#and now ive started young royals

[butter-is-a-milkshake]

RWRB movie is my entire personality for time being

[fondwand]

not to be brave and controversial but rw&rb the movie is exactly what antis and puritanical fandom wants from queer media like the most bland sanitized rote dull unsexy no tension no chemistry unfunny surface level romance and representation. give me dirt give me real bodies give me imperfect humans give me natural dialog give me complex relationships explored in the silences give me kink and complicated sex and guilt and anger and selfishness and imperfection, imperfection, imperfection. and most of all give me forgiveness for imperfection and the knowledge that an imperfect thing becomes beautiful because it communicates with the imperfection all fallible beings experience on a day to day, not because the beholder is morally corrupt.

anyway. sorry if you liked it there's nothing wrong with that. go forth and live your life.

[filmofhybe]

new written series ! — by filmofhybe.

IN EVERY MULTIVERSE

in which

> y/n was a young girl who believed in the multiverse. Believed that in each multiverse your in, something special or memorable would happen. What if she figures out a way to travel through each and every multiverse she would be in, and meet seven different boys that captures her eyes. Which she sadly can’t seem to get them off her mind at the end of every Adventure.Will she ever meet them again in her every multiverse?

PAIRING : ot7! x reader

🥥 GENRE : friends to lovers , academic rivals , streamer x streamer , stranger to lover , patient x doctor , singer x dancer , café owner x regular customer , coming of age

WARNINGS : angst , swearing , kissing , romance , kys jokes , dad jokes lmao

🗯️ FEATURING: enhypen obvi , rei - ive , K & Jo - &team , Yunjin - Le Sserafim , Sana - twice , Hanbin - ZB1

TAGLIST : feel free to comment to be added :)

STATUS : every Friday :) (hopefully…)

The perfect blend - YJW

synopsis : can you ever imagine in this multiverse, you having the biggest fattest crush on your best friend - Yang jungwon, however knowing he already has a “girlfriend” hurts more than just a sting from a bee.

warnings : angst (100%) , fluff , crying , kissing

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

video our love - LHS

synopsis : you were extremely camera shy in the actual world, so what makes you be so confident in front of millions across the world while facing towards the camera with your lover - Lee heeseung.

warnings: kissing , slight angst towards end (not much tho) , tooth rooting fluff

Healing hearts - PJS

synopsis : doctors and patients aren’t suppose to have romantics love towards each other. However, in this multiverse, your very much in love with you hot doctor - Park Jeongseong. Whose secretly trying to heal your broken heart..

warnings : kissing , tooth rotting fluff (cheer cuz there isn’t any angst on this one WOOHOO!!)

Academic Enmity Rivalry - JS

synopsis : all the studying just to make your parents proud until your biggest academic rival - Sim Jaehyun decides to have the biggest academic comeback. And offering you free legit tutoring lessons so you can beat him

Warnings : tooth rotting fluff , kissing , begging

Amidst Crowns - PSH

synopsis : crazy to think about how your a Royal in this multiverse, only for the crazy self-obsessed prince himself - Park Sunghoon to hit on you 24/7. Finding it annoying you decided to throw insults at him, not knowing the consequence.

warning : insult comments , fluff , slight angst , crying

Brewing Love - KSN

synopsis : now your a café owner?? Serving your favorite regular customer- Kim Sunoo everyday was the highlight of your day. Realizing you were falling for him before he starts bringing in girls, crushing your heart as you can’t handle it.

Warning : ANGST (I mean heavy) , kinda fluff , kiss on hand

Melodies of music & love - NR

synopsis : the last and final multiverse , your a singer to your lover dancer - Nishimura Riki. Promised to Perform together until realizing it isn’t your passion anymore. Maybe you want to continue in this universe and never go back… but how when you miss every boy you met in the other 6 multiverse..?

warning : sweet fluff , comfort , angsty (at the end.)

TBA….

SERIES TAGLIST : @enhaz1 @dubuii @in-somnias-world @ultimatestayandminoronce @yenqa @euncsace @hoondiors @yannew @mrchweeee @ariadores @oldjws @frukkoneeeeg @dimplewonie @seobstarr @asteria-wood (white = i cant tag)

; AUTHORS NOTES : since is December 1st on Friday , I would be updating this series every Friday leading up to January-February (or even earlier than that) . I hope you guys enjoy this series as much as I do. Don’t hesitate to ask to be on the taglist by commenting!! I love you all and hope you enjoy this series that’s going to be delivered to you soon :)

© filmofhybe on tumblr — do not copy , translate or share.

[opiopal]

Are we sure demons are even mammals? Their human forms are for hiding among humans, so they might not have the less obvious functions. We know Lucifer had 12 wings, but his angel form only shows six, implying that that is at least one more "truer" form, which could also be the case with demons. The truest form of a native demon might use an alternate method to feed their young.

this actually got me thinking more about it, so I started to think about their demon forms since that would probably give more answers,

so lucifer and mammon are birds, peacock and crow, so they would tend to eggs, so no need for breast feeding birds

levi is a serpent, yes there is sea life that are mammals, but sea snakes are def not one of them, so fertilizing eggs in bunches doesn't require breasts even after hatching.

asmo is a scorpion, I have NO CLUE how scorpions work when it comes to their young but i know for a fact that anything with an exoskeleton.. most of the time isn't a mammal. so again, eggs.

and beel is a bug, I forget if its fact that hes a cicada? thats just what I remember, and cicadas arent mammals so again, eggs

now i tried to search for what satan is since its really unclear(at least to me), if he was a bird like his dadmom then he would probably have wings, but he IS wing. and when I searched I was told unicorn and wolf(ofc his rebel teen emo ass would be a wolf) and obviously belphie is a goat/cow thing, so technically the anti lucifer league should be mammals just going off of their demon forms,

but again no nipples, belphie makes sense cause again, former angel, popped into existance, no mommy for him, but satan was born from lucifer.. technically organically...? (still cant believe mpreg basically happened) but lucifer probably was never intended to have kids from his own body so no nipples, and again satan came from wings, which yeah would all make sense, but then again I circle back to Dia

he's a dragon, yet was born not from an egg, but as a result of a live birth. which resulted in his mother passing away. so I'm still going strong on my dia's not a full demon theory(maybe royal blood makes him appear to be a pure demon?)

and I can also imagine that demons dont have a big powerful form like a "be not afraid" angel does, so lucifer and the brothers prolly had a down grade in the scary physical form factor. prolly another layer to their punishments. (ofc demons still prolly have a big scary demon form, just not as big as a flaming swords with wings and eyes and a booming voice)

and going onto other demons, I can imagine reproduction is very diverse in the devildom. demons who are more reptilian, demons that are birds, cold blooded creatures, anything that wouldn't give live birth would lay eggs, do silly little dances to attract mates, look pretty to attract mates, ect. and obviously demons that are goats, cows, deer, cat, dog, would give live birth. so maybe nipples with demons are like freckles? some people have them and other people just dont.

BUT, then again, demons could have only 1-2 animals that relate to their sin, demons of Greed could be crows and foxes, envy is snakes and sea creatures, ect. but then again mephisto is a thing, and he's a demon of pride, so that would make him a peacock like lucifer, but with a lack of a canon demon form its hard to say, but mephisto already shares a hairstyle and boyfriend with lucifer so it would just be mean to have him share even more with him. but than again he could also be a lion? but I dont think that would fit that little gay rich boy at all. But I think it would just be more interesting if a demons form isn't always directly related to their sin so they can be any animal.

all in all, the only thing I think I could come to a conclusion with is that angels aren't mammals. and ofc they wouldnt gain nipples after becoming demons cause how odd would that be? "NOO MY SISTERS DEAD AND IVE BEEN CAST DOWN TO HELL- what are those things on my chest." and with demons it could probably vary from being mammals and not being mammals. but I could imagine its like, 80% of the devildom lays eggs and the other 20% doesnt. but all in all I think demons can do either or, it just depends on what they want to do, get freaky and then give birth or lay an egg and sit on it till it hatches, but I'm sure no demon would willingly give birth if they had the option to just pop out an egg.

or maybe its just my crack theory, two demons kiss and get freaky then 9 months later a baby pops out of thin air, magic baby!

[starriri]

Danganronpa Despair Time is a artistic masterpiece.

When I first stumbled upon DRDT, I didn’t see it as anything else but another danganronpa fangame, a simple derivative of the mainline series created by a admiring fan like all the other Fanganronpas invented (not to put shadow on other fangans, as they are all unique and also level to despair time. the skill and work put into them can’t be overlooked. take a look at Heartless Deceit and Brave Danganronpa for example!!! holy fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!). However, it did not take me long to realise that, in fact, Despair Time, is much more than that.

Danganronpa Despair Time is an amazing creation, a hidden gem with quite an alluring charm to it. What else is there to say? (there is a lot more to say.)

Ever since the prologue, the prelude, the start, the calm before the storm, released, Danganronpa Despair Time has never failed to deliver a beautiful and extremely compelling narrative. It doesn’t take a genius to tell that there has been an enormous amount of effort put into it.

The art, for one, is absolutely stunning. It’s level to the likes of famous games like, for example, Fortnite Battle Royale and Call of Duty: Modern Warfare IV. Both games have multiple artists, unlike Danganronpa Despair Time. The fact that it’s just one singular individual working on such is almost unbelievable.

The sprites mimic the Danganronpa style to a verisimilitude, looking extremely realistic. The cutscenes seem to also be similar, yet subtle hints of DTDev’s personal style are shown (eg. The lineweight), creating something that cannot be described as anything but perfection. It’s amazing how it works so nicely.

Let’s not forget the scriptwriting. The characters are extremely realistic, their struggles, goals and motivations hitting quite close to home for many individuals, including me.

For example, let’s take our protagonist, Teruko Tawaki. She is first introduced as someone who has no sense of belonging, not knowing who her parents are and being separated from her only (known) sibling at a young age. This, coupled with her amazing design, displays how Teruko is much more than the Ultimate Lucky Student, much more than simply the main character of Despair Time.

During chapter one, Teruko begins to feel more comfortable around the people around her, enjoying more of her time and even making friends. She builds trust with them, and forges bonds, just like we do.

However, when she meets up with Xander, things start going immediately downhill when he stabs Teruko, causing her to become unconscious and indirectly causing his own death in the process.

Once Teruko wakes up, she’s in the middle of a crime scene: Xander’s now a bloodied corpse, and she’s the main suspect for his murder. Because of this, everyone around her (who, mind you, got along with her extremely well before) began to move away from her.

This is exemplified even more during the first trial, where the spotlight ends up on Teruko, everyone seeming to believe that she was the one that killed Xander even though *he* was the one that attacked her first. Because of this, Teruko ends up flipping out in the middle of the trial, daring the others to vote for her, breaking down in anger and frustration for being betrayed by everyone in such a manner.

In the end, when Min is revealed to be the culprit and promptly executed, Teruko states that she hates everyone and says that she’s never going to trust anyone ever again, moving away.

A lot of people have said that they dislike Teruko for this, but I don’t share the same sentiment. In fact, I think it’s extremely realistic for her to have such a change in nature and breakdown. After all, consider:

- Someone she trusted immensely (Xander) tried to murder her and broke her trust through doing so. Infact, Xander was the first person Teruko met, so his bond with Teruko may have been stronger than the others.

- Min may have technically prevented Teruko’s death, but she also caused Xander’s and framed Teruko for it, making everyone think that Teruko was the one that killed him.

- Even though Teruko was clearly injured and frightened after being stabbed, the others kept seeing her as nothing but a potential murderer who’s proof of guilt would save their own lives, throwing heartless accusations at her without even letting her defend herself. Teruko had grown to like and trust most of them, so what do you think she’d feel if those people began to avoid her and think of her as a bad person who’d murdered someone out of cold blood?

How would *you* react if this happened to you?

Personally, I’d also react the same way as Teruko, throwing a fit and breaking down, perhaps even in tears. I don’t quite see why there’s any reason to hate her for such if you’re going to do the same thing in her position.

Then again, I’m not implying that Teruko is in the right, either. Especially since what she does in the Daily Life segment of Chapter 2, forcing Charles to take his clothes off and holding J at knifepoint among other things. However, there was a reason these occurred, that being the others’ betrayal of trust. Everyone’s technically in the wrong, and that’s the best part.

To elaborate on my last point in the previous paragraph- humans are not perfect. Pardon me for getting into a bit of philosophy and ethics, but there can never be a truly ‘good’ person as there is no true definition of morality, either. For example, someone stealing your copy of Persona 5 Clash Royale Silver isn’t nice, but so is yourself getting angry at them and burying them seven feet underground. Let’s all be honest here: We’ve all done something morally questionable in life at least once.

It’s also the same for the opposite end of the spectrum. In evil, there is still a hint of good. Your teacher in middle school may have been painfully strict, but he still had a soft spot for kittens. Criminals of all sorts have harmless hobbies, like gardening or cooking michelin star meals, that do not harm any humans in the process.

Danganronpa Despair Time understands that concept and utilises it with all the characters, not just Teruko. For example, Arei may seem quite rude, but in chapter two, when Arturo threatens Eden, she immediately jumps in to brutally roast Arturo to make him leave, but offers Eden to become her friend. She, like Teruko, is a extremely well-written character with many dimensions.

However, I digress. The point I’m trying to justify is that all of the individuals that make up the cast of Danganronpa Despair Time are beautiful characters that have clearly been well thought out.

Additionally, the story of Danganronpa Despair Time manages to sprinkle in the perfect mix of humour, drama and realism in its plotline and characters. Even if only two chapters have been released, you can tell that the future chapters will also be beautiful works of art. It’s just that sophisticated and fantastic. I’m surprised that Spike Chunsoft hasn’t contacted DTDev to make DRDT a real installment to the canon Danganronpa series.

Ultimately, to summarise, I’d like to reinstate that Danganronpa Despair Time is a gracious, absolutely splendid work of art this clearly has a lot of thought put into it. It’s characters, plot, story- everything, works together piece-by-piece to form an exquisite piece of media.

I’d like to thank everyone that has worked on DRDT- DTDev, Gen, Hydrator, Haru-Suwan, the voice actors, and the translators- for working to create such a sophisticated and sensational video series.

If anyone that I’ve mentioned above is reading this, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for creating such a wonderful masterpiece. I cannot reiterate it enough. Thank you so much.

[zedleaked]

[APPARENTLY PEOPLE HERE WANTED TO KNOW THE HUMAN AXIS LORE SO IM JUST GOING TO COPY MY TWITTER POST HERE…] BASIC GIST IS THAT THIS IS JUST A GENERAL HUMAN AU. MONSTERS AND HUMANS SWAPPED. WOWIE!

ANYWAYS READ MORE FOR AXIS

AXIS ORIGIN IS STILL A BIT FUZZY. HERE HE'S LIKE CHUJIN'S ADOPTED SON [GENDER NEUTRAL],, CATGIRLTRICKSTER ON TWITTER SUGGESTED CHUJIN JUST FINDING YOUNG AXIS IN A PIPE OR SOMETHING AND I THINK THATS REALLY FUNNY... THOUGH HIS ORIGINS WOULD BE VAGUE. IF ASKED HE'D SAY HE DOESN'T REMEMBER.

ALSO NOTE BEFORE I FORGET. AXIS WAS JUST BORN WITH ONE LEG. THERE IS NO LORE REASON TO WHY ITS MISSING, IT IS JUST THE WAY HE IS. CHUJIN MAKES HIM A ROBOTIC LEG SO HE CAN HAVE AN EASIER TIME.

SURE I COULD GIVE A FUCKED REASON AS TO WHY HE DOESNT HAVE IT BUT I DONT FEEL LIKE IT.

AXIS WOULD BE AN APPRENTICE UNDER CHUJIN SIMILAR TO MARTLET [I NEEDA DRAW MARTLET EVENTUALLY] PLUS IN GAME THERE'S FLAVOR TEXT ABOUT HIM FLIPPING THROUGH THE ROYAL GUARD HANDBOOK IN HIS MIND. HONESTLY. MARTLET AND AXIS BEING FRIENDS THROUGH SHARING THE SAME INTEREST IS SILLY...

HE'D WANT TO TRAIN HIMSELF TO BECOME A ROYAL GUARD OR AT LEAST A PROTECTOR TO PAYBACK CHUJIN FOR TAKING HIM IN. HE'S GOING TO PROTECT HIS FATHER AND HUMANKIND. IT'S HIS BIGGEST GOAL IN LIFE.

STEAMWORKS STILL EXISTS. ITS JUST CHUJIN HADNT BUILT THE AXIS MODELS IN THIS AU BECAUSE. YOU KNOW.

MAYBE HE SAW POTENTIAL IN HUMAN AXIS, SEEING HOW DETERMINED HE IS TO GROW STRONGER AND PROTECT PEOPLE. CHUJIN WOULD WANT HIM TO HONE HIS SKILLS TO BECOME SOMETHING... BIG.

IN A WAY. AXIS WAS A PEEK INTO WHAT HUMANS COULD BECOME AND WHAT THAT COULD DO FOR HUMAN SOCIETY UNDERGROUND.

MEANWHILE AXIS IS ENAMORED BY STEAMWORKS AND JUST CHUJIN'S WORK IN GENERAL. HE REALLY ADMIRES ROBOTS, HE THINKS ABOUT WHAT ITS LIKE IF HE HAD ROBOTIC MODIFICATIONS.

AND LESS LORE RELEVANT BUT HE ALSO HAS CONNECTIONS TO KANAKO TOO! THEY ARE THE SIBLINGS EVER. THOUGH IVE BEEN WONDERING HOW CEROBA NOT KNOWING AXIS IN STEAMWORKS WOULD WORK. IT'D BE KINDA WEIRD FOR CHUJIN TO KEEP A WHOLE ASS CHILD SECRET FROM HER.

THEYVE PROBABLY SEEN EACH OTHER AND NEVER HAD MUCH SIGNIFICANT

INTERACTIONS FOR THEM TO FULLY REMEMBER EACH OTHER. AXIS SPENDS A MAJORITY OF HIS TIME AT STEAMWORKS OR DOING ROYAL GUARD SHIT, AND WHEN HES NOT DOING THAT HES PROBABLY PLAYING WITH KANAKO [WHEN CEROBA ISNT AROUND]

AND WELL. WE HAD TO GET TO THIS PART EVENTUALLY. ONE DAY A MONSTER MAKES ITS WAY INTO THE UNDERGROUND AND STARTED KILLING PEOPLE. DALV [WHO I ALSO NEED TO DRAW] GOT CAUGHT UP IN THE FRAY WHILE PLAYING WITH KANAKO [AND AXIS TOO]. UPON SEEING HIS FRIENDS GET HURT. SOMETHING CLICKS.

AXIS HAD TRAINED UP TO THIS POINT. THIS WAS HIS MOMENT. HE HAD TO SAVE THE PEOPLE FROM THE THREAT IN FRONT OF THEM. INSTINCTS KICK IN AND HE GOES IN TO FIGHT THE MONSTER WHILE DALV TAKES KANAKO TO SAFETY.

THIS MONSTER WAS TOUGH. HE WAS ALMOST KILLED. BUT HE HAD TO PERSEVERE.

SOMETHING JUST ACTIVATED IN HIS SOUL.

HE FELT A SURGE OF POWER. THE ONLY THING HE KNEW IN THAT MOMENT WAS TO.

GET. RID. OF. THE. THREAT.

IN FRONT OF HIM WAS JUST. A HEADLESS BODY THAT SLOWLY FADED INTO DUST.

THAT... HE DIDNT MEAN TO GO THAT FAR.

SIMILAR TO CLOVER IN GENOCIDE, AXIS HAD RAPIDLY LEVELED UP AND SHOT A POWERFUL ATTACK AT THE MONSTER IN RESPONSE TO ALMOST DYING. HE NEEDED TO KEEP GOING NO MATTER WHAT.

STILL. THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS ACTIONS LAID HEAVY ON HIM.

HE HAD KILLED A LIVING, BREATHING THING.

SOON AFTER CHUJIN WALKED IN ON THE SCENE COMPLETELY HORRIFIED. AXIS, ASHAMED OF WHAT HE HAD DONE RAN TOWARD STEAMWORKS TO ISOLATE HIMSELF, SIMILAR TO DALV.

SURE, HE HAD SAVED PEOPLE FROM THAT MONSTER BUT DID HE HAVE TO BE SO GRUESOME?

CHUJIN RAN AFTER HIM, TRYING TO GET HIM BACK

CHUJIN FINDS HIM AT STEAMWORKS, WALLOWING IN JUST. EVERY EMOTION.

HE TRIES TO COMFORT HIM THOUGH AXIS IS STILL INSISTENT ON NOT GOING OUT.

THE TWO REACHED THE COMPROMISE THAT: AXIS WOULD GUARD AND PROTECT STEAMWORKS AND THAT CHUJIN WOULD CHECK UP ON HIM EVERY NOW AND THEN.

SO THATS WHAT HE DID. HE STAYED AT STEAMWORKS, WATCHING OVER THE PLACE AND ITS ROBOTS FOR….. AGES.

EVENTUALLY CHUJIN'S CHECK UPS GET MORE SPARSE UNTIL JUST. NOTHING.

AXIS NOTICES TOO THAT LESS AND LESS SCIENTISTS ARE PRESENT AT STEAMWORKS. UNTIL THERE IS NO ONE THERE.

WHEN ASKED IF HE WAS GOING TO LEAVE

TOO HE SAID

"NO. MY FATHER AND I HAD REACHED THE AGREEMENT THAT I WOULD STAY AND PATROL THIS AREA, AND THAT I WILL DO." THERE WAS NO CONVINCING HIM TO LEAVE. SO THE OTHERS RELUCTANTLY LEFT HIM BE.

DAY BY DAY HE WATCHES STEAMWORKS FLOOD AND DECAY. WHILE HE STAYS THERE TRYING TO KEEP UP THE AGREEMENT BETWEEN HIS FATHER AND HIMSELF.

NO ONE HAD TOLD HIM.

ONE DAY THOUGH HE FINDS THAT STEAMWORKS SUDDENLY ACTIVATES RIGHT BEFORE SEEING A MONSTER ONCE AGAIN.

OH HE REMEMBERS THE PAST WELL. IN THIS AU IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE FOR HIM TO GET HIS MEMORY ERASED.

WHILE THE EVENTS PLAY OUT MOSTLY THE SAME COMPARED TO NORMAL UTY.

AXIS SEEMS MORE HESITANT THAN USUAL. AND PROBABLY MONOLOGUING A LITTLE SIMILAR TO WHAT DALV DOES

BEING A HUMAN. HE POSES LESS OF A THREAT ON HIS OWN. HOWEVER. MY GUY SETS UP HOME ALONE TYPE TRAPS N SHIT TO TRY AND CATCH CLOVER INSTEAD [PART OF HIS ROYAL GUARD TRAINING!!.

ONLY RESORTING TO USING "ROBOTIC MODIFICATIONS" HE HAD FOUND WHEN CLOVER REALLY [ticks] HIM OFF.

AND YES. HE STILL GETS A ROBOT SPOUSE IF A PACIFIST PLAYTHROUGH HAPPENS. HUMAN AXIS IS OBJECTUM. ITS REAL.

SO YEAH THAT IS ALL THE THINGS I THINK.

HOLY SHIT THIS THREAD IS LONG. FEW PEOPLE WILL READ THIS I THINK BUT I STILL WANTED TO GET STUPID AU THOUGHTS OUT. UH. YEAH HOPE THAT IS GOOD OR SMTH.. FEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS 🥺

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Long time listener, new caller...:) I have read your posts since the Plant days. I've always wondered why you fell down this rabbit hole. Now how... why?

I’ve always liked William and Harry. Started following the BRF more closely in November 2010 because of William and Kate’s engagement. Came to really like Kate and I saw bits of myself in her.

Probably what I liked the most about Kate in those days was her sense of style and dress. In a world that was consumed with presenting and dressing young women for the male gaze, here was someone that dressed for herself and wore the kind of clothes that I liked to wear. I’ve always said that if it weren’t for Kate making modesty cool again - eg sleeves, higher necklines, longer hemlines, long trousers, and blazers - then I wouldn’t have had anything to wear in my 20s.

So then the more I paid attention to the royal family, the more I started to hear and see rumors and gossip about them. That ended up being more fascinating than the “Kate wore those shtupid wedges that The Queen hates!” articles. I started diving into the rumors - where did they come from? Who started them? Why did they start them? How did they start them? - which led me down into the world of PR and media relations.

Then Harry met Meghan and the PR around William, Harry, and Kate exploded. The rumors and gossip proliferated in ways I hadn’t expected or seen before. Then Harry and Meghan got engaged, I got a lot of icks, lurked in the DM comments section, discovered the “three blind mice” tumblrs (Skippy, Felix, and JD), checked it out, and I was home.

(I had tumblr long before then - I’ve been a tumblr since the platform launched because it was the creative fandom artsy side of the internet (predating Superwholock) and that was the kind of stuff I was into.)

Found Soap, Plant, Empress, Sassy and a few other tumblrs through Skippy that were much more my speed. Been here ever since. Kept tracking and following all the rumors and gossip for fun.

Then the pandemic hit. I needed a new lockdown project because the movies were closed and I couldn’t go anywhere. I decided to take all my scribbles and links on BRF rumors and gossip, put them all in a spreadsheet and start tracking if they were true or not and track where they came from to see how they got “into” royal-watching. The side of tumblr I was on started talking more openly about PR, rumors, and gossip and after sending in a bunch of anons to other blogs about rumor tracking, realized there was a lot of interest in that kind of stuff so here I am. And because the root of most gossip, including rumors and theories/conspiracy theories, involves PR, the analytical side kind of fit in neatly with that.

The rumors and gossip have died down - it’s not as frenzied as it used to be back in the 2016-2018 era so it’s a much quieter and not-as-frequently updated spreadsheet now as it was in the past. Ive still got the spreadsheet but because there isn’t a lot of chaos in the BRF anymore, there isn’t as much gossip and rumors, and the gossip and rumors there are, they tend to spread from the astrology/tarot side of the fandom. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that at all!

One final observation: I’ve noticed in the rumor/gossip tracking world is that there’s a lot of projection lately - so it’s more theories than rumors. I think it’s reflective of the current state of the BRF; the people who were once more freely speculating about the BRF or more freely trying to use gossip or public pressure to force particular decisions or actions from the BRF no longer have access to that kind of insider information to be as effective (or as punishing, perhaps) with their gossip and rumors.

I call my spreadsheet “Mythbusters” and it has 1,874 entries - so almost 1,900 rumors or pieces of gossip. 861 of them have been resolved; most are busted as false just with the passage of time.

[ofcowardiceandkings]

companion piece of young Link

AAHH i finally finished something :'D

i've uh had some very specific Thoughts about Zelda's childhood for a while now so its about time i put them to paper - this is actually round TWO since the original doodles are lost to ... somewhere ... i like these second editions better though so alls well that ends well

we're looking at ages around 4, 7 and 10 years old here touchin bugs in the dirt, archery practice, and playing a lyre ;w;

more detailed Thoughts under the cut 💙

iiitssss customary ranting about my BotW/TotK opinions tiiiimeeee welcome my darlingsss jfkdjfkd 💙

i had a much more solid idea about where i was going with Zelda than with Link but some of it is kinda abstract or weird lol

we know a fair amount about her upbringing in general, or can infer as much from Zelda's interactions with her father and what they and people around them wrote. she was clearly a smart and vivacious kid with a strong personality from the start, no matter how much you sort of squash that shit for the public face, repression etc. so yknow, her mother's death when she was 6, awful. her father's change in attitude especially in her teens, awful. being under public scrutiny her whole life, awful. restrictive structure of royal life, dull (i bet it bored Zelda to death at times no matter how strongly duty-oriented she is). having said that though, she got by and just by looking at her study, she clearly got stuff done to herself - you can take the kid away from the science but the science stays with the kid !!!

additionally, forgive me for mentioning ... timelines ... but in my humble onion, BotW/TotK serve as a Dragon-Break scenario which are SO far in the future from other entries that ALL timelines will inevitably converge and lead to that point, so it doesnt matter any more (i dont like extended Timeline theory, Nindooty doesnt like extended Timeline theory, the current writing team seem to want shot of it, let me be). being a history guy i also subscribe to leaning on the LEGEND aspect of 100 and 1000 year games of telephone, it makes things spicy. tradition is a strange thing, we do things we dont have much of a context for anymore, we're still living with the cultural hangovers of people living when mammoths were around and no thats not hyperbole lol its WILD. ive typed around the point enough lets get going

she was a bugs girl !!!! she still IS a bugs girl lmao but if our 16 year old girlie is gonna pounce on frogs apropos of nothing, that 4 year old girlie is gonna go catch bugs in the Royal Gardens and freak out her maids or escorts with them, good for her 💅

the other two are where my timeline thing comes in; the triforce is never mentioned by name, its just there in symbolism ?? something about the blood of the goddess ?? divine sealing powers ??? no one knows in the same vein, i like to think that its traditional for Hylian Princesses to learn archery and play a lyre or harp ... but no one remembers quite WHY ?? so Zelda does. the Priestess-Princess* role means the public is aware that Zelda had formal singing training, but its not really common knowledge outside of the Castle that the Royal Girls do THIS (no one knows why that part is important either, but it stays in the Castle). she might be a little out of practice now, but give that muscle memory enough time and she might be able to really surprise people.

*this is part of the Japanese translation, at least in Kass' final song Zelda is referred to as an term roughly meaning Priestess-Princess - which makes total sense to me

ohhh my god i talked a lot okay i just love my gorl fhjdkfjdk

actual footage of me explaining my shit and going way long

[phantomsghoulette]

Kingdom of Heaven STORY IDEA

This post goes out to all the Kingdom of Heaven fans that write ffs, especially about our King - Baldwin IV

Now this idea may not be historically correct but I still need someone to make a story out of it. I'm talking A LONG ASS story with many chapters because I'm somehow a hopeless romantic when it comes to Baldwin.

So here's the story:

(Please use Y/N for Tiberias' daughter and not some name)

We start off long before Baldwin was born, when Tiberias and his wife arrive in the Kingdom of Heaven. Later on they have a daughter together, around the same time Baldwin was born. Tiberias already has a close relationship with the royal family at this time because of his wise knight shit. At some point Tiberias' wife dies and he has to raise their daughter on his own and he starts taking her to the palace where her and young Baldwin would often play together and develope a friendship. At some point Baldwin's illness is discovered. The priests and higher ranked people try to find a wife for him asap in order to keep the bloodline but every woman kindly rejects, scared of the illness so they just accept Baldwin's lonely fate. His illness is slowly taking over his body and Tiberia's daughter decides to take care of him, not being scared of him no matter how disfigured he looks. But when Baldwin notices that he's slowly developing feelings for her and that his face looks more and more sinister and his limbs are slowly becoming useless, he becomes kinda distant because he's scared to confess his feelings.

Remember that scene in the movie when Baldwin asks Balian to marry Sybilla? That's when he confesses his feelings. So let's imagine Tiberias' daughter is there too and when the men are done talking Baldwin sends off Balian and Tiberias but wants Y/N to stay. "No, Y/N. Not you. I need to talk to you. Stay... please." Or something like that. And we all know that Baldwin knew that Jerusalem was doomed because of his sister and that's why his confession goes something like:

"You know there is one more thing I could have done to save Jerusalem and its people... and I'm now regretting that I haven't done this."

Y/N: "And that would be?"

Baldwin: "Making you my wife"

And then he goes on with his cheesy romantic medieval confession. And Y/N confesses too bla bla bla and she then even takes off his mask and kisses him on the corner of his lips (one side of his mouth wasn't that damaged, remember?).

On his death day she takes care of his wounds one last time.

Make their last conversation HEARTWRENCHING. I WANNA CRY.

After his death Y/N seeks comfort in her father. Make it a wholesome daughter - father relationship (idk how to do that because I never had a father lmaoooo)

How the story ends is for you to decide. Maybe Y/N goes to Cyprus with Tiberias because she cannot take it to watch the Kingdom fall that Baldwin created and led with so much love and respect for the people.

You can also add some suggestive themes. For example Baldwin dreaming about getting intimate with Y/N because he's just that touch-deprived.

So yeah if anyone would be willing to take on this idea - you're more than welcome to do so and I'd DEFINITELY read it. I personally am not good at writing GOOD stories because English isn't my first language and I would ruin the story by using "basic" English. And since Kingdom of Heaven takes place during medieval times you need to write such stories in "fancy" English.

Anyways. I had to get this off my semi-autistic mind or else I would have gone CRAZY.

I just hope this post reaches the right people🙏

[inawearyworld]

free if you truly wish to be: chapter iv

shit goes DOWN. as y'all have probably gathered. bc. yknow. the plot of the movie. but first there's a song yayyyyyyyyy

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~2.5k

god, i love musicals.

(edit: realized after posting that i was looking at the wrong page of the screenplay while writing this and therefore royally screwed up the song structure of a world of your own but it’s fiiiiiiine)

once again, thank you mat for that interview taking a typical one-dimensional dahl villain and letting him be a more complex character. also i should probably throw a content warning on this one for depiction of a slightly abusive relationship

but i promise everything's gonna be okay soon-happy new year everyone!!

part three fic masterlist part five

While going through a time of personal growth involving trying to unravel one’s identity from that of one’s rich and powerful husband, it often happens that there are advantages to said husband being wrapped in worry over a new business rival-and, therefore, spending far more time at the office.

Wren’s favorite advantage at the present moment was that she was the only one to watch the mail come in.

Deep purple stationery was the signal she looked for-and steadily received, then returned with her own emerald letters-every day. The notes included scrawled updates regarding the operation to allow the earnest young chocolatier his day in the sun, anecdotes about the group of launderers that supported it (who she’d snuck out to meet often enough that they now felt like a second family), tales of a mysterious orange man, and exchanges of advice, witticisms, and Shakespeare quotes.

The handwriting was inexperienced, and there were more than a fair share of spelling errors toward the start of their correspondence, but she didn’t care a whit.

We’ve got the shop, Willy had written one day. For now, the task is digging through its decrepit debris and designing its decoration. (The credit for those words goes to Noodle-she says hello.) There are so many possibilities, I barely know where to start.

Start with the “why”, Wren wrote back. That’s what I always do. If there’s a piece I’m struggling to sing and I lose motivation to practice, I go back to the reasons I love the piece, even all the way back to the reasons I love the arts in the first place. Maybe there’s something in there for your shop-what made you want to share your chocolate with the world? (And hello to you too, Noodle!)

My dear Wren, came the reply, you’ve just given me the best of ideas.

He told her then about his mother and the inspiration she provided. Wren would be lying if she’d said a tear hadn’t fallen onto that particular letter.

As for how to keep him safe from the Cartel, police, and every other corrupt authority, Wren did her part by becoming Florence again whenever necessary. She acted less suspicious around her husband, leading him to be less secretive-although the gain in information was miniscule, it was better than nothing.

Felix’s rages would range anywhere from tittering, jealous rants to scheming monologues during which his whole being seemed to take on a lower, darker, more calculating tone. She’d listen carefully to all of these, tactfully calling out anything that might get him to consider he was wrong, but that had little to no effect.

Plan B, then, she’d realized, is all I can do.

So, whenever Felix seemed particularly incensed or just on the verge of coming up with how to destroy his rival, Florence would swoop in with wine and dark lipstick and a low-cut dress. She’d endure being his caged pet songbird, his doll, his perfect plaything, only because she had the growing feeling that things were about to change.

If Willy’s shop becomes successful enough to be completely undeniable, maybe the Cartel will finally acknowledge him as an equal. Maybe I’ll finally be seen as an equal, too. Maybe things will finally be truly fine.

So, night after night, she’d sit on her husband’s lap, twirl his tie, and kiss his neck until he’d forgotten the name of Wonka.

The same could not be said for her.

~

Due to just how glamorized she always had to be while in public, it didn’t take much to come up with disguise enough to be able to visit the new shop on its opening day.

With a fluttering sense of hope, Wren approached the fourth building of the Galeries Gourmet, blending in seamlessly with the sea of soon-to-be-wonderstruck passers-by. She cast a few nervous glances to the window of the Fickelgruber office, at which the man stood in his usual stance. There was no chance, though, of his recognizing her trademark ginger flame amongst the crowd; it was safely tucked under a dark, low-brimmed hat.

This could have set her mind at ease, but the fact that he looked even more smug than usual as he surveyed the ground below him made her nervous.

Did they plan something?

She was distracted from this worry by a sudden flash of color at the long-empty shop’s door. Willy Wonka stepped through, looking more himself than she could have ever imagined. He addressed the crowd with a flourish, and she marveled at his ability to combine showmanship with authenticity.

He took a skeptical older man’s arm, leading him to the shop’s entrance, and began to sing.

All at once, the shop transformed before all of their eyes, flooding with color, and the music settled into a sparking pulse that thrilled Wren to the core.

Willy grinned, fully in his element, and the doorway went dark. Gloved hands presented chocolate wonders as their creator sang them into existence. When he lit a match, the store seemed to come alive, and Wren gasped.

If his letter was anything to go by, the sight he had created was an homage to his childhood on his mother’s boat, brought to life in a way nearly too beautiful to be true.

Willy and the other man danced up a bridge of sorts as his song continued, proudly offering his shop as a world for each of his customers to call their own. Overtaken and lifted by the enchanting environment, Wren squealed with the rest of the crowd and ran into the shop, ripping the hat from her head and allowing her auburn curls to tumble freely down.

She threw her head back and laughed aloud. Her lack of makeup, and plain blouse and skirt replacing the usual emerald-colored finery, gave her assurance that she wouldn’t be recognized here; this was the closest thing she’d experienced to liberation in a very long while, and she relished it, along with the sweetly simple soar of Willy’s voice across his song.

When she looked up at him again, he was sitting on the boat that floated on the circling chocolate river, and she noticed he’d already been staring with a sideways grin. As the bassline that came from nowhere launched into a rollicking chromatic vamp, he tipped his hat to her, and she gave an enamored wave.

The second verse passed, and suddenly he’d reached her, extending a hand which she took without a second thought. He helped her onto the boat, then pulled her alarmingly close, but before she could say a thing about it, a cloud of smoke appeared around them.

Wren blinked and realized that she and Willy were now at the base of the massive chocolate tree in the center of the shop.

“How did you-”

But he only smiled and started to dance his way up the tree.

“A world of your own,” he sang, then gestured an invitation straight towards her.

This’ll be easy enough, she thought, nearly bursting with joy.

“A place to escape to,” she continued, running farther up the tree to meet him in the middle. His expression filled with awe upon finally hearing her sing, and they began a whirling back-and-forth.

“A world of your own-”

“-where you can be free!”

“Wherever you go, wherever life takes you…”

“This is your home,” she sang to him, twirling herself into his arms and beaming with pride. He’s found it-he’s created it.

“A world of your own,” they finished. He looked at her for a moment, seeming struck, then kissed her hand and disappeared through the branches of the tree to continue with the song’s bridge. She let out a dazed and happy breath, taking a moment to let her gaze roam the shop from her perch in the chocolate tree.

She didn’t know what would happen next, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t let herself enjoy this moment.

~

What did happen next was…as an understatement, not what any of them had hoped.

She wished she could say it was a complete surprise, and she wished she could have done more to stop it. The candy started having disastrous effects, the customers understandably balked, and it was clearly not Willy’s fault in the least. In a blur, the shop was in ruins, and Wren sat in shock with the little group who’d worked so hard to make it magical.

The candyman himself was devastated; not just by the massive setback, but by the absence of his mother’s spirit. Wren and Noodle sat by his side, but Abacus ushered them up. It broke Wren’s heart to think of leaving him like this-if the truest and most trusting dreamer on Earth can be broken down, where’s the hope for the rest of us?-but she somehow still felt she had to follow the group out.

She felt a hug around her waist and a held-back sob, and looked down to see Noodle clinging onto her. Wren immediately knelt to her level and hugged the girl close, finding it hard now to keep back her own tears.

“Terrible shame what-”

“Florence?”

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her breath dropping to the floor.

Slugworth had spoken first, a smooth and practiced opening to what would have turned into a gloat. The voice that had interrupted him was genuinely shaken and clearly belonging to her husband.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Noodle, who nodded. “You can go, you shouldn’t have to see this-”

“Florence,” his voice came again, at a loss. She took a breath, stood up, and faced him with tears in her voice.

“Hi, Felix.”

Silence.

Slugworth looked with growing puzzlement between the woman and the girl, and Felix could only stare at his wife with dawning realization.

“You’ve been working with him,” he said simply, every usual quirk of inflection having vanished.

For a moment, the wash crew surrounded her in an attempt at a shield, and she heaved a breath to keep back a sob-of fear, of gratefulness for these friends that had become family over the past weeks, of everything suddenly crashing down.

“I’ll be okay,” she said quietly to the wash crew and perhaps to myself. “You all should go. Like you were going to. I’m sorry.”

They didn’t move.

She looked at Piper, whose worried hand was on her arm. There was an unspoken vow of protection between the women in that moment, but Wren’s eyes pleaded, so Piper nodded sadly, took Noodle’s hand, and the group left.

Wren was almost afraid to look at Willy, but she did; the boy was staring at the old chocolate bar in his hands, looking as if he could barely process a thing.

The sympathy in her gaze must have been far too obvious, because she suddenly heard footsteps, felt a hard grip on her wrist, and gasped in pain as it was yanked up and backwards.

“Darling,” Felix hissed with a sinister edge, though his voice was breaking, “I don’t know how or why this betrayal-”

“Betrayal?” she finally cried out, breaking free from his grasp as Willy rushed between them. “You lot have just poisoned dozens of innocent people, all for a business rivalry, and I won’t-”

“If you want your family not to starve, you had better lower your voice,” he barked.

Every speck of air seemed to leave the room.

“...My family?”

“I may have been distracted enough for the past weeks to ignore the mail that came in and out of our house, but I had not always been that blind. I thought your compassion to be an incomprehensible gesture, but I let it slide. When I felt like it.”

…They haven’t gotten everything I’ve sent.

They haven’t-

“In fact,” he continued, “it served as what was almost a pleasant reminder of the truth. For your family, for your stupid dream, and for your sweetly dependent soul-you need me.”

“If you knew I was poor, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s the same way for me!”

This was the peak of what had been a building explosion, and this was the moment in which they both remembered there were other people in the room.

“What?” the four besides him breathed, almost in unison.

“Oh, you heard right,” Felix launched into speech, the characteristic gestures starting to work their way back into him. “I came from nearly nothing, just the same. But I did what I had to do to climb to the top. I cast them all away, left my old life behind completely, and I suppose it was a foolish hope to think my wife would do the same. But she-but you-you are nothing but a guileless, deceitful bleeding heart.”

“I…”

Tears blurred her vision.

“I am…genuinely sorry that you felt you had to hide your past, but that doesn’t excuse trying to make the rest of the world match your insecurity and fit your little chocolate mold. And if that makes me a bleeding heart…I’m proud of the title.”

For a moment, the man looked as if he would allow his wife’s words to affect him.

Then his face, normally so expressive, turned completely cold.

She’d lost him.

She’d never truly had him to lose.

But she looked at Willy, and she thought of the wash crew, and she realized she finally had a truer support system. And if she could try to start over, find some other way to earn money to send to her family without interception, and some other way to reach the dreams that felt so far away at the moment, she knew Felix would be wrong: she didn’t need him.

After a long silence, Slugworth cleared his throat.

“Get her out of here. We have business with Mr. Wonka.”

What?

Her and the younger man’s eyes widened, and they grabbed each other’s hands on instinct, but a small number of policemen came around the corner of the shop door at Slugworth’s order. They clamped hands on her shoulders and dragged her away from Willy as the Cartel stood silently and watched.

“Wait-wait, no, I-”

“Wren-”

She struggled, fought, kicked, but was forced into the backseat of a police car-

“Let me go, you corrupt bastards-”

“Wren-”

“Let me-”

“Just drop her somewhere in town,” Felix said coolly. “Somewhere that isn’t my home.”

“WREN!”

The car door was slammed, and the last thing she saw was the Cartel advancing on a dazed Willy, opening a suitcase of cash.

All she could do was scream, and the scream turned into a cry.

They did indeed drop her somewhere. She burst out of the car the second it had stopped, and the officers drove away without a word.

Sick with worry and trying to regain her breath, she looked around, almost fainting with relief when she saw the laundry building. Piper, having heard the commotion, stood outside, and they looked at each other for a moment before Wren fell sobbing into her arms.

This is not over.

[elia-nymmeros]

""A start?" said Ellaria Sand, incredulous. "Gods forbid. I would it were a finish. Tywin Lannister is dead. So are Robert Baratheon, Amory Lorch, and now Gregor Clegane, all those who had a hand in murdering Elia and her children. Even Joffrey, who was not yet born when Elia died. I saw the boy perish with mine own eyes, clawing at his throat as he tried to draw a breath. Who else is there to kill? Do Myrcella and Tommen need to die so the shades of Rhaenys and Aegon can be at rest? Where does it end?" "It ends in blood, as it began," said Lady Nym. "It ends when Casterly Rock is cracked open, so the sun can shine on the maggots and the worms within. It ends with the utter ruin of Tywin Lannister and all his works."" The Watcher, ADwD

Rereading ADwD, one of the most interesting aspects of the Dorne plot for me is that constantly, over and over again, the elder Sand Snakes mock Doran for his perceived weakness, for being slow to act, for planning and disguising and lying instead of outright fighting, claiming that he was a lesser man compared to Oberyn, and yet part of me wonders what they thought/might've thought of Elia while she lived, especially when Gregor's head was brought back to Dorne and the Sand Snakes demanded vengeance not only for Oberyn, but also for Elia and her children.

"Her sister Tyene gave answer. "What he always does," she purred. "Delay, obscure, prevaricate. Oh, no one does that half so well as our brave uncle."" The Watcher, ADwD

It's hard to know because we only have second-handed accounts, but we've been told that Elia was someone agreeable, kind, with a good heart, someone precisely like Doran and very unlike Oberyn. No account of Elia presents her as a bold, outspoken, bloodthirsty, or vengeful woman, which of course doesn't mean that she wasn't, but it means that she didn't choose to present herself as one in front of Dorne and King's Landing court; in fact, some people even remember her as "drab" and "frail". It's very poignant to see the Sand Snakes asking to spill blood and kill innocent people in the name of a woman dead some 17 years ago who, as a matter of fact, probably never wanted to see the entirety of Casterly Rock and Oldtown destroyed and slain, children and smallfolk included.

"Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit." ADwD, Daenerys IV

""We could kill him, to be sure," said Tyene, "but then we would need to kill the rest of his party too, even those sweet young squires. That would be … oh, so messy."" ADwD, The Watcher

It's interesting for me that they learned this bloodthirsty attitude from Oberyn, who of course had almost two decades of virulent resentment because the brutal rape and murder of his sister and her children went unpunished, but who was also the man who probably knew Elia the best and what ideas she held about retribution, not some idealized version of a woman who they probably don't remember. Part of me wonders if the Sand Snakes wouldn't have found Elia cowardly and weak and useless too, simply because she displayed the same ideas about politics and power than Doran, because all accounts of Elia (all three of them) shows us a genuinely gentle and easy-going person who did not murder and poison her way to power as it is common in the royal court.

"I am not blind, nor deaf. I know that you all believe me weak, frightened, feeble. Your father knew me better (...)" The Watcher, ADwD

"It must have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest." AFfC, Cersei V

I'm not saying that Elia wouldn't have wanted The Mountain dead or that the Sand Snakes were in the wrong for wanting their family members avenged, because Tywin Lannister and his lackeys were evil men who committed several crimes against the Martells and faced no direct repercussions, but the extreme level of hatred that the Sand Snakes show towards everyone who happens to be named Lannister, their willingness to go to a war they cannot hope to win with allies they aren't sure they can trust without any kind of well-thought plan, and the constant derision they show towards Doran and his attitudes... part of me feels like Elia has already been forgotten by them, replaced by an empty figurehead who they can rally around and use to justify their cruelty, while at the same time disdaining the same attitudes that Elia herself was known for...

"Written? If you were half the man my father was—" AFfC, The Captain of Guards.

""Obara would make Oldtown our father's funeral pyre, but I am not so greedy. Four lives will suffice for me. Lord Tywin's golden twins, as payment for Elia's children. The old lion, for Elia herself. And last of all the little king, for my father." "The boy has never wronged us."" AFfC, The Captain of Guards.

Something something about letting vengeance and senseless violence consume you, about a woman dead so many years ago and yet still loved by her people and her family, about the attitudes we teach our children and how they might end up twisted without a specific contextualization in time and space...

[ridhearts]

The first step to your lofty diplomatic dreams starts here...

*note: the housewardens all follow a specific order! please click below for the chapters as they're intended to be read!

overview. ♕ [chapter i.] chapter is. chapter ii. chapter iis. chapter iii. chapter iiis. chapter iv. chapter v. chapter vs. chapter vi. chapter vii.

THE QUEENDOM OF ROSES - RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

The Queendom of Roses is essentially the economic hub of the continent, at least when it comes to foreign markets. Though any remaining relationships are strictly for business, the Rosehearts family has managed to maintain contact with all the other countries of the continent except Briar Valley. The Coral Coast conducts all of their trade through the Queendom of Roses - while Pyroxene is closer, they have adopted a rather solitary policy, so the Queendom was the next best option. Additionally, the Rosehearts heir has a strong connection to the young heir Che’nya from abroad, solidifying their standing in international trade. Thus, the Queendom has become the unofficial central hub.

The ruling family has a firm hold on trade and on every day life of their citizens. From strictly enforced tariffs and trade routes, to specific tea times and daily beverages that must be consumed, those within the Queendom have a strict regimen that they must adhere to. When attending an important event, the only nobles more easily offended at a brash display than the Pyroxenes are the Rosarians.

The Card Soldiers are Her Majesty’s royal guard and are widely regarded as some of the best personal officers around. Many young hopefuls are trained within the borders of the Queendom before returning to their country to serve their lords, ladies and sovereigns.

MEETINGS

The Queendom of Roses maintained a hesitant relationship with your kingdom during the war. Once news came to the Queen that a new family was taking power, an invitation was bestowed upon you: visit her country, spend some time at the castle, and learn all about the social etiquette of the upper class.

Considering you were only a humble villager before becoming the next in line for the throne, you accepted the invitation. In fact, you were grateful for it. The fact that you had been invited made it easy for you to strengthen your ties to their kingdom, and hopefully reforge your bond!

You traveled to their Queendom as soon as you confirmed the arrangement, eager to start your diplomatic journey. Along the way, you were astounded by the wonderful smell of flowers and the bright, colorful landscape. People milled about the cobbled streets in fanciful suits and dresses, sporting fun decorated hats and eye-catching cravats. The foot traffic darted everywhere, even in front of your carriage, yet rather than busy chaos there was a sense of orderliness to it. A deep chime of a clock tower struck, spurring everyone on with a renewed sense of purpose. It was quite the contrast to your gray, rocky kingdom, where there was still physical damage visible from the dirt main streets and hopelessness seemed a day away.

Although, arriving on the castle grounds, you were surprised there wasn't much…fanfare. Your previous king always made a grand procession out of visitors, even when the visitors became a slow trickle of mages called in to protect the magestones and gorge themselves on food bought with taxpayer money. The guards, expecting your arrival, let you inside of the castle. It was quiet, so quiet your heeled shoes clicked against the floor and echoed. For a moment you thought you got the date wrong and worried that you were trespassing.

Somebody's heels approached from the hallway, quick and steady against the solid, shining floors. You were expecting a regal queen with a large dress, akin to the dresses your mother now wore. Instead, you watched as a short boy with red hair appeared, taking the stairs with ease. He held you in a gaze that bordered between blank and narrowed while gracefully closing the distance between the two of you. No matter how he compared to you in size or how cute he appeared, his aura of command was simply too strong for you to reject. You couldn't decide if the scepter in his hand was an accessory or a weapon.

"Ah…" You trailed off dumbly. His expression didn't change, but something flashed in his eyes and you could tell that your introduction was a test which you already failed. Suddenly rushing in your movements, you fumbled with the fabric of your clothes, tried to remember how to position your hands, and did your best curtsy or bow.

"Greetings…your highness?"

A moment of silence stretched between the two of you, unfriendly and unforgiving. The boy's eyes were as cold as an iron sword left unsheathed in the dead of winter. The longer he looked at you, the more the corners of his mouth tilted down into a small frown. Admittedly, it looked more like a pout than a frown, but you didn't dare utter a word and push yourself further from his good graces.

"Unacceptable," he finally muttered, averting his disappointed gaze. You swallowed.

"Apologies," you tried again. "You caught me off guard. I was expecting the Queen."

"Mother will not be administering your courses. She has left the duty to me," He explained. With a glance, you finally registered the small crown on his head, but quickly ducked your head back down in apology.

"I wasn’t aware. We didn't discuss the details in our letters."

He examined your bashful expression before stepping back, deciding this argument wasn't worth wasting time on. "Very well. My name is Riddle Rosehearts. I am the son of the queen and the heir to the throne. It is my duty to ensure you pass the same etiquette training I received, so that you might not tarnish what little reputation your country has left."

Your heart sank at that. There wasn't a moment that passed where you didn't love your country and its people. Your family risked their lives to fight for a better future, and now you were the one responsible for enriching your people's lives in every way you could. Even if you didn't have much of a name for your country, the dig still hurt. But you needed this to go well more than anything else, so you forced a polite smile.

"Shall we start immediately, then?" You asked sweetly.

Riddle scoffed. "Yes. Our first lesson: do not smile so widely. It is most assuredly without grace."

You instantly dropped your smile and followed Riddle through the hall.

The invitation didn't specify much of the details: who would administer your courses, how long they would take place, what exactly counted as passing - all these things were unknown to you. It appeared, though, that these lessons were going to be much more intense than you thought.

On the first day, Riddle nearly scolded you for coming so ill-prepared when you told him that you didn’t have anything with which to take notes. After staring at you for a moment, he huffed and left the room wordlessly. You sat on the edge of your seat, anxiously twiddling your thumbs until he returned with a bound journal and pen. Though he didn’t allow the book to slam on the table in front of you, he did pass it to you with a pointed look that served the same purpose as a loud thwack! Still, he was mostly addressing the basics verbally, indicating where you should be taking notes…which was practically after everything he said.

It lured you into a false sense of security. Maybe the prince had a bit of an attitude problem, but he was knowledgeable, and he’d pass his knowledge onto you for you to write down and review on your own time - preferably when you were far from the confines of this castle and on your way back home.

How wrong you were.

The very next day, he insisted that you put everything he told you into practice, without notes. You sputtered. “Certainly you don’t honestly expect that I’ve remembered all that?!”

“Why not? Any diligent student would have studied for at least an hour after lessons.”

“An hour?! We went over the information for hours after dinner, and I needed sleep!”

Riddle wasn’t one to be reasoned with, however, and still insisted you repeat the information back to him. Feeling stuck in the castle, without much of an option, you sighed and did your best.

Of course, how could anybody remember the precise order of nobility in such a short amount of time? There were so many dinner, lunch and breakfast rules to learn, ones that seemed to change based on the meal, the day, the amount of time you were sitting at the table after finishing your meal…

Every day, Riddle heaped hours of information on you, then expected you to relay it back to him the next day perfectly. When you fumbled the order of nobility, he made you write the order in your journal fifty times without looking at a reference. If your handwriting wasn’t up to snuff, he made you write out entire sections of the Queendom’s law in perfect script. Your pace and posture had to be perfect, or else you were forced to walk up and down the massive hallways with books stacked upon your head. At meals, every bite had to be prim and proper, or he’d lecture you before you could even pick up your fork again. 

And don’t get him started on the dancing.

You were dreadfully ill-prepared for the dancing. How did you know? Riddle told you first thing in the morning when he met you in the library and immediately shooed you out to go to a ballroom. There was no good morning to preface the information; just, “This next lesson will be positively dreadful.”

The first few hours were spent learning simple steps and motions, where to put your hands, how to follow and how to lead, et cetera. He even brought in two of his staff to help you in practicing switching off. You didn’t spend long in their company, but one of them insisted you were the sweetest thing, while the other gave you a wry grin in silent apology for Riddle’s behavior. It was a welcome reprieve.

But then it was back to being the focus of Riddle’s vigilant attention, and you ended the day with sore feet and growing animosity towards the only country that bothered to remember yours even existed.

You were in the middle of drafting a letter to your father, letting him know that the lessons were intensive and you’d be staying another week but you missed him and the others terribly, when there was a knock on the door. Opening it, you saw the green-haired butler from earlier. He informed you that tomorrow morning, you’d have the day to yourself while Riddle went to oversee some business with the Card Soldiers and you were welcome to attend, but your presence was not an obligation of your lessons. The way he said it made it seem like the only smart option.

Still, the next day you ate your breakfast slowly, trying not to notice how empty the large dining hall truly felt without Riddle berating you for doing something wrong. You barely even noticed how much care you were taking to eat the way he taught you, too lost in thought on what you should do.

After you finished, you glanced at the clock and then remained seated to think. You could explore the castle, or brush up on your assignments. Or, you mused dryly, you could hop in your carriage and leave, never to be seen or heard from by any Rosarian ever again. Or, a little voice said, you could check on Riddle.

You instinctively looked at the clock again, right as 15 minutes had passed. You hated when the universe gave you signs pointing in the direction you didn’t want to go.

Tentatively, you wandered through the halls the way the butler told you to go, walking past eclectic decorations of mainly red and black. Two large doors (that were, honestly, more window than door) led to the gardens, which then led to a training field. Walking through the lush green hedges and fragrant red roses, you were hit by how much you stuck out, dressed in dreary gray. Depressed, you realized that maybe you didn’t fit in at all - you were just a peasant playing royal, and maybe you were a lost cause.

Startled shouts caught your attention, snapping you out of your pity. You hurried towards the training field, a little less graceful than Riddle would have liked, and stopped right as you rounded the corner. 

You were just in time to see Riddle shouting and waving his scepter, summoning a heart-shaped collar around the neck of a redheaded recruit. He immediately yanked at it, though the annoyance in his face indicated that this had happened before. Still, he bit back at Riddle’s vicious words with venom of his own. You admired this future soldier more and more with each thing he said.

All at once, the commotion died down, and everybody fell silent. From the other side of the field, the queen approached, adorned in a great dress with a startlingly high collar. Her crown and scepter were both bigger than Riddle’s, though her hair was a similar, rich shade of red. As she approached, Riddle almost seemed to shrink back. It seemed like a smarter decision for you to duck back behind the corner and eavesdrop than stand and watch dumbly.

Due to the great distance between you and the other royals, you couldn’t quite make out every word that was exchanged. All you knew was there was a cold fury underlying her tone, and nobody dared to interrupt. Harsh words like ‘expected better,’ ‘utterly disappointing,’ ‘wasted authority,’ and ‘disgrace’ floated to you in the wind, so bitter and sharp that you almost felt like crying. After a while, you heard footsteps that you now knew were Riddle’s, and they were much faster than the pace he insisted you keep. For a moment you were worried he’d turn and catch you hiding, but he entered the castle through a nearby door instead. After a moment of holding your breath, you hurried back to the guest room and tried to avoid all the staff, as if you had heard a secret regarding national security and not a very public argument.

For the rest of the morning, you stared aimlessly at your notes, something like guilt gnawing at you. Lunch was spent alone again, and you hurried to get out of the too-big room. Afterwards, you waited in the library for your lessons to begin, but nobody showed up. Hesitantly, you checked the ballroom - also empty. Huffing, you wandered the grounds aimlessly, hoping to run into Riddle and to not run into the queen. Eventually you did run into somebody, but it wasn’t anybody you held a conversation with before.

The orange-haired member of the staff that helped you in your dancing lessons bounded up to you with a bright smile. “Heya! I come bearing what I assume to be good news!”

“Oh?” 

“Yup! Your lessons for this afternoon have been canceled! Though I can see you figured that out from how difficult it was to find you.”

“Oh…” You trailed off, not sure why you felt disappointed. Then you asked, “Did something happen? Something I can help with?”

A sad half-smile took over Cater’s expression. “It would be rude to ask a guest to help settle internal affairs.”

Nodding, you waved farewell to Cater and resumed your mindless wandering for a while. It seemed royals didn’t know how to behave when the feelings and security of others were involved. The grand halls felt all too imposing all of a sudden, like an ominous picture of what you were to become. Would you, too, become callous and cruel, uncaring for your people, uncaring for your family? Would your temper become a small fuse, lit at the smallest infraction?

Shuddering, you spent the remaining hours until dinner distracting yourself with your studies. Dinner was spent alone, again. This time, once you finished, you stayed at your seat for longer than 15 minutes, stuck in a loop of rumination. It wasn’t until Trey called your name that you snapped out of your miniature trance. In his hands, he held a tray of slices of a strawberry tart.

“Oh, you’re still here. Would you like dessert?” He asked, already offering you a plate and a fork. You took it in your hands and held it, not sure if you were willing to spend another 20 minutes aware of how lonely the table was.

But Trey was watching you expectantly, so you cut off a small piece and tried it in front of him. A second after the bite hit your tongue, your eyes widened in surprise. “Woah! This is amazing!”

Trey looked bashful. “Ah, it’s nothing. Riddle thinks so, too. They’re his favorite, after all.”

At the mention of Riddle’s name, you focused your gaze on Trey rather than the tart. “Are you bringing those to him?”

Trey nodded. Then, almost conspiratorially, he added, “But if anybody asks, this is a welcome gift for you.”

“Very well,” you said instinctively, not wanting to involve yourself in personal affairs. As Trey left, though, you couldn’t stop the nagging feeling in your gut. Sighing, you stood and said, “May I take those up with you?”

'Taking the tray up with him' wound up being you standing outside the door to Riddle’s room by yourself. Tentatively, you knocked, trying your best to balance the tray on one hand. In a firm, cold voice, Riddle called out, “Busy.”

You weren’t sure if calling out to him and revealing it was you would make him open the door or insist you leave him alone. Instead, you knocked again, more persistently. Again, Riddle called out, “Busy!”

Adjusting the tray on your hand, you huffed and hit the door solidly once with your fist. Then you stepped back, expecting the door to swing open in indignation. It did, revealing a very angry Riddle who was ready to chew out a member of his staff, or perhaps send them to the dungeon (if the castle even had one. You weren’t sure.) When he saw it was you, shock took over his expression - then indignation, annoyance, and finally, resignation. “What are you doing? I don’t need to tell you how inappropriate that was, do I?”

“You weren’t answering,” You defended, knowing full well that you sounded rather petulant. In an attempt to lessen his aggression, you displayed the tray of tarts. “This was important.”

Conflict flashed in Riddle’s eyes as he gazed at the tarts. Then he cleared his throat and looked away. 

“Dessert is not important,” he started, reluctantly. Trying to change the subject, he said in an accusatory tone, “For the record, it could be scandalous if you were caught outside my room, alone, at night, with a tray of sweets.”

“We haven’t gone over the dessert lessons. How was I to know? I’m also not sure exactly what quantity of dessert is considered appropriate, but I’m almost positive it isn’t eight slices at once. I’ve already had a bite of one, and if I’m left to eat these by myself, I will eat them all.”

Riddle tried to appear scandalized, but only seemed to be amused. “You’d think I’d have learned by now that there is no getting through to you…” But he stepped out of his room, shut the door, and led you to a balcony where you could eat your dessert together in peace.

The two of you sat on opposite sides of the small table on the balcony, overlooking the rose maze. In the distance, the lanterns of the village glowed brightly, the buildings tall and concrete. You were too amazed upon your arrival to realize how different the Queendom of Roses truly was from your country. It was more…stable. Your people deserved such security and beauty.

When Riddle wasn’t breathing down your neck to overanalyze every motion you made during a meal, he was surprisingly peaceful company. You ate your first slices in silence, admiring the dark landscape and sorting through the tension that was thick within the castle walls.

Riddle broke the silence first. “What is it like in your country?”

“Hm?” You asked, before you could stop yourself from acting disgracefully. Riddle didn’t seem to mind, at least, not this time. It never occurred to you that you hadn’t really talked about your home while you were here. Everything was all business, all etiquette and lessons. “It’s…not as green, for starters.”

“You’re situated right beneath the mountain range, right?” He asked, though you knew he wasn’t truly asking for clarification. “Do you…dislike it?”

“No! Not at all!” You insisted, and finally the dam broke. “It’s great at home. The ground is solid and there are forests with rock shelves like giant staircases up the mountains. The peaks are majestic, and there’s almost always a comforting fog in the mornings that feels like a cozy blanket…”

As you talked about your country, Riddle listened with rapt attention and helped himself to a second slice of tart. Every now and then, he’d interject to ask questions, getting you started on a new tangent about your life before royalty and your favorite home traditions. By the time you slowed down and realized how much you’ve been talking, most of the tart was gone and your throat was dry. Doing your best to clear it gracefully, you avoided Riddle’s steady gaze.

“I…realize I forgot many of your teachings,” You said meekly, your voice significantly softer. Riddle widened his eyes and soon watched his lap. He frowned and, much like when you first met him, it appeared more as a pout.

“I wasn’t thinking about that at all,” He admitted. A warm breeze blew over the both of you, nearly carrying his voice away with it. This shy vision of him was far different from the authoritative version that usually walked through the castle. “It sounds lovely, back at your kingdom. I was simply enjoying your stories. And…you’re much better company than the previous king.”

You laughed at that, starting at the prim giggle he originally made you learn before it escalated into something a little more true. “The competition was really stiff, was it?”

Riddle chuckled with you, a warm and rosy blush crawling to his cheeks. After a few stressful weeks for the both of you, a healthy laugh devolved into near-hysterics, taking much longer than the situation truly called for. As the two of you tried to calm yourselves down, you avoided making direct eye contact for fear of starting up again. Instead, you both looked over the small piece of the village again, willing the serenity to reach you.

Your thoughts calmed, first at the beauty of the lights against the dark sky, then at the overwhelming pull of how badly you wanted to achieve this for yourself. There was so much to be done: even after your people fixed the battered streets and structural damage, even after the harvest came and went and you properly rationed the food that wasn’t destroyed, even if you managed to reinstill some semblance of trust in the government of the country, all that work would only bring you to sea level. After that, there was much to improve: defenses, infrastructure, overall quality of life, foreign relations…and, on top of it all, you still had to figure out how, exactly, to defeat the encroaching blot.

For a sobering moment, you realized exactly where you were. The results of the war caught up to you, a king and countless innocent people dead, you and your family on the throne and the final defense between everybody and an unknowable monster. There was so much you didn’t know, and yet it was up to you to save it all.

“I never brought it up,” You started quietly. “But…thank you for continuing to support us all this time.”

Riddle appeared bashful - or ashamed? “Ah…it was nothing. Actually, it was purely strategic. Whoever emerged victorious would be appreciative of our support.”

“Ah. Well, I am,” You admitted, shifting in your seat. “Who knows? Maybe there are a couple of magestones with your name on them back home.”

“I see I’ll have to add a lesson in negotiating to our plans.” Finally, Riddle stood, smiling the kind of grin that, on anybody else, would be accompanied by rolling eyes. He held out his hand, clearly offering for you to take it. “It was a pleasure talking to you. Here’s to reaffirming our alliance.”

Taken aback by his sudden shift into prince mode, you gingerly place your hand on his and let him guide you out of your seat. “Here’s to affirming our friendship.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, slowly, as he watched with wide eyes for any hint of dissent, Riddle bent at the middle and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles so quickly, it was hardly anything more than an accidental brush.

With your newfound understanding of each other, the future lessons went by quickly. No longer uncomfortable in the castle, you were able to study more efficiently, eventually reaching Riddle’s expectations. He split your workload into sections, taking you on frequent breaks to walk around the castle grounds. While you weren’t working on etiquette or any questions you had, you both planned ideal ways to welcome the other into your respective countries. It was like gossiping with your friends in the village all over again, and it gave you hope for the monumental tasks ahead.

Finally, with most of your lessons having been successfully completed, Riddle spent your final week helping you draft trade agreements, giving you a rundown of each nation’s specialty, the best trade routes, and other important information. For the time being, you knew you’d have to get most of your resources from him - all the other routes were in various states of disrepair, and your relationship with other countries was still practically nonexistent.

One day, he sent Trey to lead you to his office. As Trey opened the door, you were struck by how official Riddle looked behind the grand desk, framed by massive bookcases and an intricate tapestry behind him. However, his stern expression eased as soon as you walked through the door. He gestured at a seat across from his desk, waiting for Trey to shut the door before interlocking his fingers and resting his chin on them.

“We don’t normally do paperwork in here,” You mused, looking around. Once you settled your gaze on him, Riddle straightened his posture and tapped on the forms in the center of his desk with one finger.

“Yes, well. This one is a bit more finicky,” He explained. Curiously, you slid the paper your way and scanned the words carefully. As the words sunk in, your eyes darted from the paper to Riddle and back again.

“You’re transferring some of your Card Soldiers?” You asked. “Thank you, but I couldn’t take them away from home so suddenly.”

“Nonsense. They’re eager for the opportunity. Besides,” Riddle lowered his voice, eyes drifting from side to side as if somebody could simply appear. “You would be doing a great service for them and me.”

Glancing at the papers again, you read the names printed in Riddle’s neat handwriting. After a moment’s hesitation, the names clicked and you remembered which soldiers he was talking about. The two card soldiers had a propensity for trouble - not the kind that would endanger you, but the kind that would endanger them the longer they remained under the rule of the queen. Nodding slightly, you held your hand out for a pen to confirm the transfer.

“Personal guard, huh?” You mused. The situation in your kingdom was getting more and more official with each passing day. It gave you hope.

When it was finally time for you to depart, you thanked Riddle for all of his help with a deep - and perfect - curtsy or bow. He bowed in return, then the both of you watched each other for a moment. The queen hadn’t welcomed you, and she wasn’t seeing you off; after your inadvertent experience with her, you figured that was best.

“I’ll write to you,” You decided firmly. Behind you, the door to your carriage was opened, signaling that it was time to start the long journey home.

“Yes. I look forward to hearing how my lessons have assisted you.”

“That,” you agreed, “and to check in on you. As friends. Interpersonally.”

Riddle paled and cleared his throat. “A-ah, right. I’ll…I look forward to that, as well.”

With a smile and a wave, you turned and made your way to the carriage. Though you would miss Riddle, you were eager to return home and see what progress had been made. You kept waving until the carriage rolled past the gates, but you only turned your back to him once you could no longer see the difference between his white uniform and the white castle steps.

Riddle watched you leave, not daring to release the wistful sigh in his chest until you were entirely out of sight.

[scribbleseas]

Straight Laced, Chapter IV: To Be A Helpful Dance Partner

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: Oh, my. This is just over 9,000 words; I highly suggest getting a snack and finding somewhere comfortable if you intend to read this in one sitting. I really don’t know what happened, but I adore this chapter so much. I had so much fun writing it! Thank you so much for all of your support - I can’t believe I’m so close to 100 followers! I appreciate it more than anything.

One more thing: let us all collectively scream at the fact that us anime enjoyers are getting a season 4 of the anime!! Isn’t that something? I’m so stoked to watch it and come up with even more Ciel stories for us!! (I say, as if I don’t already have 3 baby ciel fics in the drafts.)

Happy Reading,

- Dan

MASTERLIST

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

Late October

The Royal Opera House, The Practice Room

No one dared settle in the middle of the frontmost barre. It was arguably the best spot in the practice room because all of the directional mirrors on the walls reflected the dancer in the spot— therefore, they could watch themself plié from any angle.

Being the lead prima ballerina, it was your spot after Janet died. The mirror her steely blue eyes would burn into was now yours and in the time before you joined the investigation, you relished having your own detached space. A vicinity where you could only see yourself while the rest of the cast shared what was left— just as you had before your promotion.

Now, you were purposely choosing to your old spot: the far left side of the main barre. You waited until Violet arrived and settled to your right. It was her usual spot and she was so accustomed to the routine, that she hardly spared you a glance.

“Hello, Violet,” you greeted, startling her as she adjusted her leotard. Warm-up class, Natasha’s pre-performance requirement, started in about two hours but dancers were sure to start arriving soon. You didn’t have a lot of time to accomplish what you wished. The ballerinas with something to prove were always there about an hour ahead of time. You would know— you used to be among them, pleading with Natasha for private lessons, picking every step apart like an austere war general. If it is not perfect, it is not correct.

Startled, Violet’s breath hitched as she flinched, acting as if you intimidated her. “Good afternoon, Y/n,” she replied timidly, her onyx eyes searching for a reason as to why you were speaking to her. You didn’t know her last name— you had never spoken to her. “You’re here early,” she ventured, attempting to draw an explanation from you.

“I want to talk with you,” you admitted, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial low. The two of you were alone for the time being, and you needed to have this conversation in private. Ciel wanted to raise as minimal concern as possible, and Violet was one of the quietest in the company. If you spoke with her, even about such a controversial topic, she would never tell anyone. The only other dancer she would have spoken to was the late Eliza O’Malley, whose patron was co-hosting the ball that you were to attend with Ciel later that night. Alexander Huntington.

“Did you?” Violet asked, pausing in front of the mirror to decide how she wanted to begin warming herself up. She inhaled sharply and dropped into a demi plié, her right hand holding the bar as her left drew outwards elegantly. “Why?”

You mirrored her, dropping into a demi plié and following her into her next fluid movement, a grand plié. “About the disappearances,” you stepped into second position and repeated the demi and grand pliés with her. Violet studied your movements, taking in your lengthened back, and the way you positioned your fingers. Of course. You were Odette. She was one of the shortest dancers in the company, and therefore, one of the four swans in the pas de chat.

Along with Violet, Eliza O’Malley was one of the swans before she died. Going missing before Janet and Amélie, she was the eighth dancer to vanish or die, rather. Your heart was heavy when Ciel told you that her body was found, but the details must have been so gruesome, that Ciel decided to spare you. “You were close with Eliza, were you not?”

Your words caused Violet to pause before turning her feet into third position and continuing to plié. Her pale skin seemed to only grow ashier as she regarded you. Watching her closely, you noticed that she was alarmingly thin— more emaciated than any ballerina would ideally be. With her raven black hair and matching brown eyes, you imagined that if Sebastian had a daughter, Violet would resemble her.

“We were best friends, I loved her,” Violet’s lip quivered, her voice no higher than a broken whisper. It was a pained whimper, the defeated sound of a mortally wounded animal.

“Will you come to my dressing room?” You asked, not anticipating her earnest confession. You wanted to give her the dignity of crying in private. “I need your help.”

Even more to your surprise, Violet agreed. Her trembling hands picked up her bag and shouldered it as she followed you to your private space. She startled at the harsh sound of your closing door.

“How…could I possibly help you? And what could you even need help with?” Violet asked, her curiosity defeating her concerns. She stared into her lap, sitting stiffly on your vanity chair while you occupied the loveseat at its side.

“I think dancers from this company are dying. Not going missing like everyone has been saying,” you said evenly, trying to speak with warm understanding in your voice to avoid upsetting her further. “I think someone killed Eliza and the others.”

Violet nodded resolutely, her inability to stay still reminding you of a wary bird. “I think you’re right,” she sniffled. “It was William Wood. I know it, and I come here during off hours to try to find the spare key to his office. I know he has one around here somewhere for when he forgets his copy at home. There’s got to be evidence in there—” The more she spoke, the faster her words came. They were confident, broken, and so certain that it was disquieting.

“Mr. Wood?” You asked in disbelief, causing her to give you a wide-eyed, silencing look. You must have said his name too loudly, but you doubted there was anyone incriminating outside of your dressing room at the moment. “Why do you say—”

“He forces himself on dancers!” Violet exclaimed, a stark contrast from her frantic rambling. “Eliza and the rest of the girls who disappeared were only a handful of those he abused.”

Your mouth was dry with shock, your eyes stinging with the need to cry. Mr. Wood? Natasha’s husband? No. The man was only ever smiling. He was generous, and kind. He loved his wife, did he not?

Your stomach lurched. The deaths all took place before William departed for Paris. Even Sebastian estimated that the killer poisoned Amélie and put her in contact with the chemical weeks before her death. He said she must have absorbed it through her skin. William would have been in London, at the time. He would have still been in London when Janet went missing, as well, though her body had yet to be found. Was Mr. Wood truly capable of being so cruel?

“I think he kills them when he’s ready to move on. It keeps them quiet, s-so they don’t tell the Yard, or Natasha, or ruin his company, or…” she rambled, wringing her hands in her lap. “It’s only a matter of time before he moves on to the next one. You should be careful, Y/n.”

That was not the first time you heard the sentiment.

You put a tender hand on her fidgeting ones. Her nail beds were bitten raw. “Violet. I want to help you find who has been doing this. I… need to know where you have looked for his office key, and everyone you know he has assaulted. Can you help me with that?” You asked gently, using the same soothing voice you would calm a terrified animal.

When she didn’t respond, you continued. “I may not be able to tell you much, but I am working with someone who will stop at nothing to solve these murders. He truly is very smart,” the words tasted as bitter as cigar smoke, but you meant them. You had never met anyone quite as focused and certain as Ciel Phantomhive. He was the Queen’s loyal Guard Dog, and you were his accomplice. And his faux lover.

“Lord Phantomhive?” She asked, wiping away a fresh tear. Her lips turned upwards in a weak smile. “I knew that the timing was rather convenient— his courting you.”

You let yourself snort, amused that she stitched your collective lies and admissions together to find the truth. “Please do not tell anyone. If people find out…” you started, knowing she was smart enough to understand that if any other dancers know, then Natasha would find out, and inevitably, her husband would from her. Natasha deserved to find out that her husband was unfaithful, but not in such a painful way.

“No one will hear it from me,” Violet said resolutely, her cold hand giving yours a brief, yet reassuring, squeeze.

That Evening, Post-Performance

The Royal Opera House, Your Dressing Room

Ciel waited for you outside your dressing room after the performance, as he did every other evening. When he was unable to escort you, he would send two of his house staff members or Sebastian to escort you, highly concerned with your safety because of his ‘long list of enemies.’

Apparently, policing London’s Underworld did not make Ciel popular amongst big crime syndicates and even small-time criminals, making you a potential target. A weakness. Especially after The Oxford Gazette released a brief about your courtship, complete with quotes from Ciel and yourself. Speaking with Adam Blackwell during one of your performances’ intermissions earlier that week had been equal parts invigorating and intimidating.

Even if it was a startling process, the article had been illuminating for your public character. He painted you as an industrious self-starter who moved from France to pursue your passion for ballet. But you weren’t naïve enough to believe that a glowing review from the Adam Blackwell would completely erase the inevitable social repercussions you and Ciel would face for this faux pas. An Earl — especially one of Ciel’s magnitude — and a commoner such as yourself was unheard of.

Natasha easily unclipped your Odette costume, a white tutu with feather detail. The bodice was a strict and unforgiving corset, the clasps going up your back. You would never be able to get in and out of the costume on your own, even though Natasha had every right to force you to make do. She was the company director, not the lead costume designer. The costume designer, a kindly and mature woman named Polly, was hard at work with measurements for The Nutcracker, and all of the costuming assistants worked on the wardrobes with her, rather than Natasha.

As the director, Natasha dedicated nearly every minute of her life into the Royal Opera House Company and for so little in return. For all of her earnest work, she received next to nothing in return. You couldn’t help but pity her.

“Lord Phantomhive’s butler asked me for your birthstone the other evening,” Natasha grinned as she fastened your costume back onto its hanger. “You do know what that means, yes?” She asked, her stormy blue eyes alight piqued interest.

“No,” you replied nonchalantly, your lips starting to curve upwards in a smile. You needed to play the role you were cast in: the unorthodox woman who caught the Earl’s attention. You needed to be lovestruck; you needed to be playful. “Do you?” You said with enough irony for Natasha to playfully roll her eyes and snicker.

“It means the Earl is looking to buy you an expensive gift, Y/n. A custom-made piece.”

“So soon?” You chuckled in a way you hoped was bashful. Natasha had never seen you in love before, but you presumed you’d be more tight-lipped than telling her every detail regarding your experiences with particular suitors — good and bad.

You unclipped your costume’s headpiece and offered it to the director once she finished hanging your Odette outfit next to the Odile ensemble on your wall.

For convenience, you slipped into a clean leotard and the long wool coat Ciel bought for you. It was the same charcoal black as his, and the hem fell to your knees. It was, by far, the warmest item of clothing you owned— it was just in time for the autumn season to shift into the bitter winter. Your tights matched your skin, giving your clothing an entirely nude palette.

“I know. How exciting,” Natasha said, all cheer and amazement for your success, given that a woman’s future heavily depended on the sort of man she married. She was always in your corner, ever since you joined the company. You imagined it was because she saw herself in you. The same hunger for brilliance and perfection. You imagined Natasha was a stunning prima ballerina before her accident, having met William because she amazed him with her portrayal of Aurora in the Opera House’s production of Sleeping Beauty about five years ago.

You felt another sting of pity for having to withhold such important information about her marriage from her.

For the sake of the investigation, you could hear Ciel chime in the back of your mind.

“Have a magical night, Cinderella,” Natasha joked, steadying her cane as she readied herself to leave. “I hope your ball is enchanting tonight. They tend to be.”

You quirked an eyebrow, struggling from the irony. You were the furthest from a fairytale princess— only heading to the ball because your fake Prince Charming needed to court you to divert suspicion for a serial killer investigation. “Does that make you my Fairy Godmother?”

“Something of the sort,” she winked before leaving, saying a brief hello to Ciel as she passed him.

That Evening, Pre-Ball

Your Bedroom

“You had a new dress made for me?” You couldn’t keep the surprise and slight frustration from your voice as you gaped at the various pieces of a clearly expensive ball gown. It was darker than blood, an intense and ironic color that you wouldn’t have expected from Ciel, given his trademark blues and blacks. A pearl necklace, a matching set of pearl drop earrings, three silver rings, and a pair of white gloves sat on your dresser. Matching red heels waited on your chair cushion— they were relatively short.

“Yes. It is of the utmost importance that your clothing assures the rest of the nobility that you belong on my Lord’s arm,” Sebastian replied. “I took the liberty of bringing your measurements to our modiste.”

Where could Sebastian have possibly learned your dress measurements? You wondered, your eyes widening and lips pursing with stress. If Sebastian could find such minuscule details about you, his master’s ally, you were scared for those who fell on the other side of his opulent shield.

“Shall I help you prepare, Miss Y/n?” Sebastian asked, fastening his necktie around his eyes for your modesty— not that it was of importance to you anymore. He moved before you could answer, completely aware that your answer would be yes.

As Sebastian pieced your dress together— several smaller, complex accessories went under the top petticoat— he held an impromptu etiquette lesson.

“You must address nobles with their rightful titles, Miss. Given that you are a commonoer, all titles are above yours— you must refer to nobles as my Lord and my Lady. You must not engage in any impolite conversation,” Sebastian continued, tightening your corset. It felt as if he was suffocating you with the excessive information and by over-constricting the undergarment. “By impolite conversation I mean: do not engage in argument, do not interrupt anyone when they are speaking, do not lose temper or speak excitedly, do not speak of personal matters. By personal matters, I am referring to…”

Even if he was overzealous when it came to cramming two decades worth of knowledge into your brain, you knew Sebastian meant well. He was helping you master etiquette because ultimately, your success was his master’s as well. If you could play the role of a reformed ballerina, it would ensure that the investigation would remain as inconspicuous as possible. A strong show of social prowess from you meant you and Ciel could bring the killer (potentially your employer, if Violet was right) to justice.

By the time Sebastian was finished preparing you, your head pounded, a physical manifestation of every rule the butler engrained into you. Furthermore, the woman who returned your gaze in the mirror was certainly not you. She was the picture of opulence— she wore the pearl necklace elegantly as if it were her birthright. Her hair was out of its typical ballerina bun, styled partially up and partially down impeccably. It bounced in ringlets that Sebastian accomplished through a long process including fire-heated tongs and curl paper.

Perhaps, you truly were Cinderella for once.

“How will you address Gabriel Giffard and Alexander Huntington tonight?” Sebastian asked as he rolled the long white gloves up your hands. He slid your rings on for you— they were thin silver bands, matching the silver in your pearl drop earrings.

You punctuated your silence with a hum, drawing yourself from staring into your reflection. “Gabriel is the Viscount of Tiverton so it would be…Lord Tiverton and Alexander is…” You closed your eyes briefly to try to recall if Alexander had a noble title. No, he is only a wealthy businessman. “Mr. Huntington.”

“Very good, Miss,” Sebastian said. He studied your face before turning back to your vanity. He picked a light lip rouge, a soft red that was natural enough for your lips to appear bitten, rather than painted. Your makeup was significantly less dramatic than you’d ever worn, and instead, it accentuated the features you already had. It was less of a weapon and more of a tool. Sebastian ran the near-neutral lip salve over your lips and gave you a tissue to blot any excess away.

“There. You resemble a proper lady, now,” Sebastian said. If he hadn’t been looking at you like an artist after his final brushstroke on his masterpiece, you would have been offended. Instead, you looked at yourself once more and found yourself agreeing with him— albeit hesitantly.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” you replied earnestly. “I could never have accomplished something like this on my own,” you felt strangely emotional. You spent most of your life in ratty leotards, and months-old tights. Even now that you were the principal dancer, you spent even more time in such makeshift wardrobe, only able to wear pieces that made statments during performances. Of course, those statements were made to represent your character, rather than yourself. Privately, you supposed this was no different.

Sebastian chuckled, expecting the sentiment. “If I couldn’t do this much, what kind of butler would I be?” He asked rhetorically, offering you his arm to allow him to escort you to the carriage, where Ciel awaited you. There was a foreign anxiety in your stomach that worsened with every step toward the vehicle as if you worried about how Sebastian’s master might react to your appearance. Or perhaps, anxiety was of the long-term effects of being unable to breathe properly.

You preferred that explanation much more than the former.

“I finally understand why you nobles are always so unpleasant,” you declared, stepping into the carriage with help from Sebastian. You settled on the seat opposite from Ciel, per the norm, but the dark carriage kept you from seeing more than some of his face highlighted by lamp posts outside the carriage window.

“Excuse me?” Ciel blanched, taken aback by your greeting. “Did you not just have a lesson in etiquette with my butler?”

“This corset hinders my breathing, and I can barely remember all of the rules from within my lesson,” you adjusted your skirts to keep them from catching in the carriage door. The gown took up nearly all of the space on your bench and in the rest of the space. “Not to mention, I have plenty of ball gowns. It was unnecessary for you to—”

“We couldn’t have you re-wearing some dress from some old patron,” Ciel explained. “That would have been most unseemly.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course, the Earl dressed you in the most expensive and elegant ensembles you’ve ever worn to preserve his image, of all things. Though you supposed, he was sacrificing more than you were, at least on the social stage. You had to look and act flawlessly, or it would only drive him to further (self-inflicted, of course) ruin. The fact that you had to pretend to be in love was Ciel’s fault, to begin with! You were entirely innocent!

Your face sobered as you recalled the crucial information Violet uncovered for you. “Oh— Ciel, I learned something today,” you admitted, your sudden urgency capturing his attention. “I heard that William Wood takes sexual advantage of company members— many of whom have been killed over the past several weeks….” You started, exhaling as if the information was constricting your lungs as painfully as the corset was in the midst of doing.

Ciel’s grave expression didn’t insinuate surprise. Instead, it only grew stormier. “I’ve heard the rumors of the like about the bastard. I was looking to confirm them,” his fist clenched in his lap. “For this evening, we will speak with Alexander Huntington. We will need to investigate William Wood, next. Understood?”

That Evening, The Ball

Alexander Huntington’s Estate, The Grand Ballroom

This is another stage, Y/n. It is not unlike the Opera House, you repeated to yourself in an effort to quell your drumming pulse. It was anxiety; it was excitement. It was the same readiness you felt moments before the beginning of a new performance; the feeling of knowing that there were several dozens of eyes on you.

“Remember everything Sebastian told you,” Ciel mumbled, moments before stepping through the grand entrance and into the ballroom. He’d led you up the grand stairway in the front of the main building and through the open doors, which were flanked by two guards. Your arms were laced together, and you watched his face fade from Ciel Phantomhive and ignite once more to portray the Earl of Phantomhive, a small, certain smile tugging the corner of his lips, his chin raised.

You didn’t need to force yourself to smile in amazement. Mr. Huntingdon’s ballroom was bursting with life— over 100 nobles occupied the space as they danced, talked, ate, and drank. Astonishing paintings lined the walls, accompanied by intricate wood paneling and long leafy plants by the ballroom’s balcony. One great stairway led to the elevated space, which was also crowded with people.

After taking every facet of the space in, you allowed your grin to fall back into something closer to the detached amusement on Ciel’s face. Sebastian had told you to appear pleased, but not too pleased as it would be an affront to your courtship with Ciel.

“Ah, Phantomhive! You’ve finally managed to show your face!” A man greeted Ciel. You were walking in his group’s general direction, and Ciel’s answering half-smile (it was much more genuine than his previously idle look) suggested that the group was his intended destination, to begin with. The man who called out appeared to be around your age. He was lightly tanned with tousled light brown hair, and matching hazel eyes. His smile displayed his white teeth and drew your attention to his tasteful goatee and beard.

“Hello, Tiverton,” Ciel answered, stopping across from the Viscount as the rest of the group made room for the both of you. This was Gabriel Giffard — Lord Tiverton — a co-host of the ball. The only face you recognized in the group was Adam Blackwell, the editor-in-chief of The Oxford Gazette; the rest of the group consisted of a young woman with curly red hair, and a man with dark hair and even stormier gray eyes. “Where is Huntington?”

“Dancing with Margaret. Why? Tired of us already?” Tiverton asked. Good-natured jabbing— lack of formality. Sebastian hadn’t told you that Ciel was on close terms with the Viscount.

Before Ciel could reply, Tiverton changed the subject. “You cannot walk away without introducing your partner. That would be rude.”

Now the rest of the group seemed comfortable with overtly staring at you, rather than continuing to attempt to mask their curious looks. You remained silent, per Sebastian’s warning, and allowed Ciel to speak — no matter how it enraged you. Given that you had the lowest status, you were unable to introduce yourself to anyone of higher rank. Ciel needed to do so for you.

“Fine, yes. This is Y/n Y/l/n, the lead prima ballerina of the London Royal Opera House Company,” Ciel said, but his delivery was completely wrong. He was too stiff and detached— as if he was getting paid to attend the ball with you.

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Tiverton,” you said politely, dipping in a shallow curtsy to observe his Viscount title. You could feel Ciel stiffen next to you, clearly wanting to comment on the fact that you respected Gabriel’s title while refusing to give him the same treatment at every opportunity. The thought of his silent frustration helped nurture your natural grin; the pinching in your cheeks was beginning to make the expression stiffen into something artificial and unsettling.

“We’ve heard much about you, Y/n. Do enjoy the ball— even if your partner here is a bit of a wallflower,” Tiverton gestured to Ciel with his chin, turning the group’s attention away from you once more. You assumed he made the cheap joke with that goal in mind, sensing your light discomfort beneath your shield of satin, pearls, and unearned confidence.

“Not everyone loves to dance, Tiverton,” Ciel said with a comedic bitterness that matched his sardonic half-grin. Brilliant light from the chandelier reflected in his exposed eye. He truly was unfairly attractive.

“You shouldn’t admit such a thing. You’re courting a literal prima ballerina,” Blackwell scoffed, giving you a firm head nod to denote his acceptance of you. The other two in the group, the freckled woman with the red hair, and the grumpy man with the perpetual scowl, had yet to give you any indication of acceptance. She studied you like a foreign agent in a laboratory, while he seemed uninterested in your presence.

Your eyes widened. Of course, Ciel disliked dancing— the man despised everything that wasn’t monochrome, monotonous, and dreary. Even still…he also disliked partaking in activities that he didn’t particularly excel at. Could he be a bad dancer?

You had to work to hold your laughter in. Instead, you turned to Ciel, your gaze sinister. “I have never danced with you, Lord Phantomhive. I believe a waltz would be most exhilarating,” you suggested, silently daring him to reject you in front of his usual company.

For once, Ciel stuttered, at a near loss for words. “I… perhaps after we greet Alexander and his wife. We may join the waltz after that,” he wanted to use this opportunity to take his leave of the conversation and find the target. So much for enjoying the ball.

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” you agreed placidly, playing the role of a polite young woman, despite her promiscuous occupation. Sebastian emphasized that in this setting, being unagreeable simply was not an option. Neither was failing to be polite and kind— which apparently, you were not on an average day. But who could blame you?

Ciel was rarely a ray of sunshine, even when he was poorly acting in front of a group.

“Shall we go?” You prompted, keeping your tone light and patient to avoid appearing desperate to exit the conversation.

“Yes. Enjoy the night, everyone,” Ciel said before leading you back down the stairway to the main floor once again. Once you were out of earshot, he lowered his voice. “We will use this waltz as a diversion. Sebastian will ensure Alexander stays away from his office, should he leave the ballroom,” he explained, his gaze locking on Alexander and his wife as they danced, laughing amongst themselves. They seemed like a loving couple— hardly one that would be half unfaithful.

“So we are not waltzing?” You asked, pouting exaggeratingly as he led you past the side of the dancing area — the center of the vast ballroom — and towards a side corridor. The both of you had to make occasional stops every few steps to greet someone new. You stopped keeping track of names and affiliations after the third mother-daughter combination approached you to size up your relationship with one of London’s most eligible bachelors. Having to respond to jealous and longing looks with your blazing grin became something akin to a game.

“No, we need to search for clues in the suspect’s office,” Ciel responded boredly, his tone telling you not to continue pressing the matter. You wanted to ask him why you didn’t have Sebastian search the office while you both continued to work the ball, but you assumed his haughty response might be along the lines of: this is my investigation. He merely acts as I instruct him, rather than making moves on his own.

Even if Sebastian could search the room much faster than the two of you could, Ciel would underutilize him to secure his position as the master.

“It seems unlocked,” you said, surprised when the door knob turned obediently in your hand. “That means he has nothing to hide, no?”

“Or it could mean he believes he has everything hidden well— or in a different location…” the Earl stepped inside before you and locked the door after you entered behind him. He took a moment to survey the room before starting towards Alexander’s long oak desk. The desk was covered with an assortment of papers, pens, a typewriter, and a candlestick telephone. Ciel started sifting through the sloppy records on the desktop not without complaining about the mess, of course. (Is the man too frugal to bother hiring a live-in maid?”)

“He certainly has an appreciation for fine art…” you mumbled, inspecting the painted canvas that hung on the wall. Aside from the art, his desk, and an office chair, there was nothing else in Alexander’s office. It was painfully empty, compared to Ciel’s ample bookshelves, bay window, and wall decor.

Still, the office was too simple for a hyperconfident man. Alexander was supposed to be a smart entrepreneur with ideas bright enough to persuade a Viscount to co-found a company with him. He wasn’t supposed to leave his office door and desk drawers unlocked unless he was trying to appear innocent to anyone looking. Business-savvy men kept their records well-maintained, rather than carelessly splayed out. At least they ensured their crucial documents were secure.

You decided to think back to what you knew about the powerful men who sponsored you over the past few years. None of them would leave such a private room so accessible unless they were hiding more crucial information, and using this display to deter any wandering eyes. This setup had to be a distraction. There was no other explanation, given the number of servants that were maintaining the ballroom— serving drinks, amuse bouches, managing garbage — there was no reason for them to avoid their master’s office unless they were specifically ordered to do so.

If Alexander was looking to sidetrack intruders in the office by giving them a messy scene to work with, then there had to be something in the room he was looking to distract them from…

You hummed, taking a step to the side to look at the painting’s canvas from the side. It wasn’t directly adhered to the wall as most paintings were— there was a gap between the back of the frame to the wall itself since the work hung from a nail hammered into the wall. Without any further thought, you moved the painting off the wall and set it on the floor, the movement easy given that the painting was quite small.

Of course, if it was easy for you to move, it had to be lighter than a feather for Alexander to lift it as many times as he pleased.

“How did you think of that?” Ciel demanded, staring at the newly exposed cutout in the wall as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You— moved the— and—”

You surged forward. “Look. These are checks made out to Eliza O’Malley,” you pulled the papers out of the cutout. “The last one was made the week before she died. It has not been cashed,” you said, turning the document to Ciel for him to look at it over your shoulder.

“They stopped immediately before she died,” Ciel mused.

“Could he have heard of her death? That she went missing?”

“The Yard is on strict orders from Her Majesty to keep these deaths private,” he said. “It is unlikely he was aware that anything was wrong before it was time to write the next check.”

“Meaning… Alexander had to know that something happened to her,” you were unsure if your words were supposed to be a statement or a question. “So as to know not to write her another check.”

“Unless he was about to choose another company member to subscribe to, or stop the practice altogether,” Ciel suggested, but you immediately knew better.

“That seems unlikely. He was her only patron for months,” you frowned, glancing back at the hole in the wall. There seemed to be other documents— mostly business related, given that his and Tiverton’s company monogram was stamped at the top of them. You also noticed assorted valuables, gold, jewelry, watches, and notes of currency (foreign and domestic). You felt a sting of homesickness when you noticed the stack of French francs.

“Come on, Ciel. I think there is nothing to accomplish without speaking to Alexander himself—

“There is no separating him from his wife smoothly at the moment,” Ciel cut in, making you roll your eyes. How was it that women in polite society weren’t to interrupt, but Ciel could interject whenever he felt like it?

You made a show of clearing your throat. “We should wait, then. And in the meantime, teach you how to be a convincing actor,” you advised the derision in your voice more than palpable. “I nearly forgot we were supposed to be courting, given how coldly you were treating me,” you continued, raising a challenging eyebrow. “If we continue this way, no one will believe us.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Ciel asked impatiently, “I seem to have forgotten that you were the mistress of everything regarding deception.” He put Alexander’s checks back into the wall and moved the floral painting back into its original position. In his frustration, his movements were hurried, jagged with an irritation that seemed reserved for you.

“Well, between the two of us, you certainly are not the master!” You fired back. “Come this way, we are wasting time,” you took his arm, unlocked the door, and practically pulled him back out to the ballroom. As luck would have it, Alexander’s orchestra was just beginning a new piece.

“No, you cannot be serious, Y/n…” The sound of the conversating guests and the beginning notes of a waltz nearly drowned out all of Ciel’s quiet protests. “Y/n— no,” he seemed desperate enough to consider bribing you out of the matter, but you had your mindset. Furthermore, there were too many pairs of eyes on you for him to outwardly refuse you without seeming suspicious.

You only released Ciel’s arm once you were settled in the middle of the dance floor. The spot allowed all of the ball’s attendees to freely stare at you and him, something that he seemed to be acutely aware of, given his vague blush. The pink flush tinted his cheeks, spreading up to the tips of his ears. As the music drew louder, you dropped into another curtsey, keeping yourself in line with Ciel’s bow, dropping and raising in tandem.

Mechanically, Ciel’s arm wrapped around your back while its counterpart took your hand. He was close enough for you to feel his rigid body, stiff with uncertainty — whether it was from his clear disdain of recreational dancing, having the limitless ballroom’s attention, or the realization that he was, indeed, awful at pretending to be in love.

“You need to relax and allow yourself to have fun, sometimes,” you said, wrapping your arm around his tense shoulder. Your gloved hand sat slightly above Ciel’s shoulder blade, the other trapped in his tight grasp. Your eyes locked on the sight of your intertwined fingers, slotting together perfectly. You nearly wished you weren’t wearing gloves so you could feel the warmth from his body, and the texture of his skin. His hands were always hidden by the same black gloves; you couldn’t help but wonder what his hands might have looked like. Did aristocrats have calluses, too?

“Dancing is fun,” you insisted, putting the entirety of your body into the next spin for emphasis. “Pretend I am someone you truly like. Someone you would enjoy spending time with— no matter what you are doing,” you suggested in an attempt to dispel the nauseous look on Ciel’s face. Instead, your words only caused him to look at you incredulously, suggesting that there was no one in his life he would feel such a way for. You didn’t blame him.

“Twirling about like children is not so much my idea of fun.”

“If you bothered to watch my performances, you would realize that dancing is an art form,” you said snidely, well aware of Ciel’s habit of waiting until each production ended before waiting outside your dressing room. He hadn’t deigned to watch you in your starring role, despite being your partner. “You might also realize that dance follows emotion.” You took the words from one of Natasha’s private lessons, but it was a phrase you repeated to yourself in a mirror more times than you could count.

“Dance follows emotion,” Ciel repeated dubiously, frowning at you. His reluctance seeped into his dance steps like spilled ink to surrounding fabric. You could still feel his tension, his slight panic, and his uncertainty.

“Listen to the music. Let it guide you— not how you feel. You know these moves, Ciel. It is a nonissue,” you urged. You didn’t have a lot of time to make this dance into something believable, it would only be a few moments before onlookers would expect Ciel’s initial awkwardness to evolve into a beautiful and soft display created by an unmatched affection for you.

You needed to show that the Earl of Phantomhive loved you enough to forgo his usual wallflower role and waltz with you, his ballerina.

“Just look into my eyes,” you suggested, thinking back to the notes Natasha gave to Timothy, the dancer playing Prince Siegfried while you rehearsed Act II’s Love Duet one last time before your first performance as a prima ballerina, rather than Swan Number 43. This performance featured you as the Swan Queen, Odette as she falls in love with The Prince. It is the complete antithesis of your pas de deux as Odile, your movements formed with humility and grace rather than overt audaciousness and flashiness. While Odette was an innocent victim, Odile was a cunning trickster.

Though, you struggled to recall her advice to Timothy… perhaps, what you needed in this situation was her advice to you.

You remembered Natasha telling you to move as if you were weightless to convince the audience that you were a woman who lived in the body of a swan during her days, the condition causing her to retain most of that legato movement in her human form at night. The routine was crucial to master in terms of chemistry because it displayed Odette’s transition from being afraid of The Prince, attempting to fly away and hide within herself, to timidly deciding to place her faith in his love for her. Unlike Odile, Odette moves with The Prince in matching, co-dependent steps. She doesn’t lead him into each new move because she is not manipulating The Prince into loving her as Odile is.

“Be ethereal, fluid, and delicate,” Natasha said, “make certain your port de bras resembles a swan’s wings.”

You tried to focus on more relevant insight. Anything Natasha had to say about the acting, the artistry that accompanied the athleticism in ballet. Particularly, how to capture the Swan Queen’s gentle movements. You needed to be a helpful dance partner or your farce wouldn’t survive the night. Come on, Y/n.

“Use Odette’s wounded backstory to transform it into something beautiful. Pour her pain into her selfless love. Your Odette may have a somberness to her, and that is fine because she is a victim of a curse. She puts every bit of that pain into maintaining her iron will. You can channel any strong feeling — anger, sorrow, joy — into passion.”

You stared into Ciel’s eye, tilting your head and smiling as his gaze finally managed to soften. “Better. See, you can channel any strong emotion into a passion. Think about your favorite tea or something that can only evoke kind feelings,” you explained with a newfound gentleness as the two of you settled into a natural rhythm with the music.

Something was paralyzing about his sapphire stare. It forced you to nearly miss a step in your waltz, causing you to fumble. He held the depths of the ocean in his eye— you wished he didn’t need his eyepatch. Selfishly, you wanted to look into both of his eyes.

A new grin played on Ciel's lips. It managed to reach the rest of his face, for once. “Be careful. We can’t have the principal dancer tripping over herself in a dance of all things,” he remarked, the arm around your lower back tightening to keep you steady. The hand clasping yours gradually relaxed from its business-like squeeze to a softer grasp meant for gentle dancing.

The piece drifted to an end. Couples around you stepped into their concluding stance, about a step away from one another. They bowed and curtsied to one another, or settled into another beginning stance to continue dancing. You looked at Ciel questioningly, confident that he would be more than ready to steer you back to the sidelines to continue making your rounds about the room.

That was until he extended his hand to you once more, after righting himself from his shallow bow. “It would be optimal to wait until most of the guests leave. Until then, we have time to kill,” he explained, gauging your reaction. You willingly accepted his hand and returned to your former position— gently ensnared in his arm, while rounding yours around his shoulder.

You were close enough to smell the sweet scent of expensive tea and clean soap wafting from his neck since the height difference between you and the Earl left you aligned with his sternum. Or more interestingly, the blood-red tie he wore to match your gown.

After Midnight, The Ball

Alexander Huntington’s Estate, Alexander’s Office

The ball was showing typical signs of a natural closing. Noble parties tended to extend into one in the morning, and typically the idle widows and daughters and mothers who were unimpressed with the ball’s bachelors started to take their leaves. The ballroom was still crowded, but there was a slight current of guests making their rounds of goodbyes and showing themselves to their waiting carriages.

You and Ciel waited outside of Alexander’s office— Sebastian finally alerted you that the businessman went to check on his clandestine belongings.

“Are you certain you want to come inside?” Ciel questioned. He didn’t think you could handle another violent scene after finding Amelie’s body, but you couldn’t imagine there was a worse sight than her lifeless eyes and mottled skin. Besides, this was your investigation as well, whether Ciel liked it or not.

“Yes.” You said. The air of finality around the single word was enough to make him stop looking at you cautiously.

“Mr. Huntington. I would like a word. It is Lord Phantomhive,” he said, knocking on the door twice as Sebastian settled down the hallway, a guard in the event Alexander became violent.

“Of course, my Lord. Enter by all means,” Alexander’s muffled voice responded. You listened for the light tap of the painting getting put back into place, the slight rustling of hastily thrown documents shifting behind the canvas once he hung it in its original spot.

“I need to speak to you about Eliza O’Malley,” Ciel said, never one to bother with pleasantries and formalities when he was investigating a person of interest. You knew that better than anyone, given the way he sternly told you to put on more clothes when you first met. He watched Alexander’s face, scanning every little nuance for hints of guilt or any noticeable emotion.

At the mention of the ballerina’s name, Alexander’s green eyes hardened, his arms crossing in front of his chest.

“Eliza O’Malley. I know her, unfortunately,” he replied gruffly, knowing better than to outwardly lie to Ciel. “She is a sly wagtail, isn’t she? I’ve never been more relieved to cut ties with someone.”

Alexander was using the present tense for her, and you couldn’t detect any manipulation in his words or body language.

“Cut ties? Care to explain why?” Ciel asked, but everyone in the room was well aware that it wasn’t a request. You could see the gears turning in his mind, attempting to piece together every minuscule detail you’ve managed to compile in the last several days up to this point. Alexander had been her only subscriber for the past six months— he wrote her checks until the week before her death. Presumably, he ended their relationship. Presumably, Eliza and most of the other murdered ballerinas were having sexual relationships with William Wood.

“I gave that—that…bitch everything,” Alexander spat, lowering his voice as it wavered with inundating emotion. “I paid for her townhouse, her pointe shoes, her meals…she was mine. She wasn’t supposed to—…” he took a long breath in with stammering difficulty. “She wasn’t supposed to go and be with some other man. It was a betrayal,” he spat, unshed tears shining in his eyes.

Ciel’s face darkened. You imagined yours did the same, eyebrows drawing inward, head tilted with uncertainty. Alexander must have found her with William. They were cavorting in her townhouse to avoid Natasha growing suspicious of William.

“She was just…supposed to be mine, do you understand?” Alexander shook his head, his shaggy brown tresses moving with the gesture. “It is an utter embarrassment for her to defile herself with someone else in the house I pay the rent for.”

“So you ended your patronage with her, when?” You cut in, growing weary of the man’s pathetic tears. His quivering voice. Everything about him was growing exhaustive, but it was his entitlement to Eliza’s body that most fueled your outrage the most.

“I-I…early September, I think. I have the last check I gave to her…” Alexander said, his estimation was consistent with the records you and Ciel found prior.

“Who did you find her with?” Ciel asked the edge in his voice causing you to suspect that he also presumed it was going to be Natasha’s husband.

“William Wood,” Alexander answered bluntly, verifying Violet’s claim. Of course— there was no need for her to lie. Eliza was her best friend, and they lived in that townhouse together. She was now a witness. “He was defiling my precious, innocent— Eliza…” he continued, adding to the bile that threatened to rise in your throat.

Alexander’s teary gaze cut back to yours. “Do you all do this to your sponsors? We don’t pay all of your bills and the foyer fees to have to share you with other men,” he asked. “You should keep a close eye on her, my Lord.”

“That is quite enough,” Ciel replied, as cold as a glacier. “You will not speak of her in such a manner. She may very well be the next Countess of Phantomhive.”

“Just because you’ve dressed her pretty, doesn’t mean she’s worth anything more than a common prostit— hey!” Alexander cried out, nursing his reddened cheek. Ciel wrung out his bare hand and slid his glove back over it, satisfied with the imprint he left on the man’s face.

“That will be your second and final warning, Alexander,” he stated. “When you speak of her in such a way, you are speaking of me all the same. You do know how I take to slander, do you not?”

You were desensitized to perhaps any hateful term one could level at you, but you couldn’t help but the satisfied grin that surfaced to your lips. Until now, you never had anyone fight for you. Leading up to this point, you were the only one in your corner. (Save for Natasha, perhaps, but she would always lead with the company’s best interest in mind.) You were accustomed to preserving your own dignity. No one had ever defended you with Ciel’s ferocity. It brought goosebumps to the exposed flesh of your arms.

“Apologize,” Ciel demanded, his statuesque features assembling the very picture of an immortal’s wrath. “This instant.”

When Alexander hesitated, Ciel flashed a small gun from the depths of his autumn jacket, causing you to gasp inadvertently. Your face grew warm, causing you to look away.

“I didn’t mean it, Miss Y/l/n!” Alexander’s words came hurriedly, his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” he whimpered desperately.

Ciel wore a Machiavellian grin. It was heartless. It was venomous, like a snake’s. “Do you forgive him, Y/n? Or shall we make him grovel some more?” He unlocked his pistol, causing both you and Alexander to tense.

Strangely, you weren’t afraid. Instead, you returned his relaxed expression and nodded. “Yes, I forgive him. I think we should finish our business here,” you answered snidely, watching Alexander tremble. There was a dark, yet potent, power that came with being on the Earl’s arm. It wasn’t a power you disliked. Perhaps, you were as twisted as the noble holding the gun.

“I agree,” Ciel said, hesitating to re-lock his gun as if he was sorry he couldn’t shoot the man. “I have one final question for you, Alexander,” he pocketed the pistol much slower than necessary, reminding the businessman how trivial his life was once again. “What did you do after you found Eliza and William together?”

Alexander wiped away any remaining tears and squared his posture, attempting to regain the confidence you and Ciel ripped away from him. “Um— I told some of my other friends who are subscribers. They should know what they’re paying for,” he said cautiously, wary that Ciel would hit him again for disparaging your name.

“You had no further contact with Eliza?” Ciel asked.

“Not at all. I haven’t seen her since that night,” Alexander shook his head rapidly. Somehow, you doubted the man could kill her. He was crying because of her betrayal— at least before Ciel terrified him— he still harbored some degree of love for her. “I heard she left the country because I’d told my inner circle and the rumor only spread from there.”

“She was found dead blocks away from her home a week after that incident,” Ciel informed him, all too stoic for the topic at hand. “Where were you on the night of September 15th?”

Alexander hesitated once more, before his face brightened with remembrance, though more tears welled in his eyes after hearing that Eliza was dead. An alibi. “The Theatre Royale in Manchester. A stage production of…Trilby. I think I still have my tickets, and the performers and stagehands can confirm that I was there. My wife loved the novel, so I arranged for a backstage tour for her!”

Ciel’s face was unchanged. “I expect confirmation of these claims within the next several days, and I want a list of the patrons you informed.”

“Look, whatever they might have done is not my fault…” Alexander started to say, but Ciel interrupted. At least he interrupted everyone — not just you. Even if it was na enourmously frustrating habit of his, amongst a number of others. You could name several of them: Ciel’s inability to be wrong, his commitment to never touching a surface that could have been grazed by a commonor’s hand, his insistence to remain as close to every rule as possible. He was as laced as straight and as tight as your bloody pointe shoes!

“You’ve done quite enough. Now if you wish to stay in business with a personal friend of mine, you will ensure that everything we have discussed this evening stays within this office. Am I understood?”

Another frustrating quality: Ciel’s habit of asking if he is understood. Yes, Ciel. You are next to always, understood. You rolled your eyes.

“Quite, my Lord,” Alexander nodded vigorously. He reminded you of a puppy— all too eager to please. “Have a lovely night, Miss Y/l/n,” he added as Ciel gestured for you to open the door and take your leave for the evening.

“Thank you for the ball,” you chirped over your shoulder.

Past Midnight

Ciel Phantomhive’s Estate, The Drawing Room

Your exhaustion began to seep into your bones. It was a culmination of your typical rehearsal time to prepare for The Nutcracker, your pre-performance warm-up class, that night’s Swan Lake performance, and the noble ball you attended, to say the least. That estimation didn’t account for your everyday stretching, the physical toil of becoming a butler’s live dress-up doll, or the emotional burden of such a long-winded day.

You couldn’t believe it wasn’t over. You should have known there would be a catch when Ciel invited you to spend the night at his estate— there was more work to be done.

Now, you sat across from one another, a chessboard sitting in the middle of you. A class of foreign pieces sat on your side of the board, the white set instead of the black, since Ciel claimed it. You looked at them blankly, having never played chess— much less seen such an ornate set of the board game. Selling it would likely give you enough money to pay your rent for the next several months.

“Ciel, I want to retire,” you moaned, taking a long drink from your green tea. Sebastian made it fresh and it still steamed from the kettle, but you didn’t mind the warm sensation as it soothed your tired throat. “I am exhausted.”

Everything was warm and comfortable at the Phantomhive estate. Your face was still flushed from the warm bath their clumsy maid, Mey-Rin, drew for you. You had never bathed without having to heat the water yourself and dump it into the bathtub until that night. (That morning?)

Even the nightgown they offered you was so silky, that you barely felt it around you. It was a soft baby pink with a large bow in the middle— proper sleepwear for a noblewoman— you presumed. Even so, you couldn’t help but feel partial to an oversized nightshirt and your drawers— even if it seemed to scandalize Ciel more than your leotards and tights.

“Let Maisie go on for you tomorrow, then,” Ciel suggested haphazardly, shrugging his shoulders. His hair was still wet from his bath— it dripped onto his white nightshirt. “We need to strategize. Make your turn,” he ordered, drinking his Earl Gray tea.

You stared at your pieces, forlorn. “I don’t know how…oh, fine,” you conceded, picking up the horse-shaped figure and moving it two spaces in front of the short piece that was in front of it.

“That is against the rules. The knight moves in an L shape, do you recall?”

“No,” you wrinkled your nose. The second Ciel began lecturing you about the complexities of each piece, you stopped listening. “I do not recall.”

Ciel rolled his eyes. “We just went over them, Y/n. I don’t think they can be any clearer.”

“Oh, you and your rules,” you mumbled. Despite the frustration on Ciel’s face, you made no effort to move your piece. “If your butler would serve me a good Quarts de Chaume as I originally requested, I might have more energy to play your childish game.” That particular dessert wine was a favorite of yours, made from Chenin Blanc grapes.

It would have paired perfectly with your poached peaches with crème anglaise, a light snack Sebastian had ready moments after you took your seat in the drawing room. He seemed to have caught on to your rather light way of eating and made a particular effort to make your small bowl contain more peaches than cream. There couldn’t have been more than a few teaspoons of the anglaise, but that hardly mattered. It was rich enough for a little to go more than a long way.

“Serving wine this late is inappropriate,” Ciel said boredly, “and it will only make you more tired.”

Technically, the correct terminology was: serving wine this early. But who was keeping track? Certainly not you.

“Being awake this late is inappropriate!” You complained instead, cutting a slice of peach in half with the side of your fork. “What is there to strategize? William is still in Paris.”

“Actually, Miss Y/l/n, I’ve just received word that his steamship has just docked,” Sebastian’s pleasant voice emerged from the open doorway. He pushed a small cart with more tea for you and his master, as well as an array of fruit-based desserts for Ciel to choose from.

“Would you care for more tea, Miss?”

[anachronisticfiction]

— writeblr introduction;

hello! I'm Anna (she/they), 32, undergrad digital design student, bookworm, and aspiring young adult author & poet. I live in Michigan, I'm audhd, I have chronic migraines, and I'm a non-binary lesbian. Some other facts about me:

vegetarian

aquarius

drink too much coffee

gamer (I might start streaming on twitch)

I'm always looking for new writer friends and new books and stories to read, so interact with this post so I can check your blog out!

I'm also on twitter & I just made an author instagram, so feel free to join me there, as well!

— works in progress;

Starsoul (ya sci fi)

Kharis Masen is no one.

Just another teenager, one of billions of people living on the Belt. She dreams of a different life, of making it off her backwater planet and onto the Crux, into one of the great supercities, where she can do something with her life besides get married and inherit her father's machine shop.

But she's sixteen now, and old enough to know that dreams don't really come true. Not when you have a father who drinks more than he works, a mother practically dead to the world, and a brother who's abandoned you to join the the royal navy. No, Kharis Masen is no one, and it will stay that way.

Until a life support pod crashes into the field behind her house.

The Emprex is dead, and Nadiyya is on the run.

Framed for poisoning Emprex Jaennan IV, Nadiyya is the only one who know the truth of her death. Now hiding from the royal navy, she needs to find the true heir to the throne the only one who can oust the treacherous new Emprex, Traevn II. As the navy catches up to her, Nadiyya's only hope is to deploy her life support pod with her in it, and hope to land on habitable planet.

With the aid of Kharis, Nadiyya managed to get transport on a ship, but the navy is closing in, and with it, the threat of execution. When Kharis is implicated, her only choice is to go on the run with Nadiyya, find the rightful Emprex, and restore her to the throne.

new wip coming soon!

[cinnamonspicewritingroom]

More Than Diamonds

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Princess! Reader Description:

A hardcore Bridgerton fan, Davika bit the dust in 2021 during a wild protest against Thailand's king on the way home. But instead of the pearly gates, she woke up in the 19th century, suddenly the offspring of Siam's 2nd king and some British lady of mystery descent. Armed with her modern know-how, her main goal is to stack up that cash and upgrade Siam for some chill vibes to avoid being sold off in some arranged marriage mess. But who knew she'd find herself smack in the middle of her beloved Bridgerton drama series? Talk about a plot twist! How's she gonna handle this? Amelia better watch out not to change the story—or is it too late?

Meanwhile, the Brits are buzzing about their new royal guest just in time for the 1813 debutante ball. Princess Amelia of Siam has rolled in as the fresh Ambassador of Siam. With Daphne and Prince Friedrich's courtship hitting the skids, nobody expected him to stick around London, but Friedrich's not one to skedaddle with his tail between his legs. Homeboy's on a mission to snag a wifey and he's not backing down. Friedrich's never been one to back down, but when it comes to Amelia, he's all cold feet. Folks say Amelia's a brainiac, but love? That's a whole different ball game. Those butterflies in her stomach? Yeah, she ain’t got a clue what to do with 'em.

Tags: Slow burn, Coming of age, Time-Travel, Back to the past, Friends to Lovers, Royalties, Oblivious!FLxObvious!ML, Jealous! Friedrich, Slightly Possessive! Friedrich, Black cat gf, Golden retriever bf Timeline: S1&S2

Chapter 2. Princes and a Princess

Calm down, Davika—No, Apsara. Davika is dead; now she is Somdet Chao Fa Apsara Chaiya Kanika, and she fought for her title. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. You learned this in your overpriced yoga class before you bit the dust and got transported into the middle of the fucking Bridgerton series. 

Focus on the present—right now she is having tea with Golda Rosheuvel—Queen Charlotte, the lineup of princes who are yet to marry, and the current Prince Regent, Prince George IV.

“Lady Amelia, I heard that you are a driving force in the Siamese court,” Prince George IV looked at the Siamese Ambassador. He did not know what he expected, but not a petite-looking teenager; she is not even a woman yet. To believe that she has been advising the Crown Prince and King in the Siamese court was truthfully hard.

“Surely you jest, your highness. I am not much of a driving force as you implied. My achievements are minuscule compared to the King and Crown Prince. I merely stated my opinions on several topics. They are generous enough to listen to my chatter,” Amelia politely responded.

“Starting very young, at the age of 13 years old, I heard you had helped the Crown Prince, Prince Rama III, to establish education for girls by creating a law in which every citizen, man or woman alike, had the fundamental rights to education.” Several of the princes chatted with one another; one of them stated how women's education is useless and how their position is to stay at home with the children. Girl—wait till you hear about the 21st century; women can vote and work.

“And pray tell, why did you think education for women is useless, Prince Frederick?” This put the spotlight on Prince Frederick, who was talking to Prince Augustus. The Queen eyed him sharply; Frederick knew he had to thread this carefully, especially since he was in the presence of the Ambassador of Siam; they could potentially pull all rights for trading and business in their land. They cannot afford that right now, not while they are still at war with Napoleon.

“I think women are gentle creatures who need to be loved. Rather than dealing with harsh politics and boring numbers, they should be surrounded by beautiful things. Music, poetry, paintings. Do you not agree, Lady Amelia?” He looked so proud of his words; Amelia wanted to gag at his face, but instead she chuckled and slightly shook her head.

“May I ask you a question?” Still glowing in pride, he only answered with a gesture, which probably meant ‘go ahead.’ “When you were still a child, which parent did you see more? Your father or your mother?” Several of the princes glanced at their mother, including Prince Frederick. The Queen gestured to him to answer Amelia’s question.

“As my father was busy with work, naturally I saw my mother more than him.” Amelia nodded. “And which parent oversees your education? The one who consulted with the governor, asked you about your progress?” Prince Frederick paused before answering, “My mother, of course. Is it not natural that children will spend more time with their mother? After all, fathers are usually busy and away often.” Amelia smiled subtly.

“Absolutely, mothers are the ones who spend more time with their children compared to their father—” “And as they are at home, why would women burden themselves with education? They should focus on raising the children and make sure they are raised properly.” Amelia stared at the prince for several seconds before she picked up her tea to take a sip.

“Queen Charlotte,” Amelia changed her tactics and turned towards the Queen, who was staring at her with interest. “I heard you were originally from Germany?” The Queen blinked and frowned a bit; she was a bit disappointed that the Siamese Ambassador backed down from the debate against her son. Maybe she is not as brilliant as rumoured.

“Why, yes, I came from the Duchy of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, located in Northern Germany. You should come visit; it is a very beautiful place.” Smiling, The Queen had a look of longing and pride for her country. Amelia nodded. “I will inform the King; maybe he will consider visiting Northern Germany for his annual honeymoon destination.” The Queen nodded with a smile and proceeded to pick up her tea. She was quite pleased with that answer. 

“Your Majesty, I am quite curious about the subject of education for European noblewomen. If education is limited to males, what subjects are allowed for noblewomen to learn?” So Lady Amelia did not back down; the Queen smiled behind her cup.

“Noblewomen are taught how to read and write; they learn about cultures, music, art, and literature. However, as the Queen of England, I need to understand the history of the country and calculations.” How will the Ambassador answer her son after she gives her ammunition?

“If you don’t mind me asking, how does your education experience help you manoeuvre your children’s education? Such as, have you ever consulted subjects you deemed more necessary for the princesses and princes with their governor and governess?” Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia eyed Prince Frederick. He was still looking as smug as ever with his lukewarm answer.

“Lady Amelia, my children are the future of the country. My job is to make sure they receive the best education possible, so of course I would need to consult with the governor. God knows how many times I consulted them, and even more often for me to help them learn and understand what they were learning about.” The whole time Amelia was looking at Prince Frederick. “And you raised them beautifully, Your Majesty. They could not be like this without you.” Amelia sweetly smiled at the Queen before fully turning around to face Prince Frederick.

“You see, Prince Frederick. We have established that mothers spend more time with their children, more than their father. Mothers are the ones who oversee their children’s education, but more than that, they are also their first educators.” She needed that. The pettiness to emphasise that word.

“If the mother has no solid education, then it is easy for the children’s education to go astray. It was fortunate that you were born royal with a mother who had received proper education in her early years. Your mother was able not only to consult with the governor and governess but also helped with your learning process. Unfortunately, not everyone is lucky enough.” Amelia knows she has won the argument with these facts; she just… wanted him to burn a bit more.

“Prince George.” The said Prince perked up. “From what I remembered during the introduction, you are the Prince Regent, correct?” “Yes, you are right.” He confirmed as Amelia gave him a strained smile.

“I must confess, I am never one to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I don’t know how you run your country, but I know the Siam I envision it to be.” Amelia sighed, her thumb tracing the edge of the saucer.

“We want to establish peace in the country, and we want equality for everyone. That is impossible without having the citizens educated. Women included because women count.” Her light brown eyes met Prince George’s dark ones. He can see it now; this is Lady Amelia, who rose in the Siamese court in a mere three years before starting her role as an Ambassador.

“Because women are a part of our people. The law is not only to give them a chance to do what they want but also to protect the women from getting blamed for their children’s education.” Amelia may sound cocky about this matter. She was aware that this could potentially insult the Queen and the Princes, but since they laid the stage themselves, might as well show them why Siam is not a country to be messed with, why they are a progressive country.

“We need to educate the children and citizens; therefore, they have the ability to process and filter liable information in order to create a strong and united Siam. That is my opinion about why it is necessary to establish the law of education.” As she concluded her discussion, Amelia could see the sour faces of the princes.

Queen Charlotte should be angry at the Ambassador for embarrassing her sons, but Lady Amelia was correct. It was an impressive debate; instead of debating Frederick on what-ifs, Lady Amelia used her, his mother, as an example.

“Now that it’s done, come with me, Lady Amelia. I would love to show you my peacock collection.” Queen Charlotte stood up, followed by Amelia as they exited the room. The princes who were left in the room stared at the two retreating figures before the footman closed the doors.

“What a petty woman. She strung mother along in order to win the argument,” Prince Frederick huffed in distaste as he stared at the closed doors.

“Please, Frederick, you are just angry you lost,” Edward chuckled as he picked up a scone. “I think she is interesting,” he continued while spreading jam before taking a bite of the scone.

“She’s far too young for you, Edward. If you try anything, it will cause a strain in our relationship with Siam,” George said as he picked up two sugar cubes, dropping them into his tea.

***

For almost an hour, Queen Charlotte showed Amelia her colourful peacock collection, which is truly fascinating, as Amelia even got the chance to hand-feed one of the birds under the keeper’s watch, despite Queen Charlotte’s hesitation. Queen Charlotte and Amelia discussed many things: their differences in art and cultures, sports played in each country, fashion, even education. The Queen was so fascinated by Amelia’s decree to make it mandatory for girls to also get education that she questioned the education system in Siam. Amelia really likes talking to Queen Charlotte; she is curious and genuinely interested in her opinions and beliefs, which became her drive to make Siam a better country for the people. Yes, the Queen might be a strict person, but she is someone who is.

“Before I leave, can I ask you something, Your Majesty?” Amelia asked as they ventured into the garden. The Queen glanced at the young lady next to her. “Why of course, ask away, my dear.” Amelia braced herself to spit out the question. “Could you please tell me where the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh live currently?” Out of all the questions the Ambassador could have asked, Charlotte never thought it would be that one. “The— Why?” Compared to debating with one of the princes, the Ambassador looked way more scared asking that question.

“I have a letter I need to deliver. It was a personal request from the King.” Queen Charlotte raised a brow. Her brother-in-law and his wife, Abigail of Gloucester nee. Bridgerton, received a letter from the Siamese Royal family? Amelia caught her expression and quickly explained.

“His Majesty, the King… I heard that he was one of the students of the Siam’s Ambassador to London at the time…” Amelia explained slowly. “Perhaps His Majesty has made some sort of relationship with the Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh during his time here…” The Queen nodded, acknowledging the possibility.

“Alright, I will make sure the letter will reach the Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh. Do you have the letter with you?” Amelia's eyes met the Queen in surprise and nodded her head. “I have it with Lynn, my secretary.” Amelia turned towards Lynn and signalled her to come to her.

“Your Majesty, Milady—” Lynn greeted before continuing with her question. “Anything I could possibly help you with?” Amelia nodded. “Do you bring the letter from His Majesty the King to the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh?” Lynn nodded and reached for the handbag she was carrying and took out a leather pouch embossed with the emblem of the Rattanakosin Kingdom.

Amelia grabbed it, and passed it to Queen Charlotte, but was received by her secretary- Brimsley. “Brimsley, quickly send it to Prince William.” Brimsley silently bowed, and exited the room. 

“Your Majesty, I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart for your generosity to help me.” Amelia sincerely bowed to the Queen for the help she provided. The Queen merely smiles her way, being sincerely appreciated for her generosity is quite rare these days. The last person who often appreciates her, willing to spend lots of time with her, and someone she genuinely enjoys spending her time with, was her nephew, Princess Felicia of Gloucester, only child and daughter to Prince William Henry and Lady Abigail Bridgerton. Sadly she ran away 23 years ago. The Queen sighed, and focused on the present once more. 

“It is alright, dear. However, if you really want to thank me, maybe you can come visit me for tea sometimes.” Amelia gave her a huge smile and nodded. Queen Charlotte was always one of her favourite characters in the Bridgerton series, and despite being a devoted wife and mother, she has quite a tragic background due to the pressure of being a wife, a Queen and a mother.

“Your Majesty, I must thank you for the tour and the delightful afternoon tea. It was refreshingly different from what we have in Siam.” Amelia paused, wondering if she’s allowed to say this. “Queen Charlotte, I must say that I admire you. Not only as a Queen, but also as a mother who is able to raise not only one, but 15 children. I hope your children share the same sentiments.” Amelia gave her a sincere smile and curtsy before walking out.

Words: 2293 words

Edited: 02/04/2024

More Than Diamond's Master List

IMPORTANT NOTES A/N: Hello, how are you guys? I hope you are well. Regarding this story that is following Julia Quinn's hit series, Bridgerton, I would start by saying I read the book first before I watch the Netflix series, thus I apologize if there are some differences with the Netflix version, but I will try to make it as similar as possible. I would also ask the readers to be kind when criticizing this story as this is my first time to actually publishing my work in the open. For the story, as you can see there is a time-travel tag. Our reader was sent back to the past with all the knowledge from the future. If you are also confused with Davika's education, I actually based her using Spencer Reid, a character from Criminal Minds. I also made Friedrich to be a year younger than Benedict when in actuality, he was born in 1794, 2 years younger than Daphne. If you are not interested or felt like those 2 themes ruined a historical romance story, then please do not leave any bad comments as you can just stop reading this story. Thank You Very Much! Much Love, Cinnamon Meilleure's Writing Room

[robozombii]

some fanmade designs for a royal inconvenience, an au fic by @nemesis-is-my-middle-name ! (((please read it.))) there arent too many descriptions of clothing which sort of let my imagination run wild. heres a ramble

the fic states that arthurs wounds are easily visible except for his chest and such, so i figured his clothes would be relatively light, yknow? the inspiration from ancient greek clothing kinda came on its own but it feel similar to what people draw on angels, and arthurs wings arent conventional but he can join them too!

after his design, i felt the fantasy vibe of this au should be cranked to the max and wanted vivi and lewis’ designs to feel like they came from various regions. vivi has a lot of warmers and a big scarf that she can actually control! (with like… magic. yknow) and a sword that she has yet to master. lewis is a bit more basic but thats mostly because i like to believe hes just this ordinary member of a family business forced to go on adventures to maybe help out back at home (maybe a dire situation calls for financial aid aka STEAL GOLD) so his outfits more casual and the tied cloth around his waist is his uniform from home!

i have a ton more details thought up about this au that i may tell over time, but this is it for now! you may wonder why exactly i made these refs. one: for my own enjoyment. two: if i can manage to, i might eventually start a comic interpretation of the original fic, but itll take some work. i am excited nonetheless as comics are a medium ive rarely dealt with, and itd be nice to learn using one of my favorite msa aus!

ill sign off with a few sketches of arthur as a child. i think his wings would naturally be covered in light grey down feathers like an actual baby crow lol. also, that at such a young age he wasnt good at using them like an elephant baby might not know how to use its big trunk. so, when running around, he underestimates the weight of his big wings and topples over from time to time