in the admittedly quite large bed for a five year old–she’d figured he would just grow into it–snuggled comfortably against Robert, both of them with their arms around each other, fast asleep. Jocelyn just about wept at how utterly adorable the sight was; both of their faces relaxed peacefully, breaths even.
Robert had always hated sleeping alone, often crying when she left him by himself, leaving her to spend countless nights curled up next to him, waiting until he finally fell asleep before attempting to slip away from him and back into her own bedroom. It wasn’t always easy. The boy was a cuddly sleeper.
She wondered if perhaps Alice had the same issue. Or maybe she was afraid of the dark and had wanted comfort. Or, quite possibly, they both just wanted to be closer to one another.
Jocelyn cocked her head, considering the sight in front of her carefully, wondering, for the briefest of moments, that maybe once they got older…
She pushed the thought away. No use in mulling over that when it was so far off. And could very likely never happen.
Instead she just smiled down at the two sleeping, sweet hearted children, and closed the door very quietly. So as not to disturb them.
Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!
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Masterlists: Main • Series
#robert fischer#robert fischer x oc#inception#robert fischer's mother#jocelyn fischer#alice emerson#alice emerson x robert fischer#my ocs#my fanfiction#fanfiction#sleepover
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artemisia ┋┋ THE MOONWEAVER
[ starter for @gottgenug ║ JERALT ]
It still feels unreal; finding her father and sister again, waking up to their voices every morning like so many, many years ago. So long ago in fact it feels more like a dream than a memory-- but now it’s all coming back to her, and she’s there, and her family is, too. Alive.
Not just that; but there seem to be two new additions to it. Father hasn’t deigned to mention anything yet --in embarrassment or guilt, she suspects; it might have been several centuries, but he has remained mostly unchanged-- but she can tell a wyvern from a dragon, so to speak. The human mercenary and his daughter --actually, scratch that, she’s not entirely sure they are humans at all-- seem to spend virtually all of their free time around Seteth and Flayn, and often, Artemisia thinks she can detect a faint trace of her father’s scent on Jeralt. Interesting, to say the least.
She hasn’t said anything-- not to Father, not yet, but she’s certainly asked Cethl- Flayn, who’s confirmed her suspicions with a mischievous grin. They had a good laugh about it together; Father really wore his heart on his sleeve, but she wasn’t going to prod him about it. She knew what he must have gone through after Mother died, and she had no intention of reminding him further by poking her nose in his private business. She’d wait for him to feel comfortable enough to tell her.
But, she reasoned, there was someone else she could ask for all the important details. The whens, the hows, all of it and more. So after not finding him in the Knights’ barracks, Artemisia sought Jeralt in his office (just across her father’s, she notices, relieved to see the latter is currently not in there to question her business with the knight).
❝ Excuse me? ❞ The door has been left ajar, and she knocks on it lightly as a polite warning before stepping in and peeking around; soon enough, there Jeralt is, sitting behind his desk. Artemisia immediately flashes him a polite smile, trying her best to appear welcoming and friendly-- she did not wish for Jeralt to think she did not approve of his affair with her father.
❝ My most heartfelt apologies for interrupting your work, but I was wondering if it would be possible for us to converse about something rather important? ❞
Like her father and sister, she has not lost her archaic manner of speech- but tha probably, and thankfully so, won’t be a problem when it comes to Jeralt. He seems to know everything about who Ci- Seteth and his family is already.
#{ დ artemisia;; as long as the moon shines so shall hope. }#( ic. artemisia. )#gottgenug#( LET'S GO IM SO EXCITED FOR THEM TO INTERACT. )
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B. Bridgerton x F!Cowper!reader pt 2
summary; after the unexpected meeting of the eldest Cowper daughter and Second eldest Bridgerton at Lady Danbury’s ball, the ton is beaming with the prospect of the new couple. benedict is overcome with an odd feeling he only feels when he is in his element of doing what he does best; his art, while Y/N is quietly settling back in at home.
benedict bridgerton x f!cowper!reader
Warnings; colin being a wee bit of a dick.
benedict bridgerton masterlist.
A/N ok sorry this isn’t as good as part one, but i promise they will get better!
“Benedict, you look as if you haven’t slept.” Violet Bridgerton frowned as her son joined the rest of his family in the drawing room of the Bridgerton home, “It is because I haven’t, mother.” Benedict responded as he fell down between Colin and Eloise on one of the comforters.
“He was busy fantasising about a Cowper.” Colin sneered at the mention of the retched family who have been the cause of many issues within his family “She is not just a Cowper, Colin.” Benedict responded with a grumble as Eloise closed her book from beside him “Have you forgotten about all the horrible things that family has done to Daphne, Pen and Eloise?” Colin exclaimed and Benedict’s jaw tightened.
“No I haven’t brother, and last I remembered they were the doings of her mother and sister, not her.” Benedict replied as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Well I do hope you don’t plan on courting her, because I certainly do not approve.” Colin muttered and Benedict turned to look at his oaf of a brother.
“Where did you two come from at the ball the other night?” Eloise asked with a smirk “You both reentered the ball arm in arm after we had not seen you for sometime.” Benedict sent his younger sister a pointed look “She was looking for some wine, I simply helped her find some, that is all.” Benedict pushed himself off the comforter and faced his family “Besides, she is different and nothing like her family at all.”
Violet Bridgerton stood by the piano where Hyacinth was playing a sweet melody, her eyebrows raised in shock at the words coming from her son, before he stormed out of the room. “No one knows anything about her Colin, give the girl a chance.” Violet asked of her son and the man shrugged “Not after the things her family has done mother.” Colin stated and Violet sighed in frustration.
#
Y/N Cowper had been on Benedict Bridgerton’s mind since they met at Lady Danbury’s ball, something he would be forever grateful for. He could not forget the image of how perfect she was in that dim lit room. His fingers twitched and flexed as he felt the need to draw her once more as he spent the past days doing so.
He was walking down the busy street, mind very obviously elsewhere as he was stopped by a smaller body colliding with his with an oof “Oh my-” the voice squeaked as they stumbled back a few paces. Benedict reached for the petite frame, steadying them on their feet and he felt his heart speed up.
“Benedict!” It was her.
Benedict grinned “Y/N, my apologies I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.” He reluctantly dropped his hands and Y/N smiled, a small laugh leaving her lips “Your mind was elsewhere, there is absolutely no need for an apology, these things happen!” His heart was beating at a wild pace as the two stood in the middle of the pavement.
Benedict breathily laughed “Would you like to join me? I was going to promenade, it’s the perfect day for it.” Y/N asked him as passerby’s stared intently at the two of them. Benedict smiled and nodded “It would be my honour, my Lady.” He smirked, remembering her distaste for the title at the ball a few nights before.
Benedict offered the woman his arm as she rolled her eyes “If we weren’t in front of prying eyes I would have spoken some choice words.” She commented and Benedict raised his eyebrows with a grin “Doesn’t sound very ladylike.” He teased as the two began walking together “You will soon find out I am far from a lady, Benedict.” She responded.
The two had fallen into comfortable conversation, topics flowing freely, no limit or barrier to what they were discussing, it was quite comforting for Benedict. “So I have heard that you are somewhat of an artist.” Y/N smiled as the two continued their walk.
Benedict nodded “Could you teach me?” She asked him suddenly and the pair stopped walking “I have always wanted to know how to draw, I think it would be quite enjoyable and very calming.” After hearing those words, he had definitely fallen head first in love with this woman before him.
“I would like nothing more than to teach you, but how are we to do so?” He asked curiously and Y/N chuckled “We are both adults are we not? The idea of having to hide is quite preposterous to me, maybe it’s because I have been away for so long and tasted such freedoms.” She explained, head tilted slightly to look up at Benedict.
“Since we are both adults,” he began, though lowering his voice slightly, cautious of those around them “every Friday, we meet and I can take you to a studio I frequent and we can do lessons. But on one condition,” he added on as Y/N nodded her head “you tell me stories of your travels.”
The woman nodded “You have yourself a deal Bridgerton, but I also have one condition.” Benedict nodded for her to continue “That you bring wine, lots of it… oh! and save me a dance for each of the upcoming balls… so really it is two conditions.” She giggled and shrugged her shoulders.
“You have yourself a deal Y/N.” The pair turned and continued their promenade under the glistening sun, they truly looked like an elegant couple.
#
“There you are Y/N! Where have you been all day?” Lady Cowper exclaimed in shock as her daughter waltzed into the drawing room, which was full of suitors with bouquets of flowers, and boxes that held some type of irrelevant present in them. “Sorry mama, I was out enjoying the sun! Are all these fine gentlemen here for Cressida?” Y/N asked with a kind smile and her sister scowled “They are here to see you sister.” Y/N swallowed and her smile faltered “I must apologise my Lord’s, but I am not seeking a husband this season, I-” she was cut off by Cressida “But I am seeking a husband!”
Y/N curtsied and left the room, where countless groans of frustration were heard and multiple footsteps as the men left her home. “May, will you draw me a bath please, I need some time to myself.” Her maid nodded with a kind smile as she set off to prepare Y/N’s bath. She could not keep Benedict Bridgerton off her mind, he was so incredibly handsome. The man was the definition of tall, dark and handsome. He made her feel normal, in a world full of false narratives he helped her feel grounded and alive.
Y/N was no child, she understood the act of pleasure that a man and woman would do, as a woman she understood her body far better than many of the women in London and she could tell that Benedict was a man well experienced. This only excited her as she entered her bedroom and began to undress slowly and carefully as the maids prepared her a bath, she could not wait for Friday’s.
“Y/N dearest.” Her mother’s sickening voice cut her out of her trance as she stood in her underdress, waiting for her bath to be filled patiently. “Yes mama.” The older lady sat at the foot of her eldest daughter’s bed, “Why did you return home?” Her mother asked and Y/N’s head snapped to look at her.
“Is my presence troubling for you?” Y/N asked in shock and her mother remained still “Why come home if you seek not to marry?” Lady Cowper asked and Y/N cleared her throat “Maybe my heart is already set on someone, but why does it matter? I am home after five years and you could not care for the life of me!” Y/N spoke in a small voice and her mother understood.
“That Bridgerton boy.” She came to a realisation, and her daughter stayed silent, mind flashing images of the handsome man. “Did something happen between you two?” Lady Cowper sternly asked and Y/N shook her head “Nothing you need to concern yourself about, but I care deeply for him.” Lady Cowper nodded and stood up, brushing her skirts out “Very well.”
#
Benedict arrived home after his eventful promenade with Y/N, a pep in his step and large smile on his face. “Brother, where have you been all day?” Anthony asked as Benedict entered the foyer of his family home “Out.” Benedict stated as he sped past his brother and sister-in-law and up the staircase. “He was out with Y/N Cowper, the whole ton is talking about the two.” Colin answered for his brother and Benedict came to a halt halfway up the stairs.
“How was that?” Kate asked with a smirk and Benedict nodded “It was eventful, we enjoyed ourselves very much so.” Colin shook his head in distaste “Benedict save yourself the trouble with her.” The second eldest narrowed his eyes at his younger brother “Maybe if you got to know her like myself, you would find she is a kind hearted individual, unlike her sister and mother.” Benedict responded, staring into Colin’s soul after the words he spoke this morning “Yes I am courting her, and I do intend to propose.” Colin scoffed at his brother’s words “How are you so certain you will be happy with her?” Colin pushed.
“Because when we spoke at the ball the other night, she took my breath away, she made my heart speed up in a way it has never done before! She is unlike any woman I have met in my lifetime thus far, she appreciates the real me, the Benedict who prefers being alone and in a studio making art, to the Benedict who shows up at ball’s and parades around like it is some great thing to be a Bridgerton!” His voice raised with each word he uttered and left Kate and Anthony with shocked but understanding looks, while Colin stood stunned.
“You will understand one day brother, I assure you. But when I am with her I am simply Benedict, and she is simply Y/N.” The speech had brought out the entire family, where Violet, Eloise, Francesca, Gregory and Hyacinth watched on from the balcony above “May I be excused.” He whispered, earning a nod from Anthony.
Everything was happening so quickly, but Benedict had never been so sure of something in his life.
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To summarise:
For once, the musical is actually relevant to the show. Betty explains the plot to make sure that every viewer is aware of this unprecedented achievement.
She leaves out the crucial detail that the protagonist suffers from bipolar disorder and not from a case of the bitches, as does Alice. Hmmm …
Alice dreams she’s back in s1, playing Stepford families with Charles, Polly and Betty. Neither Hal nor Chick are invited, which … RUDE!
Remember how Archie and Eric remodeled the Pembrooke for Veronica? Apparently, it’s now smaller, because, somehow, the Andrews residence, with its one single bathroom beats the Lodge’s abode …
Veronica relocates to Archie’s childhood bedroom.
It remains unclear whether Smithers moves in as well or stays at the Pembrooke to re-enact that scene from Risky Business.
Speaking of moving, Britta has been living in the janitor’s closet under the stairwell at school. Unfortunately, Professor Jones isn’t working at RHS anymore, so he couldn’t provide advice on how to remain undetected. She is found out by the janitor.
She could have used those 10k Veronica gave her for scoring a goal for the Bulldogs back in 5x9 to rent a room at the Five Seasons but maybe she’s saving up for college?
Some singing.
Riverdale, the writers tell us, is in a perpetual state of crisis. And whose fault is that, may I ask?
Tabitha asks Jughead to become her fake boyfriend for her dinner date with her parents. Since both she and Jughead are the only people not having had any sex since coming back to Riverdale, they decide to sing a song and kiss.
More sad songs.
There hasn’t been a single fire in Riverdale ever since Archie put together his merry band of firefighter volunteers back in 5x7 but suddenly, they are everywhere. Could it be Hiram trying to woo Archie back?
Without Kevin’s artistic direction, Cheryl’s cult is left with no followers. She uses autotune but it doesn’t change anything.
Reggie Mantle is studying to become a licensed stockbroker. Veronica is intrigued. After all, he has the approval of both her father and her sister. Wait! Is Reggie being groomed by the Lodges?! What about Nana Rose??
More sad songs again.
It is Mother’s Day in Riverdale aka Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss Day. Alice accuses Betty of living her own life. Also, of being responsible for Polly’s death. Sounds like a typical Riverdale Mother’s Day indeed.
Both Tabitha’s father and myself believe Jabitha is a passing fancy.
You know it’s serious when Archie takes off his shirt but Veronica doesn’t look.
“Where do you see us in the next 5 years?” asks Veronica. “Oof” replies Archie. Or something to that effect.
Veronica Lodge did not kill her husband in order to share a bathroom with Jughead and Uncle Frank! What’s next? Sharing closet space with Smithers?! She moves out of Archie’s house.
She probably never found out about the dogs. Small mercies.
Betty visits Kevin to sing a duet with him. Kevin, being big with musicals, is so thrilled that he offers her a second duet.
Unlike the writers, Tabitha’s dad remembers the crazy alien nights at Pop’s back in the 70s and is critical of his daughter going back there. Or leaving her 6 figure CEO job to go date the busboy. He hasn’t learnt about the Coyote Ugly nights yet. That’s ok. There’s time.
I’m living for the moment Jughead gifts him a copy of The Outcasts.
Jabitha sing and kiss again. To be honest, that is a kink that I would have associated with Kevin rather than Jughead.
Jughead should be kissed often and by someone who knows how i.e. Betty.
Cheryl and Toni have tea Without. Singing. QUEENS!
Betty vows never to leave Alice. Alice accepts her apologies. Betty and Alice sing again the show’s moto: “And you find out you don’t have to be happy at all”. It’s true. I’m not happy at all.
Everybody sings together in front of Polly’s grave. It’s a metaphor for this season being one long funeral. The Blooper twins make an appearance. Everyone’s so shocked that the writers remembered them that no one mentions how different Juniper looks. Recast or the Mothmen? You decide!
Toffee is driving a truck down the Lonely Highway. She’s coming back to Riverdale and is ready to cut a bitch.
One down. One more funeral left.
#Riverdale season 5#are we there yet?#(I hadn't realised Juniper had been recasted)#(until someone pointed it out)#(but I can't find the og post to reblog)#(does anyone know who had the eagle eyes?)#s5 recaps
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