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#also her feelings were right she is a handful but beatrice will carry all of her and more
jtl07 · 3 months
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simply look around and view it
(also on ao3)
She’s not the first to arrive to their holiday dinner, which had been a deliberate choice but it was still somewhat painful in practice (all of this is practice, Beatrice thinks as she reminds herself to smile to the server, to not immediately identify every possible emergency exit). The private room they’d booked is full and all its occupants turn to greet Beatrice. Hands reach to hug her, to relieve her of her burdens (she carries neither guilt nor life-threatening duty these days; this evening it’s just several bottles of wine). 
It’s a bit strange to see everyone in civilian clothing, the one caveat they’d all agreed to in terms of “festive dress” - it had been a compromise from the originally proposed dress code of ugly sweaters and Santa hats. Beatrice had opted for comfort and simplicity - a cable knit sweater and slacks - and was relieved to find that the others had dressed along the same lines. 
Comfortably dressed friends smiling and laughing in a small family-run restaurant is a far cry from the holiday parties Beatrice had attended in her first life, when she’d had a different name and had lived in a house that had barely met the requirements of being called a home. Looking back, those gatherings had been more about political maneuvering than Christmas celebration. More often than not, she had been left alone, left to nurse an emptiness that she’d carry over to a dorm that wasn’t home, then a convent that wasn’t quite home either but close.  
At least in her second life, she had been allowed a name of her choosing, had been given a purpose, a reason for all she had and was willing to sacrifice. Christmas had been solemn, yes, but at least within Cat’s Cradle walls and even on the field, there had been some sort of light - candles around the nativity, a flashing code for “all clear.” 
Here, though - and Beatrice tries as hard as she can to keep from wincing at Jillian’s singing - she doesn’t have to search, doesn’t have to settle. Third time’s the charm, as they say, and it’s moments like this that has Beatrice feeling like she’s living a charmed life, like she’s under a spell that will break when she least expects it. Here is the closest to paradise she’s ever stood, with a life, a family she hadn’t dared to even imagine when she had been young and alone and hidden away in the dark. 
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 
Beatrice glances to her right and finds Mary leaning back against the same wall, taking in the scene as she sips from a bottle of beer (Camila’s playlist now has Yasmine and Dora joining in to make a chorus; Beatrice makes a mental note to leave an extra tip for all the noise). 
The weight in Beatrice’s chest doesn’t allow her to be anything less than honest. “Waiting for the other shoe to drop, I suppose.” 
Mary snorts. “What are you, Cinderella? I don’t see any glass slippers on your feet.” 
Beatrice rolls her eyes. “Glass slippers are the pinnacle of impracticality.” 
“And so is your line of thinking.” Beatrice holds back a sigh at Mary’s glare (practice, she reminds herself, receiving care). “This is yours, Beatrice. Ours. No one’s gonna take it away.” Mary lets out a breath, lifts her drink to the hard line of her mouth. “Not again. Not without a fight.” 
Beatrice forgets sometimes that they’d saved the world. That their fighting had ended in victory; that their fighting had not been for nought. Beatrice has fought for so long, so long that it’s been a rare thing to be crowned as the winner of something she’d actually wanted to win, to take her prize to a house she is proud, relieved to call home.
It had all been worth it in the end, and if she were forced to, she’d do it all again. But she would rather not. Would rather live. “I’d be happy to never fight again, to be honest.” 
A smile, wry and raw and bittersweet crosses Mary’s face. She clears her throat roughly, says, “I’ll drink to that,” as she tilts her bottle towards Beatrice’s wine glass. The resulting clink reminds Beatrice of a bell, chasing away the bad spirits and heralding the good. 
And as if on cue, the greatest good enters the room. 
A cheer erupts from everyone and Ava is the center of attention, as she should. Beatrice gives herself this, lets herself soften and take Ava in - lets Ava’s smile chase away any darkness that has carried over from her past lives, lets Ava’s laugh fill any emptiness still hiding in the corners of her heart. Lets the way Ava’s gaze goes through the crowd, restless and anxious until her eyes land on Beatrice, lets it cut through her, undo her, renew her and make her whole once more. 
The world, Beatrice knows with certainty, would not be the same without Ava Silva. Knows that even without the halo or the war that the world was changed when it welcomed Ava into its arms; changed irrevocably, just from Ava being who she is. That she’s alive, here, and happy is a miracle several times over - and Beatrice, who no longer goes on her knees to pray for repentance and restraint, instead prays for more: more life, more time, more of her. 
Ava winds her way through the crowd, finds Beatrice like she always does - a new, glorious mystery, celebrated and solved when Ava’s fingers and Ava’s lips find Beatrice’s own, a home of a different kind, the kind that means forever. 
(It’s not her imagination when Ava tugs on her hand just to say I love you, or when the others laugh at Lilith groaning about them not being able to keep their hands off each other even while a smile quirks at the edges of her mouth; it’s not her imagination that her family in this life loves their love. And as she murmurs three words in return to Ava, Beatrice lets the truth fill her to the brim: this is real, this is hers, and she is loved.) 
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icedwatersupremacy · 1 year
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January 1905 Dear Carrie, I’m sure that by now you’ve heard of the nasty cases of pneumonia that have been going around. It doesn’t surprise me that something like this would happen, there’s been a right chill in the air all Winter, and a few days ago, it actually snowed. I don’t remember if I’ve ever seen snow here before! I’ve been feeling sorry for our village doctor, Calvin Mullins, who’s worked his fingers to the bone all season. Luckily, he’s been sent some doctors from London to help. Not so lucky that we needed extra doctors at all, but I’m sure Dr Mullins appreciates them.
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I’m writing to you to tell you some frightful news regarding the outbreak. While it was affecting some people dreadfully, it hadn’t been deadly, until yesterday — I read it in the newspaper. She was the grocer’s mother, I believe. It’s no surprise; she’s over 80, and I think a gust of wind could’ve sent her to the grave. Still, I don’t think the young and strong are doing much better, I’ve heard the doctors are mostly visiting children. People were telling me I was stressed over nothing when I told Charlie to spend Christmas outside of Henford, but it seems my fears were right. He can afford to miss one Christmas so he doesn’t become ill, I believe.
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Part of me was considering taking the rest of the family to a different village so we could certainly avoid the pneumonia. However, David and I decided against it, as we don’t have the money. Still, we’ve made some lifestyle changes to avoid the disease as much as possible. Everyone is barred from leaving the property unless they need to, in cases such as Arthur’s errands. The one exception is when I go into the village centre for the weekly newspaper, which isn’t necessary, but I feel it’s the best way to know whether it’s safe to loosen the restrictions. Arthur’s certainly had the most change to his routine, as he is no longer allowed to spend time with Beatrice. Matilda, on the other hand, has had barely any change to her regular schedule. This may be different when Winter break ends and she’s expected to return to school, but she’s content with reading. I’ve been encouraging her to try something new, but in vain.
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In the midst of this crisis, the village has come together to help the sick. It’s common knowledge that some families have no means of income when an adult is sick, so we do what we can; we provide food, kindling, and anything else we don’t need to those who do. I personally bring some eggs and milk that David and I didn’t end up selling, but the other people involved have brought meat, bread, vegetables, and so much more. I’m sure that all these families are eating like kings, and it feels good knowing that I’ve helped feed many families in Henford.
I’ve also heard, although I can’t verify this, that the pneumonia has spread to some neighbouring villages. Nowhere near as serious as here, but I thought I should tell you, just so you know to take extra care. 
Yours sincerely, Laura
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bunnyandbooks · 2 years
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Daisy Darker by Alice Feeney
A mix of gothic horror and And Then There Were None, the backdrop of the novel takes place at Seaglass, an isolated cottage off the coast of England on a tiny island accessible once a day during low tide when pedestrians can cross by sandbar, or otherwise by boat for the skilled and brave. It’s the home of Beatrice Darker, reclusive children’s book author and matriarch of the Darker family by virtue of being the sole breadwinner. The novel opens with Daisy, her two older sisters, her parents, and her niece all gathering one Halloween to celebrate their Nana’s 80th birthday, which was famously foretold would be Nana’s last. And that’s when the trouble begins.
Overall, it was a fun, twisty mystery novel with perhaps not as much suspenseful buildup as ATTWN: a kind of beach-read version of ATTWN.
Spoilery thoughts under the cut:
The set up is very similar to ATTWN, but the book actually reminded me more closely of Knives Out. At the center of the book and the main driver of conflict is the dysfunction junction that is the Darker family. We’re told right off the bat that the entire family isn’t really well off and that they’re all dependent on Nana for financial support. And then we’re also told that the parents are more self absorbed with themselves and each other (even when divorced) than with their children. And the three daughters have all the rivalry that kids who are obviously favored with innate gifts (like talent or beauty) or parental favoritism have. So when Nana leaves her fortune to Daisy’s niece Trixie, everyone has a motive for murder. And when the next body turns up, everyone is likely a suspect.
I didn’t think there was as much tension as ATTWN because the main, present day narrative gets broken up by vignettes of the past as told through home movies that illustrate how dysfunctional the family was. Even the characters forget to be tense that there might be a killer on the loose because they want to watch these movies, and Rose inexplicably forgets her gun while trapped in the house with a killer. But what can you do?
By the time Daisy’s father is killed, I had a couple theories floating around as to who the killer would be, and I was partially right. As the story unfolds, we see that each member of the Darker family is capable of incredible viciousness, including Nana, who, with Daisy as the narrator, seemed to initially be a good person. But even in reading her will, she reveals herself to be cruel almost unnecessarily. And even Daisy, who by benefit of being the POV character, seemed to be the most capable of feeling, was shown to have instances of really vicious bursts of revenge against her sisters. And even Trixie, who all the characters constantly tell us is good and kind, which even she herself says, reveals herself to be the most monstrous of them all.
There was no way not to suspect Trixie and Nana. I hadn’t thought of them together, though the motive was what I thought it was. But it was almost chilling how much Trixie didn’t care that she murdered her entire family for the sake of a ghost of an aunt she never met. Also didn’t predict Daisy’s death until about halfway through the novel, when it was obvious no one had directly interacted with her, but the three threads coming together was pretty original.
Like ATTWN, I don’t know if Rose, the last one to die and directly by Trixie’s hand, was really the most “guilty” and thus the most deserving of the last death. Rose’s main crime is devoting herself too much to her vet practice at the cost of pushing away her own family, and for standing by and watching Lily and Connor kill Daisy. But even Nana admits that Rose might’ve had the right of the former considering how dysfunctional they were. And is failing to stop something really more guilty than actually plotting and carrying out the act of violence? Vera in ATTWN was also the most “guilty” of the bunch by ostensibly being guilty of not saving the child in her care from drowning in time (it’s a little ambiguous if she actually did it or if the guilt of it was warping her mind by the end of the novel), but it always rubbed me the wrong way because Judge Redgrave writes about how as a woman, she was extra guilty because this was childcare and thus a violation of her womanly instincts. The judgment against Rose felt similarly unnecessarily harsh. /rant.
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holy-guacamoly · 2 years
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ok hear me out but dilf reiner at a parent teacher conference with all the moms drooling over him -🙏
I see you are a person with taste! Why does this make so much sense?? Like Reiner is the George Clooney kinda guy, who looked okayish when he was younger but THIS MAN AGED LIKE FINE WINE! First of all, he would be the sweetest dad and that alone will make their panties wet. Whenever he picks his child(ren) up from school he gives them the biggest bear hugs and carries their little bag back over his massive shoulders. If they are older he would be the Dad to pump the best music and sing along with them in the car. And which mom (or any other sane person) could resist that? But I'm losing focus right now, so back to the conference. Dilf!Reiner always dresses super fancy when attending such conferences. You know like, white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, so that everyone gets a good glimpse of his veiny hands. <3 He takes this shit seriously like it is some business meeting lol Reiner also wears a bracelet his child made for him religiously. (no matter how old they are, he still wears it) Dilf!Reiner is extremely friendly with the other moms and remembers EVERYTHING they told him. I think that's a big reason for their crushes because he seems to be genuinely interested. Their husbands don't give a fuck anymore, so it's refreshing to feel like somebody actually cares. Reiner is like "Oh hey, Beatrice, how is your rose garden doing?" And this woman will practically faint. If Dilf!Reiner is still in a relationship with the baby momma, he snitches on the other mothers for sure. He says stuff like "Omg, they were all over me and it was so embarrassing. :( Don't they know that I have a beautiful wife?" If Dilf!Reiner is single he is way too shy to actually ask someone out on a date. This poor man will always play it off as them being friendly with him, even though they keep doing weird shit like stroking his biceps. Yeah sure, Reiner, they are just being friendly... And there is one particular Mom who is ready to risk it all for Daddy Reiner. Like this woman will go all in. No regrets. She does all this corny shit like dropping stuff, just to pick it up in front of him. And she insists on Reiner tasting her infamous cupcakes. (So that she can wipe the buttercream off his mouth with her finger) He hates her but is too polite to actually say something. (Single) Dilf!Reiner has a crush on the teacher and you can't argue with me about that. She is such a cute thing. Of course, he has her wrapped around his finger, bringing her flowers and chocolate to every conference. Jokes about bribery so his children will get good grades. ;)
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havin-a-wee · 3 years
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Every Little Thing
pairing: actress!y/n x harry
word count: 948
warnings: insecurities, the fluffiest of fluff
im in a mood lol. i wanna make like a bunch of blurbs and stuff about actress!y/n and harry so send me requests if you want another thing with them. im hoping to make it like a kind of series.
PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY
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She stared in the mirror, observing the unknown figure that reflected. Her hands ran along the side of her hips, feeling the ridges that were left behind after she carried a baby inside of her for 9 months.
A tear trickled down her face. She barely recognized the person in the mirror, and she knew that the world wouldn’t take kindly to her new body, regardless of the fact that she gave birth only a few months prior. Being an actress, Y/N knew how to deal with trolls and hater better than many people. But she could never protect herself from the body-shaming comments and messages that flooded her social media from the start of her fame. Being in the public eye is awful, and it's gotten even worse since she began dating, and then married Harry Styles.
But Y/N would never give up the pure love that the two of them shared because of some pesky paparazzi.
Y/N hadn’t really inspected her own body since she gave birth. Partially because she was so busy with their daughter Bea, short for Beatrice. (Or as Harry calls her - Honeybea) But she also purposefully avoided getting a good look at herself in the mirror, scared of what she would see looking back at her.
But while Harry was putting their 3-month-old angel to bed, she had decided to take a shower, a long one where she could shave and whatnot, which is something she hadn’t been able to do in way too long. After she undressed, she turned to the mirror without thinking. And there she was.
Stretch marks lining the bottom of her abdomen, marking the place where her skin stretched to accommodate her pregnancy belly. The pouch of fat on her stomach created rolls, and the skin was looser and flabby. Her arms and thighs were bigger now too because of the ridiculous amount of sugary foods that she had craved during her pregnancy.
“Hey bub, are you get-”
She spun around to see Harry in the doorway, staring at her with wide eyes. If she wasn’t in such a fragile state, she would have recognized the look on Harry’s face as lust, suddenly turned on by his love standing naked before him. But Y/N wasn’t thinking straight, and she misread the look on his face as one of shock and confusion, rather than attraction.
Another hot tear slipped down her cheek. And another. And another.
She thought Harry was disgusted with her, shocked that she looked like this instead of what she looked like throughout their relationship. Her heart hurt as she stared back at the love of her life, thinking that he didn’t like the way she looked anymore.
“Darling what happened?” He took a step forward, embracing her in his strong arms. Instinctively, she accepted the hug, burying her face into his chest as more tears spilled from her red eyes. Harry picked his head up and she did the same, looking into those green eyes that she loved so much. “Please tell me what’ happened lovie, y’know I hate seein’ y’cry.”
“I-I’m just-” She didn’t really know what to say to him, because she wanted to talk to him about it, but also she thought that he hated the way she looks now, and she knew that him confirming her suspicions would break her heart. “I’m sorry.”
“For what bub? What’re yeh sorry for?”
“I’m sorry I look like this now. I hate it too, and I’m gonna try to get back to what I used to look like.”
“Woah woah woah, hold on a minute.” Y/N stepped back from his embrace, slightly raising an eyebrow at her husband in confusion. “What’s wrong with what y’look like? Cause I personally think y’look incredibly sexy righ’ now.”
Y/N shook her head in disbelief, looking down at the ground briefly before bringing her gaze to his again. “I’ve got all this fat,” she pulled on her stomach fat, “all these stretch marks,” she pointed to them, “and I just look so different. You don’t have to lie and say I look good.”
Harry chuckled a bit and looked back at his still naked wife. “Are you serious?” She nodded her head, biting her lip in curious anticipation for what he was about to say. “Darlin’, m’not lying. Y’look gorgeous right now and always. Y’are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, and it make me sad that y’don’t see yourself like that.” He stepped forward again, gripping onto her shoulders and turning her to face the mirror. He stood behind her, moving his hands down and placing them on her waist. “See this?” He moved his hand onto the rolls on her stomach, placing soft pressure on the supple flesh. “This is so y’have enough room f’when we make more babies together.” Finally, a smile made its way onto Y/Ns face, eliciting a smile from Harry as well. His hands traveled down to grip the front of her thighs, and she looked down to see. “All of this,” he gave her thighs a soft squeeze, “s’just more area f’me to suck on darlin”. This time she laughed, looking back up in the mirror to see the gleeful expression that was plastered on Harry’s face. “And these,” he ran his fingers over her stretch marks, “these are m’favorite. These are y’tiger stripes Y/N. They match m’tattoo!” He used his other hand to point to his upper thigh, the material of his sweatpants covering the ink.
“Thank you, Harry. I love you,” she sighed, resting back against Harry’s chest.
“I love you more, my beautiful girl.”
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Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 14
Hannibal reads too much into Max's attempt to reconcile and cult girl revisits her past.
@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare
Trigger warnings: discussions of death, abandonment, military casualties, emotional abuse
You soon returned to the opera knowing you had nothing to hide. Hannibal selected for you an off-white maternity gown so form-fitting it was practically painted on. He wanted everyone to see that you, his queen, empress and goddess, were carrying his child.
It only took that evening for the whole dynamic to change. Suddenly, you were an expectant new mother. Imogen had been a massive hit, you were planning to go again.
You were affixing your heavy cubic zirconia earrings when you heard a knock at the door. You hesitated, but hurried down the stairs when you saw who it was.
"Max?" You said, upon opening the door. He stood there awkwardly, holding a bouquet of flowers. "Hi?"
"Hey, [F/N]." Max greeted, eyes darting nervously around the porch. "I just came around to apologize in person. I'm sorry I was such a chauvinist prick."
You leaned against the door. "Oh?"
"You were right." He continued. "I don't know what it's like to carry a baby, and, unless something goes very wrong, I never will."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." You smiled.
"Anyway, these are for you." He said, handing the bouquet over. "They're chrysanthemums."
"Thank you, Max." You said, accepting the flowers.
"Archie and I-" He scratched the back of his head. "We thought that, maybe, if you'd still have us, that we'd name the baby Chrysanthemum. With your permission, of course."
"Like the picture book?" Your face lit up. "With the little mouse girl?"
Max nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly."
You hugged the bouquet into your chest and considered it again. You looked back at Hannibal, who hadn't looked up from his expectant fathers' website for a second all day. He surrounded himself with books about child psychology, attachment theory, developmental behavior patterns and somehow found himself on a tangent about institutionalized misogyny in medicine.
"I'm sorry, Max." You said, sincerely. "I really do appreciate you coming down here and apologizing, but-"
Max put his hands up and gave you a disarming smile. "I understand. Plans change."
"I just really want to stress that it's not you." You assured him. "I've kind of... really grown to like the idea of being a parent. And I think that was Hannibal's plan all along, too."
"I believe a congratulations is in order, then." His voice turned up in delight. "I'm very happy for you. Both of you."
You clutched the bouquet to your chest. "Thank you."
"Well, I'd better get going." He stepped backwards down the stairs. "I've got three pints of Ben and Jerry's in the backseat and Archie'll have my head if I come home and they've melted."
"Max, wait." You stopped him before he could get down the driveway.
"Hm?"
You leaned against the threshold and smiled warmly. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"
Max returned the smile. "Of course not."
You waved goodbye and shut the door. You hurried to the kitchen to put the flowers in water before you had to go.
"Who was that, love?" Hannibal asked, half-heartedly. He was still very fixated on his research.
"Max Thomas-Park." You answered, unwrapping the flowers from the decorative plastic.
Hannibal looked up from his computer, but left the room silent for you to fill.
"He wanted to make amends." You explained. You walked across the room to the china cabinet and selected a vase big enough to hold the ornate bouquet. "Brought flowers and everything."
"Chrysanthemums?" He asked, sniffing the air.
"I see your sense of smell is coming back." You commented.
"Interesting selection." He narrowed his eyes on the bouquet.
"Well, he said that was what he wanted to name the kid." You offered. "It was a cute pitch, not gonna lie."
Hannibal shut his laptop and examined the bouquet up close. "If he wanted to express regret, he would have done better to bring you blue or purple hyacinths."
"Well, like I said." You made a point to project a little more. "He said he wanted to name his daughter chrysanthemum."
"Mums are given to show sympathy for those in mourning." Hannibal continued, clearly having his own conversation.
"Hannibal-"
"I think your cousin got her hooks in him and he's planning to--" He cut himself off, lest he speak the unthinkable into reality. "That's why he brought mourning flowers."
"Max Thomas-Park is conspiring with Anna to kill our unborn baby?" You said, flatly, to emphasize how insane he sounded.
Hannibal held a bloom between his fingers and looked closely at it. "It's the kind of hint I would leave. For courtesy's sake."
"I think looking at parenting blogs all day has made you a little paranoid." You observed, knowing full well that an overprotective husband and soon-to-be father of your child was not a bad problem to have. Nevertheless, you shut the laptop and touched his cheek. "Come on. We're going to be late for the opera."
You heaved yourself into the passenger's seat of the car, feeling the seat give beneath your heavy frame. Every time you got into the car, you remembered that you needed to shop for a car seat. The thought just as soon left your mind every time. 
“We need to look for a car seat.” You said as Hannibal shut the door, hoping that he’d remember. 
“I mean,” Hannibal blurted out, still lost in his own conversation. “Max is a cultured and well-educated man. He has to know the implications of his flowers.” 
You huffed, dreading to think that paranoid delusion was symptomatic of his parenting style. “Right. The twenty-seven year old data analyst who graduated with a finance MBA from UChicago is also proficient in the outdated and frivolous language of flowers.” 
“In Italy, mums are only given as comfort for loss.” Hannibal said with undeserved conviction. “Exclusively, [F/N].” 
You rolled your eyes and typed something up on your phone. You raised your eyebrows, feeling a bit proud of yourself for what you found. 
“In Korea, y’know, the country that Max’s family is from,” You corrected. “The chrysanthemum is a symbol of friendship.” 
Hannibal tensed up for a moment, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. It was as if he were trying to break himself out of a trance. “...I’m sorry, darling.” 
“I know you’re scared.” You stared at his profile, trying to make out an expression. “I’m also... pretty scared. But you can’t take it out on a guy who has nothing to do with it.” 
“I am scared.” He affirmed, but the way in which he did was a telltale sign that he wasn’t giving you the full story. 
“Of?” You raised your eyebrow. “Finish the sentence, Hannibal.” 
"I need to keep our baby safe." He answered. "And I cannot in good conscience let her come into the world knowing that someone wants to hurt her. To hurt you."
You sighed. "Hannibal, are you seriously still worried about Anna?"
"Don't underestimate the role privilege and entitlement plays in the decision to commit acts of violence." He enunciated carefully. "You of all people should know that."
"Anna has cultivated such a perfect victim image to project outwardly that even a hint of proactive violence would shatter it." You explained. "She's the poor girl who has things done to her. Her evil cousin ruined her marriage. Her evil cousin destroyed her career. And she's the innocent victim in all of it."
"Logically, I know that you can speak on her behavior with more authority than I." Hannibal admitted.
"No shit." You scoffed. "I had to live with her."
"Can we at least entertain the idea that she has something planned?" He pleaded.
"I'm surprised at you." You said. "You never really struck me as the overly-cautious type."
Hannibal shook his head. "With my own life, I'm willing to gamble. But not when it's you. And not when it's Imogen."
You tensed up. His admitted willingness to put himself in danger unlocked a core memory you had buried deep down. The only thing you knew about your own father was that he was willing to put himself in danger. To go overseas and die for fuck-all instead of live for the child he selfishly created then abandoned. He chose to give his life for oil. You didn't choose to grow up without a father and your mother didn't choose to raise a child without a partner. He made that choice for you.
"Now what are you not telling me?" Hannibal broke you out of your trance. "I know that look, [F/N]."
"Nothing." You shook your head. "You should really not plan on dying anytime soon."
"I promise you, I am not going anywhere." His voice softened. "Least of all, to Iraq."
"Okay, you're a pretty good therapist but you never told me you could read minds." You threw your hands up in defeat. "Are you a psychiatrist or are you Loki?"
"As fun as being the god of mischief would be," Hannibal smiled to himself. "I just happen to have a steel-trap memory and an admittedly quite obsessive fixation on the mental health of the mother of my child."
"I swear to god I never told you about him." You denied. "Not even in passing."
"You didn't have to." He assured you. "Beatrice did."
You were surprised for a fraction of a second until the information sat in your head long enough to realize it wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Beatrice took every opportunity she got to brag about her son's sacrifices. She never once mentioned the sacrifices he forced upon you. Only that her son was a hero.
"Did you get the 'don't believe anything [F/N] has to say about my son' speech?" Your voice flattened in complete non-surprise.
"It was a prepared speech?" Hannibal chuckled. "Pity. I thought I was special."
"She gave it to my first boyfriend." You rolled your eyes. "We were, like, fifteen."
"The root of your psychological issues becomes clearer every time we talk about Beatrice." He commented under his breath.
"I know." You conceded.
He pulled into the parking lot, turned the car off and placed his hand over yours.
"Your father was a coward." He said, bluntly. It was nice to hear what had been echoing in the back of your head out loud for once. "I know no country to serve. No god to glorify. I promise, you have the whole of me. My mind, body and soul belongs to you and our child."
You squeezed his hand. "I couldn't ask for anything else."
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talkfantasytome · 2 years
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Heeey, I hope you are having a good day!
If gwynriel, nessian and elucien went to a Hallowen party how do you think they would dress up? What would they look like?
Hi Nonnie! 💕 Doing fairly well! I'm so close! Basically everything is packed except my office, my bed linens, and my shower stuff. It's all getting packed tonight (reason why my sleeping bag is also not packed 😂). I fell SO prepared for the move tomorrow, but also still insanely anxious like I should be doing something. 👀
I love this! My first thought was: witch, Nesta likes to dress as a witch. Basically the exact outfit she was in in that fanart of her, Gwyn, and Emerie as witches (I can't believe I didn't reblog it, if someone sees it or knows it, tag me to it so I can? I need easy access to that beaut), except I see Nesta as more purple over orange. Anyway...
Then I realized you're probably looking for couples costumes, considering the ask. 😂
Gwynriel
Let's remember, this is also our NERD couple. I don't care what people say - yes, Nesta's a dork, and she can be nerd-y, but no, nerd-status goes to Gwyn and Az. Remember how Gwyn memorized the mind stilling for her and Nesta before they even tried it once? NERD. In the most wonderful way.
With that in mind, I feel like they would dress as a couple from history. After a bit of searching, I think maybe they'd go Dante and Beatrice, because that would combine history and literature. And, I mean, Az already has that whole "pining" thing down. 👀
Nessian
Hands down, something that would likely allow Cass to be shirtless or showing off his muscles in some way. Like, part of me wants to say they'd go literary couple, but that feels VERY Nesta-centric. Of course, Cassian is also extremely Nesta-centric, so I'm sure she could convince him. But I think Nesta would want to find something that fits both of them, you know?
I could see them doing a Greek deity theme (though I could also see that with Elucien). My only issue with that is, like, Cassian would obvs be Ares, but that would make Nesta Aphrodite, since she and Ares were long-term consorts. And, Aphrodite was technically, like, married to another god. Zeus and Hera are also a couple Nesta would never agree to. Assuming it's modern times, Nesta would def. read Lore Olympus, so she might suggest Hades and Persephone. But in the togas, for Cassian, so some chest could be shown. lol
Elucien
So, I could also see them going Greek deities, but I think they also would likely go a bit more standard. I don't see Elain being as into Halloween as Nesta and Cassian...and idk about Lucien, tbh. Like, it feels so lame, but I could totally see them going the prince and princess route. And then, just to feel like they fit in with the others, they'd be sure to make it specific prince and princess. Like, with their general looks, they might say they're Beauty and the Beast after the transformation. Or Elain might carry around a silver pea.
OR, omg, cause while idk if I'd see them being super into Halloween in general, I could see them, like, putting on a bit of a show. So they show up as Belle and the Beast, right. And then Lucien has a rose. And throughout the night he keeps discarding a petal. And when the rose runs out, he suddenly "transforms" (aka takes off his mask or quick face wipe 😂), and for the rest of the night he's the human prince.
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ijustwant2write · 4 years
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Different Worlds-Fred Weasley x Muggle! Reader
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(GIF credit to @avocadosalad2​)
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Requested by anonymous: 'Could you do a Fred Weasley after the war imagine (where he doesn’t die) and he falls in love with a muggle'
Summary: (Y/N) may be a muggle, but she was introduced to the hidden magical world once she realised her best friend was a witch. Years later, after they have both graduated, she finds herself drawn towards the magic, as well as a particular person.
Characters: Fred Weasley x Reader, George Weasley x Reader (platonic)
Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name
Warnings: Lots and lots of fluff
(A/N: Beatrice is a made up character)
                                        *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As I stirred the milk into the mug of tea, I continued listening to Beatrice babble on about the rude man on the train, who had insisted that she was sat in his seat, when she had clearly reserved it. I smiled, picking up the mugs and heading back into the living room, handing one to her. She blew on it, testing how hot it was before taking a tiny sip.
“But anyway, enough about twats in London.” Bea waved her hand.“I’ve got some exciting news!”
“Yeah? What is it?” I put down my own mug, ready to squeal and jump about with her.
“You know that shop I had my eye on?”
“The one in um...oh what’s it called? Diagonal street?”
She laughed.“Diagon Alley.”
“Ah, right.”
“Anyway, I went for another viewing the other week, and I got a letter through this morning to say that it is now mine!”
I grabbed her hands, squeezing them.“That’s fantastic! Oh my god, you’ve been wanting your own shop since we were kids!”
“I know! I’ve already had new flooring put down, it’s just been painted too. Now all that’s left is to organise how I want the furniture and to put stock out on display.”
Bea had always loved her fashion when she was younger. She would always complain about how basic her uniform was (even pointing out how boring muggle uniform was as well), and always added different accessories or made her own clothes. This hobby carried on, she became a great seamstress (the magic probably helped), knowing that this was something she wanted to do. Now she was opening a clothes shop that would also sell things like accessories, notebooks, pens etc. 
“I’m so happy for you.” I hugged her.
“You know, I am going to need help moving in...”
“Wait, you want me to come with you?”
Bea nodded.
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“No, don’t be silly! You’re with me, and you’re only visiting. Plus you’ve known about all of this since we were twelve. I haven’t used the Obliviate spell on you, and I’m still not in trouble.”
“Sorry, you haven’t what?”
“Don’t worry about it. So, you want to accompany me to little old Diagon Alley?”
A couple of days later, Beatrice visited me again, leading me out of my little flat and onto the tube. We practically had to go to the other side of London, making me feel bad when she visited me all those times. When we finally got off, and after walking for another ten minutes, we stood in front of an abandoned building stuck between a record and book shop. Glancing at Bea, who was staring at the uninviting building, I wondered what I had got myself into.
“Uh, Bea, we’re not going in there are we?” I asked as she dragged me towards it.
“Just trust me.”
She pushed open the door, which made a worrying creaking noise, and I was scared that if we shut it too hard, the whole place would collapse. However, instead of a dusty room with broken floor boards and bending beams, we seemed to be in a pub. There were a few people already in here, sat at various tables with their drinks. A worker walked past, waving their hand which made some scattered chairs tuck underneath the table. My eyes widened as I watched, realising that I had stepped into a different world. Beatrice laughing at me brought me back into reality as she held onto my hand again. 
“Alright Tom?” She called out to the bartender.
“Ah, here once again Beatrice? Oh, this the muggle you were on about?” he replied as he leaned against the bar.
“Yep, this is she. I’m taking her to the shop, which I now own!”
“Ah, congratulations! Head on back then.”
They said their goodbyes and I was being steered away again, this time outside. There was a wall blocking us, and to anyone else it would be a dead end, but I knew something was about to happen. Bea revealed her wand, tapping it around a part of the wall where bricks were missing. Stepping back, my eyes widened as the bricks started moving, separating to reveal a busy street. 
“Oh, this is just too precious. Wish I had captured the moment.” Bea said.
I must have stuck out like a sore thumb; I couldn’t shut my mouth, checking out everything around me, eyebrows furrowing as my mind tried to comprehend how this was possible. Men and women passed me in long robes, some sporting the stereotypical witches hats. There were broomsticks, animals such as owls and cats, things floating by me. My brain was well and truly frazzled. 
As we came to Bea’s new shop, I was still in awe, my eyes landing on a bright orange shop, with an animatronic of a man who was putting on a top hat. I could see lots of younger children in there. Explosions of light appeared, objects were flying around, I could hear the laughter across the street.   
“Kind of hard to miss right?” Bea giggled as she unlocked the shop. 
“Yeah. Looks amazing in there.”
“That’s Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. I went to school with the guys who own it. Onto more important matters, after you.”
I walked into the shop, grinning as I looked around. It wasn't huge, but it had a vintage look to it; the floor was a dark wood, and the walls were painted a lighter cream colour to contrast it. Currently it was empty, in one corner were mannequins, display tables and railings to hang the clothes on.
"I've got everything mapped out, I just need to move bits around." Bea said.
"It's going to look great when it's finished. I bet you're so excited to open."
"Are you OK by the way? I just realised how much this must all be."
"I love it here! I'm surrounded by magic, what more could I want?"
We spent the next few hours moving the furniture around, trying out new things to see what worked, where it would be best to display the stock. People passed by the window in large groups, but now there were less, the sun was going down, and shop owners were starting to close up. We followed suit, putting everything back in the corner before leaving the shop.
"Hello neighbour." a man called out across the street.
We turned around, seeing a tall man in a suit outside of the shop I noticed upon arrival.
"Oh, I forgot I would be seeing you every day." Bea groaned, obviously joking.
"You don't have to lie to me, we're one of the reasons you bought the place."
Bea began walking towards him, I followed behind."Fred, this is (Y/N). She's a friend of mine."
"Nice to meet you." he smiled.
"You too." I replied, wishing I didn't sound so quiet.
"Already got your staff sorted then?"
"(Y/N)'s an old friend of mine. I had to show her the shop. And Diagon Alley."
Fred caught on, realising that I wasn't a witch."Oh, right. Welcome to the other side."
"Thanks. It's been amazing so far."
“Well, it couldn’t have been that good, I didn’t see you in our shop today.”
“He’s so humble, isn’t he?” Bea rolled her eyes.“Well, that’s just another reason for her to come tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“I look forward to seeing you then.” Fred casually winked before saying goodbye to us both, realising his name was being called from the shop. 
“OK, what just happened?” I gasped, feeling extremely flushed.
“Those Weasley boys are natural flirts. But that was very interesting.”
“There’s more of them?!”
Bea just shook her head, looping her arms through mine as she lead me away from the shop, telling (not asking) me to return with her again tomorrow. I didn’t hesitate to say yes. 
With Bea unaware, I had immediately gone to choose an outfit for the next day as soon as I made it home. I just wanted to look a little more presentable, it definitely wasn’t because I wanted to present myself well in front of anyone. Once I had decided on a casual outfit, though something that still showed I had put some effort in, I settled down for the night, lying on the sofa with my dinner. Even with the TV on in the background, I couldn’t concentrate on the programme. It felt strange to be back in my world, not surrounded by magic. I was half expecting objects in my flat to start moving by themselves. 
Bea had told me about her being a witch when she received her letter to Hogwarts. I wasn’t supposed to know, especially at a young age, but Beatrice had been so scared to lose our friendship. Her parents were muggles, so where the magic came from was a mystery. I missed her extremely, hating that Hogwarts was a boarding school. But once Bea was old enough to use magic outside of school, she graced me with all the spells she learnt, it was so enchanting to watch. Bea had returned to the muggle world for a few years once she finished her education, but now that her dream of owning a shop was coming true, she wouldn’t be living near me anymore; that’s what was really weighed on my mind.
Bea and I returned to her shop the next morning. I didn’t mention anything of my thoughts from the night before, not wanting to ruin the day. Seeing the other shop owners setting up for the day set a different atmosphere, some who were outside greeted us along the way. Bea got out her keys, but hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly worried.
“Nothing. I just think we should pay my fellow businessmen a visit.” she said, a wide smile on her face.
“No, cause you’ll just embarrass me!” I whined.
“No I won’t. Honestly, you need to see their shop, it’s bizarre.”
I knew she had a scheme planned, but part of me wanted to go along with it. As we approached, I glanced at my reflection in the window, tucking away any strands of hair that had fallen out of my up-do. Before we could knock on the door, Fred appeared, swinging it wide open.
“Ah, our most loyal customers are here.” He grinned letting us in.
“Good morning George.” Bea waltzed in.
Oh, this was his twin. 
“Fred has told me all about you, (Y/N), right?” George extended his hand.
I shook it as I nodded.“Yes, Sorry, I forgot you there were two of you for a moment.”
“Double trouble is what they are.” Bea mumbled.
“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” he exclaimed, presenting grandly with his arm. 
Cautiously walking around, I ducked out of the way as a Frisbee flew past me, smiling at what looked like mini fireworks before scrunching my nose up at a box labelled ‘Puking Pastels’. I explored everywhere, going upstairs to search further. The amount of jokes and prank items they had seemed endless. Looking over the railing, I saw Bea chatting away to George. It made me wonder where Fred was, but that question was soon answered.
“Do you come here often?” Fred slid up to me, leaning beside me on the railing.
I chuckled.“Funnily enough, this is my first time here. And did you really just use that line on me?”
“Works every time.” he winked, causing me to look away as I blushed. 
“This shop is amazing Fred.” I sighed in content.“Are those really Love Potions down there?”
“Ah, caught your eye?”
“I mean, how could it not? Doesn’t everyone want a love potion to make their lives so much easier?”
“It’s not permanent. Besides, falling in love is the fun part.”
I didn’t question if he had been in love. It was too soon to be asking things such as that. 
Fred continued.“Can’t believe Bea waited so long to bring you here. She talks about you all the time.”
“She does?”
“Yep. I probably know more about you than you think.”
My eyes widened jokingly.“I don’t know if that’s good or not.”
“It’s very good, trust me.”
“I don’t think I would ever want to leave now. Couldn’t stop smiling when I was home.”
Fred opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by Bea calling up to us.“Come on you two, it’s my turn now.”
Not knowing what she meant, we headed downstairs, realising that Bea wanted to show the twins her shop. Making our way across the road, Fred and I walked behind the others as they continued talking, even as Bea unlocked the shop. 
“I mean, you’ve still got quite a bit of work to do Bea.” George joked as they walked around the empty space.
“I know that. But that’s why I have (Y/N) here to help me.” She smiled at me.
“It’s a good space. You got everything planned?” Fred asked.
“Yeah, we moved the furniture around a few times yesterday, so I’ve got options. And of course I had my wonderful assistant to help.”
“She didn’t even buy me a drink after.” I said.
“I can pay you.”
“What? Don’t be silly.”
“No, I’m serious. Because I need to know if I have to put you on the payroll.”
“Bea, what are you saying?”
She grinned but I could see she was nervous.“How would you like to work here with me?”
My mouth dropped wide open, eyes bulging out of my head. I was shocked, speechless even. Out of the corner of my eye I saw George nudge his brother, smirking at him as Fred looked annoyed.
“Oh, this is making me anxious.” Bea whispered, gripping her hands together despite her happy expression.
“You really want me to work here? But where would I live?”
“With me obviously!”
“Is that allowed?”
“Yes, I checked. Oh (Y/N) please, you always say you’re not happy with your job and that you want to live somewhere nicer.”
“I’ve never said that.”
“OK, but I can tell you’re not entirely happy.”
I took a deep breath as I smiled.“Bea, I would love to work here.” She squealed, running towards me and throwing out her arms, embracing me tightly. I squeezed her back, feeling very emotional. Bea wanted me here. She trusted me to live in this world of hers, she wanted to share her dream with me.
“Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.” George said as Bea and I ended the hug.
“Looks like.” I wiped my eyes, hoping I didn’t look like a sap for crying.
“Right,” Bea put her hands on her hips,“well, we best get on with the day. Catch you boys later?” 
They nodded, already making their way out. Bea smiled at me one last time, disappearing into the backroom. As I looked around the space, I noticed Fred still by the door, hesitating to walk out.
“You alright there Fred?” I asked, approaching him.
“Yeah...um,” he closed the door, coming inside again,“so,now that you’re living here, once you’re settled that is....do you fancy going out sometime?”
I was taken back, flustered which caused me to stutter.“Uh, y-yeah, I-I would love to!”
He nodded, pleased with the answer.“Good, it’s a date then.”
I awkwardly waved as he left, watching him enter his own shop. He turned around, seeing me still looking, sending yet another wink my way. He already knew how to embarrass me. Feeling my heart flutter, I slowly turned around, only to see Bea standing there.
“Oh, I am so good at playing Cupid.”
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murasaki-murasame · 2 years
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Thoughts on Higurashi Sotsu Ep15 [FINALE]
For better or worse I think Ryukishi achieved exactly what he set out to do with this series, and I guess everyone’s just gonna be forced to reckon with how they feel about his own perspective on this franchise versus how they feel about it, lol.
Anyway, thoughts under the cut, plus Umineko spoilers.
I’m not entirely sure where to even start with this, but I guess the TL;DR is that I honestly think Gou/Sotsu was ultimately just fine despite it’s issues, and part me of can’t help but be like ‘I told you so, lol’ about how this really did end with this episode, and also committed pretty hard to the Umineko prequel elements.
It’s not like all of my theories were correct in the end, but I at least think I was pretty spot on in my prediction last week that this would end with the miracle of them side-stepping the sword issue entirely and choosing the third option of forgiveness and reconciliation. And also them ending it with an epilogue where we go back to the Matsuribayashi timeline and get a happy ending for Rika and Satoko that provides a ‘non-magical interpretation’ for the story while also giving us an idea of how Bern and Lambda formally split off into their own entities and start the relationship we see in Umineko.
I didn’t quite expect them to go down the route of having them agree to just spend a few years apart and accept that they don’t need to literally always be together, but I think that was a really good way to wrap things up between them. It’s pretty much the healthiest compromise to their conflict that doesn’t come across like it completely invalidates one of their dreams. I get why it feels too anti-climactic and convenient for people, but when you pull at that thread you get into wider topics of what the entire story is about, since this was always going to end with Satoko being redeemed and forgiven. People might not have taken him seriously, but Ryukishi was 100% genuine about his regrets about Matsuribayashi’s ending, and how part of why he came up with this new story was to create a better ending, while also doing more with Satoko as a character.
Basically I think a lot of the fandom negativity towards this boils down to people fundamentally disagreeing with the idea that Matsuribayashi was even ‘flawed’ in this sort of way to begin with, or that Satoko was badly written. It’s valid to disagree on this stuff, but at the very least we all have to grapple with how Ryukishi has his own specific relationship with this series.
People like to focus on how he’s a troll who likes to mess with people, but I feel like this is a bit of a wake-up call for people about how he’s actually extremely sincere, almost to a fault, and he likes to use his stories as a vehicle for expressing his personal philosophies and ideals. 
This whole story is also a good example of how he just sees this as ultimately being a fictional story about fictional characters, and not literally a matter of real people who need to be sentenced for their crimes or whatever. As early as the original VN he was almost being outright preachy about the message that nobody is irredeemable, and that philosophy carries through to this. But to be more specific, nobody *in this story* is irredeemable. He’s pretty open about the fact that in practice you can’t apply this sort of ideal to real life, but fictional stories are their own separate matter.
I think this whole issue of how he views this as a story first and foremost is also the central reason why this ended in a way that comes across as Satoko being let off too easy for her crimes. One way or another, Ryukishi’s made it clear that he sees this as being no different to how other characters had arcs where they committed crimes but still got forgiven, or how Takano is basically a straight up war criminal who also got forgiven for her crimes.
Anyway, this episode at least committed to the Umineko stuff, so that was satisfying. Sure there’s people that still want to deny it, but at this point I think a lot of people are just being stubborn, so it’s not like anything would have really convinced them, lol. I’m also genuinely not sure what people even would have expected them to do beyond what we saw her, aside from having the two of them literally put on their gothic lolita outfits and turn to the camera and go ‘we are literally Bernkastel and Lambdadelta from the video game series Umineko When They Cry’. I almost feel like there’s some kind of misunderstanding from people who aren’t familiar with Umineko when it comes to the idea of what it even means for this to be ‘an Umineko prequel’, or ‘a Bern/Lambda origin story’. I mean, this is quite literally exactly what I expected and hoped for in that regard. It’s not like I was expecting them to incorporate anything related to, like, Beatrice or the Ushiromiya family.
I think this is also one of those things where you just have to decide for yourself whether or not you want to earnestly engage with the story that’s being told, or if you want to assume that there’s some level of malice or trickery going on.
To be honest, I wasn’t expecting them to literally have Rika and Satoko recite part of Bern and Lambda’s final conversation with each other word for word, lmao. Combined with the scene at the end where ‘Witch Satoko’ talks to herself about how she’s going to give her body back to Satoko while she goes chasing after Rika, it was literally just the exact origin story of their relationship as it’s depicted in Umineko.
I still feel like this would all only really be ‘worth it’ if we actually get something like a full on anime remake for Umineko, but at this point I can’t help but feel satisfied with this part of it all.
It’s not like I think Gou/Sotsu as a whole is perfect or anything, though. I don’t hate it as much as basically everyone else does, but I think Ryukishi’s the sort of VN writer who really struggles with the shift to writing for an anime. I think a big part of the frustration people have is just from how this is formatted as a weekly anime series spread across basically an entire year, instead of being something like a stand-alone VN chapter that you can read at whatever pace you want, even if it ultimately takes the same amount of time to read as it would to watch all of Gou/Sotsu.
There’s also the whole issue of this being a sort-of-remake, which snowballed into a whole list of structural problems. They absolutely tried too hard to have their cake and eat it too, and they should have just committed to it being made for old fans only, instead of trying to sincerely incorporate elements from the VN that old fans don’t care about anymore because they’ve gone over it already.
And as I’ve said several times before, it was a major issue for them to decide to put Nekodamashi in the middle of Gou and then spend like 20 episodes on flashback answer arcs until finally getting back to that cliffhanger. I’ve been waiting until this all ended to decide exactly how I feel about that, and now that it’s all over I still think it was a really bad idea. I don’t think it was an issue for them to reveal that Satoko’s the culprit that early, but having the gun cliffhanger specifically happen that early just gave people misguided expectations and tainted the answer arcs because people were just impatient to get back to the cliffhanger. And then the cliffhanger itself ended up being somewhat anti-climactic, which is what I’d been fearing would happen. It would have worked fine if they shuffled it around so that the cliffhanger happened right before Kagurashi and was followed up in the very next episode, or if this was a VN where you could binge your way through the flashback stuff, but spending like half of an entire real-life year to get back to that point only to have the resolution be ‘Satoko just shoots Rika and the death loops keep going’ just didn’t really work properly.
I’m a lot more generous towards the Akashi arcs than most people are, since I think they really over-estimate how much re-used content there is there, but they still suffer from the central issue of the show trying to be accessible for new fans. It could have been heavily condensed otherwise, without losing anything in terms of Satoko’s whole character arc.
On the other hand I think the first half of Kagurashi was awful specifically because it highlighted how bad of an idea it was to put Nekodamashi so early in the story. They still ended up having to go back to that arc and repeat it anyway, in the most 1:1 recap-y way in the whole show, but that wouldn’t have even been an issue in the first place if that was instead the first time that arc happened in the show.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how I would rearrange the story to make it flow better while still following Ryukishi’s intentions, and I think they could have condensed it into a 2-cour season with this sort of structure if they did something like this:
-First arc where Rika gets thrown back into the loop and quickly figures out that somebody intentionally caused this to happen, and it’s not Takano because at least in this idea of mine she’d try and investigate her only to find out that this version of Takano regrets everything and is planning to flee the village with Tomitake.
Basically I think this could tie into the idea of Satoko initially wanting to just concoct an idea world for Rika so that she won’t want to leave this time, but sort of like what I think happens in Saikoroshi, Rika would still reject it, and this time around there’d be the additional layer of her knowing that somebody did this to her for an unknown reason. Maybe they could even initially market it as a new adaptation or a remake of Saikoroshi, and then reveal that it’s a sequel, to keep that whole element to the series. Either way I think this would end with everything going to shit when Rika rejects that fragment and wants to go back to St. Lucia’s, and Satoko basically snaps and kills her, and that way the audience can find out about her being the culprit without Rika finding out about it yet.
Maybe there could even be some dramatic irony where Rika’s attempts to meddle with certain ‘trigger events’, and her displaying her looper side, inadvertently triggers people around her to get paranoid, and the whole fragment would start to spiral into tragedy from there. I think they could at least use the whole conflict in Tatariakashi about Teppei actually being good this time as a starting point for that sorta thing.
-Second arc, rounding out the first cour, which is basically just Satokowashi. I don’t think there’s much that you’d need to change here, but like I said above I like the idea of her initially trying to just invent a perfect world for Rika and her to live in, instead of jumping straight to murder. But maybe instead of her literally just watching Rika’s loops, she could instead just be stuck using her looping powers to try and figure out how to create that ‘perfect world’ in the first place, by personally investigating all of the different tragedies and how to prevent them.
-Staring the second cour, a third arc where we basically just get to see those loops Satoko goes through, and her whole process of solving the tragedies and ‘purifying’ characters like Teppei and Takano, until we eventually see her perspective on the first arc, and how she reacts to Rika ultimately rejecting the world she tried to make for her.
-A fourth and final arc which is basically just Nekodamashi + Kagurashi, where she just totally snaps and tries to just torture Rika into never wanting to leave the village again, and eventually Satoko gets exposed and they have their direct confrontation with each other.
With that sorta story structure, you’d keep all the relevant bits of Gou/Sotsu as it is now, while being more focused on Rika and Satoko instead of doing kinda half-assed reruns of the Rena and Shion arcs. It’d also push the big cliffhanger between them until near the end of the show, while still revealing to the audience relatively early on that Satoko’s the culprit.
I’d also like them to do more with Satoshi and Shion, so maybe like with how Teppei gets redeemed and Satoko almost gets to have a happy life with him in Tatariakashi, the central question arc of this hypothetical story could also involve Satoko making sure that Satoshi wakes up from his coma, and Shion also gets to have a good relationship with all of them. You could probably do something interesting with the idea of Satoshi and Shion being in the camp of not trusting Teppei and his whole redemption arc.
Honestly I could spend a long time talking about how I would have done things differently, lol. For one thing, I think the Akashi arcs would have been much better if they just changed it so that Satoko used psychological tactics to make people paranoid, and we completely cut out the whole syringe plot device. I get how it fits with Satoko’s whole certainty gimmick, but it made those arcs way too predictable. Even if we knew the outcome, it’d at least be entertaining to see exactly how Satoko might go out of her way to set up the different tragedies. We kinda got glimpses of that sorta plot point in Wataakashi when things seemed to go outside of her control, but they didn’t really do much with it.
Anyway, this is a whole lot of words to say that I think that in spite of the serious structural issues going on, I think Gou/Sotsu as a whole is fine, and was at least working with a lot of perfectly good ideas that could have been executed much better.
Also, on a side note, that one scene during their fist-fight at the start where the art-style changes a bit was kinda weird, but I really liked how it looked, and part of me almost wishes the whole show looked like that, lol. I like Akio Watanabe’s character designs, but I feel like that sort of stylized, almost TWEWY-ish art style would have been really fitting for this series, especially in the horror/action parts.
Oh, and the new rendition of You was so good it almost felt emotionally manipulative, lol.
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jtl07 · 9 months
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jt (finally) watches warrior nun - s1 e2
Another interesting episode - today, I have thoughts on:
Ava and Mary's parallels
Duretti, and some filming irks
More Beatrice thoughts lol
Okay, about Ava and Mary: such an interesting choice, to have these two particular storylines run parallel to each other. Both are diving deeper into things they don't understand, trying to find some sort of closure/answers; both quite unstable and at times, desperate. Idk I feel like that bit where Mary's torturing that dude and Ava leaves JC to find Michael (who was creepy af ngl) was an interesting parallel at what they're both capable of: Mary leaving behind her humanity, Ava leaving behind what's been her first semblance of comfort and safety.
Also, again, have to give props to both Alba Baptista and Toya Turner because their scenes could have fallen flat, but their acting choices were brilliant. Also, a nod to JC's character too - I think if he wasn't written so sympathetically (and if Emilio Sakraya didn't play him with such kindness and sincerity), it wouldn't bring out Ava's different moods (and Alba's reactions).
Let's talk a bit about Duretti - fascinating how they portray him in both cinematography and dialogue as the quintessential baddie - and also how that characterization immediately makes us want to be sympathetic to Vincent (again, setting up for his betrayal later). My only beef so far are the scenes between Duretti and Kristian, and then Duretti and Jillian, mostly for the trite "religion vs science" dialogue and the uninspired cinematography.
I say the latter only because we've seen really beautiful cinematography for Ava, so I'm assuming it was a conscious choice, but still I'm not sure what it brought, just having close face shots the whole time. It would have been really nice if they used the setting a bit more - for example, if they had the lighting play a role, maybe during that standoff between Duretti and Jillian, have the camera a bit wide at times and have the light swing back and forth between the two, maybe even time it to light a character when they have the upper hand in the argument.
In that standoff between Duretti and Kristian, I think the writing could have been improved by being more aware of the audience they have. To have to be indirect about things not only would have added some tension to the exchange but also force the audience to think a bit more. For example, that scene where Ava gets all excited about the wheelchairs and she says "I always wanted one of these!" - the others are a bit confused about it but we the audience can make the connection that oh, right, because of when she was paralyzed. Again, this might have been a choice, maybe to not force the audience to think so much? idk
Okay now my favorite thing, analyzing Beatrice lol. Three things stuck out to me (outside of the fact that for a "seemingly" minor character, she's present quite a bit) - first, how she does the research on the tarasks herself. So, in the military and larger organizations in general that have a similar hierarchy and specialist teams, leaders would typically assign other people to do that kind of research. Which makes me wonder: Did Bea just want to do it herself? Does the OCS not have folks who specialize in research? I feel like the latter wouldn't be true (though we don't really have any evidence otherwise) and more that it's the former: I'm willing to bet that Beatrice doesn't see herself as much of a leader though she carries herself as one (see my notes on the first episode here). Though now I've just had a thought: I wonder if this is her also trying to keep info close to only the core group? Mm that doesn't quite work because Camila's there, and it would've been easy to assign her as the junior person to research things. Anyway, I just see this as an interesting choice of Beatrice doing the work herself.
Second thing is the tranquilizer gun. Note how this was hidden beneath her robes - she has to put away the weapon she was holding to then reach for it:
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This makes me think two things: 1) she figured there'd be a lull and she would have the time to get to it, showing again her incredible foresight and strategic thinking, and 2) she was hiding it from the others. That latter is really interesting to me. I don't think she was hiding it because she felt ashamed of it, but rather it being an extension of the first point above: Beatrice does the work herself. Additionally, this is her working off of her own conclusions from the conversation with Vincent - she didn't receive a direct order from Vincent, they just talked about Vincent wanting to "give her [Ava] a choice" and she went with that. So this is her acting on her own but because she was convinced by/agreed with Vincent. (Side note: This makes me wonder what action Beatrice would have taken if she hadn't had that conversation with Vincent - again, fascinating to think about what Beatrice is capable of).
Third and last, there's that flippant comment "I had a feeling she'd be a handful." Two things here again: 1) this kind of ability to make light of a shitty situation (in contrast to Lilith's exasperation) reminds me again of the military, where dark humor is really one of the only and best ways you can cope sometimes, and 2) it's also Bea kinda making light of her own abilities - her ability to foresee and plan (and follow, in a way). Again, this is Bea not seeing herself as a leader or extraordinary.
Alright, well I've got some travel planned this weekend but hopefully I'll get to episode 3 before that, but no promises.
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walkerwords · 3 years
Text
“The Savior Sessions” Part 33 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader
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IMAGE CREDIT: AMC
SERIES MASTERLIST
Summary: Beta makes his final move against the survivors as the group prepares for the final showdown against the Whisperers and our story comes to an end.
Word Count: 4971
Warning: Swearing, Violence, Blood
Song I Wrote To: “Sanctuary” by Welshly Arms
Note: THANK YOU. That is all I can really say. I have never written something this long and I am forever grateful for the handful of you that have stuck with it for all these months. Happy TWD 10c premiere and I can’t wait to write even more for you though I may need a break for a bit! I hope you also listen to the song for this chapter, I think it fully encapsulates the relationship between Negan and the reader! ALL OFFICIAL DIALOG IS PROPERTY OF AMC
————-
They say that Death rode on a pale horse as Hell followed behind, but they had never considered that Hell was with them all along and that they were only waiting for someone to swing the sword.
Your sword hung on your hip as the rumbling sound of the Dead crashed over you in waves. From the tower window, it looked as if the ground was alive with insects rather than crumbling bones and rotting flesh.
As soon as Gabriel sounded the alarm, you and Negan went off to help where you still could. Michonne was frantically searching for Judith who had run out after her uncle in hopes of helping. She only began to relax after Daryl had gotten through to her to tell her that they were on their way back to the tower.
They also had Kelly and Carol with them.
Gabriel was running around with blankets, extra weapons, and ever extra bottles of water for those he would be moving out of the tower as the herd got closer. You were starting to feel a bit out of sorts. You had been waiting for this moment since Beta had singled you out in the clearing during the fair and yet, you didn’t know if you were ready to face him for the last time, but you had to be.
At this point, it was either him or you.
The Walkers were a big problem, but then there were the Whisperers that moved within the herd. There was no way to properly single them out without wasting long-distance ammo. These were the days that you missed the armory back in Alexandria.
The only guns in the group were Gabriel’s shotgun and Rick’s colt python in which Judith carried. It wasn’t enough and you knew that. The only hope that any of you had was that Michonne and Gabriel’s plan of diverting the horde would stand up.
When Daryl and the others returned, Gabriel explained what he wanted to do.
“Is that even going to work?” you asked as you stood in the hallway.
“It’s the only thing we’ve got,” Gabriel said. “If we can get the stereos working and lead the horde away, it may be the only thing capable of drawing away this large of herd.”
“What about the Whisperers in the herd?” Kelly asked. “Isn’t their whole thing herding the Dead towards a certain area?”
“Negan said that it’s more complicated than that,” you said. “It’s not an exact science. If they try to force the Walkers, they start to become more aware of the Living among them. It never ends well.”
“Meaning what?” Carol asked.
“Meaning I don’t like our odds,” Michonne said.
“Neither do I,” you agreed.
“It’s either this or we wait to be slaughtered,” Gabriel said. “And considering we got kids in here, I don’t like that idea at all.”
“Of course not,” Michonne said. “Okay, so we get to the wagons on the outskirts and we get them hooked up, then what? Where do we take them?”
“We can figure that out once we get them away from the tower,” you said. “Beta isn’t going to stop until we are all dead. He can’t take on all of us at once so he’s using his Walkers. This may be the only opportunity that we have to get to him.”
“Beta is not the only enemy out there,” Carol said.
“That’s rich coming from you,” you shot back and Daryl got between the two of you.
“Easy,” he warned. “We are not going to get anything done by fighting among ourselves. Gabriel is right, we have to get to the wagons.”
“We have to get through that horde before we do anything,” you said.
“We’ve done it before,” Daryl said and you quickly realized what he meant as did the others. Michonne made a face of disgust along with your own.
“Well, this isn’t going to be pleasant at all,” you said.
“Never is,” Michonne added, “but we gotta do it.” Frowning down at Paul’s coat, you sighed.
“Fine, someone find us some Walkers,” you said, “and make them extra bloody.”
--------
“Have I told you yet that I hate this plan,” Negan said as you finished strapping your knives to your thighs and storing more in your coat. 
“Many times,” you said with a sigh. 
“And yet, you’re going through with it,” he said. 
“Like Gabe said, we don’t have many other options,” you said, turning to him. “Unless you know if any RPG’s just happen to be in this very building with useable ammunition.” 
“Afraid not,” Negan said with a frown. 
“Then it looks like we are shit out of luck, honey,” you said as you double-checked your weapon on your hip. “I know you’re worried about me, but I have to do this and so do you.” 
“Nah,” Negan said, disagreeing. “I’m not exactly an invisible force when it comes to these assholes. I’ll stick out too much, you’re going to have to do this part without me.” 
You knew he was right. There was no doubt that Beta had found Alpha’s head and knew that Negan was the last one to be with her. While Beta still wanted to kill you, right now, Negan was number one on his kill list. You were just hoping that he would be too distracted with his own vengeance to recognize yours. If you could keep hold of even an ounce of surprise, then this would be a whole lot easier. 
“I get it,” you said. “I don’t like it, but I do understand.”
“Thanks,” he said. You then pulled him in for a harsh kiss, putting all your passion into it. If this was the last time you held him like that, then you were going to make it count. Pulling back, you stared into his eyes, eager to see that fire. When you did, you gave him a half-smile. 
“Now or never, big man,” you said. “Are you with me?”
“Damn right,” he said before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He then pushed you back towards the main hallway where you were supposed to meet Daryl in order to don your Walker disguise. As you walked away, he felt as if you were taking a part of him with you and he prayed that part would be enough to keep you safe.
----------
“Our plan is the same,” Gabriel said as Negan listened at the side. “Lead the horde away, just not from Oceanside as we had planned. Once the Walkers are clear, we evacuate to Rendezvous Point B. Luke, We ready?” Gabriel asked Luke who was standing next to Jules. 
“Yeah, yeah. Uh, technically,” Luke said with an attempt at a reassuring smile. “Okay. So, these are the final pieces that we need to connect to the wagon. But in order for it to do the pied piper thing that we need it to do over the cliff, we gotta get from A to B, and I gotta plug and plug,” he said.
“And then we should be good to go?”  Kelly asked. 
“Hopefully,” Luke said.
“That wagon is on the other side of the horde,” Beatrice said. 
“Which is why we have these,” Daryl grunted as he and Jerry dragged in two extra-large Walkers into the foyer of the tower. 
“Oh man, this is just wrong,” Luke said. 
“But it works,” Gabriel said. “Trust me, I know.” Negan smirked at that, remembering that time he and Gabriel had done the guts trick to get back into the Sanctuary. That time felt like another lifetime ago now that he was thinking about it. 
Negan stepped away from the group temporarily, heading to one of the vacant watchpoints. His eyes scanned the horde for Beta, but he couldn’t see the man amongst his Dead. If Beta was out there, he was staying out of sight for a reason. Negan never pegged the man as one who would lead the army. He was more of a free agent when it came to taking orders from his Alpha. However, now with Alpha gone, it seemed as if the Beta had finally taken command of the pack. 
It wasn’t very reassuring. 
Negan had seen some large hordes since this had all started. He had even told you about a particular one that scared the hell out of him. Negan didn’t think a tow truck would be able to get through this one even if it had a flame thrower attached to it. Michonne was right, he didn’t like their odds either. 
Taking one last look, Negan turned away and headed back into the fold. 
As he neared the main area of the fighters who were waiting to go out, he noticed you, soaked in Walker blood, trying not to gag. If it was any other scenario, he would think it was adorable.
It was a moment later that Daryl noticed Negan. 
“Hey,” Daryl called, approaching Negan, “why you clean?”
“I ain't goin’,” Negan declared.
“You've done this more than any of us,” Daryl said. “How the hell is this any different?”
“I am on the tip-top of every skins' kill list. Especially Fee Fi Fo asshole. So, if the idea is to get through without drawing a shitload of attention, then I am the last person these people want standing next to them,” Negan said, not liking the idea of more of these people dying because of him. 
“That's a bunch of bullshit,” Daryl said, shaking his head. “You wanna be a part of this? You gotta put your ass on the line just like everybody else and (Y/N) needs you by their side.” 
“They understand,”  Negan said. 
“Do they?” Daryl scoffed. 
“Yeah, I do,” you said as you approached. “I thought we could do this together, but we can’t. At least, not this part.” Negan nodded, agreeing with you. 
“We’re just leading the horde away,” Daryl said. 
“You are,” you said. “I’m not.”
Daryl understood your words immediately. Negan, who had already guessed your plan, was silent as he stood by your side. Daryl was shaking his head as he looked at you. You were one of his closest friends and he was just realizing how serious you were when it came to getting to Beta. He had been so focused on Carol’s vendetta against Alpha, that he had missed the signs of your own fury.
“No,” he said, “not like this.”
“I’ve already made my decision, Daryl,” you said. “You’re not going to change my mind. Look, Gabriel is staying behind to protect the kids and I need you to disperse the herd.”
“Are you hearin’ this?” Daryl asked Michonne who was nearby. 
“I am,” she said with a nod, “ and I am trusting that they know what they’re doing.” 
“Fucking ridiculous,” Daryl said as he stormed away. 
“Great, so if I die, he’ll be dancing on my grave,” you said as you watched him walk away. 
“Daryl will be fine,” Michonne assured you. “Besides, Daryl doesn’t dance,” she said with a wink and a nod before going to follow him in preparation to leave. 
-----------
You lost sight of Negan shortly after the group headed out of the tower. 
While you were still covered in the Walker guts, you weren’t leaving just yet. You had a plan and you needed to stick with it. Standing across from Dianne, you watched as your family began to move through the Dead. You could make out a few of them, but not everyone. Also with the sun beginning to set, you knew that it was only a matter of time before you lost all visibility.
Everything that had happened since that first wind storm, was suddenly echoing around in your head. You had lost people shortly after that night and it just kept crashing down like that tree that collapsed the wall behind your house. You weren’t even sure if your house was still standing at this point. Aaron and Alden had radioed to say that the horde had moved through Alexandria, trampling it. They were supposed to keep on them, but then their line had gone silent and nobody was hearing from them. 
It was making you nervous, not knowing where your friends were. You knew that Enid was worried, but she was staying busy, looking after the kids with Siddiq who was constantly hovering over Rosita and Coco. Considering they were the only doctors in the group, they would not be going out into the horde until it was clear. They would head straight for the meeting point and even then it was a risk to have them out there. However, you knew that they were strong fighters and that they would do everything to survive. They had proved that the night Alpha had taken them. 
The Fair seemed so long ago. That moment of you walking up the hill to see your friends and family on pikes still haunted you, but you used those feelings of horror and despair to keep your vision alive. The vision you had of your future with both Negan and Lydia by your side. 
You had always fought for family and you were not going to let Beta take that away from you. 
A sudden scream broke you out of your thoughts as Beatrice went down in the horde. Dianne was stunned next to you as you watched the woman being torn apart by Beta’s guardians. You knew that Carol had been with her, but you couldn’t tell if she was down as well. You couldn’t look away as blood and flesh were covering the Walkers as they feasted on your friend. 
Holding your head higher, you moved away from the window and headed towards the elevator shaft. Catching Negan’s eye who stood near Lydia, you nodded to him. He nodded back and with one final look, you grabbed the rope and began to propel down, adjusting your focus not on your family above, but the enemy below. 
-------
“They're coming up,” Judith said, who was staring at the stairwell in horror. Gabriel pushed her back, holding her tightly.
“You all know what to do,” Gabriel said. “Dianne, you get the first group. Children and wounded come second. If Rosita argues, just come and find me.”
The evacuation went smoothly as Dianne got everyone out, even Rosita and her baby. It was going well, but Negan knew it wasn’t nearly done. There was more work to be done.
Not too far away from Gabriel, Negan spoke to Lydia. “You know how this ends,” he said with a sigh. 
“I don't and neither do you,” Lydia argued, looking up at him with those big brown eyes of hers.
“Come on, kid,” Negan said. “You being here when the shitstorm hits ain't changing what definitely is happening.”
“I'm not leaving,” she said defiantly. 
“They're never gonna trust me, you,” Negan said, knowing well enough that no matter who he wanted to spend his life with, he would never be more than what these people remember from eight years ago. “Doesn't matter what we do now. You can just slip out, down, and dance your way through the Dead.”
“So can you,” Lydia pointed out, gesturing to the Whisperer mask he still had in his jacket. 
“Like you said, I ain't no hero,” Negan said. 
“You could be,” Lydia prompted.
“Well,” Negan said, pulling her into his side. “I guess that's what I'm doing now. You be careful, kiddo, and you know what?” Negan then pulled out another mask from his coat, one that Lydia instantly recognized as her mother’s. “You take this and you use it for good, you know, if that’s something you feel like doin’, alright?”
Lydia took the mask in her hands and clutched it in a fist. 
“Don’t die,” she whispered. “Please, Negan, I can’t lose any more family.” 
“I ain’t plannin’ on it,” he said as he kissed the top of her head and then turned his back on the room. Lydia watched as Negan took hold of the rope that led into the elevator shaft. Not looking back, he began to descend. He didn’t stop until his boots found solid ground again.
Shoving the mask onto his face, Negan pushed out into the world, ready to face anything that it threw at him. Even if it was for the last time.
He was on the outskirts of the horde when he exited the building, but he didn’t see any Whisperers and he didn’t see you. He didn’t think you would be waiting out in the open so he figured you had disappeared into the trees or even the horde itself. 
Pulling the bat off his shoulder, Negan looked down at what you had coined “Lucille 2.0”. His hand wrapped around the end of the bat, feeling the familiar grip. With a deep breath, he held it close to his face one last time. “Thanks, old girl,” he whispered before tossing the bat into the horde of Walkers. He watched as it disappeared amongst the Dead and felt another weight disappear from his shoulders.
Drawing his knife, Negan began to move through the herd in hopes of finding you and the man you were going to take down. He just hoped that Daryl’s plan started to work and that the building behind him didn’t succumb to the wave of Walkers among him.
-----------
Something was wrong, that much you knew. 
You didn’t know what it was, but the horde had stopped moving in the direction of the cliffside. You could hear the crashing of metal and cracking of stone behind you as the horde moved into the building.
The only good thing was that only the Whisperers could move up into the building and you were just hoping Gabriel had enough fighters to keep them back. However, he was also trying to evacuate people so it could easily go bad very quickly. 
Fresh blood was splattered on nearby Walkers and you were praying that it was Whisperer blood and not the blood of your family. You wanted to stop and search for any bodies, but so far, you had gone undetected in the herd and you needed to keep it that way. 
Shouts of alarm came from the building, but you couldn’t turn back and so, you kept Walking.
It was well into the evening when everything seemed to slow down. You had been moving through the horde slowly, taking out any Whisperer that recognized you. It was easy to do, a few quick slashes and the blood would attract the Dead. However, as you killed more of them, they began to realize the enemy had infiltrated their own army.
It was a few minutes later that you saw a familiar face in the crowd. Magna moved behind a slow-moving form and then slit their throat. The Whisperer fell to the ground as Walkers fell upon them, and then, Magna was gone. 
You heard more sounds of choking as more Whisperers fell to the phantom movements of your friends and family. You could never pinpoint where they were in the crowd, but soon, you began to join in the stealth mission. Using your smaller blades, you cut down Whisperers, silencing them once and for all. 
When one went to stab you first, Kelly was there in a second, slitting their throat, and throwing them down to the ground. You nodded to her as you passed by and she reached out and grabbed your hand quickly before continuing on. 
Everything was going as planned, but you couldn’t find Lydia. You didn’t know if she had joined up with Daryl or had stayed behind with Gabriel. You hoped that Negan had eyes on her, but you didn’t know where he was either.
As the sun finally set and darkness fell, the horde began to thin and the enemy was finally exposed. 
Negan saw him first. 
Beta stood amongst the dwindling Dead acting as if he was the king of them all. A moment on the left, caught both men’s attention as Alpha’s mask moved through the crowd.
Negan shook his head at the move Lydia had made. If he wasn’t sure that she wasn't, he would have thought she really was his kid considering how daring she was with taunting Beta like this. 
Beta stared at her in awe until she disappeared again from view. It was enough of a distraction for Negan to move in.
He knew you had to be close so with a smirk, he let loose his memorable melodic whistle, something he hadn’t done in a while. 
He just hoped that you would get the meaning. He was essentially sending up a flare in the form of a few notes. “Come get him,” Negan whispered as he approached Beta. “Hey, shithead,” he spoke louder, gaining the attention of Beta. 
The larger man instantly locked onto Negan’s position with ferocity. Recognizing him, Beta charged right for him. Negan braced himself for impact when Beta threw a Walker at him. “Shit!” Negan said as the Dead man fell upon him, its jaws fighting their way towards his throat. Pulling his knife, Negan finished off the Walker, kicking it away, but Beta wasn’t done. 
He threw himself toward Negan as the latter tried to get to his feet. Beta aimed his fist at Negan’s head, catching him in the temple and Negan went down hard. Blinking back the black spots in his vision, he focused back on the enemy above him.
“For Alpha,” Beta growled. Negan stared him down as Beta raised his knives above his head, ready to strike true, but a sound from his left made him turn. He snarled as you came running from the horde with your sword in your hand. Beta didn’t have any time to move as you rushed past him, your blade slashing out to the side and cutting both of the man’s Achilles tendons. 
Beta yelled out in pain as blood pooled from his ankles. Negan pushed him off of him as you circled back. Kicking his knives from his hands, you reached down and shoved your blade into Beta’s shoulder. The same shoulder you had injured in your fight with him in Alexandria. Beta bared his teeth at you and that’s when you noticed the new mask on his face.
It was half of Alpha’s own face.
He seemed to be sneering at you as you reached forward and placed your hand on his throat, forcing him to look at you. “I’ll kill you,” he spat. 
“You make veiled threats,” you said, quoting what he had first said to you in the clearing as your friends were being slaughtered by his Alpha. “I told you that I wasn’t going to die like this. Not by you or anyone.” Beta yelled, trying to get up and attack you when suddenly Daryl appeared out of the darkness. 
Pulling his blades, Daryl brought them down into Beta’s back, keeping him in place. The shock of pain sent Beta back to the ground. Blood bubbled at his lips and you leaned in closer, making sure your face was the last one that he saw. “Killer,” Beta spat at you as Daryl pulled his blades from Beta’s body.
“No,” you said as you pulled back and then in one fluid motion, buried your sword up into his chest. “Survivor,” you corrected as you withdrew your weapon and kicked him to the ground and towards his own Walkers who smelled the fresh blood immediately. 
Negan and Daryl instantly, stepped in front of you as you watched the Dead tear apart Beta. The sound of tearing flesh and the growls of the Walkers had never sounded so liberating before. Negan slowly took hold of his mask and tore it from his face, letting it drop to the ground beside him. Daryl, who had been the first one to fight Beta, let out a breath that spoke louder than words.
They had won. 
“Now is it over?” you asked, leaning on your sword, 
“Yeah,” Daryl said. “It’s over. Come on,” he said as he passed Negan, knocking his fist against the taller man’s shoulder. Negan then reached down and took your hand in his and without looking back, walked away from the bloodbath that had ended the war.
---------
The sun was rising by the time, you managed to find the group again. 
You, Daryl, and Negan found Carol first. The woman looked as if she had been through hell, but she lit up as soon as she saw her best friend. Daryl grabbed her first, hugging her close. It immediately reminded you of when they had reunited after Terminus. 
Looking around, you couldn’t find the person you had been worried about since you had dropped down the elevator shaft. “Lydia,” you said, “where is she?” Carol looked up from her moment with Daryl and approached you. 
“Rendezvous point,” Carol said. “She went looking for you. Both of you,” she said, sending a look to Negan. You didn’t hesitate to start running through the trees. Negan was right behind you as you jumped over old roots and fallen branches. Your only thoughts were on Lydia and if she was okay. Seeing the break in the trees ahead of you, you slid to a stop, your eyes scanning the area. 
Negan arrived right behind you, but then, he froze. He felt as if the world was suddenly pulled out from under his feet. Everything around him felt on fire as he beheld who was kneeling in front of Judith, speaking softly to her.
Maggie Rhee. 
You noticed his hesitation immediately. “What’s wrong? Do you not see her?” you asked, still looking around for Lydia. 
“(Y/N)…” Negan said slowly.
“What?” you asked and then he was nodding over to where he was looking. Turning, your eyes found Maggie who had finally noticed Negan. The woman was staring at him as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Negan swallowed thickly as Maggie stared him down.
There weren’t many people in the world that scared him as much as Maggie Rhee did and he was not looking forward to the words she would definitely be throwing at him. “Ignore her,” you said.
“(Y/N),” he said again. You grabbed him by his shoulders and turned him back to face you. He did, looking down at you with worry in his eyes. 
“Just for right now,” you said. “We need to find‒”
“Hey!” a familiar voice called out and you could have sunk to the ground at the amount of relief that flooded your system. 
“Oh, thank god,” you said as you turned to see Lydia running towards you. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked exhausted but she was alive and that was all that mattered. Lydia ran right to you, throwing her arms around you and Negan. You didn’t hesitate to follow suit, wrapping your arms around both of them. 
Your family. 
Negan squeezed both of you tight in his arms, finally letting his heart settle from all the adrenaline that was pulsing through him. “Is he dead?” Lydia asked as she was pressed between you two. 
“He’s dead,” you whispered. “I promise, we got him.” Lydia pressed herself tighter to you before she stepped back with a relieved expression on her face. You then grabbed her and checked her for injuries. Lydia was doing the same as she checked over you and Negan. When Lydia noticed the blossoming head wound on Negan’s forehead, she became worried.
“I’m fine, kiddo,” he assured her. “I’ll take a bruise over a body bag any day.” Lydia then looked from him to you and then back at him. 
“Does this mean you’re staying?” she asked, looking at him with hope in her eyes. 
“Nothing is going to make me leave you,” he said. “Either of you.” Lydia let out a breath as she moved in to hug him again, coiling her arms around his waist. He held her back and sent a wink to you over her shoulder. You moved and picked up his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles, not caring who was watching. 
You would deal with her later. 
“So, now what?” Lydia asked.
“Now, we start fresh,” you said, taking her hand in yours, Lydia leaned into Negan, her head resting on his chest. “And who knows, maybe we discover a little more about each other along the way.”
“I like the sound of that,” Negan said as he tugged you into his side. 
“Me too,” Lydia sighed. 
“Good cause I am not giving up on either of you,” you said, trying not to get emotional, but it was futile. Letting a tear fall, you smiled at them. “You’re my family,” you choked out. 
“Ain’t that the truth,” Negan said as he leaned down and pulled you in for a kiss. You kissed him back quickly, knowing there was a future ahead of you filled with more. “I love you,” he whispered. 
“I love you, too,” you said. “Until the end of our little universe.” Negan grinned at that as he pulled you and Lydia in closer, holding onto his found family. 
There was a lot more to come and you knew that. With Maggie’s reappearance, it was not going to be easy and there were always going to be more enemies and wars to fight. However, because you had the man you loved and a kid who was a hell of a fighter, you knew you were going to be okay no matter what the new world threw at you.
After years of feeling like an outsider, you finally felt whole and it was all because you took a chance and spoke to the big bad wolf. 
THE END.
TAGS: @not-too-tall-for-trick @lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541 @pulplorrd @felicisimor
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esmealux · 3 years
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The Devil Doesn’t Do Children
Part: 1 / ?
Setting: About a year after 5a
Word count: 3.3K
Rating: T
Warnings: Mention of death/murder (and, quite indirectly, foeticide)
Summary: Chloe is sick and Lucifer puts two and two together (with a little help from Dan).
Author’s note: This is my longest work so far. It was meant to be one long piece, but it ended up being 10.8K (!), so I’ve cut it into three parts. And just because I can’t help myself, there’s already a fourth on the way. Enjoy!
Usually, Lucifer wakes up bathed in golden dawn light and wrapped in the warmth of Chloe’s naked body. If it’s not her raucous snoring or the demanding screeches of her alarm that rouse him from his sleep, it is the press of her soft lips against his neck (or somewhere more south, if he’s particularly lucky, and he often is). But not today. Today he wakes up surrounded by darkness in her much too cold bed, and it’s neither her snores nor her kisses which break off his slumber. It’s the sound of Chewbacca being strangled in her bathroom. 
Or, he realises upon fully awakening, Chloe throwing up.
Alarmed and slightly annoyed that vomit of all things is interrupting his peaceful rest, he sits up in bed and stretches his taut body. Grabbing the nearest phone, he checks the time and groans when it says 05.26. Somewhere in his half-asleep mind, he recalls the Danish saying ‘Før Fanden får sko på’—now officially a synonym for 05.26, he thinks as he gets up and walks to the bathroom door barefoot.
‘Detective?’ he asks in a gruff voice, knocking quietly.
‘Don’t come in,’ she commands before heaving again.
He flinches. ‘Believe me, love, I wasn’t planning on it.’
It’s mostly said in jest, because if she asked him, he would be there by her side in a heartbeat. They’ve been through far too much together to care about the other’s less appetising sides. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time he sees her ejecting her stomach contents, having once picked her up from an extraordinarily wild Tribe night. At least he won’t have to stick his fingers down her throat this time.
Eventually, there’s an intermission long enough for her to flush, put down the seat and open the door for him. He enters with reluctance, inspecting her warily as she sits on top of the toilet lid, her head in her hands. When she looks up at him, he gasps. ‘Oh, darling, you look positively terrible’—he leans a bit forward, assessing her ashen face—‘Abominable, really.’ Behind the thick mask of nausea and exhaustion, he thinks he sees her glare.
‘Fancy a toothbrush?’ he offers, already walking past her to find one by the sink. A hint of gratitude glints in her matte eyes as he hands it to her along with a glass of water. He smiles at her and leans against the door frame, eventually looking down to appreciate his pedicure as she rinses her mouth. ‘Is pwobably sumthin I ate,’ she mumbles around foam and toothbrush. He cocks his eye and looks up at her, scoffing. ‘You think?’ When he’d locked himself into her flat late last night after hosting an event at Lux, he’d been greeted by the sight of her and her spawn sleeping on the couch, remains of junk food cluttering up the coffee table before them. The logo on the Styrofoam had made him shake his head in disappointment and disgust. He’d cleaned it up and carried the ladies to their beds, but not before ripping one specific menu card off their fridge and tearing it to pieces. ‘I mean, it’s one thing you order garbage for yourself, but must you punish your offspring in the process? I may detest children, but even I think that’s no way to treat a child. Especially Beatrice. You do realise the men’s room at Lux are cleaner than that place, right?’
In response to his question, she pulls the toothbrush out of her mouth, lifts the lid of the toilet and, once again, disgorges her dinner.
‘My point exactly,’ he replies, before crouching down next to her to hold back her hair.
*
‘Lucifer! Did you make breakfast?!’ The doe-eyed creature shrieks as it appears from its nest, the brown, ungroomed mane falling messily around its head.
‘Good morning to you too, urchin,’ he greets her, looking up from the pot he’s stirring in to give her a half-forced smile as she takes a seat by the counter. He feels a strange itch in his hands to pull out the bar stool for her and help her up (mostly because he can’t be bothered with her tedious jumping), but to his surprise, she climbs the stool with ease—or at least not ungracefully. It tugs at something in his chest the same way it does when he occasionally is compelled to spend time with his nephew, and the babe’s already crawling, or walking, or making sounds that somewhat resemble actual words. For unfathomable reasons, it makes him feel uneasy—but mostly pleased; the sooner they grow up, the sooner they’ll stop being such pains in the-
‘Oh my God, is that bacon? And eggs? And pancakes?!’
He sighs and looks up to chide her for her unjust invocation, but swallows it when he sees her hungry, gleeful eyes. ‘Yes, here. Have some actual food,’ he tells her, nudging the plate and some cutlery in her direction. And some wet wipes, because longer limbs or not, she’s still a sticky child.
‘It’s chocolate chip pancakes!’ she exclaims upon inspecting her breakfast further, as if he didn’t already know. ‘Thank you, Lucifer. You’re the best.’ She’s beaming brightly at him now, and he feels threatened, foreseeing that she, any second, will launch her small body at him and enclose his middle, ruining his Armani suit with her greasy fingers. But she doesn’t. She just sits there and stares at him, her eyes twinkling with an emotion that looks uncannily related to one he has only ever seen in her mother’s eyes.
‘Eh,’ he breathes, his throat tightening. He looks away from her unsettling smiley face and returns his attention to the pot on the stove. ‘Well, it was the least I could do after your supposed caregiver fed you literal poison last night.’
Suddenly reminded of the Detective and her progeny’s shared meal, he turns his head to search the adolescent’s face for any signs of sickness. But she doesn’t look remotely nauseous as she devours her feed like a starving hyena cub. He quirks an eyebrow. ‘I’m guessing from your lupine appetite that you haven’t been praying to the porcelain gods like your mother?’
Beatrice’s brows knit together, her fork pausing mid-air. She (fortunately) swallows her food before she speaks, all joy in her voice suddenly gone, ‘Mom’s sick?’
‘Well, yes, but I’m positive it’ll pass soon. She just needs to… get it out of her system,’ he quickly reassures her, offering her a soft smile. The discomforting concern in the big, brown eyes slowly disappears as absolute delight takes over.
‘Does that mean you’re taking me to school?’ She asks, her small corpus barely able to contain her joy. ‘In your car?!’
He scoffs, feeling attacked. ‘As if I’d ever voluntarily drive your mum’s mind-numbingly boring example of an automobile.’ She grins at that, making a comment about how his is ‘definitely a trazillion times cooler,’ and he smiles at her, smug and victorious. ‘Exactly, child! So, yes, naturally, I will be escorting you in the corvette. But now, march off and get yourself ready while I finish this…’ he pokes around the grey goo in the pot with the wooden spoon, trying not to grimace, ‘oatmeal, for your mother. According to our friend Alexa it’s good for nauseated humans, although I highly doubt it.’
The teenager simply shrugs at that, finishes her breakfast and retreats to her burrow to get dressed. Once the porridge is done, Lucifer pours it in a bowl, puts it on a tray along with a cool glass of coke (also Alexandra’s suggestion) and carries it up to the Detective’s bedroom. He opens the door slowly as to not wake her, but the stubbornest of women is sitting on the edge of the bed, using all strength left in her depleted body to pull on her skinny jeans. Putting down the tray on the nearest surface, he darts over to her with a ‘what in Dad’s name are you doing?!’ and tugs the trousers down her legs and off her. ‘We have to go to work, Lucifer,’ she objects rather weakly, not even trying to put her jeans back on. ‘I have to go to work,’ he corrects her, carefully laying her down once he’s freed both her feet. ‘You, Detective, need to stay here and rest until you can keep it all inside you.’ He senses she’s about to protest again, so he places a kiss on her forehead and assures her, ‘Trust me, dear, everything is taken care of.’ Even as nausea has tinted her face green, she manages to narrow her eyes at him in scepticism. ‘Just promise me you’ll behave,’ she eventually mutters as she gives up and nuzzles into the blankets.
He lightly strokes her shoulder with the back of his fingers and quietly walks out of the room, leaving her with a dramatic sigh and an ‘As you wish.’
*
Daniel is already at the crime scene when Lucifer arrives after depositing the urchin. He’d thought he’d have to go through an entire day of purgatory—or paperwork, as the Detective pronounces it—and it was only worsened by the fact that he wouldn’t have his partner by his side. If she had been there, he could at least have distracted them both with some suggestive looks here, some subtle touches there, and—when he’d worked her into a frenzy of desire—a coffee break or two in the parking garage. Instead, he’d have to endure the agonising tedium on his own, even as there were, at a minimum, three hell loops he’d rather spend his time in than do paperwork at the precinct all day. But then Miss Lopez had called and informed him they’d got a new case. He’d been absolutely delighted (as delighted as it is allowed when someone has dropped dead), but only until he’d made the mistake of telling her that the Detective was home sick, and she’d said that she would ‘call Espinoza ASAP’ and tell him to meet them at the scene. If he had just kept his mouth shut, he could have got the case all to himself, instead of having Detective Douche tag along.
Taking a deep breath, he checks his cuffs and takes his time approaching the douche in question. ‘Sorry I’m late. Your spawn spent quite some time choosing the right attire,’ Lucifer offers in greeting. Daniel looks him up and down with raised eyebrows, his eyes landing on the perfectly folded crimson pocket square. ‘For a normal school day? Wonder who inspired that kind of vanity in her.’
‘Well, it certainly wasn’t her father,’ Lucifer deadpans and nods towards Daniel’s hoodie/jacket/jeans-combination.
With a humourless laugh and a shake of his head, Dan stuffs his hands in his pockets and turns on his heels to walk up the stairs and into the residential building. After bringing out his flask and taking a long swig, Lucifer follows him.
When they enter the flat, Miss Lopez is leaning over the body with her camera. The sight is oddly welcoming. Comfortably familiar. She’d only come back a week ago after being away for a little over a month, on a much-deserved vacation in New Zealand, and Lucifer had missed her cheerful spirit and their crime scene banter terribly. The latter is, much to Lucifer’s annoyance, cut short today by Daniel ‘Buzz-Kill’ Espinoza’s ‘So, Ella, what can you tell us about the vic?’
It’s a rather uninteresting case; a woman, Laura Greene, 26, has been murdered in her home. Stabbed with a kitchen knife, first in the abdomen, then the chest. No signs of B&E, no signs of struggle. A swift and impulsive act—no doubt a crime of passion according to Ella. The most obvious culprit would be an angered partner, but the roommate, who found the body, tells them the victim wasn’t in a relationship and rarely went on dates or brought anyone home. On top of that, Roomie can’t think of anyone who would hurt dear Laura. And the neighbours are just as useless; one is a deaf elder lady, and the others were chasing the dragon at the time of death. The rest of the floor haven’t heard or noticed anything either. Consequently, they have absolutely nothing once they get to the precinct. Ella goes through evidence and Daniel through piles and piles of papers, leaving Lucifer to stand awkwardly in the corner of Ella’s lab, with no desires to unveil or miscreants to threaten.
As to not die of boredom, he zooms out and lets his mind wander. He’s in the middle of designing a strategy for how to make Chloe finally agree to try the deliciously sinful position he considers one of his favourites when Ella’s frustrated sigh interrupts his planning.
‘Something troubling you, Miss Lopez?’ he asks her, pulling out his flask.
She tells him she has nothing. No match on the fingerprints from the murder weapon, no useful surveillance tapes, no clues at the scene that can tell her the gender, age, or occupation of the murderer. Nada. Just the fact that it was done in a moment of heat.
Before Lucifer can answer, Dan walks in with a puzzled look on his ill-favoured face, his arms filled with highlighted printouts. ‘Could she’ve been pregnant?’
Ella tilts her head. ‘I mean, it’s not impossible, but based on what her roommate told us, I wouldn’t bet my money on it. You know, because our girl Laura had no boy toyz.’
Lucifer can’t hold back a snort. ‘Please, Miss Lopez, all it takes is a boy toy, singular, ten minutes in a bathroom stall and the absence of contraceptives.’
Dan looks at him with disgust and horror before shaking his head and returning his attention to Ella. ‘Well, no,’ he answers her, ignoring Lucifer’s comment entirely, ‘but then I thought about the other thing her roommate said, about Laura throwing up during the past weeks, and I thought-’
‘But Michelle said she thought it was an eating disorder, like Laura’d had before,’ Ella interrupts him, looking to Lucifer for support. He just purses his lips and looks back. Truth be told, when they’d been talking to the roommate, the mentioning of vomit had reminded him of his feeble Detective at home and he’d excused himself to send her a text. He therefore hadn’t heard whatever explanation the woman had offered (nor her arguments for why the victim’s sickness would be relevant to them). Fortunately, Dan answers.
‘Yeah, I know, I thought that too, but then I saw she paid a bill to an OB-GYN earlier this month, and it could just be a gynaecological check-up or something, but then I remembered how badly Chloe suffered from morning sickness when she was pregnant with Trixie, so I…’
Lucifer stops listening as Daniel’s words—one in particular—suddenly whirl around him, loud and ominous. His heart starts pounding faster and his throat goes dry. He instinctively grips the edge of the lab table.
‘Surely there could be other explanations,’ he manages to get out, interrupting his co-workers’ discussion. ‘Food poisoning, for instance.’
Dan and Ella look at him with equally sceptical looks. ‘Not for ten days straight,’ Ella argues.
‘But there is a myriad of reasons for a woman to throw up,’ he defends as he starts frantically googling. ‘Indigestion, stomach bug, chemotherapy, motion sickness… aha, migraine!’
When Lucifer looks up from his phone, Daniel is looking at him like he’s questioning his sanity. Miss Lopez seems concerned too, but more in an ‘dude, you okay?’-way than anything else.
Ella slowly takes her eyes off Lucifer’s face and eyes Dan shortly. ‘Well, we can’t know for sure before we get the final results from the autopsy, but from what Dan has found, she could quite possibly be pregnant.’
‘But,’ Lucifer objects, barely audibly, like someone has knocked the wind out of him, ‘she can’t be.’ He’s staring out into empty air, unwelcome images suddenly flooding his mind, as Daniel and Miss Lopez continue talking. He’s on the verge of what he thinks might be a panic attack when a voice, her voice, drags him out of his own head.
‘Hey guys,’ she greets them. She’s hoarse and looks a little tired, but the green tinge is gone.
‘Detective,’ is what he manages to say back. She looks at him with soft eyes and it’s enough for him to come back to his senses for a moment. Surprised by her presence, he begins to ask, ‘Are you done-’
He was going to say ‘puking your guts out’ but she widens her eyes at him and cuts him off, ‘Having a bad headache? Yes, thank you, Lucifer. I just needed some rest.’
‘Right,’ he mumbles, giving her one slow nod. She walks over to stand close beside him and brushes her fingers against the back of his hand, somehow sensing that he’s tense. 
‘Okay, what have we got?’ She looks to Dan and Ella and lets go of Lucifer’s hand. He instantly misses her touch.
They fill Chloe in, telling her about everything from the lack of leads to small, seemingly insignificant details. When she’s completely up to date, she has that look on her face, eyes slightly narrowed, like she has a (historically, clever) theory.
‘Well,’ she begins, still visibly thinking, ‘it does take two to tango.’ She side-eyes Lucifer, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. It’s clear she expects a remark or a praising grin in return, and he tries, but it comes out as a grimace and a strained ‘eh’. She gives him a funny look before continuing her theory, ‘What I mean is, boyfriend or not, there’s still a father out there. Maybe he found out and couldn’t handle the news? Maybe he was married to someone else? Or… he just didn’t want to be a dad?’
Lucifer feels his heartbeat speed up once again. An odd emotion he can’t quite name spreads in his chest. It feels like a disease.
‘Sure seems like motive, but how are we gonna find him?’ Dan asks. Not one second later, Miss Lopez’ ‘found him!’ sounds from where she’s leaning over her computer. ‘Tech just got access to her photos —kinda tricky since she had this super secure lock-’
‘Who is he, Ella?’ Chloe demands.
Ella clicks on the screen and turns the computer around so they can see. ‘The guy’s everywhere in her camera roll. I don’t know, he seems kinda familiar, but-’
‘That’s Max Steinfeld!’ Dan exclaims when he sees the photo. It’s taken in bed, post-orgasm Lucifer would say, judging from the blissful aura. Laura’s got a hand on the man’s chest who, indeed, is the chap who starred on that horrible teenage comedy show and today is trying to redeem himself by doing mediocre action movies and… settling down with Hollywood’s sweetheart. 
‘But he’s dating Simone Riley,’ Lucifer enlightens his colleagues upon his revelation. ‘They’re tying the knot this spring.’
Chloe shoots him a questioning look, and he tells her he got a mani-pedi the other day. She nods her head in understanding.
‘Well, if he’s engaged, he probably wasn’t ecstatic when Laura told him she was pregnant with his baby.’
As she asks Dan to get the actor’s current location all Lucifer can do is stand there and stare at her, as if he might find the answers to the thousands of questions in his head written on the side of her face. But he doesn’t. He only finds the familiar beauty mark, a perfectly pointed eyebrow, and the smooth, marble-like skin of the woman he loves. And it makes him yearn for those answers even more.
Part II  |  Part III  | Part IV (coming soon)
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moonsbasileia · 3 years
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Root and Bone
Also posted on AO3
Dishonored - Original Characters
Synopsis: Two witches from the Brigmore Coven venture into the Flooded District to look for their missing companion. They have a less than warm welcome from the Whalers occupying the place- despite that, the situation takes a turn, unfolding an unexpected, but positive, outcome.
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An exploration of the witches and whalers as individuals. Set in the six months between Jessamine's death and Corvo's escape. Written as practice.
The way them whale fish went for us
It seemed as though t'was planned
For each one had his target boat
They played us man for man
Just knowin' now they think so clear
My heart says let them be
I swear to God them fish can think
As good as you or me
“A Whaler’s Tale” – Ken Graydon
-
Night fell over the rooftops of the old Financial District, painting the sky in dark orange. With the addition of the smog, pouring out of the factory’s chimneys, the horizon mixed and coiled like a bubbling cauldron. It was impressive, Rowan thought, but suffocating.
She was leaning out of the balcony of one of the many abandoned apartments of the district. Shards of glass lay around her feet, clinking whenever she moved, and the walls had become rotten with humidity.
Despite it all, and the mess of papers, clothes and shattered glass around the room, it seemed like it had been a nice place once, though simple. It had a small single-bed room that had been stripped of everything except for the bedframe, a simple kitchen with a pantry, and a considerably sized living room, still furnished with a red couch, a centre table, and a cabinet resting near the window. Rowan speculated it had belonged to a single accountant, as she’d found a book of finances forgotten on the small wooden table.
“Our time is running out,” a scratchy voice behind her sighed. Rowan shot a look behind her shoulders and saw Beatrice walk out, her face pinched, and holding a bottle in her hand. Despite her young age, her features were hard with unease.
“Is that…?” Rowan pointed at the dark green bottle. It worked; Beatrice’s face softened for a second, and she cocked an eyebrow and cut in:
“Yes, sister, Serkonan wine,” she held the bottle up so Rowan could read the label. Rivera Fig Wine, 1750. “We should drink it after we find our lost sister.”
Rowan hummed in agreement, looking back out to the water below. The stench of stagnated water wafted up, forcing her to avert her face in the direction of the breeze. The balcony next door had been blocked by planks, but the rooftops were low enough that she could see a building with an open terrace entrance.
“I will look over there. She mustn’t have gone too far,” Rowan warned.
“We shouldn’t split up, sister,” Beatrice said. Her green eyes reflected the light of the whale oil lamp that flickered inside the apartment, like a cat. “Who knows what lurks in the shadows of this horrible place.”
Rowan squeezed her shoulder, with her lips curling into a grin. “Nothing as terrible as us,” she assured.
Beatrice smiled, nodding, although she brought up her hand to hold Rowan’s wrist.
“I will check the apartment in the back, then,” she said, “But we shouldn’t take too long.”
Rowan nodded. “If we don’t find anything in twenty minutes, we regroup here.”
“Agreed. Until then, sister.”
The last thing she saw was Bea’s lingering smile while, with a crack, she vanished in a curtain of shadows, leaving behind a small pile of ashes. Rowan looked towards the terrace to the right and felt her body do the same; the rush in her ears of dark energy around her, and weightlessness from plunging into an empty space. A muted crack- and then suddenly spilling out like fish out of a net, into the dusty ground of the terrace.
It was not the first time she’d done that, and wouldn’t be the last. Yet, there was little she loved more than the feeling of surrendering her body to the Void, if for a moment.
Rowan crouched, eyeing her surroundings before going towards the door. Its wood was putrid and soft, and peeling off the bottom. It was ajar. She pushed it open slowly, and it still groaned. Rowan kept still for a moment, listening for any signs of movement inside. Nothing came. She went in.
The corridor was dark, as the only source of light was coming from the moonlight through the door she’d kept open. At the turn towards the stairs, she kept her body close to the wall, leaning sideways to squint at the dark. She saw nothing, but inhaled deeply before unsticking herself from her place to keep going.
There were two doors in this corridor, both blocked by planks. She stopped briefly by them, reaching out with her perception to try to feel Alice’s presence, but to no avail.
Down the stairs, the next floor was equally empty. Rowan crept towards the end of the corridor, where it turned into the next stairwell. The stairs were blocked by debris carried by the water, which she could hear lapping against the other side. However, there was a door, unblocked, directly in front of the stairs. She reached out. Nothing.
Still, Rowan touched the knob, and with a gentle twist of her wrist, tested it. It clicked open. She held her breath, surprised by the noise. When nothing seemed to respond, she pushed it further, and went in.
This apartment opened directly to a narrow corridor that opened to a larger room. Light poured out from it. Rowan followed. There was a doorframe to her left, leading to a bathroom.
She walked further, and the next doorframe belonged to a former bedroom. She searched it briefly. All that was left was the bedframe, a shelf with a few leather-covered books, a safe –that was open and empty- and a cabinet, with a cup still atop it.
Rowan went straight to the bigger room, this time. The light came in from an open window, busted and crooked on the frame. She widened her eyes. Bloodstains clashed with the window’s faded white wash. Rowan touched the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist.
She followed the trail of blood with her eyes. Like the other apartments, this one was scattered with dust, papers and glass shards. However, there were footprints in the dust, although they formed a chaotic pattern, like an abstract painting of dirt and blood. Two roses had been trampled over in the fight, stained and pressed onto the dusty ground. One trail of footprints went out through the window. That was certain.
Rowan walked in slowly. The silence was overwhelming in comparison to the loud beating of her heart, which she felt in her ears. She braced. And she found Alice, lying crookedly near the wall, in a puddle of her own blood.
She knelt next to Alice, cupping her face with her hands and turning it gently. There was a deep tear in her neck, almost all the way through, but not quite. She gasped, and let go quickly. It made her head hang in a strange way, which sent shivers up Rowan’s back.
An arrow had lodged itself right through her sternum. Her eyes, which had become white when she received her magic, had now faded into her natural brown and glazed over. Her jaw was lax, already open. Rowan imagined she might have screamed.
“You gave them a fight,” she said, and barely recognized the cracked voice that came out. She breathed, and said, “You showed them who you are and sent them home bleeding to lick their wounds. You are one with the Void now, sister.”
She didn’t want to leave Alice there to be eaten by rats and flies. But she couldn’t carry her. Her body was stiff and Rowan could barely hold her up, let alone transport her back. So she gently laid her out in the middle of the room with her arms resting on her stomach, and went into the bedroom. She opened the cabinet, and grabbed a few sheets, despite the strong smell of dust and mildew. She covered Alice with the least yellowed one, and took the shards of decorated porcelain bowls and plates from the kitchen to surround her.
She whispered a prayer to the Void, fighting against the nausea that threatened to rise past her throat.
When she was done, Rowan followed the footprints into the window. There was a smudged dirt stain in the lower frame, and nothing else. Either the killer had dropped down into the water or used magic. The prospect made her grimace.
She looked up at the setting sun and startled. Beatrice. More than half an hour had passed, and she had forgotten completely to come back to their meetup point. She summoned the shadows to involve her once more.
With a crack, she was back in the rooftop of the apartment. She walked to the edge, where she could see the balcony downwards. She only needed to drop.
A second, muted snap sounded somewhere behind her.
She turned back. Her fingers twitched towards the hilt of her sword.
Under the full moon’s light, however, the rooftops were well lit, and after scanning them Rowan didn’t see anybody or anything.
“Rowan?”
She barely stifled the jump at the sudden voice. It was Bea, on the balcony, calling up to her. She’d heard it as well, Rowan was certain.
“I’m here,” she said, shooting the rooftops a last glare before bracing with her arm on the edge of the tiles and dropping down onto the balcony. “We need to leave.”
Beatrice nodded, catching onto her unease. “I agree, sister. But- Did you find anything?”
Rowan felt her stomach drop. Beatrice still held onto the wine bottle, and fiddled with the corkscrew’s lid. She held Beatrice’s arms gently, guided her into the apartment, and said, “I did. I’m sorry.”
Bea’s eyes welled up, glinting in the moonlight, but she compressed his lips, as if she was afraid that if she started talking she would break down. She nodded, but the tears escaped, running down her cheeks.
Rowan put her arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Bea rested her head in her shoulder. She let the other stay for a while, pretending she didn’t hear the sniffing and hiccups. When her breath stilled slightly, she pulled away gently.
“We have to go. Take that wine with you, so we drink it in her memory.”
Beatrice wiped her face and nodded. She turned to pick up the bottle in the centre table, where she had left it before they went scouting.
She heard a dry crack behind her.
Rowan spun, her hand already closing around the grip of her sword. A person was perched on the balcony’s rail. Their face was hidden by a mask. Two red-tinted glass panels and a filter cartridge canister over the mouth. They dropped down, and with a blur of movement, something shot out of their wrist. Rowan flinched, expecting it to hit her- a dart, or a crossbow arrow?
Instead, Beatrice let out a thin noise behind her. She looked at her, wide-eyed, swayed, and dropped down.
The person approached Rowan, unsheathing their sword.
Rowan channelled the Void’s energy to her chest, and as she thought of Alice’s broken body, of Beatrice, behind her, she released it all into her shriek. The whaler stumbled back, losing his footing. He quickly balanced himself again, but that was enough to allow Rowan to unsheathe her own blade and slash it at his throat.
He caught it with his own. The metal grinded against each other, until Rowan was pushed back roughly. She stumbled. He slashed at her, but she caught it haphazardly. The assassin didn’t hesitate, and slashed again. This time, it cut a line under her collarbone.
Rowan growled, sneering at him. When he pulled the sword back to pierce through her, the only thing it caught was the smoke and ashes she left behind.
She appeared behind them, with a crack. It alerted the whaler, and he twisted back with the sword ready- until she hurled a vase at their chest.
It shattered, pushing him backwards. This time he did fall over, and Rowan was over in a second, her sword swinging in an arc towards his torso.
The whaler raised his left arm, turning his forearm outward. It didn’t register to Rowan until her sword caught on something, producing a crush. She looked down. It was a gauntlet, a tiny crossbow, notched to the leather vambrace around their wrist.
She tried to back out, but the assassin moved quickly, holding onto the lapel of her coat and hooking his leg around hers. Rowan fell, with the whaler over her, pinning her down. But his sword had been lost somewhere; hers was still on her hand. She tried to slip to the side, gain room to swing the sword again, but the whaler noticed. He trapped her arm between his own torso and left arm.
She struggled against the hold, but there was no give. Panicked, Rowan hit her palm against the mask, shattering the red glass visor and forcing his head back. She felt the meat of her hand split, caught in the metal sockets of the mask, and the warm blood seeping out.
Suddenly, the whaler disappeared, leaving behind a brief image of themselves that shattered onto nothing. Rowan didn’t wait; she disappeared as well, and when the person reappeared near the centre table, picking up their sword, she was already up on the cabinet.
Rowan threw herself at him.
The whaler had heard her, and spun around to deflect her sword, but Rowan’s was angled differently. She felt it pierce through his shoulder, not passing through, but breaking the skin. A sudden, red-hot line of pain traced her ribs, but she used her magic to pull him further into the sword. He kept pushing, trying to get her to release her hold. For a moment, they were stuck in this stalemate.
He broke first, letting go of his sword to close his gloved hands around the tip of hers. Rowan sighed out a small laugh. She pinned him on the wall. Though the whaler were much larger than she was, the sword lodged in his shoulder impeded his from reacting too fast. He tried to move, to throw Rowan off him, but she twisted the sword ever so slightly. Blood gushed out, soaking into the dark uniform.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said, between her teeth. Her knuckles turned white as bone holding the sword’s grip.
“Be done with it, witch.” Despite the metallic rumble the mask gave it, his voice came with a strong accent. Instead of aggressive like she’d expected, the whaler sounded strangely composed. Rowan gritted her teeth.
“Tell me,” she said, “The witch with dark shaved hair, green-skinned. Did you kill her?”
He said nothing. Rowan plunged her knife further into his skin, and he groaned, squirming. “Did you?”
“No,” he said, and hung his head. He looked strangely ashamed when he said, “Not me.”
“Why are you whalers here?”
He hesitated, then said, “…Not for any of you.”
Rowan frowned at the cryptic answer. The man slowly brought his hand up to touch his chest and catch some of the blood that was running out, pooling in his glove.
“Why are you witches here?” he asked.
“I’m asking the questions,” she cut in. “How many of you are there?”
“Many.”
“Not all of you are looking around,” she said. “How many are in patrol?”
“Seven.” His voice was breathy now, tired.
“Where?” Her hand moved slightly, tired of holding up the sword. The man winced, sucking in air through his teeth. She heard the noise through the metallic filter.
“Near the rail tracks,” he said. That was south. They had entered through the buildings near the southwest, and if she kept close enough to the old Hound Pits quarter, maybe she would be able to avoid them entirely. It was her only shot.
She pulled her sword off, but kept it pointed at the same spot. The whaler staggered, propping himself up on the wall. He covered the wound with his hands.
“She’s not dead,” he said.
“What?”
“Your friend,” he indicated with a nod, “It was a sleep dart.”
Rowan didn’t turn to inspect Beatrice and see if he spoke the truth, but she mulled the idea over in her head. He was a whaler, an assassin by profession. He could be buying time. Yet he claimed to have spared a trespassing witch.
“Why would you let her live?” she said, looking at the inscrutable mask’s eyes. She had broken one of the visors, but the inside of the sockets were darkened. He said nothing, but his shoulders were tense.
After a while, he tilted his chin up, and said, “I don’t know.”
His eye showed through the broken visor. It was barely open between his swollen eyelids, red and slick with blood like a weeper’s tears. A piece of glass had lodged itself on the outer corner of his eye socket. He would probably lose that one, if he lived.
Rowan lifted her arm and quickly brought down the pommel of her sword to the side of his head with a crack. The whaler slumped to the floor.
She scrutinized him, still holding onto the sword. When he gave no signs of standing up or moving she sheathed it and ran towards Beatrice.
A small, syringe-like bolt was stuck on her neck. The whaler had called is a “sleep dart”. A quarter of a bright green liquid still sloshed in the syringe when Rowan picked it out carefully, and turned Beatrice over carefully. Alice’s opaque eyes. The wilting flowers on her collarbones. Rowan’s heartbeat echoed on her ribs, hammered on her throat, as she brushed her fingers against Bea’s neck and the budding saplings that grew there. She just started. She’d just started.
Beatrice’s eyes fluttered, and flew open. Rowan’s breath hitched, but as her sister looked over, searching for her, she quickly wiped the tears that had begun to overflow the corner of her eyes.
“Are you alright?” Rowan asked. She offered her hand for Beatrice to hold onto as she propped herself up.
“Yes… I think so,” she said, rubbing her hand on her temple, which had hit the ground as she fell. She looked at the body of the whaler across the room. “Good riddance.”
Rowan kept silent as she helped Beatrice to her feet. The girl stumbled slightly, but held onto her shoulder, taking a moment to regain her balance.
“We need to leave through the Hound Pit’s surroundings,” she explained, “Are you well enough to walk? Can you see properly?”
“Yes, Rowan”.
“Then, be a dear and look out to see if there’s anyone watching. Stay crouched, and don’t leave the balcony.”
Bea nodded, and went out onto the balcony with steady steps, although she still blinked slowly.
Rowan sighed. She dug into the small leather pouch strapped to her belt, pulling out a bit of moss. It was from the deep of the Wrenhaven, and was mixed with enchanted witch hazel oil, giving it a strong herbal smell.
Her heart still beat fast. Everything she’d learned told her it could still be a trick. That liquid might have been poison. Maybe the Whalers had used their magic to concoct a potion that would reveal their lair to them, and they would be made the foolish hares, walking back to their burrow and giving the hunters a better quarry.
She walked over to where the whaler laid, and pressed the moss into his wound, moving his hand to cover it. The blood had seeped out, blooming dark on the front of his uniform.
He had sounded tired, when he’d spoken. That was what convinced her he was being sincere. I don’t know, he’d said, but with a look that carried more than that. He didn’t sound tentative at all. Or maybe, she thought, it was relief that was filling in these logical holes, making up these cues for her.
When it was done, she sighed, frowning. She felt like a fool. The whaler was slumped with his head at an angle, seemingly done for, but his chest lifted and fell rhythmically. Rowan scoffed and turned back, ready to join Bea at the balcony.
“All clear?” she said, walking out with the same half-crouched posture as the other witch.
“All clear.”
“Let’s go home, Bea.”
The two vanished, and reappeared in the rooftops opposite to the apartment.
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Text
Royalty
Fandom: The Irregulars
Pairing: Billy x female!OC, Leopold x Bea, unrequited Leopold x female!OC
WC: 17k (You can also find it on ao3 here)
Summary: Mary-Belle has always been like family to Leopold. The only one who stuck by his side and rather stayed inside with him than to go outside. That was, until he decided to leave the palace for an adventure and found new friends there, a new family. But, of course, Mary-Belle was still worrying about her friend, the one she had been in love with for years. She watched as he fell in love with Beatrice and still tried to keep him out of trouble, getting pulled into it herself by doing so. With the end of the world near she tries her best.
A/N: This has taken me so long to write and it's the longest one-shot I've ever written. I put a lot of work into this and I hope you guys like it as it is my little baby xD I also posted this on ao3 and linked it above since reading longer stuff on tumblr can be a pain. So, Enjoy!
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Whenever she moved through the castle, Mary-Belle carried herself with grace. Her back straight, her head held high, so as to proclaim her status without uttering a single word. Nobody stopped her on her way to Prince Leopold’s room. Somebody knocked on the door for her when she came to a stop in front of it. It was opened right away for her to enter. She gave the servant a small nod in thanks. They knew not to enter after her, so as soon as she was in the room the door was closed behind her.
“You’re back,” she spoke the obvious. Leopold was standing in front of the mirror that looked just as expensive as anything else in the room. He met her gaze through the reflection. She had moved to the middle of the room, hands on her hips and eyes glued to him. He let out a sigh and gave up on arranging his clothes before turning around, feeling the whole weight of her disapproving stare. “You can’t keep disappearing on me. I don’t care if you run away from your family, but not me. You tell me where you go. I worry too, you know. We don’t keep secrets from each other.” She had stepped closer, her hands on his coat, adjusting it to sit right with harsh movements.
“I know, Mary. I’m sorry.” Her touches got softer adjusting his collar before she took a step back when he looked presentable. “But you don’t have to worry. They probably hate me for leaving again and there’s no way I can go back with the soiree taking place tonight.”
She went to sit on the sofa by the foot of his bed, patting the spot next to her, so that he would sit down as well. “Tell me what happened since the last time we saw each other.” So, he sat next to her and told her about the woman who had stolen people’s teeth and tried to assassinate the duke of Winchester and about the mansion they were trapped in and the tarot cards. “If you were anyone else, I would not believe these stories at all,” she laughed softly. Stories about magic certainly were quite unbelievable. On the other hand, the danger Leopold seemed to be putting himself in was very real and believable. “Is there anything else?” She knew that there was. Having known him since childhood she had learned how to read him like an open book. All his mannerism and quirks, she knew about.
“I kissed Bea.” She ignored the way her way heart seemed to constrict at the statement. The way he smiled and the gleam in his eyes let her know everything she needed. The girl, who she had hoped would just be of short interest to him, had made its way into his heart and taken it over. There was no way now for her to find her place there. So instead, she smiled and placed her hand on his arm reassuringly. “But right after, I left. I heard the bells and was about to be late for the weekly breakfast with my mother. I did miss it actually and now Daimler is onto me. He’s the one who talked to my mother, so that I would be allowed to go to Louise’ birthday soiree. All that so he can keep an eye on me.”
“You are helpless, Leo,” announced Mary-Belle. “You cannot kiss a girl and then just leave. Imagine how she must feel.” His gaze moved to the floor. His thoughts had been about how he would make it back in time and not how Bea would be feeling in this moment. He wanted to hit his head for his ignorance. “But there is nothing you can do about it now. Let’s just enjoy the soiree. You might actually like it.” She stood and walked towards the door, not waiting for Leopold. He would need another moment to gather his thoughts before he would attend, so she made her way down to the room by herself where everyone already appeared to be having a good time. There were couples dancing and people talking. A lively atmosphere filled the room. A servant offered her a glass. She lifted it off the tray, her gloved fingers gently holding on to it. The sweetly bitter taste filled her mouth when she took a sip. It took some getting used to before she actually enjoyed the drink.
Rather quickly she was able to find Louise between all these people and made her way over to the girl to wish her a happy birthday and talk to her. “Have you seen Leopold’s entrance? He is already rather popular,” noticed Louise, gesturing towards the dance floor where Leopold held a blonde girl close while they swayed to the music. Mary-Belle hadn’t even realized he was present. “Although he does appear to be a rather inept dancer. I thought the two of you had practiced.”
“Ever since we were little, yes,” confirmed Mary-Belle, “his thoughts are elsewhere tonight which seems to be translating into his dancing. He is quite competent at other times.” The two girls watched as Leopold once again stepped on his dancing partner’s feet, but fortunately the song came to a close and they moved off the dance floor. He apparently didn’t lose his appeal to the girl either since she led him over to a group of people and introduced him. “He seems to be doing well enough for himself,” she pointed out.
Louise agreed before her attention was taken up by another person. “Oh, I almost forgot, there was someone I wanted to introduce you to.” She grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her along past the group Leopold was sitting with, coming to a stop in front of two men. They were quite handsome but didn’t seem to have much to offer other than that. They appeared to have grown up with the idea that having good looks made a personality unnecessary. She entertained them for a little while for Louise’ sake before she wandered off on her own.
She noticed Leopold leaving the room with the girl he had been dancing with. She considered following them but decided against it and let herself get distracted by her surroundings. Louise got ahold of her again, pulling her to another couple of girls whose behavior was already influenced by the alcohol. They were laughing loudly, holding each other up while they filled Louise and Mary-Belle in about Eleanor Margot, the girl Leopold had been spending his evening with. Like how she only cared for herself. A trait she shared with many people present tonight. It came with the upbringing.
But when Eleanor Margot returned, Leo wasn’t by her side anymore. An uneasy feeling filled Mary, so she excused herself and approached Eleanor. “Where is Leopold?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I left him upstairs somewhere.” She waved her hand dismissively, rolled her eyes and turned away from Mary-Belle who was equally as irritated by the short exchange. Making her way upstairs to look for Leopold she passed some people who had separated themselves from the happenings of the soiree and a passed-out girl. She checked one room that was being occupied by a couple that didn’t even realize someone had entered. She quickly left.
The next room was barely illuminated. She entered cautiously but there were no noises coming from the direction of the bed this time. But, through the thin curtains hung in front of the windows she could make out two figures out on the balcony. Curiosity took over. When she came to a halt in front of the window, she moved the curtain slightly, just enough to look through the opening, but hopefully not enough to be noticed. On the balcony, Leopold and Daimler were in the middle of what looked like a very intense conversation with Leo standing on the other side of the railing.
Before she fully realized what was happening Leo had jumped. A shocked gasp escaped her. She moved away from the window, the curtain slipping from her hand. Her shaking hands came up to cover her mouth. What had he done? She hurried to the door to the balcony. Daimler was already gone and when she looked down, Leopold was nowhere to be seen either. She hoped he was alright, that he hadn’t hurt himself and was on the way to his friends. She would have to go look for him herself to make sure of it, but for now she would return home. Too many thoughts filled her head, worries about Leo’s wellbeing.
She made straight for the doors, taking one of the awaiting carriages and drove home. As she looked out onto the streets of London her thoughts were on Leo who had to be out there somewhere. Once again, he had left her without a word. It had been just by coincidence she had seen it happen. She didn’t want to think that she would never be as important to him as Beatrice and his new friends were even though they had known each other almost all their lives and he had just met them. It hurt too much, so she pushed that thought away. She wouldn’t think that way. She would find Leo and he would have a reasonable explanation for it all. Or at least she hoped he did.
Her plans to look for Leopold had to be moved to the day after because after waking up the next morning her mother announced that Mary-Belle had to accompany her. It was a rather annoying thought to be stuck by her mother’s side all day when she could be out. She’d rather use the day to find Leopold than to attend boring meetings with other ladies who would just end up talking about themselves, their husbands or their children. But she complied. They went to a tea house first. If she weren’t as worried, she might have actually enjoyed it. The place was quaint with only a few tables for guests to sit down, the food looked delicious and the tea smelled even more so. The woman who served them the tea always had a friendly smile on her round face that put Mary-Belle at ease. She was quite certain that that woman would provide better company than her current one. But she couldn’t leave. It would put a bad reputation on her family. How ironic life could be. That she had more sense for keeping up her family name than Leopold did. And he was the Prince of England! If she were more like him, she’d just stand up, walk out and search the streets until she found her friend.
She stayed. She stayed and listened to the conversations that were always the same with a small smile on her face that was as fake as the friendship between her mother and the other women present. When appropriate she chuckled. When it was expected of her, she told an anecdote that didn’t happen the way she said but that didn’t matter. Not to these people. Not to her. She could come up with anything as long as it was a story that fit the picture her family painted of themselves in public and what was demanded of her.
The sun was already setting when they returned home. Going out now would be a lost cause. She wouldn’t find anything, even if she didn’t get lost. It had to wait until tomorrow. Maybe she could study a map. Her father had to have some of them. She would ask at the dinner table. Most of the time she got what she wanted, so she was hopeful. It might make it easier to find Leo. And, like she had expected, her father let her into his study after dinner, rolling out a map on the desk. He asked her what she needed it for, but she waved him off with the explanation that she was just curious about London’s infrastructure which – even in her ears – sounded like a weak excuse, but her father believed her. He left her alone with the words that she can stay there as long as she wanted. She just had to be careful and put everything away when she was done.
When the door closed, she allowed herself to relax a bit more. She wasn’t exactly sure how the map would help her now, but she had hope. Leopold did mention some stuff when he told her about his new friends, so she just had to look for some of those markers. It couldn’t be that hard to do. She could find the cellar somehow, she was certain.
The Duck and Quiver. That’s what she needed to look out for. It had to be around here somewhere. She had followed the roads the map had told her to take and she was sure she was in the right place. She had to be. She took a turn to get off Baker Street. It was already a lot different from the environment she was used to, but it was oddly nice. The way the people interacted here out in the streets felt a lot more genuine than she’d ever experienced with people of the royal court. A man was shouting at another, shoving him before they both broke into laughter. Two women sat off to the side watching some kids kick an old can around in the middle of the street as they talked with each other with genuine smiles on their faces.
She took another turn and, in the distance, saw the sign she was looking for; the Duck and Quiver, it read. A relieved sigh left her. She had been looking all morning and finally found it. She made her way over and even before she got there, she saw Leopold. He was up on his feet, so he wasn’t hurt too badly, she concluded. He actually looked happy standing there with the crowds of people passing him.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him further to the side before he knew what was happening. But, when he saw her there, he smiled at her. “You found me!” he announced happily.
“I did! But I only went searching because I saw you jumping off the frigging balcony! Do you know how dangerous that is!” She shoved his shoulder. “I was so worried! I mean, you jumped off a bloody balcony, for fuck’s sake! I thought you wouldn’t put yourself in danger like that. We had just talked about it and then you go and do that. I can’t believe you!” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Leopold tried the same by putting his hand on her arm but she shook it off. “Are you hurt?” she asked. For the first time she completely took in his appearance. His clothes were clean and the patches of skin she could see seemed unharmed.
“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry,” said Leopold.
“Well, I do worry because you’re my friend,” she explained, hitting him in the side this time. He hissed at the contact. His face scrunched up trying to fight the pain. “You have got to be kidding me! Leopold! You are not fine. How bad is it?”
“It’s fine, really.” She wanted to protest and look at the wound but Leopold didn’t let her speak or pull up his shirt to reveal his side. “I was hurt a little. There was no going around it, you know that. But I have been lying in bed since then to heal and it’s gotten a lot better. I can move, no problem.”
“That didn’t look like it was fine though,” she argued motioning towards his side.
“Well, yes, but you hit me! It’s fine if there is no one purposefully hitting me there. See,” He stood straight, opening his arms and jumping a little, “completely fine again.”
“Fine.” She gave in. There was no way she could convince Leo to rest anymore now. She has had to deal with his injuries before. He never stayed in bed for long. She looked around the place again, watching the people walking by, wondering if any of them were his new friends. “So, they forgave you?” She didn’t need to say which ‘they’ she was referring to for him to understand.
“They did.” He nodded. He noticed the distaste in her face, correctly assuming that it wasn’t aimed towards the people around, the place itself or his new friends. She was still mad at him for leaving. “Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to leave like that. It was just all getting too much. That life,” He gestured towards the general direction of the castle, “it’s not what I want. I can’t keep living like that, if it means living a life of unhappiness. I wasn’t meant for that kind of life. All my life I was being locked away in the palace. It’s not what I want anymore. It wasn’t ever what I wanted, but I didn’t have a choice. I was born into that life, but now I found a way out. I found another life for myself with friends who like me for who I am and don’t just try to get close to me because of my family.”
“So, you think I’m not a real friend, that I don’t care about you and just want to spend time with you because – what, because you are the prince?” Leopold reached for her hand but was once again shaken off as she took a step back, tears collecting in her eyes out of both anger and sadness. “I was always there for you. Always. And not because of your status or your family but because of you, Leo.”
He tried again to reach out and pulled her back towards him before she could run off. “That is not what I mean. You are my friend, Mary. You are one of the few people in that place I actually care about and leaving you behind wasn’t easy. I never thought you were just there because of my status. Hell, you wouldn’t be here now if you didn’t care about me. You mean a lot to me, Mary, and me leaving that life has nothing to do with you.” He wiped the stray tear that had escaped off her cheek, his voice soft. “I told you everything about how I felt in that place, how trapped I felt. I often thought, you might even know me better than I do myself, but you can’t say stuff like that. It’s simply not true.”
“I know,” she admitted in a small voice. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry. And I’m happy you got out, really, and that you made things right with your friends. I’ll be here for you no matter what. You can always count on me.” She looked up at him. They both calmed down and stepped a little farther apart. The close proximity felt too intimate all of a sudden.
“Well, uhm, do you, maybe, want to meet them?” He asked, unsure of what else to say, but she shook her head no.
“No, thanks. I… should probably go home before my parents notice and everyone thinks we ran away together.” She laughed, even if she didn’t quite feel like laughing having to leave Leopold again shortly after finding him, but it was true. She had to get back. “But I will come back tomorrow, if that’s alright.” At least now she knew where to find him.
“Yes, of course!” He nodded excitedly. But then his attention was caught by something behind Mary-Belle. She turned to follow his line of sight. There stood a girl with a round face that was framed by her long dark hair. She was beautiful. By the way Leopold looked at her, that had to Beatrice. Bea, for short. Mary-Belle wouldn’t call her Bea. She didn’t know a lot about her. Leo had told her that all of them were orphans. Beatrice had a sister, but Mary-Belle had forgotten her name. And of course, Beatrice was the one Leo was in love with. She was looking right back at the pair, confusion clear on her face. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” said Mary-Belle and went in the direction of the Baker Street to find her way back from there.
“Mary-Belle!” Leopold called after her before she had gotten far. “And don’t tell anyone where I am!”
“Of course not,” she reassured him. “Just… be safe.” He promised her to be, but given what they had already experienced, he would probably not be able to keep that promise. He would try though. Or at least not tell her if he weren’t. They exchanged a last smile before they each turned towards where their life was taking place.
All the while they had been watched by Billy and Spike who had been sitting in the perfect position to see when Mary-Belle had pulled Leo to the side, catching Spike’s attention. “Hey, who’s that girl with Leo?” he asked his friend pointing towards the two of them who seemed to be arguing. Spike flinched when Leo was hit in the side, imagining the pain that must have caused him.
“I don’t know,” said Billy, taking in the situation with suspicion. “Looks like another rich girl who wouldn’t look our way twice. Just another one thinking they’re so much better than us. Just look at her.” The distaste on her face supported his argument. “Maybe he used to have something going on with her.” He shrugged. The situation interested him. Her presence alone and the way the both of them seemed to be close spoke against everything Leo had told them. When Leo cradled her face, Billy was convinced that what he had said was the truth. The way that girl looked at Leo held a lot of emotions.
“But what about Bea?” asked Spike. “I thought Leo liked her?”
“Maybe Leopold is a wanker, like I’ve been telling you guys. He doesn’t deserve Bea. Especially not like that.” He looked on, like Spike did, until they went their separate ways. “I’ll be right back,” he let Spike know before walking after her.
When Mary-Belle stepped out onto Baker Street the scenery changed immediately. Men were walking by in expensive suits and the road wasn’t as dirty. She let out a yelp when she was pulled back. A blond boy was towering over her intimidatingly, staring her down. With every step he took, she moved back, away from Baker Street and the people who might intervene in this situation. “Who are you and how do you know Leo?” he basically barked at her. Mary-Belle felt more at ease at his statement, not backing away anymore. Her searching eyes stopped to look at his face. This guy knew Leo. Not a lot of people did, so he had to be one of his friends. She hoped he was. Her change in composure didn’t go unnoticed by him which aggravated him even more. His chest heaving heavily, his fists clenched by his sides.
“I’m Mary-Belle, Leopold’s… acquaintance,” she said studying the face in front of her. His blue eyes stared right back at her. His dark-blond locks were cut short. She crossed her arms over her chest. “And you are?”
He ignored her question. “That back there didn’t look it was between acquaintances,” he argued. Mary-Belle’s eyes left his face shortly to look back to the direction she’s had her conversation with Leopold.
“I fear, that’s not any of your business. Why should I tell you anything anyway? You won’t even tell me your name.” She smirked. His face turned red, his muscles flexing. He looked a lot more intimidating like this. Maybe that was a mistake, maybe she shouldn’t have provoked him.
“What are you doing, Billy?” called Leopold’s voice. Mary-Belle let out a sigh of relief when ‘Billy’ backed away from her. She looked to where his voice came from. He was making his way over quickly, followed by Beatrice and two others. A pale girl with long dark hair that was pulled back into a braid, who she assumed must be Beatrice’ sister, and a boy with brown skin who focused on getting between Billy and Mary-Belle and talking the former down.
All eyes were on Leo and Mary-Belle when he came up to her, asking if she was alright and if Billy had hurt her. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just surprised. Not hurt or anything.”
“Who is that, Leo?”, asked Beatrice, her arms folded in front of her chest and an eyebrow raised. The other three were standing behind her as if to back her up, metaphorically and literally. Billy had seemed to calm down, but his eyes never left Mary-Belle even when Beatrice addressed Leo.
“I’m Mary-Belle.” She answered in his stead. “And I can speak for myself, thank you.” She smiled sweetly at them. “I’m a childhood friend of Leo’s.” This answer had to satisfy her because she couldn’t think of much else that wouldn’t reveal Leo’s identity this quickly but she was already thinking about a believable story. She’d stick to the truth as far as she could. It would make it easier.
“And what are you doing here, Mary-Belle?”
“Well, Beatrice,” if it affected Beatrice in any way that Mary-Belle knew her name, she didn’t show it, “I knew that Leo had run away from his home situation, so I was worried. But now that I know where he is and that he’s fine, I’ll be leaving. Which, by the way, had been my plan all along, hadn’t your friend here stopped me.” She eyed Billy up and down once more who was still looking back at her. “Well, it was nice to meet you, but I’m gonna take my leave now.” Instead of going around the group to get to the street she moved straight forwards. Beatrice moved out of her way, but Billy remained where he was. She ignored it, shoving him lightly with her shoulder as she moved past him. This time they let her go, but the questioning wasn’t over. Now they focused on Leo.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” said Jessie. Her tone was not accusing in any way, just curious, different from all the looks he got from the others.
“I did say that. I lied,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. She’s the only friend I have. This is the truth, I swear. She’s the only one at home who ever really cared for me. She cares enough to know that I couldn’t stay there, that I had to get away from that life she’s a part of. That’s also why she came, to check up on me, to see if I was alright. I swear to you guys, that’s the truth. I didn’t tell you because…” He stopped for a second. Why hadn’t he told them about Mary-Belle? “If you had known that there was this person at home that cared about me like she does, you wouldn’t have let me in, we wouldn’t be the way we are now.” And he had wanted to keep her a secret. She had stuck by his side all their life. He never understood why she had decided to stay inside with him when there was so much to see outside of the palace. She did go outside, partly due to his request, but she’d always come back and tell him about what she’d seen. Even if it felt wrong, she belonged to a different part of his life. A life that didn’t fit into this group.
The others were still unconvinced, but let it go for now. He had broken their trust, but his reasoning was understandable, so they would forgive him soon. But now they had things to do. They huddled together revising the plan they had made the night before on how to efficiently shadow Watson before they started the operation.
The next day, Mary-Belle followed the same way she had taken before. Now that she knew where to find Leopold, she didn’t have to stop and overthink whether she should have taken that turn back there or the one up ahead, whether she walked in the right direction or should turn around. The streets were just as crowded as before but a familiar sight made her stop in her tracks.
Men of the castle, dressed in their uniform, were roaming the streets. As she took a closer look, she recognized one of them as Daimler who had been responsible for Leopold for as long as she could remember. They talked shortly with each other, three in total. Then they parted ways. But none of them walked back towards the castle. Rather they seemed to stroll down the streets, their gazes moving over the people. It took her a second to understand what was happening, but when she did, Mary-Belle hurried, taking a different way to get around them and to Leopold before Daimler did.
She kept looking behind her to reassure herself she had lost them or that she at least was in front of them. She had just thrown another look over her shoulder when she bumped into someone. She was about to apologize and move on when the voice of the person she had run into reached her ears. “What happened that you look so panicked, Mary-Belle?”
Leopold looked at her questioningly when she grabbed his arms and looked at him with wide eyes. “Daimler is out looking for you. I saw his men stopping people who resembled you. He’ll be here soon.” She looked back over her shoulder seeing one of Daimler’s men already down the street. “There is one of them!” She pointed him out to Leo. “I’ll distract him,” she offered. “You go hide!” Leopold thanked her quickly before he turned on his heel and ran in the other direction.
She did her best to regain her composure taking a deep breath before she moved into the path of Daimler’s man, looking as much of a fine lady as she was born to be. Her mother had taught her well. “You’re looking for Prince Leopold, have I heard correctly? Did something happen to him?” She faked a surprised gasp, leaning in conspiratorially. “Did someone take him? I had thought my eyes were deceiving me when I saw him in Acton, but it seems he indeed left the palace. He must still be there. It hasn’t been long since then.” She was lucky this man didn’t recognize her as he thanked her for her help and ran off. Not even the fact that she knew of Leopold’s existence threw him off.
While that man was now going to look for Prince Leopold in the wrong part of the city, she remained in the right one. Since she didn’t know where exactly he went to hide, she walked on towards the place she had talked with him in yesterday. He wasn’t to find there either, but she recognized two of his friends standing around there. One of them was the brutish one who had rudely confronted her the day before. Billy, if she remembered correctly. The other one she hadn’t caught the name of but he was the one walking up to her now with a friendly smile on his face. “You’re Leo’s friend, aren’t you? I’m Spike! Nice to meet you! I actually wanted to apologize for this lad’s behavior yesterday.” He pointed his thumb back over his shoulder at Billy who was eyeing the two of them skeptically. He leaned in and whispered, “He can be nice too, y’know, just doesn’t show it in front of new people.” She chuckled. He seemed the type.
“I understand. I guess, I would be reluctant too if a stranger showed up all of a sudden. My name’s Mary-Belle, but you can call me Mary if you want,” she offered.
“Are you kidding me? Of course, I remembered your name. How could I forget? Grumpy over there wouldn’t shut up about you last night.” This caused a real laugh to bubble up in her throat. Spike laughed with her and led her over to mentioned Grumpy.
“Always a pleasure, Billy.” She smiled at him. His expression turned even sourer. She hadn’t known it to be possible hadn’t she seen it with her own eyes. She turned back towards Spike who seemed to be more willing to engage in a conversation with her. “Have you seen Leo by any chance? I was looking for him.”
“Haven’t seen him since he left the cellar this morning, but he’s supposed to meet us here soon. You’re welcome to wait with us.” Spike sent another one of his charming smiles her way which she returned.
“Thank you. I think I’ll do just that.” Turning towards Billy she cocked her head to the side. “So, Billy, harassed any girls already today?” Spike moved to stand between the two of them before Billy could do anything.
“Don’t you think that takes it a bit too far?”, he asked her.
“No, I don’t actually. He cornered me and wouldn’t let me go until you guys came around. That’s not alright, so no, I’m not taking it too far. I was lucky he was actually your friend and not a random person. Who knows what would’ve happened otherwise!”, she argued. Her voice remained calm, but her eyes gave away the storm of feelings inside of her. Spike looked taken aback, so was Billy. They hadn’t thought of it that way.
“I’m sorry,” was the first thing she ever heard Billy say without any menace lacing his words. Their eyes met for a moment before he looked away again and went back to being quiet.
Spike looked from one to the other, wondering if there would be any more or if she had made her point and that’s it. She didn’t say anything either. Rather she opted to lean against the wall they had been standing next to. Spike followed her move to stand next to her.
“So,” broke Mary-Belle the silence, “what have you guys been up to?” Spike and Billy shared a glance, their uncertainty about what to say evident on their faces. “Leo has told me all about the monsters, so don’t worry about that.”
“He has?”, blurted Billy.
“He has,” she confirmed. The boys shared a look, the meaning of which remained unknown to Mary-Belle, but the moment was over quickly and Spike turned towards her. Billy went back to watching the people who passed, seemingly uninterested in the conversation.
“Just boring things, really. Nothing you have to concern yourself with. But we barely know anything about you. Why don’t you tell us something?”
“There is not much to know, to be honest. I’ve lived a fairly easy life, everything dictated by my parents, much like it had been for Leo, but I always had a roof over my head and a warm bed. Whenever we were together, I felt free, like I could just be myself without having to behave the way everyone expected of me.” She stopped talking quickly, thinking back over her words and let out a chuckle. “That was probably not something one should share in their first conversation with someone. Anyways, my favorite colour is blue.”
“Oh, that’s Billy’s favourite colour as well!” Mary-Belle let out a relieved breath that Spike chose not to focus on the first part but kept the topic of conversation light. Her eyes met Billy’s for a second before he looked away again, ignoring Spike who had grabbed his shoulder. “Mine’s orange. You know, when the sun’s almost down but still colours the water. That orange.”
“I don’t even remember the last time I saw that, but it sounds nice,” she admitted. She probably had never seen that, having been held in carriages if they were out at that time. They barely went near the water either. Most of her travel was between her home and the castle.
Billy opened his mouth to add something to the conversation, but stopped himself when someone called out to Mary-Belle. Leo made his way over and asked to speak to her alone for a moment. “Thank you for keeping me company,” she said to the two boys, “both of you.” Her gaze went from Spike to Billy. Then she walked a few steps with Leo until they were out of earshot.
“Daimler found me,” he came right to the point.
“What? Then why are you here now? And not on your way back to the castle?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but failed as it was slightly raised.
“Mother wasn’t informed of me running away. He would lose his job if she knew he let me, so he won’t bother me again.”
“Are you sure? He’s smart, whether you like it or not. He will probably come up with another way to get you to come back. He knows where you are now.”
“He won’t be a problem. I know it.”
“If you say so.” She wasn’t convinced of it.
“I actually have to go now,” he noted. Over her shoulder he could see that Bea and Jessie had joined Spike and Billy and were now just waiting for him. “We will talk soon, I promise,” he adds at the hurt look that flashed across her face. She nodded and watched him go with the others.
Spike turned and waved at her as they were leaving. She raised her hand and gave him a wave as well. A small smile had made its way back onto her face. Another pair of eyes watched her before his focus was taken by Spike prodding him with his elbow.  “Don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart, Billy!”
Early the next day Mary-Belle heard word that Prince Leopold was to entertain his cousin Helena with a possible marriage in the future. Her mother had mentioned all that off-handedly during breakfast, making Mary-Belle choke on her tea. “I shall meet with him afterwards.”
“I’d assume they already count on you showing up on a day like this. Just be safe, your father had mentioned rising disturbances in the streets.”
“Of course, mother. I will be on my way shortly, then.”
Now she was walking the grounds, having been too late to show Leopold off to his meeting or talk to him about what had transpired the day before and too early since he was still having tea with Helena. Her mind was racing with thoughts about what might have happened, whether Leopold had come back willingly which she doubted but it was an option. Or maybe her worries had been legitimate and Daimler had found a way.
She got distracted by a commotion ahead of her. Palace guards stormed over to a person who had seemed to have jumped the wall. She neared cautiously which turned into confident steps when she identified the person being escorted off the grounds as Spike. She held herself high to convey as much authority as possible. “Let him go!”, she ordered, her voice not giving away the nervousness she was feeling as she stood up to the guards.
“But Lady-“, one of the guards who seemed to be in charge of the rest tried to argue.
“I said to let him go. He will come with me.” The guards who held onto Spike looked from her to their superior who nodded after a moment of consideration. They reluctantly let go of Spike who dusted off his jacket and reorganized his clothes. “And now you should go back to your posts.”
“Yes, Lady Mary-Belle!” They left, but not without wary side glances at Spike whom she turned to next.
“And you, follow me!” She started walking towards the castle. Spike easily fell into step next to her.
“That was amazing! I didn’t know you had it in you to have palace guards tremble in their knees. Thank you!” He looked back over his shoulder to watch the retreating guards.
“You don’t need to thank me. I’d rather you tell me what happened yesterday that Leo is back now.” Her brain seemed to just now catch up with her actions and the fact that Spike had tried to actually break into the Buckingham Palace. “And how you knew to come here! And why you did it. You just risked imprisonment or even a death sentence! Do you realize that? A lot of bad things could have happened, hadn’t I shown up.”
“Yes, but this is important! I had to come here and get Leo. He needs to come back with me.”
“Why? What happened?” She stopped next to the door she had used to enter the gardens. Her hand was already on the handle before she put it down again. This conversation was better to be had out of earshot of nosy palace personnel.
“Didn’t he tell you?”
She shook her head no. “I didn’t get the chance to speak with him yet.”
“Some guy told Bea who Leo is. He was in the cellar when we came back yesterday. She threw Leo out after. But we need him for what’s to come. She doesn’t know I’m here, but I know it’s what needs to be done.”
“I understand. Alright, come with me. He’s doing something right now, but I will make sure he speaks with you.” She led him through the palace halls, ignoring the hushed whispers of the people they passed at the sight of him. “Why did you come alone?”
Spike hesitated. “Bea doesn’t want to see him and I don’t know where Jessie is. Her and Bea had a fight.”
“What about Billy?”
He hesitated again. “He was imprisoned because he accidentally killed Vic Collins,” he admitted.
Mary-Belle stopped abruptly. Spike almost walked into her but caught himself before he did. When she turned towards him her eyes were widened in shock. “He did what? Wait- how… wha- how do you kill someone accidentally? And who is Vic Collins?”
Spike started to feel uncomfortable under her intense gaze and with the questions. He looked around before leaning in and whispering, “Can we talk about this somewhere else?” She realized they were out in the open, easy for anyone to listen in to their conversation.
“You’re right.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the next room. A quick look around told her that they were alone, so she put her attention back on Spike. “Explain!”
“Well… don’t you want to sit down?”, he asked gesturing towards the chairs standing in the middle of the room.
“No, I don’t want to fucking sit down, Spike! Tell me what happened!” Her voice came out louder than intended. She tried to compose herself again with a few deep breaths but couldn’t help the anxious thoughts of all the possible things Spike might tell her now. Even though she hadn’t been particularly friendly with Billy, she never would have thought him a killer.
“Vic Collins was the master of the workhouse Billy and the girls were at. I don’t know everything that happened to them there but it wasn’t pretty. Billy saw him the other day and then last night… I don’t know exactly what happened but he told me it was an accident. Billy hit Vic. His head hit a pile of bricks and that was it. But Vic was one of them, so even if this was an accident…” He didn’t like speaking those next words. Luckily, he didn’t have to because Mary-Belle understood him anyways.
She knew how important these people were for Leo, so she made a decision rather quickly. “Where is he being held?” Spike told her. “I will take care of it,” she promised. “Leo will get out of his meeting shortly. Until then, I will leave you in good hands.” She once again led him out of the room. He was too perplexed to say much more. She was different than what he had imagined, doing that for a person she barely knew. Billy would be surprised, he thought.
She opened the door to the room she knew Louise would be occupying. She introduced Spike to her who was already charming his way into her heart when Mary-Belle left. On her way out, he called after her to meet them at Baker Street 221B, whether she succeeded or not.
Her first stop was her father’s office. The door was adorned with a plaque announcing the name of the person within. She entered after a voice from inside told her to come in. Her father was not a scary person. He might look the way with his stern gaze and his broad-shouldered physique and if Mary-Belle didn’t know him she would certainly be intimidated by him, but the person in front of her was her father who had never shown her anything but kindness.
“Mary-Belle, what a nice surprise!” His features softened as he recognized his daughter. “What are you doing here? I thought you would be at the palace.”
“I was.” She neared the desk her father was sitting behind. It was a big one, elegant, dark, something conveying his status. “I need your help, Father.”
“What is it, Mary-Belle? Come, sit!” He came around the table and led her to sit in one of the comfortable chairs he had standing by the wall. He took a seat next to her, taking in her troubled expression. “What can I help you with?”
“There is this boy…”, she started, but was interrupted.
“Are you in love, darling?”
“No, no, that’s not it.” She had to laugh a little at the absurdity of the thought. “He is a friend of mine, but something happened. He… There was an incident. He defended himself, but while doing so the other man… he- he died. And now my friend is going to get a death sentence because he is poor and the man he killed was a master at the workhouse. But he is not at fault, Father! It was in self-defense! He does not deserve this, so I need to get him out. Please, Father, will you help me?”
Her father hummed understandingly. “That is quite the situation your friend has gotten himself into. But I might be of help. If he is important to you, he is important to me.”
“Oh, thank you, Father!” She couldn’t hold back the smile as she threw her arms around him. When she let go of him, he walked over to his desk and pulled a piece of paper out of one of the drawers. She watched as he wrote something down on it, put it in an envelope and sealed it. He did the same thing a second time, putting names on both envelopes.
“Now I need you to do something. I do not have the time to do it myself, so I’m leaving this task to you.” She nodded, already reaching out for the envelope her father held towards her. “Bring this to Governor Jameson. If he does as it says in the letter, he will give you one as well. Then this one,” he handed her the second envelope, “you bring to the Chief of Police. As well as the one you will get from Governor Jameson. It will probably not be enough, so,” he opened another drawer. Two little sacks were put onto the desk, the content clinging as they were moved, “here is some money. He may not let him out just by the words of some important people, but I know the man. He is as greedy as they come. Give him this. Save some coins to give to the ones working where your friend is being held. I can’t do any more than this, but I hope it is enough.”
“Thank you so much, Father!” She grabbed the coin bags and put them into the pockets of her skirt before she turned to leave.
“I hope you can get him out, darling. And take care!”
“Of course! I will see you tonight!” She held onto the letters as tight as she could without damaging them as she ran through the streets of London. Governor Jameson’s office was not far but the streets were rowdy. She let out a sigh of relief when she entered the house.
The governor wouldn’t speak with her right away. She was told he was in an important meeting, so she waited in the hall. Every now and then someone passed her but they usually didn’t pay attention to her. As she waited, she thought about what was happening at the palace right now, if Spike already had the chance to speak to Leopold and what he had said. Maybe he went with him. She hoped he did. From what Spike told her they needed him. He had become a part of their group. And now she had to work on getting the last member of that group back.
Now that she had time to think, the pressure she was under sank in. She was responsible for getting Billy out of jail and through that saving his life. If she failed, what other options would he have? Would it be over for him then? She didn’t like to think about that outcome. This needed to work. If not, she wouldn’t know what to do anymore.
A young man came towards her. “Governor Jameson will see you now, Miss.” He showed her the way, knocked and opened the door for her to enter.
“Ah, Lady Mary-Belle. How is your father? I would believe he has much to do with the way people seem to be acting at the moment.” The man behind the desk had a round face. He usually tried to hide his receding hairline with a hat which was now hanging from the hat stand next to the door. He invited her farther into the room before he asked what he could do for her.
“My father sent me. He gave me this letter for you,” she explained and held the envelope out to him. He took it with a smile that couldn’t quite hide his surprised expression. It was unusual for anyone to send their daughters for business purposes. He opened the envelope, intently reading the letter inside, nodding along as he read. “I see,” he muttered when he put it down. “That’s quite the dilemma. I will support this, but tell your father he owes me.” He picked up a pen and pulled a piece of paper from a drawer.
“Of course! Thank you, sir!” He quickly scribbled some lines down before he sealed the letter into an envelope. “I believe you have somewhere else to go now, so I won’t keep you any longer, but remember that this won’t come without a price.”
“Yes, thank you again, sir. I will be on my way then.” She took the envelope from him. Now that she had the letters whose content she was unfamiliar with she felt like half the work was done already, but she was unsure of how the conversation with the Chief of Police would go. He might be the biggest obstacle in her way.
Even getting an opportunity to speak with the Chief of Police turned out to be quite the deed. The whole building was bustling with people running around. There were shouts and clamoring. Everyone was restless. She tried to go about it as usual, walking up to the reception and waiting for someone to offer their help. But even behind the reception desk there was no one who spared her a second glance as they went about their business, frantically looking for things and calling people’s names. She stood there for what felt like forever just watching them ignore her. The door kept being opened and closed, the slam filling the air each time it fell shut. And each time it did, Mary-Belle jumped a little. When the loud noise of the door closing sounded again, she decided she would not wait around any longer. Since nobody paid attention to her anyways at the moment, she used it to her advantage and tried to find her way through the hallways to the one person she needed to speak with.
She never thought it would be this easy to get inside the Headquarters without being stopped, but there she was reading the signs by the doors that would tell her which room she had to enter. She blamed it on the current situation with all that negative supernatural energy or whatever it was in the air. It might’ve helped to ask more about that, but now it was too late. The thumping footsteps came and went, but they never stopped next to her.
When she finally found the right room, she was out of breath. The building was larger than it looked like from the outside. But she was also incredibly nervous. Now was the moment that would decide Billy’s future. She fumbled for the two letters in the pockets of her skirt. The paper got scrunched a little by how tightly she held onto it. This was it. This was possibly the only chance.
She knocked. She wanted to knock with force, letting the Chief know that she was no person easily intimidated, but it was a faint, polite knock. A knock in the way her mother had taught her. Still, it was heard, even over the commotion happening all around and she was asked to enter.
The midday sun illuminated the room, its rays finding their way through the big windows behind the desk the Chief was sitting behind. He watched intently as she entered, curious as to what a young girl was doing there at a time like this. “Please, sit down. What may I help you with, miss?”
She did as she was told, sitting down in one of the two chairs facing the desk. It was uncomfortable, not meant to be sat on for a long time and Mary-Belle felt utterly unwelcome even though the Chief of Police gave her a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes though which were accentuated by the dark bags under them. She once again made use of the mask of confidence she put on at the palace. “Hello, sir. My name is Mary-Belle Heavensforth, daughter of Lord Aaron Heavensforth. I come to you regarding the case of a young man who is now in confinement. I may answer any question you have, but first, you should read these letters.” She handed them over, surprised at the fact that her hand was not shaking.
He broke the seal of the first letter quickly, scanning over the lines before he turned his attention to the second letter. He held one in each hand, his gaze darting from one to other, humming in acknowledgement. The content of the letters was unknown to Mary-Belle, so she had to assume her father only gave information he had known from her. He might have left out some details – the letter wasn’t long enough to have the whole story and the plea – so it was on her to fill in any information he might still need and to do anything it would take to get Billy out. “I see,” he said before he looked over the brim of the papers at her. “So, you believe this boy to be innocent.” She nodded. “Explain to me then what transpired and why you think we should let him go.” So, she gave him the story that Spike had told her, about the master at the workhouse, his history with Billy and his friends and what had happened the night Vic Collins died. “And were you there that night? Did you see it with your own eyes?”
She faltered. What was the best way to go about this? “I was not.” She chose to stick with the truth. “But,” she followed up, “I do know this boy. He would not consort to this kind of violence if he weren’t defending himself or the people he loved. And he would never kill someone with intent. In front of you, you have the testimonies of two highly educated and sophisticated men with power. They speak out for his release and vouch for him.” At least she hoped that this was what was written on those pages her father had sent with her. “I vouch for him as well even though my word might not mean much to you. I will see to it that such thing will not happen again and that you may not hear of him badly anymore.”
“It does say here that your father will see to it that the boy may be put under his supervision. I do believe that your father is a man of his word. I have not been proven to think any less of him yet.” The Chief put one of the letters down to scratch his beard in thought. “But I can’t just write you a release form for this boy out of nowhere.”
“My father had guessed you might say something like that, so he gave me this for you.” She reached into her pockets once again and pulled out one coin bag. She sat it on top of his desk, making sure the coins made a sound as she dumped it on top of his papers. He snatched it up immediately, opening it to look inside at the shiny coins.
“That is indeed a compelling argument,” he pondered. He weighed the bag in his hand eyeing the coins with great interest. “Alright, I will write a release form for this boy, but do have your father contact me again in a few days. I need to speak with him.”
“Of course.” She could barely suppress her smile. She did it! She actually did it! Billy would get out and not die by judge’s rule. She looked on as the Chief shouted for someone. The door swung open revealing a rather young-looking man. His hair was disheveled and he seemed to be just as busy as everyone else in the building.
“Please, show this young lady to our front area,” he addressed the man. Mary-Belle felt panic rush in. If he had just betrayed her, taken the money and the letters, she would have lost. She would have fought for Billy’s life without success and would have to leave him to his destiny. As much as she had thought about it, there was no other way. She would be back on the streets with no trumps up her sleeve and the impending death of a boy weighing down her heart. But, the Chief turned back towards her as she lifted herself off the chair. “I will have the letter brought to you shortly. Just wait down there and that boy will be free as soon as you get the letter to the according office. That is, if your father follows up with his promise that the boy will be put under his care. He will be responsible for the boy’s actions, so he better behave or it will be over with your father’s good standing.”
She recognized his words as they were. A threat. As easily as he could get Billy out of prison now, he could put him back and take her father down right beside him. “Yes, Sir!”
She had to wait in that front area for way too long. People passed. She watched the same people that would enter the building leave it again. A cycle that seemed to find no end and still no release letter in sight. The doubt crept in slowly again. He could just take the money and act like nothing ever happened. She would have nothing against him. And who would believe her? She had no such standing as he did. She was already thinking about how to break the news to Leo and Spike and their other friends. She wasn’t even able to do that. She was quite useless apparently. And replaceable. Leopold had shown it clearly. Each time it seemed so easy for him to leave her and just run off to his new friends and go on adventures with them. Compared to them she had nothing to offer, except for her love but even that he didn’t want.
When the letter finally arrived, given to her by the same man who had led her out of the office, she just took it without another word and left. He would probably not care enough to take the story of her rude behavior back to his superior. She had somewhere to be now and she didn’t care about other people’s opinions at the moment. She felt troubled enough, torn between her love for Leopold and the selfish wish of having him back at the palace with her, away from his new friends and the fact that they were nice people who did nothing wrong. They offered Leopold some form of family, something he couldn’t find at the palace. Something she apparently couldn’t compare to. And now one of them had his life on the line. No matter how she felt towards them she could not just let someone die who didn’t deserve it while knowing she could do something about it. And apparently, she could. Or rather her father could. For the first time ever, she realized how far connections and money could get someone. It opened doors and gave you leverage. She had always been amazed by her father. Now even more so. Even though she didn’t spend that much time with him, she’d always admired him, his hard work and how far it had gotten him.
The scene outside had changed since she had entered the building. Where before the streets seemed quite deserted and eerily quiet, there was now clamoring coming from every corner, frightened screams, angry yells, shocked cries. She dared a quick glance down the first alley she passed on her way to where Billy was held. Two men were rolling in the dirt, their shirts already speckled with blood that dripped from their respective faces. Dirt covered all their clothes as they held onto each other, throwing punches mindlessly. As long as they made contact, they seemed satisfied. She hurried to get away from there and stayed away from small alleys the rest of the way.
She was stopped right after entering the building. An arm shot out, followed by a body that moved in front of her. The burly man sneered at her. “This is no place for a little girl like you.”
She brushed over the comment, choosing to stay professional. “I am here on business,” she announced, handing over the letter from the Chief of Police. “I am to get a boy you are holding here.” He snatched the letter from her hand. He took a quick glance over the written words before he let out a groan. “Fine. Jackson,” he screamed into the room he had previously come out of, “get that orphan kid from the cell. We’re letting him go.” He didn’t seem pleased about it as he looked back at her. “You should be careful. He’s dangerous.”
“I am aware,” she answered nonchalantly before she pulled the second coin bag out of her pocket and put it into the hands of the officer. “For your troubles.” She smiled politely. His eyes narrowed onto the bag, intrigued by the weight in his hand. His demeanor changed drastically in a split second.
“Of course. It is our duty to be here for the people of London. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get back to work, but you will be brought to the boy shortly.” Mary-Belle refrained from rolling her eyes, but gave him a polite smile and nod instead. At least until his back was turned towards her. She doubted he would work now. He will probably go to sit down in private and count the coins in the bag.
Another man appeared in the door. “Please, follow me. He is being held in the back.” The smile on this man’s face seemed way more genuine than the old man’s. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than her. He led her down the narrow hall and down some stairs into a gloomy basement that held the cell. It was packed to the brim with all different kinds of people. She couldn’t find Billy at first glance, the many bodies obstructing her view. The man, Jackson, walked over to the guard by the door telling him what was about to happen. His eyes wandered over to her figure shortly before looking back at Jackson and narrowing his eyes. It took him some more talking to before he turned around and focused his gaze on someone. “You, orphan boy,” he called out catching the blonde’s attention, “you’re free to go.” The barred door rattled as it was pushed open. The surprise on Billy’s face was obvious as he stepped out of the cell. “You have that lady over to thank.” The guard gestured over to you.
A look of confusion washed over Billy’s face as he saw Mary-Belle standing at the bottom of the stairs. He never expected to see her there, especially not to get him out of jail. He was too shocked to say anything as he neared her. Mary-Belle quickly grew tired of his non-reaction. She grabbed his wrist and led him out of the shabby cellar and out onto the street where the people were still clamoring and screaming at each other. A different picture than what she was used to seeing in the streets of London.
Billy got ahold of himself quickly after they made it outside. The fresh air helped him focus his thoughts. As soon as they got to the street, he jerked his hand out of her hold, making her turn to look at him expectantly, eyebrows raised and hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”, he asked, still in that tone like he hated her guts and was spitting accusations.
“You know, you should be nicer to the person who got you out of a trial that would most definitely have ended in your death.” That shut him up, at least momentarily, but he also did not deem it necessary to thank her. He glared at her for another moment before he left her standing there. She watched after him in bewilderment at his audacity. But Billy rethought his decision when he saw at least five people in a fistfight happening over a dead body. It was already worse than he had thought. He walked back over to her, grabbed her wrist like she had his before and dragged her along with him, past the fighting people.
“We are supposed to meet Spike at Baker Street 221B,” she told him after they had walked in silence for a minute. Billy wondered shortly how she came to know this, what happened while he had been in that cell that now this girl he barely knew got him out of his certain doom, but he kept quiet and led her to Baker Street 221B.
They were the last to arrive. The whole group was already present. Bea and Spike were happy to see Billy out as a free man and greeted him happily, enclosing him in hugs. They thanked Mary-Belle for her help before they turned their attention back to him. When the three of them and Leo moved to the other room, she didn’t know whether to follow them or leave. Eventually, she took some steps to follow them but stopped in the doorway. There, in the room, a dark-haired girl was lying unconsciously on the sofa with the others gathered around her. It seemed an intimate situation that she didn’t want to intrude on, so she made the decision to leave them now. She had done her part and was not needed anymore.
A tall man walked towards the room the teenagers were gathered in when Mary-Belle was about to open the door. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His gaze followed her arm to the door handle. “You shouldn’t go out there now,” he advised. Joyful sounds came from the adjacent room. The girl must have woken up. “Come with me,” he ordered and so, she followed him back to the room.
The girl that had been previously unconscious was sitting upright on the sofa now and told this man about a place they needed to go to. He nodded sternly and told the boys to follow him, leaving Mary-Belle alone with the two girls. She felt entirely out of place and didn’t know what to say or do. She couldn’t even look at them, so she walked over to the window and looked outside while the other two were speaking in hushed voices among themselves.
Outside was a mess, people running around, swinging weapons of all sorts, handmade, bought or just using whatever was available to hurt others. Just outside the window she was looking on as a man bashed in the skull of another, his teeth fletched. He even seemed to be growling at the man who was lying at his feet, blood flowing out of his fatal wound, coloring the sidewalk a dark red. Mary-Belle covered her mouth with a shaky hand at the barbaric act that had occurred in front of her eyes. And when the man looked up, his crazy eyes staring right into hers she let out a gasp and took a step back. She had seen pure rage in his eyes, no clear thoughts, just the urge to hurt and kill.
Her eyes were still fixed on the curtain. It had fallen back into place but she still had the image of the open skull and the look in the man’s eyes on her mind as if she was still staring at it. A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her away. Her gaze travelled to the person who sat her down on a chair far away from the window. She was still shaking. It was Billy whose place was quickly taken by Leo. He had looked out the window to see what had left you in this state. The crazy man was gone, but the body was still lying there on the sidewalk. Leo kneeled down by her side. His hand rested on her knee as he talked to her reassuringly. Her breathing calmed after a short while as the others looked on. She found words to answer Leo’s worried questions in a quiet voice.
As it was clear that she would be fine the other’s attention shifted. Beatrice and Jessie shared a look that had a clear meaning. They had to go. Now. Beatrice announced it to the group that immediately moved to the entrance. Bea stayed back a moment longer with Leo and Mary-Belle. “She’s coming with us!”, Leo insisted, looking up at Bea from his kneeling position.
The girl did not have the time to argue with him right now. They were in a hurry, so she agreed. “As long as she doesn’t get in the way.
“I won’t,” Mary-Belle promised and stood up to join the rest of the group.
When they left the building, warned by Watson to stay together, she threw a glance in the direction of the window she had been standing in. The body looked different now. Pieces of the skull and brain were scattered around it. Bile rose up in her throat, but she forced herself to look away and keep moving. She promised not to be in the way and so she wouldn’t. And she wouldn’t slow them down either. She hiked up her skirt – which was a very inconvenient choice of clothing for the occasion – and hurried after the others.
She was filled in about the whole situation by Leo on the way. To say she was shocked would be an understatement. “I thought you said you’d be safe!”, she exclaimed in frustration and anger. “That is not ‘being safe’! It’s like the opposite of safe. We are literally running towards the danger!”
“The danger is all around us!”, he retaliated. “We have to stop this! We’re the only ones that can because we know what is happening.”
They came to a stop in front of the entrance to Aldgate Station. Watson tried to open the door, unsuccessfully. It was jammed. It only took him a moment to come up with a different plan. He showed them another entrance, through the sewers. All of them stood around the hole looking down into the dark. Even though it was the only way to get to the Linen Man and Sherlock, a shudder crept down Mary-Belle’s spine at the thought of going down there.
Billy nudged Spike to tell him to go first, but he refused. There was another moment where none of them moved a muscle but then Mary-Belle heard distant noises which made her overcome her fears for a moment and announced, “Then I’ll go first!” She quickly climbed down before she could change her mind again but the growling and yelps coming from up there just helped to reassure her in her decision. Her skirt tore on the way down. She didn’t complain though as it gave her more freedom to move although it was a bad day to have worn one of her favorite dresses.
Surprisingly, the sewers were lit well enough to see without any additional gadgets. It only took Mary-Belle a moment to get used to the dim lighting. By the time she was able to see completely fine, the others have found their way down. Watson instructed them to stay together and to be quiet. It would be over for them if the Linen Man knew they were there. In moments like this Mary-Belle regretted tagging along. She was pretty certain she would die today. How could a bunch of teenagers save the world? Especially from some supernatural Rip that’s threatening to absorb this world? She still didn’t quite get what was actually happening. It was all a bit hard to wrap her mind around.
She kept close to Watson while moving through the tunnel. Sticking close to the only adult seemed like the most reasonable decision. He gave the impression he knew what he was doing which made her feel a little safer.
Nobody noticed the moment Beatrice stopped moving with them. Only when she cried out in agony they realized and quickly rushed back to her. Panic washed over Mary-Belle as she remembered the words Watson said about what would happen if the Linen Man found out they were there. Watson covered her mouth to stop her screams, hoping against all hope that the Linen Man and Sherlock hadn’t heard them yet and thus knew that they were close.
They started moving again after Beatrice had calmed down. It hadn’t taken long but time was precious now. With every second passing the world was closer to its end. Mary-Belle still remained close to Watson while she kept stealing glances at Beatrice to gather whether she would be alright. Every single sound had her on edge.
That the boys were not behind them anymore was suddenly realized when they started crying out. Beatrice did as well, clutching her head and sinking towards the ground. Tears were streaming over her face and she mumbled, “No, no, don’t go! Mum! Mum!” Mary-Belle tore her gaze away from Beatrice when gunshots were fired right next to her. The loud sound left her ear ringing. She only saw a flash of white before it was gone, scared away by Watson’s gun. Jessica ran after it and left them to deal with Beatrice who would not calm down.
The boys’ cries could still be heard as well, Leo’s standing out to Mary-Belle the most. She couldn’t bear hearing that and doing nothing, so she ran towards him. Watson shouted her name after her, telling her to not walk off alone, but she didn’t listen. If he didn’t have to take care of Beatrice, he would’ve gotten up to stop her, but he couldn’t leave the crying girl on the ground alone there.
Mary-Belle ran back down the path they had taken, following his outcries, she quickly found Leopold. He was sitting on the ground, knees pulled up to his chest and his head between his hands. He screams and cries out. Each cry tore more at her chest. He removed his hands from his ears to stare at them as if he could see something on them that she didn’t. She dropped down next to him and tried to talk him out of it like he did with her back at Baker Street, but she couldn’t get through to him, so she just sat there, quiet tears rolling down her face at seeing the boy she loved in this state.
And then it stopped. From one moment to the next, his screams quieted down. He looked up from the ground and towards her in confusion, not grasping what had just happened. Relief flooded her system as she threw her arms around him. It took a moment, but then he returned the hug, desperately holding on to her.
Billy’s voice called out to Leo prompting them to let go off each other. He appeared in front of them seconds after and helped Leo off the ground who in turn helped Mary-Belle. His movements were still slow and staggered like he didn’t quite have a grasp on reality. Billy then called out to Spike who called back immediately. The three of them moved towards where his voice was coming from, finding him on the ground as well. He was already back on his feet when they came to a stop by his side. They made sure he was unharmed, physically at least, before continuing on the way they had gone before this happened, hoping to reunite with Beatrice, Watson and Jessica.
When Beatrice and Watson were already in sight, just down the tunnel, the earth began to rumble, debris falling down, dust collecting on their heads and clothes. Leopold pulled Mary-Belle back before the ceiling of the tunnel collapsed in front of them, separating them from Beatrice and Watson.
When most of the dust settled and she could see clearly again she saw Billy lying on the ground. His leg was pinned under two big stoned and he knew that it was wrecked. “Billy! Leo!”, Beatrice shouted from the other side of the rubble as Leo and Spike helped Billy up. He couldn’t put weight on the leg without crying out in pain, so Spike supported him. They let Beatrice know that his leg was probably broken.
A short argument broke out since Beatrice wanted them to go back to the cellar but Billy refused to leave them. “Be reasonable, Billy,” Mary-Belle chimed in. “The tunnels aren’t safe and you wouldn’t be of much help anyway with your leg. You should rest before it will get even worse,” she argued.
Billy was about to retort when Beatrice spoke up again. “Listen to her, Billy!” She sounded desperate. “And promise me… Promise me that you’ll keep each other safe.” Silence overcame them for a moment as they thought about what they were going to do before Spike agreed and gave her the promise. Leo followed suit. For Billy to agree it took some more demands from Beatrice. Her voice still sounded strong despite her desperation and in that moment Mary-Belle realized what Leopold saw in her. “Mary-Belle?” Beatrice called out to her as well, this time a bit calmer. “Will you promise me, too?” She was surprised that Beatrice wanted her to give the promise as well. After all, she was not a part of their group.
“Of course,” she replied nonetheless, never having thought of doing anything other. “I promise.” With those promises made they went on their way, Leopold going to Billy’s other side to support him as well. Mary-Belle walked behind them. Still feeling uneasy, she kept throwing glances over her shoulder like something would appear there at any moment. Thankfully, it didn’t and they made it out of the sewers without any more incidents.
“Mary-Belle, here, take over!”, Spike instructed you, so that he could move in front of them to protect them. She took his place at Billy’s side. He slung his arm over her shoulder begrudgingly. He didn’t have much of a choice now about who would help him move. He just needed to get home and off the streets, so he would have to get used to the idea of Mary-Belle supporting him on the way.
The streets were ruthless. Never had she seen anything like this. The people had turned crazy. The ones that hadn’t either fell victim to the ones that had or hid out in their homes behind barred doors and windows. Having to basically carry Billy through the streets slowed them down immensely. Each time they came upon someone she tensed but kept moving in the strong believe that when it came to it, Spike would protect them. Most of the time they were ignored though. Maybe they were not interesting enough for those who found liking in eating someone’s intestines. The things Mary-Belle had already seen today were nightmare material for the rest of her life, but she doubted that it would be all. The day wasn’t over yet, the world hadn’t ended yet. There was still time to be traumatized even more.
With each step Billy hissed in pain. He tried his hardest not to scream but some steps were even worse than the ones before and he couldn’t stop the screams that escaped him.
The sight of the ‘Duck and Quiver’ sign was a relief. They had made it. Mary-Belle was out of breath. Her body was hurting from having to haul Billy all the way through the city but she did not dare compare it to the pain he must be feeling. He had to sit down for a moment on the stairs across the street from the pub, groaning and hissing. They had tried to stabilize his leg. It didn’t do much but was probably better than just leaving it without.
“Watson was right,” said Leo, “the city’s turning. With the Rip the way it is every time someone prays for help or wishes, that’s all it takes now.”
“We should’ve stayed and found a way through. We’re useless here,” added Billy.
“You would have been useless there, too,” Mary-Belle remarked, growing tired of his behavior. “I mean, look at you. You can barely stand. What would you have done there? Going back was the best option whether you choose to believe it or not.”
“You-“ Billy’s answer was cut short as what looked like blue lightning soared through the sky. It rumbled, crackled and sissed as it came down from the sky and connected with the building that held the pub. Blue lines danced along the walls as the magic – there was no other way Mary-Belle could describe it – made its way into the building.
“Jessie still hasn’t closed the Rip,” observed Leo. “It’s nearly over. It could be too late now.”
Spike rushed them to get moving again, so that they could find shelter in the cellar and hope for the best. Mary-Belle moved back to Billy’s side and helped him get up as Leo took his other side. They stopped again shortly after as terrified screams came towards them and a bunch of people came running from behind the corner, a weapon-swinging attacker after them. They tried to stop him as he had a nun cornered against her door but without any luck.
Spike didn’t hesitate as he lunged forward and knocked him out with his rifle. The man fell to the ground having lost his consciousness. Spike was rather excited about the fact that he succeeded in taking him down. “I rifled him! I rifled him!”, he announced in disbelief. Leo, Billy and Mary-Belle moved over to him as he helped up the nun who had been cowering on the ground. She told them how the man came after them in the church. She was desperate as she told them that they had nowhere to go. Billy immediately offered that they could come with them and so, they made their way to the cellar together.
Mary-Belle let out a sigh of relief when Spike closed the door behind them and barred it. With walls surrounding them she felt a lot safer than out on the street. They set Billy down on a chair. Without him weighing down on her she stood up straight again and rolled her shoulders to get at least some of the tension out. It barely worked. The stress and anxiety just made her more tense. No rolling her shoulders would help with that.
Sister Anna, as Mary-Belle had found out the nun was called, moved to the back of the cellar with the other two they had taken in while Billy, Spike, Leo and Mary-Belle stayed more in the front. She went to stand with Leo. “How are you feeling?”, she asked.
“I’m not sure, to be honest. That was close back there. You do realize you were almost crushed back then, don’t you?” His gaze was fixed on her, worry in his eyes.
“Don’t turn this on me now,” she scolded. “I asked how you were doing. I am fine, thanks to you, but the Linen Man got into your mind. What did you see? Do you want to talk about it?”
“I- There was blood, so much blood. I-I don’t know. I thought I was about to die.” His eyes glazed over as he thought back on the visions he had. “I was all alone and I thought I was dying.” He didn’t say anything else, stuck on that feeling. Mary-Belle wrapped him into another hug bringing him back into the moment. “Thank you!” He smiled at her softly before his gaze moved over to Billy who was breathing heavily from the extortion that getting to the cellar had been for him. “How did you get Billy out of jail anyway?” She recalled the story for him, stressing that it wouldn’t have been possible if she had done it without her father’s help. “How did he take the condition that he would be under your father’s supervision?”
“I didn’t tell him yet,” she admitted, avoiding the reproachful look he gave her. “How am I supposed to tell him? I can barely be near him without him hating every moment. That doesn’t really make me enjoy his company either. He hates me. I’m sure of it.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Leo argued. “That’s how he was with me at first as well. Now we’re friends. New people are not really his thing, I guess, especially rich ones.”
“Leo’s right.” Mary-Belle jumped at Spike’s sudden appearance by her side. “It may be hard to believe for you, but Billy is actually quite nice and a good friend. He cares. More than he admits himself sometimes. And I bet he doesn’t hate you. You two just got off on the wrong foot.”
“So, you’re saying…”
“You should talk to him.” Spike and Leopold both rolled their eyes at the groan she let out. They kept looking at her expectantly as she waited to see who would give in first.
“Ugh, fine.” She was the first to break. She turned towards Billy and even got a little shove from Spike to get her to move. She shot a sour glance at him over her shoulder but went to sit down next to Billy. He looked up from what he was doing to focus on her. She couldn’t quite decipher the way he was looking at her. It might be hatred, might be intrigue, might be disgust.
“What are you doing?” He asked after she did not speak up after sitting down.
“I just wanted to sit,” she replied but she could feel Spike and Leo watching her, their gazes boring into her and giving her the motivation to talk a little more. “How are you feeling?”
“Still think we should’ve stayed, should’ve been there for Bea and Jess,” he grumbled.
“Look,” she tried to explain once again, “I told you. With your leg like that, you can barely move. Just getting here already took such a strain on you. If it had come down to it, if we had to get out of there quickly, you would’ve held everyone back. You can’t do much with your leg like that. And if we hadn’t come here, who knows what would’ve happened to Sister Anna. It was the most reasonable decision. I am sure, Beatrice thought the same. Otherwise, she probably wouldn’t have sent you back. She wanted you to stay safe and I bet she won’t let herself get hurt either. You will all be together again.”
He considered her for a moment. “I guess,” he agreed begrudgingly. They sat in silence for another minute or two. Both of them looking anywhere but at each other. “Thank you,” he finally mumbled. At her confused gaze he groaned once more. “For getting me out of the trial, I mean. You’re right. If they had gone through with it, it would have ended with my death sentence, so thank you. I appreciate it.”
“How about we start over?”, she proposed, turning so she could properly face him.
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. Start over.” She paused for a second before giving him a bright smile and extending her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Mary-Belle.” Throwing all the things she had learned about etiquette out the window she introduced herself with only her first name.
Billy seemed surprised at that. He looked thoughtfully at her outstretched hand before he grasped it. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he pressed her hand gently. “Billy. The pleasure’s all mine.” He laughed a little as he let go of her hand. It brought a genuine smile to her face as she chuckled along. “So,” Billy stated. His gaze was on Leo and Spike who were looking over in a manner that was not very inconspicuous, “do they think I would murder you or is there another reason they are watching us this intently?”
She followed his gaze. The two boys weren’t bothered by the fact that their attention was now on them. “They might. Or they think I would you. We do not have the best history after all.”
“You’re different from what I thought,” Billy admitted which took her by surprise.
“Elaborate.”
“Do I have to?” His eyes found hers again. A teasing smile adorned his lips.
“You do,” she insisted.
“I guess, we met you at a time I was also very suspicious of Leo. For good reason, I might add. He lied to us. I have forgiven him for that, don’t worry,” he added after he saw the look that she gave him before he continued, “But my experiences with nobility hadn’t been very good. I didn’t trust him, so I wouldn’t trust you either. I was rude and I scared you. I’m sorry about that. I thought you’d be just like the others who are well-off, up-tight with a stick up your arse and thinking you are better than everyone else, especially those living like we do. But you are… not like that.” He didn’t explain any further.
“I take that as a compliment, so thank you. You’re not as much of a rowdy as I thought you were.” She squeezed his shoulder as she got up as a way to end the conversation, before she walked over to Leo and Spike.
“He seemed to have taken the news well,” noticed Leo.
She just sighed, hanging her head in shame. “I couldn’t do it. We got along for once and I didn’t want to destroy that right after.”
“You have to tell him at some point.”
“I know. Let’s just survive the night first and then I will tell him. I promise.”
They were shaken out of their conversation when a rattling sounded from the door. Someone was trying to get in. They came together at the bottom of the stairs, ready to defend the cellar. Somehow, Mary-Belle ended up next to Billy who noticed the way she watched the rattling door. Each of them grabbed a weapon. Billy handed her one as well. “Scared?”, he asked.
“Of course. Unlike you apparently, I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“I’m scared, too,” he admitted quietly before chaos reigned down upon them. Surprisingly it didn’t come the way they expected with the door splintering and bloodthirsty people storming in but with the Sister finishing a prayer. They hadn’t been able to stop her from saying that last faithful word. They barely moved fast enough to watch her turn. Her eyes turned black, no light shining in them, no life, no recognition. The dark lines crawling over her skin made her look monstrous, inhuman. But even as her appearance had changed into something not quite human, her voice remained calm as she spoke to the two who were kneeling in front of her and had been praying with her. They too were overcome with the magic of the Rip, not moving away from her, not screaming as she broke their necks.
She then turned her attention to the four of them, calling them heathens as she neared. Her skin was pale, a stark contrast to the dark veins and her black eyes. Mary-Belle was terrified. The feeling only deepening when the bullet Spike shot at her did her no harm. Mary-Belle was pulled back and down some stairs until she moved on her own. Leo supported Billy again as they ran from the cold-hearted monster that had once been a loving person filling people’s hearts with warmth. Spike stopped to reload his rifle. Even if the bullet might not do damage, it might slow her down. But before he was able to target her, she grabbed the rifle out of his hand and threw it to the ground. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt and threw him into a corner. He didn’t move or make a sound, worrying his friends. Mary-Belle could just watch, frozen in place, as Billy attacked the monster. She flinched with every punch and kick he got before he too was thrown across the room. His body slid on the ground until his head bumped against the wall and he fell unconscious.
Her feet were frozen. No matter how much she willed them to move they wouldn’t. She stood there and watched as the monster came towards her. In the corner of her eye she still saw Leo trying to get between her and the monster before she felt her hands on her, felt a dull pain and everything went black.
She came back to when her body was shaken. Slowly opening her eyes while trying to ignore the searing pain behind them she saw Leo towering over her. The worry on his face changed into relief when her eyes found his. She groaned as she sat up, holding her pounding head. Leo helped her up, holding onto her arms tightly. “It’s over!”, he explained. “It’s over! Jessie must have closed the Rip!” She felt great relief as she clung onto Leo.
“Is Spike alright?”, she asked after pulling away from him.
“Am fine, love,” the boy called over having heard her ask the question. Her face lit up as she realized that he was indeed alright. She rushed over and gave him a hug as well, surprising him, but he didn’t complain. Near-death experiences did bring people closer together. Either way, she had always liked the charismatic boy. In her mind they were friends. In his, too. She just didn’t know.
“And you?”, she asked Billy who was sitting down again. The fight could not have been good for his broken leg.
“Not much worse than before,” he answered honestly. Apart from the throbbing in his head, his leg gave him the greatest pain, but it had done that before, too. She nodded at that. They were well and alive and the world wouldn’t end today. She looked around the cellar once more, noticing the absence of the Sister and the bodies. They must have already taken them out while she was unconscious.
“I should probably go, then,” she started, but was stopped by Billy.
“You should at least wait until Bea and Jessie come back and tell us what happened. You deserve to hear the story, too.” The other two boys agreed. It didn’t take much convincing to get her to stay a little longer. They sat in silence, much needed after everything that had happened. It was interrupted after a while by the door opening. Steps made their way down into the cellar. The two girls appeared, covered in dirt with sad looks on their faces that were replaced by happy and relieved ones at the sight of everyone being there.
Mary-Belle watched the way Leopold and Beatrice looked at each other as they got closer and enveloped each other in a hug. It was adoring, loving, in a way Leopold had never looked at her, but she understood now. Understood how she could never compare to Beatrice who was so adventurous and brave. More hugs were exchanged while Mary-Belle just sat there and watched on. There was a short moment Beatrice and her held eye-contact. The black-haired girl nodded at Mary-Belle as a sign of respect and as a thank you for keeping the promise she had made. She couldn’t justify not liking Beatrice anymore after today, but she didn’t know if that made it harder or easier to let go of her feelings for Leo.
She stayed seated as the girls found their own seats and the boys went back to theirs before they started telling what had transpired. Jessie filled them in about her mind battle with the Linen Man and together they told them about their mother who had appeared from the Rip. It was a heart-wrenching story. Mary-Belle’s eyes filled with tears that she didn’t want to let fall in front of the others but the story and the expression on the sisters’ faces made it hard. She admired them even more now. Having to make such a decision wasn’t an easy weight to bear and then having to live with it.
Soon after everyone filled the others in on what they had experienced the groups dispersed. Mary-Belle took that as her cue. There was just one more thing she needed to do before she left them. She walked over to Leo and Beatrice, hesitant to interrupt their conversation but doing it anyways to get it over with. “Excuse me,” she butted in, “Leo, can I talk with you outside for a moment?” His gaze fluttered over to Beatrice who agreed silently before the both of them climbed out of the cellar and onto the street that had already gone back to some sort of normalcy. People were bustling around, going after their business, others were in charge of picking up the dead bodies and cleaning up after them.
They came to stop a short way away from the cellar when Mary-Belle turned to face him. “What are you going to do now, Leo? Are you going to return to the palace? What is your plan?”
“I… would like to stay here. These are my friends and I belong here, not in the palace,” he announced.
She nodded, a sad smile on her face. “I understand, but I’m certain the Queen will have people looking for you when she notices that you are missing. You can’t stay away from your responsibilities forever.”
He let out a desperate sigh. “I know, but… I want to enjoy this time for as long as I can.” She nodded and squeezed his arm briefly before she watched him descend into the cellar again to live this life for a bit longer.
She turned to walk away, home, back to a life so unlike the one Leo chose to live, but she didn’t get very far before she was stopped by a hand hesitantly reaching out to her. Jessica stood there. She quickly retrieved her arm after gaining Mary-Belle’s attention. “We were actually going to get fish and chips later. You, um, you should eat with us. After all, you’ve helped us.”
“I didn’t really do anything actually. I was probably just in the way most of the time, but thank you. You guys should enjoy your evening by yourselves.”
She wanted to walk away again, but Jessica spoke up once more to stop her. “That’s not true! If anything, you got Billy out of jail! The others told me. You didn’t have to do that. You barely know us, but you did! Please, I would really like it if you would eat with us.”
In the end, Jessica had convinced Mary-Belle and when they were all sitting together that evening eating fish and chips she felt content and happy. Looking around at their smiling and laughing faces she could understand how Leo found his family in this group of people.
She caught the expression on Billy’s face when Leo and Beatrice walked past him to get up to the street. It was a sour one, full of jealousy. So, she walked over and sat down next to him. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”, she noticed quietly, following their retreating figures with her eyes until they disappeared outside and closed the door behind them.
Billy’s head whipped around to eye her suspiciously. “What would you know about it?”, he asked.
“Well.” She let out a sigh. “I’m in love with him,” she revealed, “so, I guess we’re in the same boat.” The two of them shared a mutual understanding that the people they loved, loved them too, but not in the same way.
“Should we do something about it, then?”, Billy asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“What are you thinking of?”, Mary-Belle asked with a smile, before Billy grabbed her face and pulled her close. His lips hovered over hers for a moment, enough time for her to pull away if she wanted too, and then he kissed her. A gasp sounded which pulled the two apart. As they looked over to the source of the sound, they found Spike staring at them, his hand dramatically on his chest which made them all laugh. Billy threw a chip at Spike to get him to stop with his antics. He had a carefree smile on his face again. Even as he looked over at Mary-Belle, which he used to do with such a dark gaze, it didn’t falter and maybe, she thought, she could find her place here as well.
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nvvermore · 3 years
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Angel of Music
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Beatrice’s vocal lessons with Amaryllis begin, and the both of them learn much more during these lessons than they’d ever expected to
words: 9k~
Amaryllis’s POV by me/Beatrice’s POV by @juliandev0rak
Unfortunately for Amaryllis, Beatrice was a good student.
It sounded like a silly thing to lament over, but it was easy for a good student to sniff out a bad teacher. So, Amaryllis needed to work extra hard to appear as natural as possible in such a position. It didn’t help that yesterday Nadia had also informed them that Beatrice happened to be a teacher herself. Not versed in music, but there had to be a method to these things that it was clear they would be missing.
She’d come prepared, with a journal for notes, water, and even mentioned she took time to practice last night. Despite her outward anxiety, it was clear Beatrice felt excited. But, her attitude didn’t change Amaryllis’s  unpreparedness. So far, they had been improvising, banking on her lack of experience and their charisma to fill in the blanks. They were nothing if not an actor.
Now, the two had finished discussing Beatrice’s experience level, as never having had an instructor meant very little. Amaryllis never had one either and they were doing fine. That detail they left out though. But she was proficient on the piano and had a secure grasp on reading music, and had sung for fun her entire life.
Amaryllis stood from the chaise where the two had been sitting side by side. They held out a hand to Beatrice, whose eyes flashed from their face to the offered hand before taking it. Without thought, their thumb brushed over the back of her hand, her skin soft to the touch. As soon as she was on her feet she pulled away, and Amaryllis mourned the loss.
“An important part of singing is remembering your whole body is the instrument. You need to be mindful of your entire being. It may sound difficult, but with practice it will become second nature.” Amaryllis explains as they watch Beatrice watch them. Her hazel eyes dart away when the two make eye contact.
“First step to a session is to stretch. You want your body to be loose, especially your torso. Follow after me.” Amaryllis raises their arms above their head, stretching their shoulders. “Hold for thirty,” They instruct, looking to Beatrice for understanding. Though instead of stretching, she’s starting again. This time, her gaze is on the hem of their dress, where it’s ridden up due to the stretching. The already risqué length had become even more revealing, pale skin a striking contrast to their dark outfit.
“See something you like?” The taunt snaps Beatrice out of it, and her hands nervously dart to the clasp of her cloak. “That seems a little heavy, perhaps you'd like to take it off?”
“Ah, um, yes! Of course.” her fingers stop their fiddling to undo the clasp, and she slips off the garment and hangs it on the back of a chair. Now, it’s Amaryllis’s turn to stare. Sans-cloak, Beatrice is in a light-colored lace gown. It was modest— especially compared to Amaryllis— but not any less mesmerizing. Beatrice catches them staring and they do nothing to hide that they were, lips quirked into a sly grin. She clears her throat, eager to continue.
“So what exactly is the reasoning for loosening up?”
“Tension in your body puts strain on your muscles, including the ones used in signing. When that happens, your ability and range gets cut a significant amount. Proper posture goes hand in hand with relaxation. One can have the most beautiful voice, but it all falls apart if they’re holding themself wrong.”
Together, they finish up the basic stretches, and Amaryllis retreats to the piano. They finger out a simple scale a few times over, ruby eyes never leaving Beatrice.
“Sing for me.“
An inhale, a shaky exhale, and then she begins to vocalize. She’s very quiet, Amaryllis can hardly hear her over the sound of the piano. But they smile at her and nod, a small push of encouragement. Little by little, she loosens up, growing louder as they go through the scales. Moving up and down in octaves until they pass Beatrice’s range. Her voice is light and airy, ethereal despite the hesitation behind it. An impressive high range, and that was with no breath control practice. When they told her yesterday they'd make her into a prima donna, it had been to tease. But now they’ve heard her, Amaryllis thought it might not be an impossible feat.
Amaryllis ceases their playing. Still watching Beatrice, they could pick up on the subtle tremors that ran through her. She was doing her very best to be discreet in regards to her nerves. They stood from the bench to direct her to sit back down on the chaise, fetching water for her in the process. As she drank it down, Amaryllis fought the impulse to brush her hair back out of her face. The urge to comfort her with any touch. But they didn't know how such a gesture would be received, and the unusual desire to do so brought them discomfort.
“You have a beautiful voice,” their soft complement breaks through the silence. Beatrice looked at them with wide eyes, expression flattered and confused all at once. “It’s true. Right now, your biggest setback is your nerves, and that will fade in time. But the tension you carry because of it can create pitch issues.”
“Oh,” Beatrice whispers, voice trailing off as she takes in the information. Her mouth opens to finish her thought, but loses her words when Amaryllis’s hand is on her chin. They tilt her head up to look at them, the same way they'd done so yesterday.
“You should always accept a compliment as if you truly believe it. That way, one day, you will.”
“I-”
“Your voice is beautiful.” Beatrice looks torn, face flushed and Amaryllis can tell she wants to glance away from them so badly. But she doesn't, and they stand over her patiently while she finds the resolve they know she has.
“Thank you.” Her voice is steady, and while Amaryllis knows it's not likely she believes it yet, it's certainly a good start. Satisfied, their thumb brushes across Beatrice’s jaw before pulling away. They don't watch for any reaction, deciding they've maybe pushed her a bit too much already. Standing across the room now, they decide to get back to the actual vocal lesson.
“Now that I've heard you sing without any corrections, let's go over what exactly we'll work on together.”
The rest of the lesson passes faster than Amaryllis wanted it to. They go over breath control and pitch issues, how to practice and how to work the areas she needed to in particular. Beatrice was attentive, asked careful questions and took detailed notes. The next time Amaryllis had her sing she did so with a little less hesitance. Their own hesitance surrounding teaching faded too. It felt less like they were teacher and student, and more like they were having a conversation. Before they knew it, two hours had passed, and didn’t want to keep Beatrice any longer. Even if a persistent part of their mind said they did.
“Well, It's about time you gave your voice a rest. I‘d consider this first session a great success.” Beatrice stood a few feet away from where Amaryllis sat on the bench. She looked almost disappointed at the concept of the lesson’s conclusion. Glancing around the room, her eyes landed on the grandfather clock in the corner.
“Ah, I suppose you are correct,” her hands darted to where her cloak normally sat. When she found it missing, her fingers faltered. “So how often do you think I should have lessons?”
“Weekly will be best. Much of the progress you're going to make will happen during practice. And as long as you take time to do so each day, you'll see it in little time. But if you have questions or need assistance outside of lessons, you know where to find me.” Amaryllis retrieved their grimoire from the piano lid as Beatrice gathered her things. The green cloak resumed its place on her shoulders, and Amaryllis felt endeared by the quirk. Together, they made for the doors.
“Amaryllis, I,” Beatrice began once they exited the room, “I’d like to thank you. I never thought I'd ever take lessons, let alone ones from you.” The admiration of others rarely phased them, it was another aspect of their everyday. But Beatrice’s gratitude made them feel something unlike any kind they’d received before.
“The pleasure is all mine. You're a very promising student after all.”
“Thank you,” she said with the same conviction as she did after Amaryllis’s complement earlier. Feeling a sense of pride, they smiled at her, genuine.
“Have a good evening, Beatrice.”
⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯
Beatrice shows up to the next lesson early, notebook and water in hand. She tries the door to the practice room and finds it locked, so she sinks down onto the floor to sit and wait. She’s just pulled her notebook out of her bag and is reviewing her notes from last week when she hears the now familiar sound of Amaryllis’ heels approaching down the hallway. She hurriedly stuffs the notebook back into her bag just as Amaryllis turns the corner. “Well hello,” Amaryllis smiles, offering their hand to help Beatrice up, “Need a hand?”
“Oh, yes thank you,” Beatrice takes their hand, trying not to seem too eager as she reaches for them. She lets go of their hand as soon as she’s up, not wanting to make things awkward by lingering.
“Shall we begin?” Amaryllis says, holding the door open for her. She sets her bag down on the chaise and takes her cloak off, not noticing the way Amaryllis watches her from across the room. Her hands go to her clothes, making sure her blouse is tucked in properly and fluffing the fabric of her skirt to make sure it lays flat. She takes a sip of water, a deep breath, and turns to face Amaryllis.
This lesson starts better than the last. Beatrice is less nervous now that she knows what to expect, now that she knows that Amaryllis is both a good teacher and a kind person. She hadn’t expected ridicule by any means, but hearing genuine compliments from them had made her both slightly giddy and a lot more confident. Beatrice loves to learn and if she simply treats these lessons as just that, a lesson, a chance to learn something, she’ll be fine.
As she sings through a few warm up exercises her eyes follow Amaryllis as they play the piano. They seem to notice her staring at them and look up to meet her eyes, causing Beatrice to falter on the note. She tries to recover from the mistake quickly but Amaryllis stops playing and stands up from the piano bench, taking a step towards her.
“You’re too tense again,” Amaryllis explains, their hands going to her shoulders to gently push them down from where she’d lifted them as she'd sung, “Relax your shoulders, remember what I said about tension and stress?” 
“Yes, I remember,” Beatrice smiles, willing her voice to stay steady and her shoulders not to shake under their touch. Amaryllis returns the smile as their left hand gently moves further down her shoulder. They fiddle with the ruffle on her sleeve briefly before removing both of their hands and taking a step away from her. Beatrice breathes in sharply in response and tries to ignore the feeling of her sleeves pressing against her arms just as Amaryllis’ fingers had been
“You’re doing very well, Beatrice. Just relax,” Amaryllis says as they return to their place at the piano bench. She’s grateful that they’re busy shuffling through sheet music and can’t see the way her cheeks color at the praise. They start to play one of the songs she’d sung last week and nod at her to begin. 
Beatrice makes it through with only minor mistakes but she still can’t seem to focus when Amaryllis looks up from the piano to watch her. She messes up words, sings off key, and even sometimes grows so quiet she can’t be heard until Amaryllis looks away. She struggles to fight against these reactions, deciding to stare at a spot on the wall behind them so that she won’t notice Amaryllis looking at her. It seems to work and the next run through of the song goes more smoothly. 
During a water break Beatrice gives herself a pep talk, reminding herself that this is simply a lesson, something she can learn to excel at if she follows the rules. The reminder gives her some resolve and she’s able to focus her attention on singing rather than her (very distracting) teacher. As she sings she remembers to breathe and relax her shoulders, she tries to tune out everything but the notes from the piano. She hits a note she’d struggled to hit the week before and smiles in surprise. Her eyes float down from their safe spot on the wall to look at Amaryllis, who watches them with an unreadable expression on their face before it fades into something more neutral.
“That was great!” Amaryllis says, “Let’s do that part again to see if you can hit the note twice in a row.”
The lesson moves quickly once she’s able to focus, and before she knows it Beatrice is pulling her cloak back on and preparing to leave. She stands by the door for a moment, watching as Amaryllis gathers their sheet music. Though the sight of them still makes her a bit nervous, the feeling has faded from self consciousness to something else, something she doesn’t quite want to think about yet.
“You’ve improved since last week,” Amaryllis says, turning around to face her. They give her an encouraging smile and Beatrice meets their eyes, for once managing not to blush as they gaze at her.
“You think so?” Beatrice asks, returning the smile.
“You’re a very quick learner when you’re using that brain of yours to focus instead of overthinking,” Amaryllis replies, their smile turning into more of a smirk. Beatrice does blush then, laughing under her breath as she stares down at her boots.
“Yes, well, I’m working on it,” She says, fiddling with the closure on her overstuffed bag, “I’m glad to hear I’m improving.” 
“You really are, just make sure to practice so you can remember everything you’ve learned this week.” Amaryllis holds the door open for her, gesturing for her to walk out before them. She suddenly feels like she should say something else, the lesson had come to a close too quickly.
“Amaryllis,” Beatrice starts, wondering what she should even say. Should she ask them if they’re going to dinner at the palace? Should she suggest going somewhere else together? No. Surely Amaryllis sees her as nothing more than a student, or maybe a friend if she’s lucky. There’s no guarantee Amaryllis would want to spend more time with her than is necessary, so she changes course, “Thanks again.” 
“You’re very welcome. I’ll see you next week, Beatrice,” Amaryllis replies, turning to walk down the hall.
Beatrice watches them go, trying not to let her eyes linger in places they shouldn’t. Amaryllis’ tight dress leaves nothing to the imagination, and if Beatrice is being honest she has been imagining. She clears her throat and turns the other direction, headed back to the safety of the palace proper. It’ll be a long week waiting to see them again.
⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯
“It’s impressive,” Beatrice comments one day, in the middle of a lesson.
“What’s impressive?” They hadn’t been discussing anything in particular, so it seemed out of place.
“The dedication you have for your craft, all the effort you put into it. And I'm sure I don't even know the half of it.” As she explained, Beatrice sounded composed, but her rosy cheeks gave her away.
Amaryllis blinked, somewhat stunned, though they gave no outward indication of it. They had already recognized that hearing praise from Beatrice felt different somehow. But since their lessons had begun, the flutter they felt when she did so had only grown.
“Please,” Amaryllis waved a dismissive hand, “when you've been at it for as long as I have, it’s hardly any effort at all.”
“You know, I recall you telling me a few weeks ago to, ‘always accept a compliment as if you truly believe it’.”
Beatrice’s words paired with the smug air she said them with caught Amaryllis by surprise. For a split-second, all they could do was stare at her. Being called out for deflection, with their own words, was unexpected from her. As they'd known Beatrice thus far, it was uncharacteristic. And so was their own delight at the notion Beatrice was becoming more comfortable with them. Recovered, they propped their elbows back on the piano, leaning back against it.
All Amaryllis could think of was different ways they'd like to wipe the smirk off her rose-tinted lips. They favored the concept of doing so with their own mouth.
“Do you now?” they mimicked her attitude, cocky expression falling into place as easy as breathing. Easier, even. “I hope you’ve been practicing that part of my lessons too. I’m sure you get enough compliments to do so.” At least, Amaryllis hoped she did, that at least someone was out there taking the time to cherish her. Instead of the bashful reaction they had been hoping for, Beatrice frowned.
“Ah, not usually, no-“
“That’s a shame,” they cut her off, stepping away from the piano to stand before her. Being this close made that flutter Amaryllis was feeling speed up. The last thing they wanted was for Beatrice to frown. And if no one else was taking the time to tell her all the sweet things she should hear, they were more than happy to step up. Accepting compliments built confidence, and confidence was vital to singing. It was simply another part of the lesson, that was all. With a gentle hand, Amaryllis brushed tawny waves out of her face, keeping her from hiding behind them now. “With how lovely you are, I had expected there'd be someone to shower you with sweet words."
Voice low and velvety, they ran their fingers down her cheek. Nails just barely grazing her neck before their hand pulled away. Beatrice wasn't frowning anymore, but was watching them with wide-eyed astonishment. For a moment, Amaryllis's resolve faltered.
They thought about kissing her, it would only take another step, a tilt of her head. But, what actually shocked Amaryllis is that they did not. Instead, as swift as they had approached, they were back against the piano.
Beatrice was their student, and so it would be improper to persue her...
…Which didn’t hold up in the slightest, because never in their life had they cared about what was proper or not. Student or not, under typical circumstances, Amaryllis would have had her in their bed by now. But that was it, wasn’t it? That nothing concerning Beatrice was at all typical. From their opposition to simply seducing her to their reactions to the things that she did. Amaryllis couldn’t recall a time when they’d felt this way before.
They had decided to entertain their intrigue when they offered her lessons. But Amaryllis hadn’t imagined that it would shift in the direction they were afraid it was heading.
“Thank you,” her breathy voice pulled them back into the room. It took them a second to realize she was thanking them for the compliment. Beatrice was biting her lip, watching them with those hazel eyes they couldn’t quite get a read on.
All they could do was turn away from her, but not before they could hide away their smile. Amaryllis tried to stay focused on the lesson, and not on the dangerous territory they were heading into.
⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯
They’ve done more talking than singing, Beatrice realizes as she looks at the clock. It’s been an hour since the lesson started and they’ve been sitting on the couch talking the entire time, neither realizing how much time has passed. The topics of conversation have ranged, what began as small talk about the rainy weather had evolved into how they’d each come to be employed at the palace. Amaryllis doesn’t give many details, but Beatrice drinks in every piece of their story she can get and tries to ignore the urge to pry.
Over the course of the hour Beatrice has loosened up considerably, her posture is slouched and her legs are tucked under her as she sits criss cross on the couch rather than her usual polite ankle cross. She’s surprised to find how easy it is to talk to Amaryllis, how easily she can let her guard down to talk about herself more than she usually would. When Amaryllis asks a question she finds herself answering without thinking. They seem genuinely interested in her answers, leaning towards her as she speaks and asking follow up questions.
“What made you want to teach?” Amaryllis asks, their voice pulling her gaze back from the clock on the wall.
“Well, I never had a real education as a child, I learned manners and needlepoint and all sorts of useless things like that, but science, literature, history- everything I know I’ve learned on my own,” Beatrice explains, her voice rising in volume as it often does when she’s excited, “Vesuvia doesn’t offer an education for those who can’t afford to pay tutors, and I think that should change.” 
“So you just marched up to the Countess and suggested opening a school?” Amaryllis grins, their eyes trained to Beatrice’s face which is for once free of any hint of anxiety as she smiles proudly at them. The image of Beatrice stomping up the palace steps in her green cloak with a look of determination on her face makes Amaryllis suppress a laugh. 
“Believe it or not, I did! I requested a meeting and left less than an hour later to pick a spot to build the school,” Beatrice laughs, “Nadia wasn’t difficult to convince.”
“I’m sure you can be very convincing when you want to be,” Amaryllis says, reaching to play with the lace trim at the bottom of her dress. Beatrice watches the action closely, not pulling away when their hand briefly brushes against her leg. “Well, I suppose we should get started on the singing lesson, we’ve delayed quite a bit.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Beatrice nearly trips over her dress as she gets up from the chaise.
“You have nothing to apologize for, I very much enjoyed getting to know you better,” Amaryllis replies, smoothing their clothing down as they walk across the room to the piano.
“I enjoyed it too,” Beatrice smiles, “getting to know you.” 
“I should have you play sometime, I remember you being quite proficient during our first lesson,” Amaryllis says as they take their seat at the instrument. 
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not very accomplished anymore. I wish I had more time to practice the piano, but there are only so many hours in a day,” Beatrice replies, taking her usual spot standing next to them.
“Would you like to play something now?” Amaryllis suggests, patting the spot next to them on the piano bench, “I’m sure you’re great.”
“Oh, well, sure if you’d like to hear me play,” Beatrice hesitates for a moment before she takes a seat next to them, trying to smooth her dress down a bit so she doesn’t take up too much room on the bench. Amaryllis smiles and moves a bit closer so that their leg is pressed to hers, she can feel the warmth of their skin through the fabric of her dress and works hard to regain her composure.
“I would love to hear you play,” Amaryllis says directly into her ear, their mouth barely brushing against her skin. She manages to only shiver the tiniest bit as Amaryllis leans away from her again, turning their attention back to the piano. Beatrice takes an only slightly shaky breath and reaches for the keys. Her fingers pluck a familiar tune, one she’d learned when she was younger and forced to sit through hours of lessons every day. She shuts her eyes as she plays it by memory, tuning out Amaryllis next to her and the distracting ticking of the clock on the wall behind her. 
When she finishes the song, a short piece designed more for practice than performance, she pulls her hands back into her lap and looks up at Amaryllis to gauge their reaction. The smile on their face is different than any Beatrice has seen before. It has more emotion behind it, admiration perhaps, and she feels a flutter in her stomach at the thought. 
“That was lovely, Beatrice. I thought you said you were out of practice? That sounded well practiced to me,” Amaryllis laughs, the smile replaced by their usual expression.
“Thank you. I used to hate that song so much, it would get stuck in my head for hours and I’d  find myself playing the notes in the air all the time like some sort of compulsion,” Beatrice sighs, her fingers flexing in her lap at the memory, “But I’m glad the torment payed off.” 
“Well I’ll stop torturing you then,” Amaryllis jokes, bumping Beatrice slightly off the piano bench with their hip, “I think we’ll leave the piano to me for now, let’s begin the lesson.”
⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯
Amaryllis’s fingers still on the keys of the piano as the song comes to an end. Beatrice’s singing was lovely— as always— but something was off. What, they weren’t exactly sure. The warm up went fine, she didn’t seem stiff or nervous in the slightest, and  minimal issues with her pitch. She’d taken a breath or two at a bad moment, and at one point a whole note became a half, but neither of those were serious.
They realize that they may just be projecting their feelings onto her. A comment of hers from before had been bothering Amaryllis, much more than it should have. Beatrice’s anecdote about having no say in performing a song that she hated had struck close to home. Literally.
Beatrice had never given any indication that she was unhappy with the music they chose for her. But Amaryllis had never directly asked her what she wanted to sing either.
“Amaryllis, is everything alright?” Beatrice spoke up. Suddenly they realized they hadn’t said a word in the time since the song had concluded. There was a nervous edge to her voice, the tone making an unwelcome appearance for the first time in weeks.
“Yes, I apologize,” they stood from the bench, feeling the sudden urge to move.
“Is there, um, a problem?” Her words were hesitant, uneasy. When Amaryllis turned to her, Beatrice's eyes were downcast, focused on the carpet.
“Oh, ma chérie, no. You were wonderful, don’t worry.” The endearment had slipped out without thought. Bringing a hand to her back, Amaryllis ushered her over to sit with them. They felt uneasy, but maintained their composure, focused on how soft the satin of her dress felt.
“Sorry, I-” Amaryllis faltered. Their hand was still at her back, lower now, and as much as they longed to leave it there they knew they shouldn't. Not only was the gesture a little too friendly, but feeling how thin her dress seemed to be was distracting. “I’d like to ask, what kind of music do you want to sing?”
Once Beatrice had taken in their question, she relaxed, taking a moment to consider her answer.
“I suppose whatever kind suits my voice best?” She sounded uncertain, and her hazel eyes flitting back to the ground was a confirmation. Amaryllis was having none of that.
“Ah,” their hand came up to her chin, tilting her gaze back to them, “that’s not how this works.” The two were close, but not quite as close as they had been at the piano bench last week. As Amaryllis looked down at her, the rose-colored lipstick she wore caught their eye. They gave into the temptation to stare, for a little too long.
Amaryllis is back to the same dilemma as they had been weeks ago. They wanted to kiss her, wanted to see the color on her lips smeared and mixed with their own. It was the same conundrum, but it had grown far more complicated than it had been weeks ago.
They dreaded the conclusion of their lessons, and counted the days until the next one. And between lessons they’d started seeing each other much more often during the rest of the week. During court functions and other meetings, Amaryllis had found themself in Beatrice's company. They ran into each other in the halls of the palace— literally, one time— and when on stage they looked for her in the crowd. She was never difficult to spot.
As of late, their compositions reflected their feelings. Even inspiration for the masquerade came easy, knowing she'd be in that crowd too.
Amaryllis wanted her. But now, they wanted far more than a kiss or a single night, and not in the way they were familiar with wanting someone. Wanted to hold her hand, wanted to listen to her ramble, wanted to sing with her. Wanted to know her, and had even contemplated letting her know them in return.
But they couldn’t let themself. It was foolish— to be afraid of the feelings and to have them at all in the first place. In some ways, it felt like something of a betrayal. Beatrice had trusted Amaryllis to instruct her, not to fall for her.
Finally, they avert their gaze, torn to see Beatrice watching them with a similar longing. It would have been far easier to lean into her instead of pulling themself away completely. Even if Amaryllis knew she'd be receptive, they had to have some self-preservation. They knew it wouldn’t be enough to just take what they could get from her. It would be better to let the infatuation fade than feed the fire; it would hurt far less.
“Passion is far more important.” Amaryllis leans back against the chaise. “Doing what’s ‘technically’ correct means nothing if it's not what makes you happy. Singing for the sake of arbitrary rules will only bring you dread.” They're familiar with the way it feels to lose your passion, and the trauma of it was a deep-seated pain. Beatrice’s brow creases as they speak, picking up on what their insistence indicates. “So when I ask you what you’d like to sing, I need you to answer with how you feel.”
“I’d like to sing things that I can find meaning in. The song we’ve been working on, it’s beautiful, but I can’t relate to it no matter how I attempt to interpret it. Coming from me it feels insincere.”
“I may have something in particular you'd like.” The words are out before Amaryllis can even grasp what exactly they were deciding to offer. But they couldn't take it back now, not with the delighted way Beatrice was looking at them.
Without standing, they motion in the air, and their grimoire soars over from where it had placed on the piano. Amaryllis sets the book of music before them. With their hands on the cover, they whisper the incantation that unlocks it.
Beatrice had scooted forward, leaning in, but still far enough for her to pretend she wasn't being nosy. Amaryllis knew she must have a billion questions, and they would happily listen to her voice each one. But, she only asked one.
“What is it about?”
It was a simple question, but not one with a simple answer. That was why Amaryllis had written it into a song after all. Emotions and experiences were too difficult for them to express in a usual manner. If their feelings were to be expressed at all, they had to do so in a different way.
“You’ll see,” they left it at that, casting the projection spell for the piano. Sitting up straight, Amaryllis rolled their shoulders back, and began to sing.
The lyrics they sang painted the picture of a neglected child. The intense sorrow they felt. What they dreamed of to help them through each day. The helplessness that came when they realized the dreams were only that. Dreams, and nothing more.
With a final, shaky note, they looked to Beatrice. She was silent, lips parted and eyes glassy. For a moment, Amaryllis worries they'd upset her, but then she reaches out to rest her hand on their knee.
“Amaryllis, that was beautiful,” she blinks away the tears that had threatened to fall. “You’d trust me to sing that?”
“Of course,” they place their hand over hers.
“Then, I’d love to.”
⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯
Beatrice wakes up groggily, rolling over in bed only to come face to face with a rabbit staring directly at her. “Oh, good morning, Bramble,” she says, reaching to scratch the rabbit between her ears. She winces at the sound of her voice, it sounds scratchy and her throat hurts a bit when she swallows. She decides to test her voice again, “Shall we get some breakfast?” it’s definitely still scratchy. 
She worries as she goes about her morning routine, wondering if she’ll be able to sing at all later. She’s been practicing in all of her spare moments, and perhaps that’s why she has no voice left for her real practice. Still, work doesn’t stop for a lost voice and she has a meeting with Nadia in an hour so she clasps her cloak, grabs her bag, and starts the trek across town.
When she arrives in Nadia’s parlor, a prompt five minutes early, she realizes how winded she feels. The moment she opens her mouth to greet Nadia she knows she might really be in trouble. 
“Good morning,” She croaks, pasting a cheerful smile on her face in the hopes of distracting the Countess. 
“Oh dear, Beatrice are you feeling alright? You sound quite ill,” Nadia says, looking worried as she stands in the doorway regarding her. 
“I’m fine, just a sore throat,” Beatrice replies, holding back a wince as her throat grates. 
‘You don’t sound fine, I believe you should go home and rest. You’re in no position to give a presentation this morning,” Nadia’s tone of voice brooks no argument and Beatrice hangs her head a bit as she tries to think of a way to convince her. Beatrice doesn’t take days off, certainly not for a sore throat. “I shall have a servant get you a carriage.”
“I’m fine, really! Don’t go to the trouble,” She pleads, but Nadia simply shakes her head and points to the doorway.
“Go home, take some time to rest, Beatrice,” Nadia says kindly. Beatrice sighs and starts to gather her things, there’s no use, Nadia’s right. She can barely make an audible sound, there’s nothing to do but wait for her voice to come back. 
As Beatrice heads to the Palace gates she’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t think about her lesson with Amaryllis. She all but forgets about it until she spots a familiar maroon haired figure approaching from across the foyer. 
“Beatrice, you’re here early,” Amaryllis says, looking equal parts bemused and excited to see her. 
“I was just leaving,” Beatrice rasps, “ Lost my voice,” 
“Yes I should say you have,” Amaryllis frowns, putting a hand on Beatrice’s forehead as if to check for a fever. She stares at them wide-eyed as they deliberate and finally pull their hand away. “Does your throat hurt as well?” 
“Yes,” She says, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can sing today.” 
“No, I don’t think you can. You should go home and rest, you’ve been practicing too much,” They reply, they’re still stooped down a bit to meet her eyes and Beatrice finds it hard to focus with them this close to her.
“I’m sorry,” Beatrice manages to say, feeling terrible from the pain and because she’ll be missing out on a lesson.
Beatrice thinks back to their last lesson, the way Amaryllis had opened up to her and allowed her to listen to their music. She doesn’t want to miss another chance at that closeness, both emotional and physical. There had been times over the last few weeks where Beatrice could have sworn Amaryllis might kiss her. They’d stared directly at her lips, only a slight tilt of the head away from meeting her lips with their own. But it hadn't happened, and it never will, Beatrice reminds herself. Amaryllis is her teacher, and though they’ve begun to spend more time together outside of lessons she’s sure it’s out of friendly obligation and nothing more. 
“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your poor vocal chords.” Amaryllis straightens up to their full height and takes a step back from her. They seem to be deep in thought for a moment before almost hesitantly adding, “Go home, I’ll bring you some tea to help with your throat.” 
“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” Beatrice protests, her face already flushing at the thought of them being so concerned for her.
“Stop talking, you’ll make things worse,” Amaryllis says, “It’s the building on the corner by the hat shop, yes?” Beatrice is a little surprised that Amaryllis remembers where she lives, she’d only mentioned it once in passing a few weeks ago.
“Yes,” Beatrice starts, but at Amaryllis’ stern look she shuts her mouth and nods instead. 
“Now go rest,” They say, red lips pulling into their characteristic smile, “I’ll be by later.” 
When she gets home Beatrice kicks her boots off and changes into something comfortable. She chugs a glass of water but it’s too cold and burns the whole way down. It might just be her throat that hurts, but she finds herself quite tired. She’d refused the carriage ride home, deeming it unnecessary, and the walk back home had taken her longer than usual. She wants to take a nap, but if Amaryllis is coming by later she wants to make sure her house is tidy first.
After a quick speed clean, which she might’ve used some magic to do more quickly, she collapses into bed. What feels like five minutes later there's a knock on the door and she sits up with a start, hurriedly smoothing her hair down as she goes to answer the door. She holds her breath a little as she opens the door, seeing Amaryllis standing in her doorway is not a sight she’d ever expected to see. 
“Hello,” Amaryllis smiles as they take in Beatrice standing before them in her socks and a simple tunic, so different from her usual fancy clothing. She fidgets uncomfortably under their gaze, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” They raise an eyebrow, and Beatrice rushes to open the door wider for them to enter. 
“You didn’t have to come all this way,” She says hoarsely, watching as Amaryllis looks around her apartment. It’s not large, just the living area and a separate bedroom and bathroom off of a hallway. She’s glad she’d tidied before Amaryllis arrived, they’re used to Palace accommodations, and her little home in Center City certainly isn’t that. 
“I took a carriage, it took no time at all,” Amaryllis replies, taking a small pouch of tea leaves out of their bag. “The coachman said you decided to walk, why would you do that when you were already feeling unwell?” 
The question takes Beatrice off guard and she watches as Amaryllis walks into her kitchen like they live there, filling her kettle with water and setting it to boil. “It was unnecessary,” she responds when they turn around to look at her, “I didn’t need anyone to go to the trouble on my behalf.”
“If someone offers to help you, let them help you,” Amaryllis says, their face gone serious as they work to prepare the tea. “And it’s no trouble to take care of someone who’s always taking care of others.” 
They look a bit taken aback at their own words and immediately turn their back to Beatrice as they pour the tea. Though she wonders at their reaction it gives Beatrice a chance to take a deep breath and rid herself of the blush on her face. When Amaryllis turns around they’re brandishing a teacup, Beatrice’s favorite though they couldn’t have known that. 
“Do you have any honey? It’ll help your throat even more,” They ask. Beatrice nods and goes to the cupboard next to them, reaching on her tiptoes to grab the jar of honey from the back. Amaryllis watches her with a smirk as she manages to reach it and hands the jar to them. 
“What tea is that?” Beatrice asks, taking in the slightly familiar aroma.
“It’s ginger tea, now sit,” They point to the couch in the middle of the room, “And drink.” 
Beatrice takes the cup from them, trying not to react to their fingers brushing hers, and takes a seat. The tea tastes better than she thought it would, and the honey makes it sweet enough for her to actually enjoy. Amaryllis sits on the opposite end of the couch and watches as she sips the tea. She holds back a sigh as the warm beverage soothes her throat.
“I think you need to cut down on how much you’re practicing. You also need to take more frequent vocal breaks to rest, and I’m leaving this tea with you. You should have some after you practice,” Amaryllis says. Beatrice nods and continues to drink her tea, not wanting to interrupt their instruction. Amaryllis moves a bit closer to her and Beatrice turns towards them, nearly losing her grip on the teacup when they reach out to twist their finger around one of the curls that hangs near her face. Though she’s grown more used to their casual touches over time, she still finds herself flustered by how delicately they brush the lock of hair behind her ear.
“You’re making a lot of progress, Beatrice, but you shouldn’t push yourself so hard that you get hurt,” Amaryllis explains, their eyes locked to hers, “You need to take better care of your instrument.” 
“I will,” Beatrice says in assurance. Her voice already sounds a bit better, and it didn’t hurt as much to speak. She smiles at the realization that the tea really had helped, and Amaryllis watches in amusement as Beatrice downs the rest of the cup like one would take a shot of alcohol. 
“I need to get back for a performance tonight, promise me you’ll stay home and rest? If I see you at the Palace next week and you’re still croaking I’ll have to come up with something stronger, and it won’t be sweetened with honey,” Amaryllis threatens, but the smile on their face takes away from the effect.
“I promise,” Beatrice replies, holding her pinky out to theirs to make a pinky promise. Amaryllis stares at her finger for a moment before laughing under their breath and linking their pinky with hers.
“Good,” They stand up to gather their belongings and head towards the door, “Thanks for letting me visit your lovely home, I do hope I can make a return visit someday.” 
“I hope so too,” Beatrice says, meeting their eyes for a moment before her eyes dart away to the bookcase next to them, something safer to stare at, “Thank you for the tea.” 
“My pleasure, anything to help my favorite student,” Amaryllis smiles, dipping into a dramatic bow.
“As far as I know, I’m your only student,” Beatrice laughs, glad that the action didn’t seem to hurt her throat.
“Just take the compliment, Beatrice,” They say, opening the door, “Goodbye.” 
“Goodbye,” She replies, but they’ve already shut the door behind them. 
Beatrice makes herself another cup of ginger tea and considers writing Amaryllis a thank you note, it’s the least she can do. She gets to work, pulling out her special personalized stationery and her favorite golden ink. It takes her nearly fifteen minutes just to write their name, she tries to get the curve of the A just right, the y looped perfectly around the other letters. The actual contents of the note is short. There are lots of things she’d like to say to Amaryllis, and maybe someday she’ll get up the courage to do so, but for today she just says “thank you”.
She’d thought that writing the note might help her clear her head a bit, but when she tries to go to sleep she can’t stop the thoughts of Amaryllis. She thinks about the way Amaryllis had called her ma chérie last week, and how much she wants them to call her that again. She wants to hear more of their words spoken and sung only for her. Before she can help herself, Beatrice thinks about their lips again, bright red and so close to her own. Would it have been a mistake for her to have leaned in? Would Amaryllis have pushed her away or kissed her back? 
She really needs to get over this infatuation. Even if Amaryllis had wanted to kiss her, it doesn’t mean they would want anything more. Just when she thinks Amaryllis is interested they take a step back, or they return to their calm and collected demeanor and the moment passes. Beatrice really doesn’t know what to make of their attention, their casual touches and lingering eye contact. She’s seen them flirt with others in the same way, it seems to be a facet of their personality to be familiar with people, and if that’s the case then what makes her any different? 
Beatrice isn’t used to being treated like this. She’s not used to being told that she’s talented and pretty and full of potential, and though she believes their words to be genuine, she wonders if their time spent together means as much to Amaryllis as it does to her. She hopes it does.
⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯
“So, what’s going on today that has you so cheerful?” Amaryllis asks as they begin to tidy up the rehearsal room now that the lesson had concluded. They're more than content to linger, packing their bag with little haste.
“I'm usually cheerful,” Beatrice fights a grin, acting coy.
“Especially so today. It certainly reflected in your performance. Now that I think about it, the past few days you’ve seemed so excited.” Amaryllis had been thinking about it, giddy each time they’d run into her and the dazzling smile she had on display.
Beatrice avoided their gaze, eyes mischievous, and Amaryllis expected her to deflect again. “It’s my birthday today!”
“Oh! Happy birthday,” they smile, full of adoration, “are you doing anything to celebrate?”
“I’m staying here for dinner tonight. A gangly birdie let it slip that Nadia may have planned something special for me.”
“I suppose that means I’ll get to see you at dinner.” Beatrice glances up, surprised, and Amaryllis attempts to suppress a laugh. “I usually dine here, I live here after all. Though, I often take meals in my room, but it seems that tonight is a special occasion.”
“Oh, you don’t have to come to dinner just for me, I’m sure you’re busy-“
“I’d like to. That is, if you don’t mind having me there.”
“Amie, of course not!”
For a moment, all is silent, both surprised that she called Amaryllis by a nickname. Beatrice looks like she’s about to rush to apologize, but their smile beats her to it.
“Then I’ll be there." Once the nickname sunk in, their face lit up— despite their attempt to stay neutral— and told her there was no issue. Beatrice nods, her demure smile doing nothing to hide how pleased she really is.
The two say their farewells for now, leaving in different directions. Beatrice, they assume, is off to get ready for a dinner in her honor, and Amaryllis is off to find a fitting last-minute gift.
After an hour, Amaryllis was approaching the dining room. A little late, but dressed for dinner and with a carefully-crafted bouquet in hand. They might have gone overboard with their gift, but Beatrice didn’t need to know. The arrangement they'd selected looked simple, but the meanings each flower held were far from it.
First, they'd started with violets, paired with sprigs of laurel. Individually, violets represented modesty, and laurel was for success. Together, they were for expressing that you were proud of the recipient. And Amaryllis was so proud of Beatrice. Their first real meeting all those months ago she was a ball of nerves, when it came to singing and being around them. But now, she had made leaps and bounds with her singing, and felt comfortable enough to call them ‘Amie’.
Then, the cowslip caught their eye. It was for gracefulness, and they'd decided it was fitting. Beatrice was graceful, even when she tripped over herself or her words, there was a certain charm to it. Even when nervous she always made her best attempt, and the way she lit up when she was successful. To Amaryllis, she was the portrait of grace.
Of course, it spiraled into dangerous territory from there. The buttercups came next, 'you are radiant with charm', they revealed. And when paired with the cowslip, they were often given as tokens of new and blooming affection. Amaryllis couldn't say their affection was new, but it was blooming into something far past a fleeting crush.
Finally, Amaryllis added purple pansies into the mix. They told themself it was simply to balance out the two bunches of yellow flowers, but that was a lie. Pansies confessed ‘you occupy my thoughts’, and gods, did she. So often they thought of her; when composing, when performing, during the day, at night, in bed. It almost felt wrong, how often their mind strayed to her and in the ways that it did.
The blooms had been wrapped together in cream-colored paper and tied with a violet ribbon. Amaryllis hoped the delicate yellows and purples would be to her liking. They also hoped that gifting this bouquet full of secrets would be symbolic. That they'd be handing off their feelings like they were handing off the flowers.
The dining room doors opened, and their worry-free façade fell back into place.
“She’s been taking lessons from a great teacher,” catches Amaryllis’s ear as they enter. To the side is what looks to be the gift table, and they place the bouquet down. It was Portia, with all her enthusiasm that they'd heard. She was at the center of the table, alongside Nadia of course, with Beatrice seated on her other side.
“Ah, well-“
“Gossiping about me?” Amaryllis stopped behind their seats, interrupting and startling Beatrice in the process. Instinctively, they place a hand on her shoulder to steady her, surprised to feel bare skin. When Amaryllis glances down at her, they regret it immediately.
She’s dressed to the nines, cloak nowhere to be seen. All they see is cream lace and tulle that drapes off her shoulders, and the satin corset hugging her frame. They’re at a wonderful angle to witness exactly how flattering it is on her.
Before they could be considered staring, they look away. But as flushed as she is, they doubt Beatrice missed the way their eyes dragged over her body. Her smile is bright, and Amaryllis is a little dizzy at the idea that reaction was for them. They certainly could dream.
“Wait, you’ve been instructing her?” Asra questions from Beatrice’s other side.
“Why are you so surprised?” Amaryllis shrugs, nonchalant, strolling away to their seat. They were well aware this news was about to be the largest scandal in Vesuvian history. Their lessons weren’t a secret, but Amaryllis hadn’t gone out of their way to mention it, and it seemed Beatrice hadn't either.
“I recall bringing up the idea of you taking on students last year. And I recall you declining, claiming you weren’t ‘teacher material’.” Nadia comments as they pass.
Lucio can’t help but join in, complaints ready as Amaryllis takes their seat between him and Julian. “I’ve begged you for lessons, and you always told me no!”
“That’s because you’re tone deaf.”
“Wait, I’m tone deaf, but we sing together all the time?” Julian adds.
“You aren’t tone deaf, you have trouble matching pitch on your own. There’s a difference.”
They aren't close to Beatrice at all, on the complete opposite side of the table, but they can see her trying to listen in.
“So Amaryllis, what prompted your change of heart about teaching?” Nadia asks them.
“There’s been no change of heart, I’m still not interested,” Amaryllis sips their wine.
“Then why is Beatrice taking lessons from you?” Julian butts in from between them.
“She stumbled upon a rehearsal of mine weeks ago, and mentioned lessons. I thought I would offer,” another sip, “I could tell she was special.”
“Is that so?”
Amaryllis makes sure Beatrice is still eavesdropping, her eyes wide and curious. “Beatrice is a very promising student. If it were up to me, I’d have her on the stage by now.”
Nadia turns to her, and the countess begins to ask her about it. Of course, Amaryllis's ability to hear what she has to say is cut off by Lucio and Julian’s bickering.
Dinner as a whole passes with no more awe directed at them for their, admittedly, out of character actions. They were thankful to no longer be in the spotlight for the night, it wasn’t for them after all.
After dessert— Beatrice’s favorite cake, of course— Nadia suggests they all move to the veranda. Amaryllis stands, but takes their time joining everyone else, finishing off their wine. Somehow, they hadn’t noticed Beatrice still in the room until her hand is on their arm. It’s just the two of them now, and her touch is a welcome surprise. Beatrice’s smile is radiant as she looks up at them through long lashes. In her other hand is the bouquet.
“How did you know violets were my favorite?”
“I didn’t, actually,” she glances between the flowers and Amaryllis. “I’m relieved to know that I chose well.” 
“You did. Thank you, Amie. They’re beautiful.”
“They pale in comparison to you,” it’s cliché, and easily passed off as Amaryllis’s typical flirting. Even if now they mean it more than anything. “You look lovely tonight.”
“Thank you,” she’s blushing, but her smile is proud.
“Did you know that violets mean ‘modesty’?”
“They do?” Her eyes light up, always eager to learn about anything. “Do the other flowers mean anything specific?”
“All of them do, and some of them mean something else when paired together. It’s why I picked them.” Beatrice’s brow raises, anticipating that Amaryllis will explain. “I think I’ll leave it for you to figure out on your own.”
“What!” Beatrice pouts, and her grip on their arm tightens. “But it’s my birthday.”
“And you love to learn, so it's the best gift of all.”
“That is a wonderful gift,” she laughs. “Then would you tell me what your favorite is?”
“I like Hemlock.”
“Isn’t that…”
“Highly poisonous? Yes, though it is safe when dried.” She stares for a moment, somewhere between confusion and amusement, then laughs again.
“How am I not surprised?”
“I also like roses. But don’t tell anyone, I wouldn’t want word to get out that I’m just a romantic, it’d ruin my reputation.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” her expression turns pensive, “are you really? A romantic, that is.”
Amaryllis shifts a little closer to Beatrice. The arm that isn’t graced by her touch reaches out, hand on her bare shoulder. They notice a heart-shaped birthmark that they hadn't had the opportunity to see until now. Fingers brush over it before ghosting down her arm, wondering what her reaction would be if it was their lips instead. As they trace her skin, Amaryllis feels her shiver, and it takes every ounce of restraint to not seek that out over and over. They take her hand then, pulling it to their lips to place a soft kiss to the back of it, leaving behind a red lip print.
“I certainly can be, when someone piques my interest enough,” their ruby gaze doesn’t leave her face. Beatrice stifles a gasp, and Amaryllis wonders what to do now, how they could just walk away from this—
And then, they’re interrupted.
“Birthday girl! You’re about to miss your own toast!” Portia leans in  to shout from the doorway. “and you have to lead the song, or else Ilya’s squawking is gonna give me a headache.”
Beatrice intertwines her fingers with Amaryllis's, and then leads them outside hand-in-hand. The walk from the dining room to the veranda is far too short.
⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯
27 notes · View notes
juliandev0rak · 3 years
Text
confiance
Lysander takes a bath, sort of.
characters: Lysander Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens) and Beatrice Viano / Vianan
words: ~2200
warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, brief mentions of drowning / past torture
notes: you might want to read *shudders* Price of Truth by @leila-of-ravens first for context
Beatrice doesn’t trust easily. 
Growing up, she had learned that the people you trust only betray you or leave you behind. So she’d learned to guard her heart, to trust only herself. It was only after she moved to her aunt’s that Beatrice began to unravel the tangled threads of hurt tied so tightly around her heart.
Slowly, she’d been able to open herself up to others. She started with her Aunt Cora, who was the first person to prove herself truly trustworthy. Then she met Ella and Leila, who were so kind that she found herself trusting them quite without noticing. 
When Beatrice lost Aunt Cora to the plague, she lost a part of herself. And when Beatrice lost Leila, she almost lost herself entirely. It was only her trust in Ella and her trust in magic that allowed her to pull through to save their friend, and herself. 
Before she met Lysander, Beatrice had never been in love. She’d always thought that she would know she was in love when she could trust the person implicitly. Before she could love someone, she had to trust them not to judge her, she had to trust them to guard her secrets, and most importantly- she had to trust them to stay. 
Despite her better judgement, Beatrice had fallen in love with Lysander before she even really knew him. But she’d known, even then, that she could trust him. Over the years he had proven that trust, he’d become someone she can count on. He had stayed.
Lysander also doesn’t trust easily. Beatrice finds it hard to know what he’s thinking sometimes, even now when they know each other so well. She understands the feeling of not wanting to burden someone with your troubles, but she wants to help him carry the burden. That’s what love is, and she wants him to trust her too.
On an evening not long after Beatrice moved to Umbra, the two sit in their bed reading before bed as they so often do. Beatrice is thoroughly invested in her novel, a mystery set in a gothic castle full of ghosts and brooding characters. She likes to read fiction in her spare time, it’s nice to turn her brain off sometimes after a long day of reading academic texts. But she’s pulled out of the action of the book as Lysander clears his throat, drawing her attention to the fact that he’s stood up from bed.
He sets his own book down and gives her a little nod when she looks up. “I think I’ll go take a bath.” 
“Alright, I’ll be here.” Beatrice smiles briefly as Lysander walks into the bathroom adjoining their room. He carefully shuts the door behind him and she turns back to her novel.
The fire in the fireplace has dwindled down to almost nothing by the time Beatrice looks up from her book again and realizes how much time has passed. Now that she thinks of it, she hasn’t heard the sound of the bath water running. She hasn't heard anything from the bathroom at all. A bit worried, she gets out of bed and creeps over to the bathroom door.
“Lyse?” She calls, waiting a few moments for a response. When none comes she knocks on the door gently, just two raps on the wood. “Darling? Are you alright?” 
Another moment passes in silence. If he doesn’t answer this time, she’s opening the door. “May I come in?” 
Finally, she hears a muffled sound of assent and she enters, a bit unsure of what she’ll find inside. Beatrice steps in to find the bathtub empty, no sign of water or Lysander. She peers around in confusion until she spots a lump in the corner of the room, as far from the tub as can be. It’s Lysander, curled into a ball on the tile and still fully clothed. Beatrice crosses the room in an instant, kneeling down next to him. 
His shoulders are shaking, his breathing is heavy, and Beatrice easily recognizes the symptoms of panic. Though she hasn’t seen him like this before, she knows that he struggles with memories from the past at times. He’s been through more than any normal person would have been able to withstand. Lysander is still here, miraculously, but he isn’t unscathed. The evidence remains in scars both physical and mental. 
Beatrice leans down to catch his eyes and he looks up at her, his own eyes wide and fearful. “Lysander, may I touch you?” 
She doesn’t want to startle him, but she knows that sometimes a physical presence can be grounding. Lysander nods and she reaches towards him tentatively, helping him sit up a bit before she puts her arms around him. She pulls him to rest against her chest and his arms wrap almost automatically around her waist. Up close she can feel him trembling even more.
“Can you breathe with me? Just follow my lead.” Beatrice takes in a deep breath and holds it for a count of five before releasing it slowly. He heaves in gulps of air as if he can’t get enough oxygen. It takes a few moments but as she continues to breathe deeply, his breathing begins to slow to match hers.
“In,” She instructs, and he inhales, “and out.” He exhales, only a bit shakily. They stay like that for a few minutes, Beatrice holding him while his breathing syncs to hers and his heartbeat slows to a more even pace.
When Lysander looks up to meet her eyes again she’s pleased to see that he looks a bit calmer. “I apologize, it’s.. the water.” 
He doesn’t need to say anything else. She could never forget what he’s been through, the way he’d almost been drowned, the torture he’d gone through to save his sister’s life. It makes her want to break down, to cry and seek his comfort to reassure herself that he’s safe. But he needs her now, he’s trusting her to help him.
Beatrice closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. She can feel him in her arms, warm and present and very much alive. She feels the texture of his soft sweater under her fingertips, the way his breath comes out in even puffs against her neck. They’ll make it through this together.
“There's no need for an apology, Lyse. Would you like me to stay here to keep you company?” 
“Stay.” Lysander presses his face back into her shoulder and she rubs a soothing circle on his shoulder blade.
“Of course, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Beatrice keeps her arms around him, holding him close for both of their sakes. She’ll stay here all night if he needs her. A few minutes pass in silence before he pulls back a little, his dark eyes thankfully much more focused.
“I could wash your hair for you if you want. You don’t even have to get into the bath if you don’t want to,” Beatrice suggests, placing a hand on the side of his face to turn him to look at her. “Or we could try again tomorrow, if you’d prefer.” 
“Perhaps if you did it... it would be alright.” Lysander’s words seem uncertain but his voice is even. Beatrice reaches for his hair and watches the barely perceptible flinch he gives. She stills her hands and waits for him to nod before reaching to gently brush through his dark hair.
“If you just lean over the edge of the tub a bit I can use my magic to control the water, you won’t have to uh, submerge yourself at all.” Beatrice tries to smile reassuringly at him. Lysander thinks for a moment and then nods. He scoots backwards towards the bathtub and she follows.
He leans his head back against the edge of the tub, sitting on the tile floor with his legs out in front of him. “Like this?” 
“Perfect. I’m just going to turn on the tap, I’ll draw it from there.” Beatrice narrates what she’s doing to make sure he knows what to expect. She reaches over to turn on the hot water and tests to make sure it’s a good temperature. The rushing sound of the water makes him flinch again and she keeps a steadying hand on his shoulder, letting him know that she’s there. 
When the water is the right temperature she gathers the stream in her hands, guiding it towards him. Lysander doesn’t say anything, though she can sense his apprehension. He gives her a look that seems to say, “Be careful.” 
Beatrice is cautious and slow as she threads her fingers through his curls, using the barest hint of pressure. She brings the stream of warm water up to wet his hair and pauses to make sure he’s ok. Lysander’s eyes are closed and his fingers tap an uneven pattern where they rest against his leg. 
“Tell me if you need me to stop.” Beatrice reaches for the bottle of shampoo, his hair now sufficiently saturated with water. Lysander nods but keeps his eyes shut as she pours shampoo into her hands, using a bit of magic to make sure it’s the same warm temperature as the water. She’s careful not to pull on his hair as she lathers in the shampoo, especially when she reaches the back of his head. 
Warm steam fills the room, bringing with it the comforting scent of vanilla from the shampoo. Lysander relaxes as she washes the shampoo out, his posture slumping more comfortably against the edge of the tub. He actually leans into her hand as she works out a tangle, and she smiles even though he can’t see it. Using her magic allows her to control where the water flows, ensuring not even a drop falls on his face.
“All done.” Beatrice leans back and watches as his eyes open to meet her gaze. He smiles at her, a look so full of adoration that she can do nothing but stare back at him.
“Thank you.” Lysander reaches for her and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, a bit awkwardly as she's sitting next to him. A drop of water from his hair falls onto her arm and she shivers at the cold temperature. 
“Shall I dry your hair too?” Beatrice reaches up towards him. He doesn’t flinch this time as she works a drying spell through his hair. When she’s done she stands and offers a hand to help him up from the floor. His hands are steady, no sign of the panicked trembling she’d felt earlier.
Beatrice helps him change into his pajamas, he doesn’t need the help but she feels the need to be close to him just in case. She helps him button his pajama shirt up and watches with a barely suppressed grin as he tucks his pajama pants into his socks because he hates to be cold. By the time they get into bed a few minutes later Lysander is back to himself.
He pulls the covers up over both of them as Beatrice moves closer to rest her head on his chest. Lysander cups the side of her face in his hand and leans in to press a soft kiss to her cheek. Beatrice leans up to kiss his cheek too before he can pull away and he laughs, startled by the action. 
She reaches for his free hand and draws a gentle circle on his palm, tracing the lines of his veritomancy scars. She’d asked him once if it hurt to touch them, and he’d said, “Not when you do it.” 
Lysander gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear so he can see her face better. He’s still got that adoring smile on his face and Beatrice thinks she needs to look away before her heart bursts. They haven’t blown out the candles yet, and in the dim light Beatrice is sure her blush is obvious. She’s not embarrassed about it anymore, he’s used to her blushes by now. She’s learned that he’s just as shy as she is, and just as prone to blushing if the moment is right.
As much as Beatrice would like to just look at him forever, she’s having trouble keeping her eyes open. Before she really has time to think about her words she murmurs, “Perhaps tomorrow we can take a bath together. I promise I’ll keep you safe.” 
Lysander is silent for a minute and Beatrice wonders if she’s said something wrong. His brows furrow a little as he thinks before he nods and finally replies, “I suppose we can try it.” 
“I can create a bubble of oxygen around your head if you’d like.” She’s half joking, but she thinks she could probably figure out how to do that if he actually wants it as a safety precaution. 
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Lysander laughs. “I trust you, Beatrice.” 
Beatrice smiles, reveling in the sound of his steady heartbeat beneath her head. “I’m very glad to hear that.” 
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