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queenlucythevaliant · 2 years

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An Autobiography in Books

We made a list, my mom and I, of all the picture books we loved best

All the Places to Love, which made my mom and my aunt cry together on a summer day once and I didn't understand why

Miss Rumphius

Miss Fanny's Hats

Doctor Suess's books - all of them. We used to have Suess-a-thons on snow days, all curled up together under covers in my parent's bed.

The Best Place, which was probably our favorite

(I would still like to have a screen porch someday, like the Old Wolf)

We had only just moved when we listened to Mr. Revere and I in the car on cassette tape. My parents had to pause it every few chapters to answer our questions, but after we finished with it I played Sons of Liberty with my dolls for years.

And over the years, my parents must have read the Laura and Mary books (so I called them) aloud to me twenty or thirty times. Silver Lake was my favorite. I didn't much mind which parent read them to me, except for Farmer Boy. That book belonged exclusively to my dad.

Pages and pages. I'm in my pajamas with a glass of chocolate milk. My mom or my dad sits on the edge of my bed. Ramona and Avonlea and Where the Red Fern Grows.

My first grade teacher read us a picture book that had a witch in it. I told my mom when I got home. "Can you write me a note to sit out?" I asked, thinking of the previous year's Halloween party.

"What was the book called?" my mom asked me.

"The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe."

My mom laughed. "That's a Christian book," she said. "There's a longer version. We can read it together."

My mom's copy of Little Women had gilt pages and the most beautiful painted illustrations. Sometimes, I would open the book up and flip through it, just to look at the pictures and feel the paper on my hands.

I still dream about running away to live in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, like Claudia in From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.

There was a book called For Freedom, which almost no one else seems to have heard of.

It was about a teenage girl training to be an opera singer in occupied France.

She was a spy who carried coded messages in the hollowed out heel of her shoe.

In the end, her voice gave out while singing Carmen, which to me seemed a fate worse than death.

She- the girl in the book- would pray: "God, make me brave. Make me brave and make me sing. Protect my family. Make me brave."

I won a Hunger Games trivia contest at my library before Mockingjay was released.

In sixth grade, my friends and I all read Shannon Hale's The Books of Bayern together. There were four of us and four female heroines. We each chose one and we played pretend: Elizabeth was Isi, Lauren was Dasha, Morgan was Rin, and I was Enna

(And then!)

My whole world blossomed into color when I read Gone with the Wind. I had never known such books existed! I remember a kind of frenetic eagerness. A thousand pages in less than a week, and I came away with a fierce, joyful love for messy antiheroines, sprawling epics, and bittersweet endings.

"Recommend me some more of your favorites!" I begged my mother. She handed me Jane Austen, Edith Wharton, the Brontes.

Jane Eyre was a challenge. I was forever flipping to the footnotes in the back of the book, translating the French dialogue and making note of all the words I didn't know. My reading pace was like frozen molasses and I remember several times thinking "Why is this so much harder than Gone with the Wind?"

But by the end, I saw myself in Jane. I was quiet, like her, and I hoped I could capture some of her integrity.

I read Kristin Cashore's Fire right in the middle of my forray into Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility before, Emma and Persuasion after. For that reason, my mind insists on erroneously filing Fire with Austen's work, a sort of forbidden sixth novel. It does feature

a beautiful, clever heroine who plays an instrument and wanders through the forest,

a romance with a stern but kind young military man,

and issues of class, wealth, and family,

so maybe it's an okay thing if it stays.

Anna Karenina was magic, pure and simple. I couldn't shut up about it. Eventually, my friends begged me to stop quoting. "I think you're even more into Anna Karenina than Narnia nowadays!" This assertion offended me; Narnia will always be my favorite.

(Here, I started high school.)

How to describe the first experience I had with The Age of Innocence?

I read it sitting in a sunbeam over several summer afternoons.

When I was finished, I flipped it back over and read it again.

I think I mostly wanted to embrace Ellen and tell her she was very brave.

I wanted to tell Archer that he wasn't, but that he should be.

My dad gave me a copy of The Story of Earth by Robert Hazen. It was a secular history of Earth's geology and biology, but it had just the slimmest glimmer of theism around the edges. I think this book has set the course of my life more directly than any other.

I read War and Peace and Atlas Shrugged back to back the same summer I read The Story of Earth. What a summer of ideas that was.

More needs be said about War and Peace: I set out to read it because I wanted to conquer it, but then I read Natasha and Sonya gazing at the lovely moon with Andrei below. I was still in my sundress and gold eyeliner from church, and reading Natasha's "Oh, how lovely," I felt positively celestial.

So it was that conquest became a love affair.

The Killer Angels came in the first full year of my battle with chronic illness. It was hopeful, brave and sad; it made me proud to be an American and equally proud to be fighting my own small battle. I wondered if I had any hope of winning.

On the mornings when I didn't have migraines, I sat on a certain bench outside the gym complex with a book until 7:59. I ignored everyone who spoke to me.

I didn't like The Lord of the Rings the first time I read it. I was dreadfully disappointed because I expected to find Narnia. Yet in the pages of The Return of the King, I found no Aslan, only Aragorn.

(Here, I began college.)

The Far Pavilions was just the epic I needed my first year. The migraines were bad; I was alone and in pain and my thoughts were muddled, but whenever Ash thought how unfair his lot was, I felt a little better in mine.

After considerable peer-pressure, I re-read The Lord of the Rings- on it's own terms this time- and at last I loved it.

Then I read The Silmarillion and made all the same mistakes.

It took me four attempts to finally understand the glory of Tolkien's writings.

I read most of The Gulag Archipelago crammed in the back of a van on a road trip to Florida. It was too loud - people talking over one another, radio cranked up high - and I could barely move my legs from where they were pinned to the seat in front of me. My shoulders spasmed and ached. I felt that book in some small yet visceral way. My physical discomfort made the suffering more immediate, which allowed the Solzhenitsyn's knife-words to cut me deeper than they could have otherwise.

Solzhenitsyn got some stuff wrong, my dad says. He just didn't have access to the best information. Try Anne Applebaum, if you really want to know about the gulags. But how can I replicate the experience of reading The Gulag Archipelago in the back of that van?

I was reading Nicolas and Alexandra the next-to last-time I saw my grandfather alive. We sat in the cafeteria in his nursing home and I recounted the most interesting bits for him.

I wasn't finished reading it by the time I left. I'm glad I was reading history that trip; my granddad already knew the ending.

Villette was a book about loneliness and Protestantism. It made me feel less lonely and more Protestant, which is exactly what I look for in a new favorite book.

(Okay fine, I do quite like Wuthering Heights actually, though I wouldn't call it a favorite. Are you happy?)

I picked up The October Horse for quite a shallow reason: because I learned that Julius Caesar was an epileptic, and epilepsy is quite closely related to migraine.

Julius Caesar and Ulysses S. Grant, those were my guys. However, I'd read Grant's memoir all the way back in fifth grade, so Caesar it was.

The rich velvet of Colleen McCullough 's writing came as a delightful surprise, and The Thorn Birds (soon to be another favorite) soon followed.

(It's getting harder to write this now. It's harder to write about more recent history, even indirectly.)

The Master and Margarita was strange and fascinating and I couldn't look away. I have spoken and written hundreds and thousands of words trying to explain it's appeal. I have evangelized on behalf of this book, but ultimately all I can say is: Go read it. Read it right now.

The Sparrow made me weep more times than I would like to admit. Like Emilio Sandoz, in reading it I felt naked before God. How horrible and how lovely a thing it was.

Which of this year's books will I carry with me into the future? This Too Shall Last for practical advice? Dead Souls for justice, Pyrenesi for joy, Deathless for beautiful prose? The Queen of Attolia for friendship, perhaps, or Six of Crows for my sister? Only time will tell which shapes me most.

#this is super self indulgent #but i think anyone who reads it will understand /me/ on a very deep level #if anyone else would be interested in writing a piece similar to this i would be super super interested in reading it!#i think 'here are the books that have mattered to me' is one of the best glimpses of anyone's heart that there is #because (say it with me):#literature makes us more human #that said it ended up way longer than expected (and I still left out a LOT of favorites) so congrats to you if you read it #i did very much have an audience of me when i wrote it #pontifications and creations

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sarah-aliterarylife · 1 year

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Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

One of my earliest memories is of finding a treasure trove. I was in my Aunt and Uncle’s house (a beautiful house in a small village outside Wolverhampton, that is still the model for the type of house I would like to live in one day), sitting in front of a gigantic wooden bookcase. Or at least it seemed gigantic, to my young eyes. It was filled with books of every size and colour. Some were very old, leather-bound books, and some were newer editions, with colourful jackets and pictures on the front cover. One title caught my eye instantly. It was bright red, small, and bound in leather. The cover and pages were worn, and it had clearly been read and enjoyed many times. It was called Jane Eyre.

I remember opening the book and reading the small text on the first page. It said, “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day”. Why? I was intrigued. I read onwards. But after a few lines, I was confused. Who was speaking? Was this Jane Eyre? Who were the other people the mysterious narrator mentioned – Mrs Reed, John, Eliza and Georgiana? They couldn’t be Jane’s family, surely? They didn’t share her name. Why was she lurking in the window seat, "cross legged like a Turk?" Why was she observing the family but not joining them around the fireplace? The language stuck in my throat (“The said John and Eliza”) and made no sense. After reading a couple of pages, I put the book down.

The next time I visited, I returned to the treasure trove of books and once again Jane Eyre caught my eye. This time, I asked to take it home with me and started again. I made it a bit further on this second go around, and solved the mystery of who the Reed family were in relation to Jane (Mrs Reed is her widowed Aunt, and the three children are her cousins). I recall being very saddened by the cruelty Jane experiences during her time with the Reed family, and wondering why no one seemed to love this lonely little girl. When Jane is shortly afterwards sent away to Lowood school, I felt a strong sense of injustice when, having finally been given a chance to make friends and spend time around other like-minded children, she is branded a liar and the other children are instructed not to befriend her. I think at this point my sensitive young mind found the novel simply too upsetting, and I decided I couldn’t read another word.

Years later, I attended a university lecture on the concept of the madwoman in the attic. I remembered my previous attempts at reading Jane Eyre, and that shamefully, as a child I had given up on it. I remembered how much I had enjoyed Wuthering Heights and wanted to read something similarly engrossing and dramatic. I suddenly developed an urge to give it another try. But I was in Newcastle upon Tyne, and that beautiful red leather copy was back at home in Walsall (a 3-and-a-half-hour train journey away). So, the next day, I walked to my local book shop, Blackwell’s, and purchased a copy.

That night, I sat down to begin again – this time, I didn’t stop until I had finished. Night after night, I would settle in with the autobiography of Jane Eyre, and I can say without doubt that each new instalment thrilled me. This wasn’t a sad story about intense cruelty, with a terrible denouement for its characters, like Wuthering Heights. It is instead the story of a survivor, of someone who rises above the cruelty and anxiety of her childhood to become a passionate woman with a distinct sense of self-worth. It is also about the internal struggle between Jane’s desire to be loved, and her desire for freedom. After I finished the book, I missed it terribly.

For those who have never read Jane Eyre, it tells the story of an orphaned girl who, when her parents die, is sent to live with her cruel aunt and cousins (the widowed Mrs Reed, John, Eliza and Georgiana), who treat her as less than a servant. After angering the difficult Mrs Reed one too many times, she is sent away to Lowood school, where she befriends the introverted Helen Burns and eventually stays on to work as a teacher. After teaching for two years, Jane longs for new experiences out in the wider world, and accepts a position at Thornfield Manor, where she befriends the housekeeper, Mrs Fairfax, and teaches a lively young girl named Adele. Adele is the ward of Mr Rochester, a mysterious man with whom Jane finds herself falling in love. Jane and Rochester begin a tentative romance which culminates in a marriage proposal. However, on their wedding day, Jane discovers that Mr Rochester is already married: to Bertha Mason, whom he married in Jamaica as a young man. The mentally disturbed Bertha now lives at Thornfield, isolated in the attic with her nurse. Appalled and horrified, Jane flees Thornfield and is forced to sleep outside, penniless and begging for food. She is rescued by the Rivers family, three kindly siblings who take her in and help her to find work at a local school. St John Rivers eventually proposes marriage and a new life overseas as a missionary. However, after hearing Rochester’s voice calling her name one night over the moors, Jane realises that she cannot abandon the man she loves. She returns to Thornfield to find that it has been burnt to the ground by Bertha Mason, and Rochester has been left blinded. At his new residence Ferndean, Jane and Rochester re-build their relationship and eventually marry.

For readers who have read both Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, we can make a series of comparisons between the two works. Both contain elements of the gothic. An isolated house in a moody, windswept location. An anti-hero / love interest in the forms of Heathcliff and Mr Rochester. But while Cathy and Heathcliff’s story ends in tragedy, with the male protagonist made only more bitter by the events of the novel, Jane and Rochester’s story ends happily, with him redeemed and changed by her love. It is important to note at this point that, particularly for readers interested in the feminist aspects of Jane Eyre, that their relationship is reconciled on Jane’s terms. Throughout the novel, Jane largely enjoys economic autonomy, working independently and engaging in useful and worthwhile work as a governess and teacher. She desires a marriage based on love and companionship, not for financial gain or a loveless partnership. Her experiences with Reed family and at Lowood school bestow her with a strong self of her own self worth. When St John Rivers proposes marriage following her split with Rochester, it is based not on feelings on love but a partnership based around a common purpose. She refuses his proposal. Following the reveal of Rochester’s wife in the attic, she also refuses to stay at Thornfield, horrified at the thought of living as his mistress.

That copy of Jane Eyre bought from Blackwell’s bookshop still sits on my bookshelf. It is now missing a front page but is otherwise largely intact. I have returned to it several times over the years. What I love most about Jane Eyre is her ability to survive, no matter what life throws at her. Her influence on my life has been enormous. She showed me that it is possible to survive. No matter what terrible events come our way, we have the ability to survive. Life goes on, whether we like it or not, and we can either choose to move forwards with it or remain trapped within each situation or feeling.

In my life, I have been made redundant several times. I have had two breast cancer scares. My heart has been broken so badly I thought that it would never mend. I have reached out in friendship to people who took advantage of my kindness. I have struggled throughout my adult life with bouts of depression, the most recent of which was so serious that even considering writing about it terrifies me. But somehow, I survived. I chose to survive. A small part of me refused to be beaten. She kept going, chose to get out of bed each morning and hold her head high. She chose to move forwards and choose happiness.

Jane Eyre is a book that everyone should read at least once in their life. In addition to the theme of survival, it is a novel about the struggles between passion and conscience, wanting to belong versus being an outsider, wanting to be loved versus the desire for autonomy. The plot is evenly paced, and it is never boring (despite what my 7-year-old self would have told you!) It is not a difficult novel to read, with such well-developed descriptions of Jane’s emotions that it is hard not to feel moved. Many quotes from Jane Eyre have passed into common parlance. Try these on for size:

“Reader, I married him”.

“I would always rather be happy than dignified”.

“I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself”.

“I am no bird, and no net ensnares me.”

It says a lot about Jane Eyre and its influence on my life, that the last of these quotes now sits on the wall in my study, facing my desk.

At moments when I feel overwhelmed, when I feel anxious, trapped, or when I can feel myself slipping into the dark hole of depression, I take a moment to read that quote and remember that I am an independent human being. My self worth lies in my own hands, not in others. I can stay quiet, as I have done for so many years, or I can use my voice to say the things I want to say. I can wallow and lose myself in my current state, or I can choose to do as Jane does and pick myself up, move forwards and fly away from my troubles.

I choose the latter.

#book blogs #books and literature #books and reading #bookshelf

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the-letter-horror-lover · 2 years

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time!!!

Chapter 4: Arriving

Summary:

When you want something as bad as possible, it's easy to overlook the slightest wrong detail to make your vision perfect. But those details will come to haunt you eventually.

Notes:

Hi yall! It's been a while since I've updated! (Turns out i have nine other fics going on besides this one. Eesh)

But I'm back to update this one so here we go!

A few things before we start. I got asked these questions in a chatroom so I'll answer them here like I promised.

Who's your favorite book of circus character and why? Either Peter or Dagger. I found Dagger really cute and i liked Peter's charecter

Do you like Sebastian and Ciel? No. Sebastian can be funny, but he's not my favorite. And I hate Ciel for some reason. PLEASE DON'T LET THAT STOP YOU FROM LIKING MY WORK!!!!

Well here we go! Next chapter!!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Am I seeing double?" Peter asked. A man that looked a lot like Joker except with blond hair was standing in front of him.

"Ol Nathy Mountebank's a master of disguise" Joker laughed. "He can look like anyone!!!"

"Yay" Peter said. "Where are we sleeping? I'm exhausted and don't want to talk to anyone."

"Well this is a regular ray of sunshine" Mountebank said. "How bout you introduce me Joker."

"Alright then!" Joker said, and began introducing the troupe.

"That lovely lady is Beast, and the bloke with the knives is Dagger" Beast nodded in greeting and Dagger waved happily.

"Over there is Peter and Wendy. And the giant next to them is Jumbo!" Wendy and Jumbo smiled. Peter crossed his arms and scowled.

"This is Doll" Joker said. "And that's Snake, accompanied by Keats, Wordsworth, Oscar, Wilde, Bronte, Goethe, Webster, and Emily"

"Lovely lovely I'm a little over booked on terms of space so the boys will have to be in one tent and the girls in the other.

"Well here we are!" Joker said. Lovely tent!"

"It's dirty, dusty, and smells like a wet skunk" Peter said.

"But it's lovely" Joker said, staying positive.

Dagger was talking to Snake excitedly. "Did you see those other people? They were mimes! A whole circus full of mimes! Fascinating!!"

"Sleeping arrangements!" Joker called. "Alright, Jumbo, you're over there where the ceiling is a little higher. Peter, you go in that corner next to him. I think you're the only one who can fit comfortably in there. Snake, you can go over there. There's some personal space for you, and even more room for your friends. Dagger, you and me will be over here."

The male members of the troupe settled in comfortably, then went to check on the girls.

"Not bad!" Doll said happily. Emily the snake was wound around her neck.

"It's...nice" Wendy said, eyeing the shabby walls.

"Good enough. Betty will be rooming with us as well" Beast said.

"Yay!" cheered Doll.

"Ohhh." Wendy said.

"Alright in here?" Joker called.

"Yes. It's nice enough" Beast replied.

"Dagger! Let's go exploring!" Doll said.

"Yeah!!"

"You mind going with them?" Joker asked Snake quietly. "i don't want them to get lost"

Snake nodded and walked off with the pair.

"I want to check out the competition" Peter said. "Wendy, Jumbo, come with me"

"You an' me then" Joker said to Beast"

Beast froze, the familiar blush coming to her cheeks. "If you insist" she said coolly.

"This place is so cool!" Doll said, running around. "LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT TIGHTROPE!!"

"Look at those knives!" Dagger said, admiring at set of knives on display.

Snake calmly walked beside them.

"Hello" a voice said. A girl dressed in black strode out of the shadows. "Are you lost"

"Maybe" Doll said grinning"

"No. We were just leaving" Snake said, sensing something off about this girl.

"we were?" Dagger said. "But we just go he..Mph!" Snake slapped his hand over the knife thrower's mouth.

"Very well. Snakes aren't fans of birds after all" the girl stepped back into the shadows and vanished.

"Scary" Dagger said. "Let's not let that end our exploring! I'm having fun!"

Peter was being tortured by mimes.

"STOP THAT!!" Peter snapped as the mimes circled him, patted him on the head, and made gestures that he was very small.

"OW!" he yelled as one yanked his hair. "JUMBO! WENDY! HELP!"

It was very rare to hear Peter yell for help of any kind, so both were quick to help. Jumbo easily scared the mimes away in under two seconds.

"I think I'll borrow some of Dagger's knives, or maybe even borrow Dagger so I can make some slashed mime."

"Peter" Wendy said. "Ignore them. You're better then they'll ever be"

"How" Peter snapped. Being called small really touched a nerve, and he had been feeling like a smaller and smaller part of the circus. Everyone loved Wendy. She was adorable and cute, and played the part. Peter didn't want to do that. Jumbo was terrifying and commanded control. No one got it. He was the black sheep of the circus.

"For one you talk" Wendy said. "And I place my life in your hands every single show and you've never let me fall."

"You saved me on the streets" Jumbo said.

Peter flashed back on the first time he met Jumbo.

The police had cornered him and were hitting him with their sticks although Jumbo had done nothing wrong.

Wendy and Peter had snuck up behind the cops and bombarded them with rocks.

"RUN!" Peter had yelled to Jumbo before taking off himself.

The police had eventually caught up with them. Peter had heard Wendy scream first, then he too was lifted into the air.

"About time I caught you little rats" The police man spat. "I'm supposed to bring you in, but who's gonna know I killed you.

Stars had flooded Peter's vision as the policeman choked him. Suddenly he was dropped and the policeman's body was laying broken a few feet away. The giant of a man was standing over them.

"You saved me too" Peter said.

"You started the circle. It was your idea to help him" Wendy said. "Now come on Princess. Let's find the others"

"We're really going back on the princess thing?"

The troupe met up to see Nathaniel Mountebank and...

"Her!" Dagger said, pointing to the black clad girl.

"Don't mind Kestrel." Mountebank said. "She's an acrobat and my circus's Princess."

"We have a Princess too." Dagger said.

"It's Peter" Wendy said quickly.

"HEY!"

"It's not Peter. I'ts Doll" Jumbo said quickly.

"Mm. So I see Kestrel said. Her eyes looked them up and down. Then she walked off.

"She doesn't have the best of manners" Mountebank said. Ignore her. Anyways, get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

In Mountebank's tent, Mountebank stroked the crystal around his neck.

"You're running out of time" a voice hissed. "You have them here so now you kill"

"I will darling. And there's no need to speak through the crystal. You're right here.

"You kill now" the voice said, gathering strength, "And I get what I want"

"Yes. Your deal"

"Contract if you will. But I'm no demon."

"I'm all too aware" Mountebank said.

Her laughter roared in his ears until it was all he could hear.

"Night then lads" Joker said. It was odd. He thought to himself. Mountebank seemed to have forgotten his daughter. Did he know it was them who had taken her?

It was time to find out.

Later that night the other three in the tent awoke.

"Where's Joker?" Peter asked.

"I don't know. Maybe he needed to take care of business." Dagger said.

"I'm back!" Joker said.

"Your hair looks blond" Peter commented.

"You're seeing things. You're clearly tired." Joker said.

"Mm" Peter said turning over.

A few yards away from the tent, a second redheaded Joker was following a trail of blood

Notes:

Dun dun dunnnnnn! Cliff hanger!!! Hope you enjoyed. Please leave a kudos and I'll see you next time!!

Chapter 5: Murder

Summary:

In competitions everyone says they would die if they didn't win, but is there truth behind those words

Notes:

Hey there! Now, I really hate OCs for some reason, so I'm trying to only use the characters that belong to Yana Toboso, but I need to introduce the other circuses as background characters so if you hate OCs to, just bear with me!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT OVER HALF THE TROUPES DISAPPEARED!" Peter yelled at the top of his lungs. He had discovered that the louder you say something, you're more likely to get a faster answer.

"I said that five of the troupes have dropped out. It's only us and Mountebank's troupe, and two other troupes." Joker said.

"Less competition" Dagger said brightly. "But I do wonder where the other troupes went off to."

Joker had a slight idea since he had seen so much blood last night. The strange thing was that the other male troupe members didn't recall him leaving at all. Dagger even swore that Joker had woken them up at one point and Joker had no memory of that.

"Morning!" Doll said happily. "Ready to meet the rest of the troupes?"

"No" said Peter, but he was dragged along anyways.

The four remaining troupes made an interesting looking group.

"Presenting the Aegis Circus!" Mountebank said, as a gang of mimes stood up, bowed, and sat down.

"Why couldn't of they disappeared!?" Peter said.

"Feast your eyes upon...The living circus!!" Mountebank cried!

"An all animal circus?" Beast asked as a pretty blond woman stood up, showed off a small herd of animals and sat down.

"And I would personally like to introduce you to my troupe!" Mountebank said. "First of all...The breath taking Balthazar and his assistant Bella!"

"A magician!" Doll said excitedly as a sandy haired young man and a girl about Doll's age stood up and bowed.

"Next, the Mystifying Maximilian!" Mountebank said.

"A hypnotist" Joker said thoughtfully as young man stood up and bowed.

"The Dazzling Desiree!" A woman with flaming red hair stood up and bowed. In her hands she held...

"A ventriloquist dummy?" Dagger asked. "That's unusual."

"Then we have the princess of the Mountbank Carnival" Mountebank said. "The queen of birds, Kestrel!"

The dark haired girl twirled and sat down.

"But what does she do?" Doll asked, but there was no way of telling.

"I encourage you all to get to know each other! Go on, talk!"

"Easy for him to say. Half of them are mimes and animals" said Peter

Two hours later, the Noah's ark Circus troupe escaped from the meet and greet.

"We're better then they are" Peter said.

"Don't boast" Jumbo said, but he knew Peter was right.

" I can't believe a whole circus is mimes" Wendy said.

"I have a feeling things are going to get weirder." Beast said. "They always do"

"No! We've done enough for now!" Mountebank said. If only he was alone in his tent. With him was the controller of his fate.

"But it was fun to kill the other circuses. We could off a few mimes. They wouldn't tell" the female voice cackled in delight.

"I am the ringleader and I say no more killing" Mountebank said angrily.

"I am your ringleader." the voice responded. "We made a deal. A contract if you will"

"Demon" Mountebank growled.

"Excuse me?" the voice took on an amused tone. "I am not a demon, nor is my contract a demons. You will order me, I will serve you, but I get what I want no matter what it is"

"I know. You've only told me hundreds of times, but no more killing. The troupe is questioning my orders and you wouldn't want your cover blown"

"Hmmm" said the voice. "Well played. But we kill again before long"

"We always do" Mountebank said as the owner of the voice swept out of the tent.

"I want to go home" Oddly enough the voice belonged to Dagger.

"Why? We just got here" Beast said.

"Something doesn't feel right" Dagger said. "There's something wrong with this whole place."

"You'll feel better after we perform" Beast said. "There are no other knife throwers. You're the only one. I'm the one who should be worrying."

"Why?"

"A whole circus full of trained animals. I'll look like a knock off"

"The animals are abused" says Geothe" Snake said all of a sudden.

"Well I'm not a hero!" Beast said, storming off.

"I'll talk to her. Probably just opening night jitters" Joker said, following her.

Dagger watched him leave, wondering why it was never him who got to comfort his lady.

Notes:

And end credits!!!! I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you next time!!

Chapter 6: Opening night

Summary:

And I'm out of summary ideas. Whoops

Notes:

Alright, I'm gonna make this a noah's ark circus character chapter only!

Enjoy

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

They were a mess.

Usually the troupe was well prepared for opening night, but now that they were in the midst of a competition, the thought of failure was affecting them in different ways.

Wendy had become extremely jumpy, shrieking at everything, and Peter sat there like a rock, apparently too nervous to function. Beast was pacing, muttering to herself and would snap at anyone who spoke to her. Dagger had become extremely klutzy and was now tripping over everything. Doll was talking like crazy and wouldn't shut up for two seconds. The only ones who didn't seem nervous were Jumbo, Joker and Snake.

Somehow Joker managed to hand out props, calm down Beast, and catch Dagger before he hit the ground from tripping over nothing.

"Everyone relax! We're professionals! We have it under control!"

"We do?" Peter asked skeptically.

"Yes we do! We're the Noah's ark circus troupe. Now, apparently it helps with nerves if we talk our our feelings" Joker said. "Who's starting?"

"Oh good lord" Peter said, turning away.

Doll went first. "I know I'm the Princess of the circus but that makes the audience expect something and if I fail I blow it all for all of us"

"You won't blow it. You'll do fine" Joker said. "Next!"

Next was Dagger. "I'm klutzy, and I'll probably kill the target, and then kill a member of the audience, and then I'll kill myself, and then I'll trip over something, wait not in that order..."

"Calm down Dagger. I don't see how you'd do any of that."

"I can see how he'd trip over something" Peter said.

"Would you like to talk next Peter?" Doll said sweetly

"No"

Beast went next. "I'll look like a copy cat! I only have on tiger, I...I..."

"You're lovely and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!" Dagger yelled quickly.

"Thanks" Beast said in surprise.

Soon the feeling sharing session was over with Peter's ending words "This is stupid and I think I'm dying of patheticness."

"Let's do what we do best" Joker said as they opened their act.

Opening night couldn't of gone better. Joker layed on heavy praise as the Noah's ark circus troupe celebrated backstage.

"And now I have some bad news for ee' all." Joker said apologetically.

"Oh joy" Peter said. "What's next? Someone kills the tiger? Call the newspapers! Joker has bad newsMph!"

"I think we all know your views" Wendy said as she kept her hand over her partner's mouth.

"Father would like us to collect...a few more"

Even Peter was speechless at this, but no one was for long.

Joker was prepared for the storm of angry responses.

"Come now. No one wants to disappoint father now, do they?" Joker said, trying to calm them down.

"No, but can't we say we're busy?" Doll pleaded.

"He won't believe that, and it never takes long. We'll be in and out" Joker said brightly.

"The last time you said that Dagger got lost, Wendy got hurt and Beast ended up locked in a house. That only took five extra hours" Peter said. "I think tonight's jinxed. If you don't mind me sitting out..."

"Didn't you end up getting chased by a very angry alley cat?" Doll said.

"We're forgetting that ever happened" Peter said. "Fine. I'll go if no one ever brings that back up"

"Ok Princess Peter" Wendy said.

"Or that"

"Alright. We're leaving now. EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Beast screamed.

"No" Peter said quietly, but he followed the others out the door.

The seamstress watched as the little boy ran off into the streets, happily clutching the shawl she had just mended for him. It was for his mother he had said. He hadn't a penny in the world, but he would be happy to repay with his service. The seamstress could only hope that the boy had made it home safely. Neighboring towns had filed reports of missing children.

The young boy ran home as fast as his legs could carry him, imagining the look on his mother's face when she saw he had mended her favorite shawl just in time for her birthday. He didn't see the figure standing on the roof above him.

"How are we even going to get the children back to father from out here?" Beast had asked.

"Father is sending a carriage. We are to place the children in there, and the driver will return the children." Joker had said.

"Can we do this quickly? It's cold out here" Wendy had said. She and Peter were both shivering, small bodies unable to keep themselves warm.

"Of course. We may need to change the way we usually do things as we don't know this area" Joker continued. "Doll with me, Jumbo with Peter and Wendy, Beast with Doll"

Snake had been left in the tent asleep.

Beast and Dagger were sent down a dark ally way to scout for children. Both were silent as they stepped cautiously around corners, careful not to be seen.

"Dagger" Beast whispered, peering down the ally at a small boy with a shawl.

"Strange fashion choice" Dagger commented.

"No you dolt! Follow him"

The small boy continued on his way, unaware that two pairs of people were watching him.

Reapers always followed death. It was a fact of life. Reapers usually worked alone, unless another was in training.

"Mr Speeeeears! I wanna go back!"

William T Spears scowled and turned to face the trainee.

"Reaper Knox, death can take a short while, or hours. You must be patient and silent"

"I like Mr. Sutcliff better." Ronald Knox said, focusing on anything else then his boss

"Quiet Knox or it's overtime for you!"

The boy was almost home now! He could see the smiling face of his mother in his mind's eye...

"What's someone like you doin' out here on a night like this?"

Dagger put on his best show smile and hoped nothing would go wrong. Joker was usually the one to do the talking. What was it Joker usually said?

"Who're you?" The boy asked. "You look like you ran away from the circus!"

"I did! I mean, yes I'm from the circus" Dagger said quickly.

"Must be fun. I've never been to a circus. Too expensive." the boy said.

"Ah well tonight you're in luck. How'd you like a special performance?"

"What?"

Just as Dagger ran out of things to say, Joker cartwheeled in out of nowhere.

"Like me friend says, we're from a circus here to give special performances to young un' like ee'"

"Yeah! That!" Dagger said, glad someone else was there to do the talking

"Really? You do tricks and stuff? Can you swallow that knife?" the boy asked Dagger excitedly.

"Ummm..."

"He can do better!" Joker said, coming to the rescue. "Watch as the amazing Dagger hits that far off pole with a single throw!!!"

At the end of the night, five children had been collected and sent off to uncertain doom. It was the next morning and the troupe members were trying to forget about the night's events.

"IT'S THE ATTACK OF THE MIMES!!!" Peter yelled, running by. A herd of mimes followed him.

"Poor thing" says Bronte" Snake said, speaking for his reptile.

"Can't say he doesn't deserve something like this" says Emily"

"He doesn't deserve it! He's been under a lot of pressure ever since..." Wendy trailed off. "I'm going to go help him" she said quickly, and ran off.

"Ok then. Anyone else find that strange?" Dagger asked.

A little while later, Doll found herself talking to Wendy.

"Do you think Peter hates me?" she asked.

"Oh, well, I'm not going to pretend that he's exactly friendly towards you" Wendy said sheepishly. "Peter, well he has it rough. He hates being like he is. I don't mind, but apparently being small goes against the code of manhood or something"

Doll smiled at that.

"He just wants to be seen in a different light. At least he's living proof that not everyone in a circus is all smiles"

"Peter without a short temper is a storm without thunder. It makes it much louder, but it completes it. I guess Peter's the thunder of the circus." Doll said.

"Exactly. I'm sure he'd love to hear that" Wendy said.

Behind a tent, Peter was standing there flushing half with pride, half with embarrassment.

"Alright everyone" Joker said. "We're gonna give those people a show like nothing they've ever seen in three days, but we need to work out if we need to add a little something extra to your acts."

The troupe members listened intently. (Peter was too. Wendy noticed he'd been in a better mood lately)

"One word. Cannons!" Very ambitious aren't you Emily" Snake said, speaking for the coral snake.

"Yeah!" Peter said.

"No!" Joker said. "I mean, lovely idea Emily, but that might be too much."

"So what then?" Beast asked.

"What's this? the great Beast has no idea?" Peter asked innocently.

"Now I do. Betty can eat Peter as a grand finale."

"HEY!"

"It would be quieter here"

"STOP FIGHTING!" Joker yelled. "We're all friends here! Does anyone have any other ideas?"

Beast spoke again. "Dagger could use Peter's head as a target..."

"An idea that does not involve harming Peter?" Joker asked, cutting Beast off.

"How about a really really big explosion?" Dagger suggested.

"I'll keep that in mind" Joker said, slightly irritated that no one seemed to be taking anything seriously.

"How about AHH! MIMES!" Peter yelled. Sure enough a group of mimes were peeking in the tent.

"How do you make an enemy out of mimes?" Joker muttered to himself.

Notes:

This was a short chapter, and I know I haven't updated in forever, but I've been sooo busy!! Enough excuses though! I'll update sooner and make it longer!

Notes:

Alright! There's the first chapter. Something weird happened and now I can't get paragraphs where I want them, but I think it's ok for now. I hope you enjoyed and look out for the next chapter!!

The Queen's Swan

SteamWadsworth

Summary:

White Swans symbolize a lot of beautiful traits – grace, beauty, love, loyalty, and trust. Whereas black swan is found in many occult's.

Diana Prince was left the title of as the Queen's Swan after her mother's death at the young age of twelve. Follow her adventures as she faces obstacles less then human and meets some interesting people along the way.

Chapter 1: What are little girls made of?

Chapter Text

What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice

And everything nice

"Yes. Spice maybe, but definitely not sugar." The young girl said as she sliced off the head of a nobleman in his bedroom, his wife screams were silenced right after that and she made her way out of the blood soaked room, "Quite so mistress, if I were to be so bold as to say." A taller man, with slick back white hair said as he adjusted his glasses that hid his yellowish green eyes. He took his blood soaked sword out of a maid's back and smirked at the smell that wafted through the air, "Very so Francis," The girl said flipping her brown hair, "Let's get out of here." She said and made her way out of the manor.

Francis opened the door for his mistress, his Duchess, or as she's better known as the Queen's swan.

-----------------The next morning-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four carriages pulled up in front of a grand manor on the outskirts of London.

A carriage door opened, "We're here!~" A young woman said hopping out, she had brown hair with dark green highlights.

Another older woman followed after her, "Ona! Do not run!" Leona Prince yelled as she scolded her daughter.

A younger girl jumped out, she had bright brown eyes, pale skin, and brown hair, "MOTHER! GEAL IS KICKING ME!" Nora, the youngest child of the prince family yelled.

"Shut up Nora!" Geal Prince said getting out, shaking his dark brown hair.

Servants got out of the rest of the carriages and started to unload the suitcases.

"Love," Shawn said rubbing his temple, "Remind me to bring a separate carriage for the children." he said to his wife, Emily Prince who giggled and kissed her husband lovingly.

"Leona, is Francis here?" Shawn asked

"Just wait I'm going now." Leona said knocking on the door.

Francis opened the door, "Welcome to Prince Man- oh!" He said as he was quite rudely pushed aside, "I have been traveling four hours with these children! I need to get away!" Leona shrieked and Francis sweatdropped, "Yes, yes your niece is in her study. I will get her now." He said rushing up the staircase to the study.

Duchess Diana Prince, brought the porcelain tea cup to her lips and gently blew on it as she reviewed paperwork. Francis opened the door, "Mistress, your family is here!" He said

Diana dropped the tea cup, "What!?" She said panicked, "They said they weren't going to be here for another month!" She said nervously.

"Well they are now mistress," Francis said, stating the obovius.

Diana rolled her eyes, "Yes I know that, can you tell them I'm indisposed or something?!" She said.

"Yes." he said and bowed.

After he left the room, Diana picked up a letter from the Queen, "New case?" She thought to herself and opened it.

The letter read:

My dearest swan,

I am in need of a meeting with you. You are to come to Buckingham Palace at five O'clock, sharp.

Signed,

Her Majesty The Queen.

"Well at least I'll be able to get out of family time," Diana thought as she stood and smiled, "Maybe a pinch of sugar~" She said as heard crashing from going on in the manor, "Oh Lord." She muttered and stepped into the unknown.

Series this work belongs to:

Part 1 of Black Swan Series

The Way to a Reaper's Heart

imtoolazytothinkofausername

Summary:

Sebastian Michaelis was unaccustomed to truly wanting something.

Notes:

I do not own Kuroshitsuji, and this was not written for profit.

Work Text:

Sebastian Michaelis was unaccustomed to truly wanting something. Money was useless to a demon; not being human, Sebastian had no scruples about breaking their laws by simply taking what he wanted. Jewels were pretty, but ultimately they did little but decorate other objects. Buildings he could construct and dismantle with the flick of a wrist. Mankind’s various inventions were interesting enough, but most became obsolete within a century of being invented. Yet, for all his disinterest in material things, there was one thing that Sebastian desperately wanted, and it was driving him positively insane: William T. Spears. /

When his young master had been human, Sebastian had occasionally indulged himself by seducing humans. There had been times when being a butler, even one of the Phantomhive household, had grown dull, and these trysts were a form of entertainment.

It wasn’t about the sex. As pleasurable as that could be, the main enjoyment came from making the human his entirely. The look in their eyes, the one that told Sebastian that they trusted him completely, that they couldn’t bear to lose him, that he could bend them to his every whim…that was truly intoxicating.

It wasn’t particularly hard to win them over, either. For some, Sebastian’s unnatural beauty was enough. Others wanted sympathy. Whatever the human wanted, Sebastian could usually find out quickly enough and get them to fall for him without interfering with his duties. But not William T. Spears.

The first time Sebastian had set his aim on the shinigami had been at the circus. Spears had been arrogant and insulting and had generally made things very difficult for Sebastian to do his job properly. If anyone deserved to be taken down a few pegs, it had been this man. The fact that William had been a reaper, the natural enemies of demons, only made the idea of bringing the man to his knees more enticing.

Will had given as good as he got, and Sebastian had been surprised at how much he’d enjoyed the reaper’s company. Will had enjoyed their coupling, too, if the sounds he’d made were anything to go by. By the time Will lay asleep, thoroughly exhausted, Sebastian had been sure that this conquest could be counted a victory. But the moment Sebastian had disentangled himself from the sleeping reaper, gotten dressed, and reached for the tent flap, a death scythe had nicked Sebastian’s left hand.

“This changes nothing,” Will had muttered, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. “I stand by what I said. You’re not to leave the tent.”

Ah, so stubborn! Sebastian had put on his most gentle smile as he approached the bed and reverently ran his hand through Will’s hair. “I’m not going to cause any mischief. I merely want to check on my young master.”

“Ha!”

Sebastian had flinched in surprise at the derision in Will’s eyes. They weren’t even the slightest bit softer than they had been earlier that day when Will had leapt from the tightrope and demanded an explanation for Sebastian’s presence.

“Do you expect me to believe you? Did you really think it would be that easy to fool me?”

The shinigami had refused to budge even an inch from his insistence that Sebastian remain in the tent, and no amount of caresses or sweet nothings could convince Will that Sebastian only meant to do his master’s bidding.

That had been irritating and as a natural consequence intriguing. It wasn’t often that Sebastian met with a challenge, and he wasn’t about to bow to this one easily. The harder it was to make the reaper need him, the greater the victory would be when Sebastian inevitably won.

That had been over a century ago. A century of meeting up in alleyways for quick fumbles and taking advantage of beds when Ciel’s missions coincided with William’s collection duties. Those had been rare when Ciel had been human, but now that Sebastian’s young master was a demon and could be left alone for longer periods of time, Will and Sebastian’s encounters had increased. Despite this, Sebastian had made little progress toward acquiring Will.

The demon and the reaper had experimented with a wide range of sexual activities. Will would let Sebastian do nearly anything the demon wished to the reaper (and, Sebastian had to admit, vice versa). They’d come far enough that there had even one or two times when Will had allowed himself to fall asleep in Sebastian’s arms. But outside of the bedroom was another story.

When they ran into each other in the field, Will’s eyes and face were still just as proud and as guarded as when they first met. Sebastian had tried to crack that tough exterior with presents, terms of endearment, and even invitations to more romantic venues, but at every turn he was rebuffed. If truth be told, it was wearing on Sebastian’s ego. No one had ever been able to resist him for quite so long. Reaper or not, Will should have fallen, and yet...

Which was why, Sebastian thought, the demon owed something of a debt of gratitude to the Undertaker. Goodness knew why, but after over a decade of silence, the rogue shinigami had reappeared. Dear William had gotten involved in the most recent clash, and as there was a torrential downpour and the Undertaker was bound to launch another attack sooner than later, Sebastian’s young master had offered to let Will stay at their local mansion for the time being. None of them had been able to successfully defeat the Undertaker in the past, so perhaps Will realized that collaborating would be necessary. And it wasn’t as though the three hadn’t worked together often enough throughout the years. Whatever the reason, Will had accepted Ciel’s offer. This would provide Sebastian ample opportunity to observe Will in a more private setting.

Barely suppressing a smirk, Sebastian gave a knock on the door of the guest quarters. He entered, after receiving permission, to see Will resting in an armchair, reading a collection of Poe.

“Good evening. I thought I’d see if you needed anything.”

The reply was stiff. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Are you certain?” Sebastain’s eyes drifted to the bandage around the reaper’s arm. “Perhaps some extra bandages? I imagine even reapers struggle to heal from Death Scythes.”

Will shook his head. “It was only a scratch. It’ll be healed by morning.”

“I see. A bath then? To help you relax?”

Will snorted. “Believe it or not, I am capable of bathing myself.”

At this, Sebastian let a sly smile spread across his lips, and he took a step closer. “I was merely thinking of pouring one for you.” He hesitated just long enough for a flush to grace Will’s cheeks, then reached one hand out to slowly stroke the man’s cheek. “But since it’s on your mind, if you desire assistance, you need only ask. As the Phantomhive butler, it is my duty to ensure that our guests have a pleasant stay. Which, of course, includes providing them with every/i> possible comfort.”

The embarrassed look that stole over Will’s face when Sebastian ran his thumb over the shinigami’s lip was absolutely delicious. But a moment later, it was replaced with a stern expression, and Sebastian’s wrist was caught in a vice-like grip.

“Thank you.” Came the clipped tone Sebastian knew so well. “But I have everything I need for the night.”

Sebastian bit back a growl and forced a smile. To persist would get him nothing, and to reveal his irritation would only bring a knowing smirk to Will’s face. “As you wish.” He straightened up slowly, letting his fingers drift gently over William’s skin as he pulled his arm back. “Should you need anything, merely ring the bell.”

Sebastian closed the door gently behind him. Despite the disappointment, he put thoughts of the stubborn reaper aside. There was simply no time to dwell on it. As butler of the Phantomhive estate, he had too much to do.

His young master had been a demon for over a 130 years, but many of his routines hadn’t changed. They’d learned early on that Ciel still needed sleep and human food, albeit in decreased amounts. Sebastian’s young master tended to eat and sleep on the schedule he’d had at 13. The young demon was perfectly capable of caring for himself, but he still insisted on Sebastian pouring him his bath, setting out his night clothes, and bringing him desserts before bed. Personally, Sebastian thought it comforted his young master to have something from his human life to hold onto, but Sebastian didn’t mind.

It was only after setting the security alarm, making sure that their servants were on high alert, and going to the kitchen that Sebastian thought of Will again. The shinigami had gone through just as harrowing an experience as is young master, or nearly so at least. Facing off against and being wounded by someone who was quite possibly the greatest enemy the shinigami had ever faced, whom William seemed to know personally. William would be vulnerable, Sebastian thought with a faint smile. Small kindnesses would doubtless be appreciated, opening a chink in the man’s armor that otherwise would have been welded shut.

It wasn’t much extra work. He simply made two desserts instead of one and two mugs of milk with honey. After tucking his young master in, he brought the extra food to their guest’s room. Will was still reading, although this time in bed.

Will’s expression was slightly friendlier than when they’d last spoken. “Has something happened?”

“No. I merely wanted to bring you something. A snack before bed.”

A bit of caution stole back into the reaper’s face. “Oh? I’m surprised the two of you have food in the house.”

“Yes, well my master still needs to eat human food occasionally, and he prefers it. Old habits, I suppose.” Sebastian approached the bed and placed the tray on the night table. “It’s not much. If you wish for a meal, you have only to ask. But I thought perhaps something sweet before bed...” Sebastian removed the lid and sat down at the foot of the bed. He watched as Will cast a longing glance at the food. A pomegranate and apple tart. “Go on.” Sebastian urged. “It’s not poisoned. It would be very inhospitable to poison a guest.”

That broke the spell of uncertainty, and Will scoffed as he reached for the plate. “Still the perfect butler after all these years?”

“Old habits.”

Will took a piece of the tart onto his fork and held it before his mouth, looking at Sebastian over it as he took the bite. The look that sprang quite unbidden into Will’s eyes was worth every ounce of irritation the reaper had caused over the years...as was the involuntary moan the reaper let out at the taste. The shinigami almost seemed to forget he had an audience. He took bite after bite. Not a minute had passed before the tart was gone and the milk had followed it.

“I take it you liked it?”

Will flushed. “I guess I was hungry. Reapers aren’t like demons, you know, or most demons at least. We do need food. And...” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

“And the food the dispatch gives us is chosen for nourishment rather than for taste.”

Sebastian shifted closer, wiping some milk from the corner of Will’s lips and bringing it to his tongue. “What a pity. Food is meant to be enjoyed. With the way you ate, I can’t imagine that sated your hunger. Perhaps something else? A full meal?”

“I..if it’s not too much trouble.” So difficult for the man to bring himself to ask for what he wanted. He even had trouble meeting Sebastian’s gaze.

“But of course. Nothing is too much for a guest.” Sebastian leaned in closer and began to gather the dishes. Before he rose to go, he placed a kiss on Will’s forehead. The soft look in the reaper’s eyes was positively divine.

Oh this was too much, Sebastian thought as he left the room. For the shinigami to weaken for something as simple as food? After all this time? Had Sebastian only known Will’s vulnerability lay in food, he’d have won him years ago. But then, Sebastian supposed, if he had known it would be that easy, it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.

Domestic

imtoolazytothinkofausername

Summary:

It was his young master’s fault, Sebastian often thought, somewhat bitterly.

Notes:

I do not own Kuroshitsuji, and this was not written for profit.

Work Text:

It was his young master’s fault, Sebastian often thought, somewhat bitterly. Demons weren’t meant to change. Not much anyway. Their experiences shaped them, of course, but after the first millennium, their personality was generally well set. Any changes were minute.

Sebastian, for instance, had long since formed his personality. He wasn’t particularly sadistic where humans were concerned. He often found them interesting. Occasionally, he even sympathized with them. But for the most part, they were food. With a few exceptions, they seldom had mercy on the animals that became their meat, and likewise, Sebastian seldom had mercy on his food.

There was simply no use in it. He would live forever, whereas humans would die after a handful of decades. He had to eat to live, and a few of them must sacrifice their lives for his nourishment. It was cruel world, but he hadn’t made the rules.

This detachment from humans and their world had served him well. Generally, the demons that did grow fond of certain humans, certain cultures, or anything the humans generated found it difficult to continue as time went on. They grew depressed or simply couldn’t cope with the changes wrought by the passage of time. Some became shells of their former self. But Sebastian was much the same as he always had been. Or so he could have said up until a few years ago.

But in the space of a few short years, Sebastian had changed. Changed in ways he couldn’t even fathom. He now found himself unreasonably fond of no less than four humans. Millenia of stability and self-assurance had been thrown out the window in no more than 3 years, and it was all because of that brat.

His young master, no more than 10 when they’d first met, had completely upended Sebastian’s existence. The little earl had skillfully negotiated a contract that was more beneficial than well over half of the contracts some of humanity’s greatest thinkers had formed with the demon. At the time, Sebastian hadn’t thought the contract would last long. The boy’s enemies would attack, and his master would get revenge, or his master would renege on the contract, and Sebastian would still get his meal. But 3 years later, and the contract was still in place.

In those years, his young master had worked Sebastian harder than even Caligula had ever dared. Not that the tasks were physically strenuous, but they were what Sebastian had initially considered demeaning. Why waste a demon’s power on housework, and why force him to do it in the most time-consuming way possible? It was a waste of Sebastian’s considerable power.

But the young master knew the terms of the contract quite as well as Sebastian, and he refused to allow Sebastian to dissuade him. Most of the demon’s masters had been easy to intimidate. The briefest glimpse of a fang or a red glow to his eyes was enough to remind them that one day they would be at Sebastian’s mercy, and perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to anger him. Yet, frightened as Earl Phantomhive was at this thought (though he tried to hide it), he would not be disobeyed. If he was giving up his soul for absolute obedience, absolute obedience was what he would get. It mattered not what Sebastian thought of it, for hadn’t Sebastian promised to follow the young lord’s orders?

And overtime, Sebastian grew to enjoy these tasks. They took time to learn. He came to see each and every task involved in running the estate as an art. Waving a hand to rebuild a mansion was a parlor trick, but taking the time to keep it going without resorting to demonic powers, now that was something to boast of. He took pride in the fact that when people thought of the Phantomhive estate, they thought not only of its owner, but of its butler.

This interest in human concerns had snuck up on him, but he didn’t let it worry him overly. The tasks he’d learned were ones that could be applied for masters of any time or culture. He’d simply adjust them to meet any differences in tastes or values. And once this contract was finished, he’d have no trouble finding another meal. He’d lost track of the job offers he’d received from his master’s guest. Terribly discourteous to try to tempt their host’s servant away from him, but once his young master was dead...

And it was that thought that forced Sebastian to realize the severity of his situation. The mere thought of the end of the contract made his stomach clench. The end of the contract would mean he was no longer the Phantomhive butler. This estate which he’d worked so hard to resurrect and maintain would pass to someone else...likely the aunt who couldn’t even distinguish her two nephews, or perhaps her son, who had made his disdain of Sebastian’s young master quite clear.

Apart from that, it would mean that his young master, the child whom Sebastian had raised, would be dead. It would mean Sebastian had failed. There was no reason Sebastian should feel this way. It was only part of the contract. He was to help his young master achieve revenge, and if he succeeded, Sebastian would get his reward. To think of merely claiming his wages after years of tireless work as failure...that would have been nonsensical to Sebastian only a few years ago.

But Sebastian had nursed this boy back to health after returning to the manor. He’d taught the child how to ride a horse, speak numerous languages, shoot a gun, and any number of other things necessary for a noble in his young master’s position. He’d watched as his young master brought the London Underground to heel after it had initially looked down on who they thought was a mere child, Watch Dog or not. Sebastian had tucked him in at night, guarded him while he slept, and then killed or tortured the child’s would-be assassins. Through it all, his young master had not weakened in his resolve even once, time and again turning his back on a normal life.

To have his young master die after all the work Sebastian had put into keeping him alive, to have him die at Sebastian’s hands, was now anathema. He had to admit that at some point, he had grown to admire the child’s resolve. Somewhere between bringing the boy milk after a nightmare and following his orders to slaughter entire gangs of criminals, Sebastian had grown fond of the child.

He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t a natural feeling for any demon, especially not for him. Nor could he explain why he now felt that same fondness for the three servants they’d hired. Finnian, who had killed numerous intruders on his young master’s behalf, yet who still seemed inexplicably innocent. Mey Rin, who was so starved for affection that she would blush and stammer at the slightest compliment. And Baldroy, who watched Sebastian’s every move with distrust, yet would sacrifice his life for the butler without a second thought. This fondness was to a lesser extent than the fondness Sebastian held for his master, but it was there, nonetheless. The three had grown on him, and Sebastian had absolutely no idea how to deal with it.

Sebastian knew then that he had grown domestic, and he was well and truly screwed. When the time came to carry out the contract, he would try to claim his reward, but there was no way it would end well. If he refused, he would hardly break free of this new chain that bound him to not one, but four humans. Even if he returned to the manor with his young master and played house for the rest of the child’s life, how long would that last? Humans seldom made it past a century. Sebastian would watch the servants and his young master die, unable to save them, and eventually he would be left alone. If he took his reward, he could never return to the manor he had built or the servants he had hired, and neither would he be able to forget the child he had raised and then betrayed.

Had he known that night so long ago...but then, again, his young master had cursed him. Had Sebastian the chance to make the choice again, he knew he’d be unable to leave the poor, hopeless child he’d come to love in that cage. Perhaps if his young master had been a normal child, it would have been different. But his lord, though as terrified as any rational human would be of a demon, was brave enough to call one his dog and order him about. Where full-grown humans would allow Sebastian to lull them into a sense of ease, believing that they had no truer friend than he, this child never lost sight of what Sebastian was. The child would cry out to Sebastian after nightmares and order the demon to stay with him until he fell asleep, and the next day, he would order the deaths of a cult who had trafficked humans.

No. His young master, whose name Sebastian was forbidden from even mentioning, could never be termed normal, but he was the only master who had ever earned his respect. He was Sebastian’s child. And he would be the death of Sebastian, as well.

#black butler fanfiction

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crymeariveronceagain · 2 years

Text

river's thoughts on Exile after reading it again.

what the actual frick was this book.

Alden Vacker you slick smarmy son of cerberus you can die by my blade <3

Alvar was very present in this book i was actually legitimately surprised by that. The first time I read it I barely remembered who Alvar was when he turned out to be Neverseen, but now I'm seeing all the little clues and things, as small as they are. However, it's all so subtle and hardly there at all that Alvar's either an Amazing Liar or his traitorhood was added spur of the moment and like me Shannon is a pantser of a writer.

Fitz Vacker is an entire jerk, and honestly he is so unlikeable in this book that there is no good reason that anyone should ever have shipped him with Sophie this early. Like, come on. We barely know the kid, at all, he's been a mostly background character, with Dex and Keefe taking the front positions in Sophie's mind, and what we do see is selfish, mean, and just generally nasty. Like. Kid. What?

Mr. Forkle.

Grady Ruewen is the best dad, and he just wants people to leave his 13 year old daughter alone, but they're not going to and they never will and this makes me sad because there is nothing this man would not do for his daughter.

Edaline went through some SERIOUS character growth in this holy SHOOT. She took leaps and bounds and she's doing so much better mentally I cannot even.

SOPHIE USED HER ONE QUESTION TO HELP HER DAD!!!! She had one question! One question about anything Black Swan! The people who created her! And what did she ask? Did you murder Jolie. For her parents. Oh my stars I'm never going to be over this. This is the sweetest thing.

Look, I get why people don't like Sophie. I get it, I do. But honestly, she is really just doing her best and people just keep trying to hurt her I don't know what else to ask of the actual child.

Councilor Bronte can die by my blade <3 And I'm coming for his kneecaps. This man deserves a tribunal for the crimes against Sophie. Just saying.

Council is heavily abusing their power. Also, so unoraganized? Like can y'all keep it together for ten seconds???

Ok but with my "Neverseen Alden" Headcanon, I'm undecided as to whether or not Alden actually suffered a mind break or not, through that looking glass. Like, if he didn't, and it was for some neferious gain, that makes sense. If he did, it makes less sense, but is still plausible, since the Neverseen are still just ordinary elves, and Prentice was Alden's friend. However, I will say. Alden needing to be repaired was the main catalyst for Sophie both breaking and being put back together, herself. If Alden hadn't broken, none of the events of the book would have happened. Her powers would be shrinking, and no one would know what was going on. Alden is the catalyst.

A Lodestar is a mirror that reflects pure light. If Keefe is the Lodestar, then he reflects all the goodness from the world around him. No, I do not take criticism of this interpretation.

Magnate Leto acting real sus. Like, Mr. Forkle, can you be ANY less obvious. Dude. Pull yourself together, you are a professional.

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dylanlila · 3 years

Note

Hey jo!

I did the mbti personality test again! I knew I had to because the last time I did it was years ago way before lockdown and everything! I was probably 14. So the only thing that's different is that I'm more introverted than extroverted now (which is obvious). I'm officially an infp, which tbh seems to fit me more. I still don't know much, but I read the description. I am not sure how I feel, it's surely more relatable and well, realistic! I don't know what to think, but that's me!! (Yes I am making a deal out of this, sorry?)

Anyway I wanted to tell someone, i hope you don't mind your overthinking friend venting here. Love you so so much 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

I so love this gif.

Mais, I am an overthinker and a rambler and an incredibly annoying nerd, why. would. I. mind?????????? INFP I THINK EMMA IS AN INFP OMG @the-girl-who-cried-wolf ?????? This is one of my favourite personality types, there's Todd Anderson, Peter Parker, CHARLIE KELMECKIS, Luna Lovegood, JUST SOME EXCEPTIONALLY AMAZING PEOPLE WHICH MAKES SO MUCH SENSE CUZ YOU'RE AMAZING!!!!!!!!! I'm an INTJ which is ✨A Curse (TM)✨, but I'm working on it!!!!! (I have Greg House, Beth Harmon, Mr. Darcy and Kat Stratford in my corner and I also think Doctor Strange? I think Kaz Brekker too? And that I'm not too thrilled about even tho I haven't met him yet dhsjdjsjdj + some famous people which I'm taking with a grain of salt, such as Nikola Tesla, Jane Austen and Emily Bronte, tho Emily does make sense to me because the way Wuthering Heights is written kinda fits my mindset???? *end geek rant*). You know you can be and are both, right? I always say that, one personality type doesn't have to "fit" you exclusively and this is all for fun (+ it actually helped me with some of my issues because: self awareness!!!!!), so I'd keep the ENFP one too (I mean Jo March is formally an ENFP I think, but I relate to her So Much and see her as an introvert and am probably projecting a little, but she's My Character in mine and everybody else's eyes apparently so who cares! + I have Neil's (ENFJ) energy. See my point? ✨Interpretation✨), then you get something close to the whole picture. My MBTI fits me very well and I don't know what's my second "diagnosis" but it's probably something completely contrasted with my current one, that's how humans function I guess. The only thing that must be the same is probably the Thinking >>>>>> Feeling part.

It's just that I have lots of Todds to bully into confidence now.🧙‍♀️ *evil laugh* YAY! (Yep, Dash (don't even try ok, I NEVER gave up) and Emma, this is about you 🧐, I think Stella also? I remember her mentioning it in the tags?)

And it's more than ok to make a big deal out of things!!!!! I try to ignore emotion and live outside of myself and here I am, with Greg House and Jo March as my fictional counterparts... *sad emoji* I view that as an admirable quality, making a big deal of things, you inspire me! Keep being you whoever that is or might be and just be, exist, write poetry, dance, it's called Keating-it-up! OMG ANNE SHIRLEY CUTHBERT IS AN INFP, MAAAAIS!!!!!!

- Your Friendly Neighborhood (Spider)Witch 🧙‍♀️🔮☀️

#my lorelai ❄🎶✨#💌restless wind inside a letter box💌

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bookwyrminspiration · 2 years

Note

Not only is ’Fireborn’ by Derivakat a Fintan song, ‘Woe to the people of order’ by Mizz Fish (Cami-Cat cover) is a Evil!Bronte song.

You know what you are so right! Both songs tie into the characters accurately--though I must admit I'm not as well-versed in Evil!Bronte as others, but I figure simply expounding his character to the extremes is similar enough to get the gist.

For the Fintan song, one of the first connections I made was in the line "Like a phoenix on repeat (repeat) / You'll never burn me, you'll never burn me!" Partially for literal interpretations of how no flame but everblaze, something the kotlcrew doesn't have in their arsenal, can burn him. They literally cannot burn him, but interpreting it in a less literal sense I think it could speak to how none of what they say can damage or affect what he thinks. He's set in his ways, and nothing they say or do will dissuade him. He believes the system to be flawed and in need of complete reparation and overthrow, that his ideology is what it needs to be replaced with. He will not change. Then that ties into the phoenix imagery, as he's essentially trying to burn down the old system so his can rise from the ashes and take its place like a phoenix, which I think is a neat comparison

Then there's "You're playing by my rules (playing by my rules)," which I think aptly summarizes how the story went when he was in charge. There were secrets and plans to be uncovered, and uncovered they were, but despite that the Neverseen was always a step or two ahead so everyone else had to adjust themselves around him. He decided how things went, he was at the head of it all and couldn't be challenged. He held so many pieces and could lead people around, making everyone else play by his rules hoping to overcome them one day

For the Evil!Bronte song, the first lyric that stood out to me was "Now I release my beasts upon thee! / And I laughed in pain as I watched them all flee." There's the connection between pain and beasts and fleeing, and given how that all relates to inflicting I thought it fitting. Him using his pain, what he's been through (whatever the situation is for evil bronte), to force it onto others, releasing it on them like a beast that sends them running the other direction. This hatred, this heat, this force he keeps coiled inside of him to be expelled and controlled at his own whim. Perhaps the laughter comes from delight in hurting others, perhaps it comes from the relief of letting out such toxic vitriol, perhaps its a combination of the two. Either way, the negative imagery I think meshes well with an evil inflictor!

Then the line "i'm now friend to none / if you think you're a hero, then die like one" I think fits well with the loner kinda situation he's got going on. He's disliked and doesn't really have friends in canon, so I think that would go to a further extreme in an evil situation. He's pushed everyone away and it's just him and what he wants. And he's going to get it, whatever it takes, letting no one near. Those who think they can stand up to him and get in his way call themselves "heroes" but he doesn't care about those semantics. Hero, villain, evil, good, moral, immoral, it doesn't matter. He doesn't care what he's called as long as his goals are realized, as long as those who've wronged him realize it. So why should he care if someone calls themself a hero? Whatever. They can do what they want, but if they're going to be so bold they can't flee the consequences. It's disgusting self-flattery, but why not play with it before he gets them out of his way?

Both of these songs have so many great lines to compare to the characters, so don't think that they few I've selected encompass all the possibilities! There's the talk of being fireborn, of woe to those who called me a friend, and so much more that fits them so well! These songs as a whole fit really well, so thank you for bringing them to my attention!

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #quil's queries #lola-legendary #kotlc music analysis #fintan pyren #councillor bronte #evil!bronte #evil characters are so fun #not the 'hehe i'm evil and having fun about it.' for me. that's a fine evil character just not my type #I love the 'how twisted can you go? how far can you be pushed?'#the ruthlessness. unforgiving wrath. hard lines and negotiable morals #they are so so good #long post

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axels-corner · 3 years

Text

The councilors apologize for the ability restrictor

Notes: This was inspired by this ask sent to @bronte-deserves-better

I was really excited writing this fic, and I really enjoy how it turned out I hope you enjoy!

words: 2027

characters: the councilors (mainly Oralie, Alina, and Emery), Sophie, and Dex

Summary: the councilors relize they were wrong and they apologize

3 Days Later

“There's gotta be a faster way to sort through all this” Sophie says rummaging through one of the many file cabinets.

“Well my more recent inventions are way more organized, but when I first manifested organization wasn't a huge priority, because I was trying to hide it.” Dex calls back to her

“What's this?” Councilor Alina asks picking up a crumpled piece of paper with burned edges that looked like it had been through hell and back.

“Oh, that's nothing important I thought it would be destroyed by now but apparently not.” Dex takes a closer look at the paper, “Wow! It's even still legible that's a surprise, I gave it to the triplets to test some of their pranks on.” Emery looks over Alina's shoulder

“Is that the original plans for the ability restrictor?” Sophie and Dex freeze for a moment, and when Dex speaks again his tone is guarded

“No, that's a separate file with all the other weapons I made at that time.”

“Is this it?” Oralie asks holding up a folder that was falling apart, it had Weapons for the Council written in elvin runes across the top.

“That would be it, but that's not what we're here to find, we're trying to find the twiggler to see if we can access the database again.” He turns back to the pile he was searching for, clearly done with the conversation, the councilors share a look.

“I think we need to talk about that time period.” Emery says putting a hand on Dex's shoulder

“Why? It's in the past.” Dex tell him.

“While that may be true what we did wasn't right Lord Dizznee, and we want you to know that.” Alina says back, Dex slams his hands on the desk whipping around to face her.

“Of course what you did wasn't right! You manipulated me into making weapons for you, and that's not even the part I'm upset about, it's the fact that you then used it on my best friend!”

“And then you told him that if he did anything to it you would exile his whole family. You do realize the triplets were only ten when you made that threat, right? You were going to ruin their life's because of my mistake and your punishment.” Sophie says from the other side of the room calmly but anger laced her tone like venom.

“The triplets had nightmares for weeks after that- I had nightmares for weeks after that.” Dex finishes not shouting anymore but clearly still pissed. The silence in the room was deafening, when Biana ran into the room

“Guys we found it-” she stopped sensing the tension and Stina ran into her

“Why did you stop in the middle of the doorway Vack- Oh,” She stands for a minute “Okay what's the tea because I'm sensing major anger vibes from Fos-Boss and Dexy over there and major guilt vibes from Councilors Emery, Alina, Noland, and Clarette, so spill.”

“It's nothing.” dex says his voice breaking as he wipes his eyes turning back to the desk and halfheartedly cleaning it off

“Mhm, see I would believe that but Foster looks like she's going to either inflict on someone, or kill them, you're crying, and the councilors look like you just kicked alicorn babies in front of them, so yeah, would you feel like sharing what happened.” Stina says shifting her gaze to Sophie and leaning against the door.

“Something was discovered and things where said and that's all I'm telling you.” Sophie says.

“Not buying it but okay,” Stina shrugs “So do you guys want to leap back so we can see if we can access the twiggler together?” she holds up the twiggler.

“Actually I think it would be wise for us all to go our separate ways and come back in a few days.” Emery says, and with that they all leap away.

“I mean seriously can you believe it!” Dex rants as he paces back and forth across the carpet “They just now realized that, oh I don't know, that for once they were actually wrong!”

“I mean it kinda makes sense because by admitting their wrong it means they did the wrong thing, and that might cause some guilt, and elves and guilt don't really mix well. It's like pouring water on grease fire.” Sophie responds back from where she was doing homework, “by the way do you know when our next meeting is?”

“Nope, and I haven't asked either considering what happened last time.” Dex tells her flopping onto the carpet when a buzzing fills the room

Incoming hail from councilor Oralie

“and speak of the devil.” Dex says picking up his imparter

“I mean it could be worse, at least Oralie was against the ability restrictor.” Sophie says not looking up from her work.

“Yeah, but why is she hailing me instead of you?” Dex asks

“Because I've had my imparter turned off for the last three days.” Sophie tells him, and he shrugs,

“Makes sense.” he answers the hail “hi councilor Oralie.”

“How many times have I told you to just call me Oralie? Anyways can you and Sophie come to the Seat of Eminence.” Oralie's voice says through the screen

“You mean the place where we where appointed regents right?” Sophie asks popping into view of the camera, Oralie nods.

“Just us or all of team valiant?” Dex asks suspicion clear in his voice.

“I guess you'll find out.” she says and with that the hail is disconnected

“This is a bad idea-We have to go.” Sophie and Dex say at the same time.

“You seriously think this is a good idea, and that wasn't suspicious?” Dex asks, and Sophie tells him,

“I did but they swore an oath and I say we need to give them a chance, I mean they trusted me when Keefe, Fitz, and I went to the forbidden cities in the middle of the night, with barely any plan, no bodyguards, and ended up having a showdown with Lady Gisela and Tam.” Dex nods,

“Fine, and it's not like we can avoid them forever, considering foxfire is back in session soon.” He says.

POV Switch (the Seat of Eminence)

“Seriously Oralie? That sounds so suspicious!” Alina tells Oralie when she hangs up

“In my defense they put me on the spot! If I said no they wouldn't come, because they would probably think they're both in trouble, but if I said yes then I would be lying.”Oralie explains

“And 'I guess you'll find out' was your best idea!” Alina yells switching to a perfect impersonation of Oralie's voice to quote her, and Oralie fires back

“I don't think well under pressure, what would you have said councilor perfect.” Alina scoffs

“I would of said no, but you're not in trouble we just want to talk.” She crosses her arms with a triumphant look on her face. Until Terik bursts out laughing from wear he was sitting on the table and snaps, “What!” He straightens up still giggling

“That's worse than what Oralie said.” he stops giggling “they would probably freak out worse because they had just blown up at councilors, and yes I know we swore that oath that we would listen, but that doesn't mean there's not still a little mistrust. Which is fair considering we haven't always been the kindest people in the Lost Cities. But imagine that and then getting a hail that says we need to talk.”

“Terik makes a good point.” Emery says walking into the room “by the way they're here.”

POV Switch (Dex and Sophie)

“Is it just me or is it much creepier being in here than it was the first time?” Dex whispers to Sophie

“It's not just you but that might just be because I'm not sure if we're gonna be regents by the end of today.” Sophie whispers back looking at the walls like they would eat her alive.

“Well it was nice while it lasted.” Dex whispers back

“Yep.” Sophie agrees, and seconds later they see twelve silver spot lots making the council look much more intimidating as they were huddled around a table.

“How much you wanna bet that they're debating to remove us from the nobility or not?” Dex asks Sophie, she whispers back

“Wouldn't be the first time we were part of a debate.”

“Oh yeah at this point it's like a monthly debate on whether we should be exiled or not.” Sophie laughs at that “We should probably let them know we're here.” she says “Yeah probably,” Dex knocks on the door frame “hello councilors.” he bows as the councilors turn around and Sophie curtsies.

“Hello, Lord Dizznee and Lady Foster.” Emery says, his voice booming “Please take a seat so we can discuss some things.” As Sophie and Dex walked to take a seat Dex whispers

“Looks like we're still regents.” and Sophie whispers back

“Yeah, question is for how long and if it'll stay that way.” Emery stands at the front with the rest of the councilors seated around the table, and when they were seated he clears his throat and addresses them

“You're both probably wondering why we all called you hear without the rest of you're team nonetheless.” Sophie and Dex nod and Emery turns and start to pace “when we were up in the Paragon we told you that our rule will never be perfect, and that is true, but. We realize that we've made major mistakes, especially when it comes to you two, and” he takes a breath before letting it out and saying “we owe you both an apology. We are sorry.” Dex and Sophie's chins drop “what?” Emery asks tilting his head to the side.

“We thought you were going to tell us that we we're no longer regents at best-”

“And exiled at worst.” Dex finishes, cutting Sophie off. All the councilors looked shocked at that

“Why? If I may inquire.” Emery asks sitting down, Sophie starts fidgeting with her hands not making eye contact with anyone except the floor

“Well, first off we kinda blew up at you guys.” She says, and Dex picks up

“Yeah, and then Oralie hails me asking only me and Sophie to come here, and when we ask if the rest of the team is going to be here she says and I quote 'I guess you'll find out'. That sounds really ominous, at least to me.” He leans back in his chair crossing his arms with one eyebrow raised.

“I told you!” Alina yells leaping up pointing her finger at Oralie. Sophie looks up confused

“It's not like your solution was any better!” Oralie fires back standing up and slamming her hands on the table. As the two councilors argue across the table Emery puts his head in his hands sighs, and mutters

“Here we go again.” Sophie voice cuts the two councilors off

“Wait, what was councilor Alina's idea?” Oralie laughs

“You're going to love this, she wanted to hail you guys and say we need to talk.”

“Yeah, that would probably be one of the top ten most terrifying things a councilor hailing you and saying 'we need to talk'.” Dex says

“I told you so!” Oralie yells at Alina smiling like she won the olympics. Emery stands up and as Oralie and Alina argue he asks

“So are we good?” Dex and Sophie think about it before saying

“Yeah.”

“Although it would be really cool if we're allowed to prank Cassius.” Dex adds with a smirk Emery sighs though it sounds less annoyed this time, and he smiles as he says

“As much as I want to say yes, Cassius would probably sue.”

“All the more reason to do it.” Dex tells him

“How about a compromise, a prank week us twelve versus you five, although you can get your other friends help.” Emery offers Dex looks up considering it before turning to Sophie and asking

“What do you think Fos-boss, ready to show how much chaos we can cause?” Sophie stands up and smiles holding eye contact with Emery and says,

“You're so on.”

#kotlc council #councillor Oralie #councillor alina #councillor Emery #dex dizznee #kotlc dex #sophie foster #kotlc sophie #My writing #KOTLC fanfiction

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theodora3022 · 4 years

Text

Sheathed Claws (Part 1)

(Yandere Fukuzawa feat.Ranpo as his evil sidekick)

Summary: As a former Assassin himself, the formidable Silver Wolf Yukichi Fukuzawa can see through seemingly perfect disguises. You really should not have chosen ADA to work after fleeing the Order of the Clock Tower.

Notes: I wrote this instead of polishing my Tetchou fic, someone yells at me to do things in order- You can sense clear parental issues here, so enjoy! The reader’s ability is modelled after Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, the ability to control air currents. She is a former assassin leader of the Order of Clock tower, her superior being Lady Agatha Christie. I could have wrote this as a full fic, but I got too excited about a Mori fic and just...went with easy way with this one. The next part would be out next week by the latest.

Special thanks to @killuwumi and @bungoose for beta reading this mess! You guys are the best :))

Warnings: Female reader, Power imbalance, possessive behaviours(in future chapters), mild yandere themes, Ranpo gives horrible relationship advices

You thought your facade is good enough, that your acquaintances are none the wiser. And you are correct, at least to a certain degree. But for a fellow former Assassin, it is not that difficult to decipher from the way you carry yourself. Fukuzawa, the president of your current organization, for one.

You had paid an old friend a good sum, who happens to be a government official, to cleanse your dirty past. Nobody would find anything now, not even yourself.

To avoid any suspicions, you created this bubbly innocent girl mask for your coworkers, to gain their trust so even if the Order finds out about you they would have a hard time pursuing you. You never were particularly close to anyone, even when you let Naomi come to your shopping trips from time to time after her endless pleas. “Your western style is just so cute! I want to try it!!” Of course, you cannot say no. Guess Lady Christie was right, if you wear a mask long enough it would fuse in with your true self.

You act just like any other secretary in the ADA, polite, properly-dressed, hardworking and always ready to pick up any agent’s slack on paperwork(mainly Dazai’s). He notices how you would blend well with the background with that quiet nature, your presence barely noticeable, just like what he used to be in his assassin days. You also have a sweet voice and would look up to him with those adorable feline-like eyes while reading meeting reports to him.

No, no Yukichi, she is your employee, not a stray kitten you encountered in a park. You cannot pat her on the head or squeeze her cheeks, it would be inappropriate. He had to scold himself so very often, whenever you smile to greet him at his desk or wish him a good evening when you leave work. Maybe that is why he hired you, a foreigner with little work experience in Japan.

Since you are only a clerk, Fukuzawa assumed you did not possess a special ability, therefore he did not bother to check your background thoroughly. However, there is something that distinguishes you from the norms like Kirako Haruno or Naomi Tanizaki. Your quick reflexes are unusual for a civilian. His suspicions were confirmed thanks to Ranpo.

When Ranpo accidentally pushed one of his donuts off the table, you snatched a napkin, crouched down and caught the pastry with one hand. All done within half a second, without dropping a single sheet of the files on your other hand. Even Ranpo was impressed and gave you a few words of praise. You responded with a sheepish smile, but that smile does not look so harmless to Fukuzawa anymore. That is when Fukuzawa took a particular interest in you, who are you really? Those moves would take years of training to mould into one’s instincts.

You have hidden pockets in that skirt? He could just be paranoid, but that size is enough to fit a mini-gun or a dagger. In fact, you do carry these things around, old habits die hard. Decades of Assassin life had made you insecure without a weapon to hold. But young women often carry self-defence mechanisms right? Surely you would need them since you are just so cute. Is he just overthinking things?

Using his connections, the ADA president got a copy of your records from the Government Database. But they are nothing out of the ordinary, almost too normal. Maybe you are just blessed with natural talents, not some government spy. Because that could mean big problems, as Fukuzawa hates the government to stick their noses into his Agency.

“(Y/n)-san? She is a nice girl. She is always willing to help out everyone with their troubles. Hah, one time she even went to drag Dazai out from a ditch!”

“When the powers are out, (y/n)-chan brought lots and lots of candles for us. I cannot be more grateful.”

“She loves sweets and would often bake me some! (y/n)-chan calls me her test subject for her confectionery arts, not that I mind as long as I get half of her chocolate cookies!”

Only words of praise and gratitude, Fukuzawa cannot seem to find a single bit of negativity related to you? You are so friendly towards everyone, no one ever saw you in a different mood other than cheerfully happy.

The more Fukuzawa learns about you, the more invested he becomes. Even though it started as an investigation, he had grown fond of you rather quickly. Soon enough he finds himself smiling back to your greetings and goodbyes, even sneaking gazes full of fondness when you were not noticing.

Hm, so the agency president had taken a special interest in you huh? That is better than ideal. Now you can sleep soundly at night without ten traps set up in your apartment. People usually protect what they love right? Now you got the powerful Silver Wolf, an elite swordsman as your bodyguard!

These little actions did not get past the observations of Ranpo Edogawa. You are pleasant to have around, and if you marry the president would mean you would never leave the ADA right? He can have those delicious sweets for the rest of his days! His sensei is happy, and he got an endless supply of delicious food, sounds like a win-win to him.

So when Fukuzawa asked him to use his Ultra Deduction on you, little Ranpo did not suspect a thing and gladly obliged.

“(y/n)-chaan is a skilled assassin, with at least ten years of experience...And served in the Order of the Clock Tower as one of their finest knights, but she is currently on exile.” Ranpo and Fukuzawa exchange a glance, mixed with shock and horror. Both stayed silent for a while, digesting the unbelievable truth Ranpo just dug up.

So, his hunch was correct. But how can you, a charming lady who would help the elderly to cross the street, would give up your seat on the train to pregnant women, would help out anyone in need used to be a cold-blooded assassin? (These are all classic kindness gestures in Asia, in case anyone is confused)

Can Fukuzawa imagine you in black tights(eh idk how this came up), ending people’s lives while lurking in the shadows? No, it is physically impossible. He lived that kind of life, how can you turn out to appear so innocent? Unless you hid your evils exceptionally well. This sends a chill down his spine, the thought of someone who can fool the entire Agency of intelligent agents…

You may not harbour any ill-will towards them yet, but you still pose a major potential risk regardless. You can feed the agents poisonous cakes and even Kunikida would eat them without question. Some precautions need to be taken.

“Sensei, you like (y/n)-chan, right? Why not take her in and watch her every move, make sure she is no threat?” Another win-win situation, if you ask Ranpo. You would have all the time in the world to bake! Wouldn't that be amazing?

His smart apprentice never disappoints.

#yandere #yandercore #yandere x you #yandere bsd #yandere fukuzawa #fukuzawa yukichi #bungou stray dogs fukuzawa #yandere fukuzawa x reader

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yozzers · 3 years

Text

vexos hcs and random notes

ill update as i go, because yes i do update my masterlists every once in awhile, i should probably add them to my pinned...

General

I sincerely hope they have a small living arrangement so I can inflict them with the pain of having to share almost everything with each other

I just want Shadow and Lync to share a bunk

Like to think that alongside Volt, Mylene and Lync were also recruited by Hydron

None of them officially joined until they were a bit older but probably trained to eventually join the Vexos; in the mean time they probably worked for Hydron or something like that

Volt recruited at 11; Lync a year later and Mylene following not long after (respectively 13, 8, 12 when they’re all gathered)

My reasoning to why Volt is patient with Lync’s antics and Mylene less so but doesn’t lash out as badly as you think she would around annoying little kids; grew up tgt moment

Spectra probably forced his way into the Vexos like “hiiii i see you dont have any Vexos members <3″ bcs obv he wasn’t using royal scientist dad privelages (i think, bcs Clay seems horrified abt Spectra being a Vexos and well, being Spectra)

Shadow had an advantage of being a nobleman (in terms of him being accepted into the Vexos’ ranks)

the Vexos and their set of rules magent-ed on the fridge door or something and every time they go over a page they have to staple/tape a new page on

Joined in this order, Volt, Spectra, Shadow, Mylene, Lync, Gus

Vexos being a “chance of death low but the chance is still there” type of job... they feel like idols girl help they are bakugan idol group who work for the government

sorry the way the vestal kids talk about them... going to treat the Vexos like a kpop group now

Spectra Phantom / Keith Fermin

[canon] son of a (royal?) scientist. definitely had it good and comfy

think it’d be REALLY funny if he already knew Shadow before he became Spectra, Shadow just doesn’t recognize him bcs of his stupid get up

throws childhood friends Shadow Spectra at you, just two weirdos

Keith specifically keeps Shadow from ever meeting his sister which is why neither of them really recognize each other

Pre-Spectra; probably would’ve been really into bakugan biology and what not. Feels like the kind of person to talk w/ his dad about “do you think we could change their appearance if we messed w/ their mechanical ball form or would it not carry over to their released forms”

this mf looks like a biology major i feel it in my guts

mom isn’t dead she just divorced Clay bcs he didn’t know how to balance family and work, good for her

probably lives in another city now, and it’s a bit more of a hassle to meet with her kids so they don’t see her as much but she is present in their lives (keep in contact in other ways)

probably went a bit silent when Keith went missing

didn’t bleach his eyebrows bcs he didn’t want to harm the skin around there and he never thought he’d take the mask off around others, or about how stupid he’d look without the mask

please please please please draw him with his pink hair roots in his MS fit he should've grown out some of his bleached hair by then

daddy issues is truly the root of evil

Gus Grav

Just Some Gut background; middle class just living life

[canon?] was going on a route to being an “idol brawler”, because that’s kind of what their brawls felt like, since it was all purely for show with some competition. it felt less like a sport and more spectacle.

Gus wanting to be an idol brawler is actually such a funny string of words put together I’m making that a thing, if he didn’t join the Vexos he would’ve been an idol brawler

I like the Gus needs glasses hc (shoutout to @marmeladebois ‘s post on that)

The hc of him being half human and Runo’s half brother is so good

Cooks well but refuses to help cook fr the Vexos (unless Spectra specifically asks) --> that job is usually left to Volt

not related but reminds me heavily of yugioh vrain’s Spectre (or other way around... Gus was the blueprint)

Shadow Prove

[handbook canon] a vestal nobleman

has an older brother (oc; Lux- casual Haos brawler)

inferiority complex or whatever, the only thing he bested his brother in was Bakugan

the Prove family being typical prim proper noble family and forcing Shadow to be repressed is something, but the Proves having the same kind of wavelength as Shadow but in different variations is funnier. They’re just Like That.

Probably not a military family, does work closely with the government still; um im thinking somewhere under the Fermins but not by much

Considered running away from home several times

Unwillingly has knowledge on Vestal classic literature/ music

hard clutching a wall whenever he wants to join in on discussions about it bcs he knows this stuff but no way is he going to make himself look like a nerd + hes not actually that interested

*debates you for fun and bcs i hate u <3*

You know how he doesn’t take his job as a Vexos member super seriously, I wonder:

did his parents force him to be a Vexos since he wasn’t interested in the political side of his family and probably against taking up anything related to it, so they had him do something that’d still be beneficial to the family?

joined to pursue a freedom he didn’t have as a nobleman and is now just taking it really easy?

has clowns > jesters debate with volt; obv he’s team clown, volt is team jester

incredibly irrelevant but if he was a human he’d be chinese, i’ve claimed him, prodigal son older brother and fail son dynamic is there

Mylene Ferrow

While I like the idea of her being from a military family, I want to make her like Ling Wen (TGCF) in the sense she started from the bottom and climbed to the top... it fits her ambitious nature of grasping for more, she hasn’t reached what she considers the top just yet...

[very Ling Wen specific but Mylene being put in jail fr crimes unknown to me and being recruited by Hydron bcs she kicked serious ass is an entertaining thought]

I like to think she’s closest to Shadow due to the fact he kind of forces his presence onto her so... not her choice in that matter. “annoying” to “endearingly annoying, you still aren’t getting special treatment though”

Ofc Volt and Lync are on the same level, but I think they all know when to give each other space so they’re more of a “we hold each other at a distance, but we’re aware of out closeness which is enough for us”

Then its Spectra and then Gus in the “closest to Mylene” scale; she just straight up hates Gus and it’s mutual

whoever made the “Mylene and Spectra were exes” hc I think it’s really funny so I’m adding it here

terrible fashion, she’s the one who chose the outfits when she and Shadow went to earth; her fashionable armor look she usually has was designed with Volt’s help, she just voiced what she generally wanted

Her red lipstick look was bcs she thought it’d make her look more serious/ intimidating (Volt and Lync approved, it rlly does work on her)

Shadow matches w/ her (via his red nails) after they get teamed up tgt several times bcs he thinks they’re basically the go-to duo matchup whenever they’re assigned work n it’d be cool

Very forthcoming about the fact she used to be considered a criminal and was from same rundown area Volt and Lync come from

She’s grateful she got out of jail but she still has no respect for Hydron and despite how much she tries to hide it she does make it pretty clear to him she doesn’t really like him

I wish I had more to say about her... but It’s all relationship esque, i think in general she’s enjoyable and good so what I want more out of her is character dynamics

Lync Volan

[eng dub] he has grandparents; whether they’re still alive or not is...?

was part of the same area Volt is from

probably aware of each other but didn’t really know each other

you sound like you have mommy issues

came from the same area as Volt, but lived further out and closer to those areas where there were some bits of nature left

ill expand on why he got picked up by Hydron another day lazy rn

Volt Luster

[canon] he’s from an area that just straight up looks like yugioh 5ds’ Satellite, and Hydron was the one who pulled him out of there

He says Hydron pulled him out of there when he was a kid? I’d assume at youngest it’d be like Hydron (8) and Volt (11)

has a neat collection of handmade jester dolls

lot more artistic than he seems

Had his guardian bakugan with him the longest; had Brontes even before he met Hydron

Would the others consider him weird fr having a talking Bakugan that acted friendly with him n cracked jokes?

#bakugan #croak

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

freedom, books, flowers, and the moon.

A/N: Here is my entry in @approved-by-dentists ‘s follower celebration! Congrats again on 400, lovely! My prompt was Bookstore AU - so here we go! I’m worried that it doesn't entirely fit the prompt but there is a bookstore! So I'm halfway there! The book I mention is The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (I always recommend this book - read it, love it) and I had to use Yorkshire because Yorkshire is home to the Brontes and I live in Bronte country so I had to do it. Nevertheless I hope you all enjoy! As always, I love you all!

Summary: “With freedom, books, flowers and the moon, who could not be happy?” - Oscar Wilde.

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of war, mentions of grief, mentions of book hangovers.

Word count: 4.1k

For many, the second wizarding war had been less than a year long. They had experienced less than a year of the insecurity, the anxiety and the dread that goes through everyone’s mind in time of war.

For Harry, the second wizarding war had been a lot longer. He had been battling the Dark Lord mind to mind for years, and after his defeat, he felt exhausted. He was not only drained physically – the final duel taking its toll on him. But he was drained mentally, for all of a sudden, the space in his mind that he had shared with the darkest wizard in a century, was free. Harry could no longer feel his presence within him; the dark part of him that festered like an open wound.

It was a good thing, that he could no longer feel him. Harry knew that. But still, a part of him lingered too long on the idea that this was all a sense of false security. He had been living on the adrenaline of the chase for too long, and now that it was leaving his body, Harry had no clue what he needed to do. What he wanted to do.

He had the option of becoming an auror, and his teachers had supported him with that career choice. But a small part of him wondered whether he would be damaging himself further by throwing himself back into the fray to round up the last remaining Death Eaters.

It’s Hermione who plants this idea of him going away in his head. She has watched him battle internally with the different possible paths of his future; she had watch him argue and argue with his mind until he still had no answer.

Hermione tells him one night, over tea at the Burrow, “Harry, why don’t you get away for a while?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean go somewhere. Take some time away to heal; to come to terms with the last few years of your life. We’ve spent so long on the move, always having to be aware, that you haven’t had the time to process your emotions for everything.”

“Where would I go?” He whispers, fear creeping into his voice.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione says softly, “Let’s look at a map.” With a flick of her wand, a map of the British Isles lays itself out in front of them. “Where would you fancy?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry confesses, eyes pouring over the details of the maps – taking in the numerous counties.

“Okay. Close your eyes and point on the count of three.” Hermione states, “Are you ready?”

Harry closes his eyes, shuffling forward on the chair, “I’m ready.”

“3…2…1.” Hermione counts, and Harry’s finger circles the map once before landing.

Harry refuses to open his eyes. He’s in disbelief that he’s let himself decide his future on a three, two, one countdown. He’s been impulsive before but now he’s wary.

He doesn’t want to look. “Where am I going then?”

He can hear Hermione shuffle to look at where his finger has landed; her silence giving nothing away.

“Hermione?” He asks, slight panic setting in.

“Harry, take a look.”

Harry opens his eyes, blinking quickly before focusing on the map and his finger.

His finger points to a small village in Yorkshire. A place he had never been to.

Harry falls back into the chair with a sigh, “I guess that’s where I’m going.”

--------------------------

Spring:

Harry moves in the spring.

He spends the final weeks of winter with the Weasleys being stopped at all times of the day to be told why he shouldn’t be doing this; that he could heal just as well in the wizarding world.

He loves their attempts to get him to stay, but they don’t entirely understand why he needs to go.

He arrives in the small Yorkshire village on a bright day in March; blossoms have started to bloom on the trees and in a week, they would be covered, filling their air with their sweet and floral scent. His misses everyone strongly; feeling it keenly within his chest, but he knows how desperately needed to get away.

A month into his arrival at the small village in the moors, Harry feels he has settled very well into country life. He’s found his routine and he feels as if he’s beginning to heal from the trauma of the war and before. The clean, country air clears his lungs and his daily walks through the village has mind numb enough and his body tired enough that he can sleep through most of the night without waking once from a nightmare.

He still struggles; his still has those moments where he can’t be certain the war has finished and he’s safe but the longer he spends in the village, the less they happen.

A month into his arrival at the small village, Harry realises that he needs to thank Hermione for what she did for him that night at the Burrow. She saw his suffering and gave him a solution.

Walking through the green, he spies the small bookshop nestled on the corner of a small side street. If there was anything on this planet that Hermione loved more than Ron, it was a book.

Harry pauses for an instant outside the door to take in the window display. Both windows, and even the door window, have been painted with a cherry blossom display to mark the true entrance into spring. The blossoms fall from the tree in swirls of pinks and red, falling over the books perched on the windowsill inside – the personal recommendations for the season.

The bell above the door chimes as Harry enters the shop and he is immediately overwhelmed with the smell of old books, worn leather, and what he think is lavender. It is comforting though. He had never been much of a reader other than Quidditch strategy manuals, but something about this little shop has him feeling at home among the countless shelves piled high with books. He takes a few steps further into the shop, eyes running over title after title on multiple paperbacks and hardbacks.

Harry runs his fingers over the spines of the leather-bound volumes but stops when he realises that he hasn’t any idea of the type of book Hermione enjoys to read. She had textbooks in her hands so often at Hogwarts, but Harry can’t recall the last time he had seen her with a fiction book open in her lap.

He frowns, glaring at the books.

“Can I help you?” A lilting voice sounds from behind the stacks, “You look to be in a bad mood with my books, and that can’t possibly be right.”

“This is your shop?”

“For the last year it has been, before that I used to just work weekends.”

“It’s very homely.” Harry compliments.

You chuckle, “It’s overstocked but it adds charm and character, plus the more books there are, the stronger the old book smell and who can resist that! So stranger, how can I help you?”

Harry blushes slightly, “My name is Harry, you can call me Harry. I can’t decide what to buy for a friend.”

You come out from behind the shelves, and Harry’s eyes rake over you – taking in the nose piercing and the small tattoos peeking out of the sleeves of your thin sweater.

“Well Harry, I’m (Y/N). What does your friend like to read?”

“I don’t really know; I only ever saw her read textbooks at school to keep her grades up.”

You smile understandingly; indecision was something you encountered often in your shop, “Alright, let’s see what I can drum up. Would you like to follow me?”

Harry nods in answer but you don’t see. You’ve already turned away from him making your way through the complicated maze of shelves. Harry follows blindly, keeping his eyes on the back of your head.

You stop by a shelf that isn’t as occupied as the others. In fact, compared to the other shelves, this one is empty of books. Only a few books stand on the shelf, wide gaps between them.

Your eyes run over their spines; head tilted slightly; you think before pulling a book from its space. “I think this one will do,” you murmur, holding the book out for Harry to take.

“Agnes Grey?” He reads from the front cover.

“You’re in Bronte country, you have to know that right?”

“I’ve never heard of them,” He admits to which you gasp, holding a hand to your chest.

“I am hurt, good sir. You’ll have to buy this book for your friend now.”

Harry smiles, “I think I might. If she has read anything by the Bronte’s, I’m not to know.”

“It’s a rare edition as well. There’s only around a fifty or so copies left so I’m making sure it’s going to good home.”

“It definitely is. My friend worships books.”

You lead Harry to the till where the book is rang through and paid for. “Let me know what she thinks? She must be very special for you to buy this.”

Harry takes the book with a smile, “I’ll be back to let you know.”

---------------------------

Summer:

Spring bleeds into summer, and the floral scent from spring has turned into something headier – pulling Harry out bed earlier, keeping him outside for longer. Each day he walks past your shop, waving back at you as you wave to him from your seat by the till. Harry returns to your shop when he received Hermione’s owl thanking him for his gift and asking where he found such a rare edition.

Harry was more than happy to pass on Hermione’s compliments to you, enjoying the way you light up at his friend’s words.

“What about you? Do you read?” You ask him.

Harry shakes his head. At the look on your face, Harry suddenly wishes he had read every single book available to him and Hogwarts. “You’ll have to recommend something to me.” He suggests.

You disappear between the stacks at his words, reading title after title before finding one you think he would like.

You give a shout of success when you find the book you were looking for. You refuse to show Harry the title as you place it gently into a paper bag.

“I know you’ll like this, but you have to promise me one thing.”

“Which is?” Harry replies, curiosity lacing his tone.

“You have to promise me to come back and tell me if you enjoyed it.”

“I promise.” Harry replies, too fast… much too fast, but it doesn’t seem like you mind.

You smile at him, “I’ll see you soon, hopefully.”

Harry reaches for his wallet, having every intention on paying you but your hand on his arm has him freezing, “No payment needed,” You state firmly, “Just come back and tell me what you think.”

Harry thanks you, which you wave away, before leaving. He hightails it back to his home where he makes himself a pot of coffee and sits down at his kitchen table with your brown paper bag in front of him. He feels nervous as he opens the bag, hands wrapping around a thick paperback.

The book cover is predominantly black, but there are two white figures on the front surrounded by objects found in a circus. Harry take a sip of his coffee before opening to the first page: ‘The circus arrives without warning.’

He doesn’t move for the rest of the day; he remains sat at his kitchen table in awe of the book in front of him. He finishes the coffee but doesn’t get up to make another post for fear of being pulled away from the story so soon. Harry feels as if the author herself has been in contact with magic and understands the base wonder that comes with it. His eyes pour over the pages, committing to memory the love story and the saga of The Night Circus.

He closes the book hours later, feeling both bereft and satisfied at the end.

For a long time, Harry stares at the book wondering how a collection of pages bound in black and white could hold him so tightly to the fictional world.

He goes to bed filled with happiness but also empty from the fact that he had finished it so soon. Thoughts of the books have him falling into a sleep wherein he doesn’t wake screaming from nightmares, but rather dreams of striped monochromatic circus tents and caramel popcorn.

Harry paces his living room until it’s a suitable time to run to your bookshop. The moment the clock strikes nine, he’s out the door, putting on his jacket as he runs. He holds the book in his hands as if it’s made of glass; as if one wrong move, and the dream world he entered from the first page, will be shattered.

The relief Harry feels when he sees your shop light on spurs him faster. He bustles in through the door, giving you a fright. “Harry!”

“What is this book?” He practically shouts, holding the cover up for you to see.

You grin widely, “So you finished it?”

“I didn’t move until I had!” He cries.

“So you enjoyed it then?”

“I loved it. I’ve never read a book like this before.”

“I knew you would. The minute I saw the cover I knew you would enjoy the book.”

“I just couldn’t put it down.”

You nod, knowing that exact feeling so well it was second nature, “Have I brought you to the dark side then, Harry?”

Harry grins toothily, “I don’t know. What else do you have?”

He visits your shop every day after that, bringing you lunch and a takeaway cup of tea. You admitted to him early on in your friendship that you got so caught up in the stacks of books that you often forgot to eat until it was closing time and you were ravenous, so Harry makes it his mission to bring you lunch.

He had never been much of a cook; had never needed to with the house-elves at Hogwarts but for you, he could scrape together a couple of sandwiches and a flask of tea.

Your bookshop gets more traffic through summer due to the tourist season – people come from far and wide to walk the moors and step where the Bronte sisters once did, each imagining their own Heathcliff or Mr. Rochester. Harry hasn’t seen you happier than when you recommend a book to a customer knowing that it is the right fit. You greet every customer with a smile and give them personalised recommendations if they’re struggling with their choice.

The window display changes too. A summer scene now covers the windows and door; bright colours depict a summer sunset at the beach whilst the books recommended this season are lovingly placed on the windowsill.

Summer also brings with it the change in your relationship. A close friendship develops between the two of you; you even going so far to invite Harry over to your flat above the bookshop. Harry’s nervous as he enters your home, but soon falls in love with it.

Pressed, dried flowers decorate the walls in frames. They litter the walls in their varying sizes. Harry finds himself wandering over to them, checking if his seven years of Herbology was to fail him. Irises, rose petals, lavender – he can identify those easily. However, there are some that he feels certain that Professor Sprout or Neville Longbottom wouldn’t be able to identify.

You notice him studying your walls, “It’s a hobby of mine along with the books.”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Thank you,” You murmur, shyly, “My grandmother taught me; she loved the quote by Oscar Wilde.”

“I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a disadvantage.”

“’With freedom, books, flowers and the moon, who could not be happy?’ She lived by this quote. It’s their bookshop below us, you see, and she taught me how to press flowers and she would always find something romantic to say about the moon. My grandmother was a free spirit that even my grandfather could not tame, but why would you want to?”

“She sounds like an incredible woman.”

“She was, I miss her.”

“She’d be proud of how you’re running the shop.”

“Thank you, Harry. Now would you like a drink? I have coffee, tea, hot chocolate…”

“I’ll have a coffee please.” Harry says, sitting down on the aged couch. Your flat is a collision of personalities; he can clearly see your grandparents influence among your own decoration and it creates something entirely unique.

You come back into living room with two mugs of coffee in either hand. You give one to harry before sitting next to him. He smiles at you in thanks before asking, “What are you reading currently?”

From the way your eyes light up as you talk about your current read along with your love for your shop, Harry begins to feel himself slowly fall in love with you.

He can feel the change in the air after that night. His feelings for you are well established within him. You help him feel hope for the future; for a better world – and he wants to share that world with you. but he feels the pressure of his secret weighing down on him.

He hasn’t told you out of fear; he can’t gauge your reaction to finding out he’s a wizard and classed as a war-hero. He’s worried to tell you for the panic that it could potentially ruin the budding relationship between you.

Harry confesses under candlelight. A summer storm knocked out the power, so he helps you light your large collection of candles before lying on the floor of your flat next to you.

There’s something pure about the atmosphere, with being surrounded by tens of candles that Harry feels he needs absolution from keeping this from you for so long. He whispers his confession; tells you everything. From his birth until now. He hopes and hopes for repentance among the flickering flames of the candles.

You’re silent through the exchange; letting Harry say his piece. Giving him the chance to unload the weight of the world upon his shoulders as if he were mighty Atlas.

In the end, what Harry says makes no difference to you. You had fallen in love with him over the short time you had known him, and what he confesses doesn’t affect your feelings in any shape of form. If anything, they make them stronger for it shows how much Harry must trust you to tell you something so deep and personal.

You turn onto your side once Harry has fallen silent and is waiting for your reply. You brush a hand across his forehead, pushing his hair back, looking at the faded pink scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. “You have been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Harry closes his eyes at the feel of your hand running through his hair. He hasn’t felt like this for so long; he cannot remember the last time he had felt this relaxed and safe at the same time. He whispers this to you, “I haven’t felt this safe in a long time.”

“I’m glad I make you feel safe.”

Harry turns onto his side, running a finger down the length of your face. He doesn’t miss how you shiver at his touch. He leans in slightly, intoxicated by your very presence but he pulls away at the last possible moment to ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Your free hand pulls him in by his shirt collar, “I’d thought you’d never ask,” You laugh before pressing your lips to his.

In the few months that he has known you, he has fallen head over heels for you. You help to calm the figurative storm that rages within him. In the little flat above the bookshop he has come to adore, he whispers that he loves you.

----------------------------

Autumn:

Summer gives way to autumn and the leaves begin to fall from the trees in earnest. The world returns to orange brown. Your relationship with Harry goes from strength to strength; you’re there to help with the nightmares and the panic that paralyses him now and then. It starts slow, using the bookshop as common ground to get to know each other better.

You decorate the display windows of the bookshop, bringing in Harry to help, though he would have helped you whether you had asked him or not. “Tell me again why we’re painting the windows?” he asks.

You flick a clean paintbrush at him, “Because Harry, it is autumn and autumn means one thing: Halloween. I do it every season; spring, summer, autumn and winter.”

Harry frowns, focusing his attention on painting the outline of a pumpkin, “I’ve never celebrated Halloween.”

“You haven’t? Why?”

“My parents were killed on Halloween, and my aunt and uncle never took me trick or treating anyway.”

You step down from the ladder, placing the paint pot to one side and wiping your hands on your apron. Your hand pulls his away from the window, focusing his attention on you. “I didn’t know, Harry, I’m sorry.” You murmur, wrapping him in a hug.

“You weren’t to know,” He sighs, hugging you tightly back.

You draw back slightly, still not letting him go, “How about this: we spend the day of Halloween mourning your parents, and we spend the evening eating ourselves sick on chocolate and sweets?”

“You’d spend the day with me?”

“I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

So Harry spends his Halloween with you.

He spends his morning with you in the bookshop, stocking the shelves and reminiscing. You asked him if it would be too painful for him to talk about his parents, but he reassured you that his memories are few and far between so all he truly knows is what he has been told. For the rest of the day, he wanders between the bookshelves, telling you the stories of the Marauders.

“It would make a good book,” You gasp, breathless from laughter as Harry finishes his latest story.

“Do you think?”

“I think that if it was a book, I would definitely read it.”

Harry thinks over your words for a while. He wouldn’t ever write the book; his memories of his family are too precious for him to share with the world but he’s happy to share them all with you. As he dawdles in the shop, inhaling the comforting smell of worn leather and lavender, he thinks that he has never been more grateful for a bookshop in all his life. He feels almost whole again; your shop and you are helping to heal the ever-shrinking hole in his heart.

In the evening, he presses chocolatey kisses to your lips, interrupting you reading the same book that had started this all those months ago. You laugh into his mouth, the book falling to the side as you adjust your positions. You taste like Halloween sweets and he’s entirely addicted to it.

Harry wakes on the first of November with a clearer sense of the path he wants his life to travel down. As he watches you sleep, he knows that it involves books and you – the freedom you offer. Harry watches the sun rise across your face with a new found sense of purpose; he wants to stay here, and he wants to stay with you. He’s lived in this Yorkshire village for months, but he knows now where he wants to plant his roots.

-----------------------------

Winter:

Winter brings with it ice and snow, but it also brings with the year anniversary of his decision to move to the sleepy Yorkshire village.

Hermione and Ron begin to visit often; having not done so earlier to give Harry the chance to heal on his own. Harry introduces them to you on their second visit; you were full of nerves, but they quickly welcomed you into their group.

Hermione and Ron visit more now; Hermione having set up a book exchange with you.

The display windows have been painted to depict a winter scene; a log cabin with smoke, evergreen trees covered in lights. It looks like a perfect piece of heaven. Little did those who admired the window scene know, that his little piece of heaven involved this small corner bookshop opened each morning with love.

The time he spends in your bookshop has only increased; he tries to spend every waking moment with you, choosing to spend the nights with you in your flat above the shop.

Harry watches you as you help customers or as you dawdle aimlessly through the aisles in a moment of quiet. Your feet pad quietly on the carpeted floor and Harry can hear you hum the tune of a song so often played on the radio.

Harry has never really been a fan of books, but he is a fan of you. And he could watch you in your bookshop all day long.

***************

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @masterofthedarkness @bforbroadway @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @deafgirltingz @kylosleftbuttcheek @heloisedaphnebrightmore @harrypotter289 @sprvpti @accio-rogers @potterverseimagine @figlia--della--luna @angelinathebook @dreamer821

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bronte-deserves-better · 4 years

Text

Hi fuckers welcome to a really sad fic. I take no responsibility for what happens if you decide to read this, that's on you.

Title: and we fade in the dark

Wordcount: 2597

Summary: Bronte dies and everything is awful

Warnings: death, injury, graphic violence, blood, implied past suicidal thoughts.

Other Notes: Credit for the headcanons about how Oralie senses emotions goes to TheDarkChocolateLord on AO3.

Also, some important and necessary context for this fic: Fintan and Bronte are siblings, they were adopted by two elves called Serenel and Ramil.

A Keepsafe is a Councillor designated to protect their own safety no matter the cost so that there will always be at least one Councillor left alive to take charge in event of an emergency.

Also feat. nonbinary!Bronte

Actual fic under the cut

This was it, Oralie realized. This was the end. Whoever won the battle today would win the war- and it had to be them.

Grateful for her decision to wear more practical clothing today, she rushed through the flurry, hitting any black-cloaked figure that got in her way with her heels. Why oh why had she not taken Bronte up on their offer of proper weapons? Speaking of Bronte, where were they? Where were the rest of the Council? Over a few people’s heads, Oralie watched Clarette summon a few of her favored animal companions, reckoning the polygot would be fine on her own. Emery seemed to be doing okay as well, mostly because he and Darek had teamed up and were using telekinesis to their advantage, and Ramira was nowhere to be seen, as usual, so Oralie presumed she had fled. Ramira was by far more faithful to her job as a Keepsafe than the Darek.

Too occupied in thoughts of the others’ safety, Oralie barely noticed the blond elf in front of her until she had almost run into him.

“Why hello there, Oralie.”

That voice would haunt her dreams. “Fintan.”

“I see you and your lot aren’t doing so well.” He wore his trademark smirk, scanning the battlefield with that sharp gaze.

“I think we’re doing quite fine,” Oralie countered, knowing that to show weakness to Fintan meant death.

Fintan laughed, a snake of flame curling around his shoulders as he did so. “They all won’t be once you die.”

She stared at the fire, trying to keep her breathing level. “I’m by no means the most valuable member of the Council.”

“True, true, but you are the most loved.”

“I doubt that.”

Fintan took a step forward.

Oralie took a step backward.

And before either of them could make another move than that, Bronte was standing between them with a dagger leveled towards Fintan. “Get away from Oralie. Now.”

“What a way to talk to your brother.”

“Get. Away. From. Her.”

“Fine, fine.” Fintan rolled his eyes as he took a step back. “You’re such a protective asshole, you know.”

Bronte visibly flinched, but the dagger they had pointed at Fintan’s heart didn’t waver. “I protect the people I care about.”

It was Fintan’s turn to flinch. “Now that was just harsh.”

“Stop trying to kill my best friend and I won’t have to fight you.”

“No can do, I’m afraid. Leader of a rebel organization and all.”

“Then it comes down to us.”

Oralie could only watch helplessly as Bronte lunged forward, striking like a snake, only to be countered by a dagger of Fintan’s own. The fight ranged across the field, going right and left, back and forth, Bronte and Fintan trading blows as Oralie stood helplessly with high heels in hand, not daring to interfere in case she hit Bronte. Both of them hadn’t fought like this in years, she could tell, and they were as even a match as anything. What Bronte lacked by being slightly smaller, they made up for with precision, and what Fintan lacked in precision he made up for with strength. Watching them duel, Oralie realized that the fight should have been over a while ago. If either of the siblings dared use their ability, it would be easy enough to catch the other by surprise and incapacitate them. But both of them were holding back, only striking at each other with weapons. Determined to win- but unable to bring themselves to truly harm the other.

Thump, thump.

Oralie snapped out of her thoughts in time to see Gethen heading towards her, sword in hand, and thought quickly enough to dodge, leaping out of the way of his blow. He didn’t get her last time, he wasn’t going to get her this time either.

This time, Bronte was there, turning from their fight with Fintan to block another blow from Gethen. Their small dagger wasn’t a proper match for Gethen’s lumenite sword, but it was a blade and it did its job of blocking Gethen’s attack.

Oralie could feel determination radiating off Bronte, rough and strong like wood that hadn’t been sanded, watched Gethen’s smirk grow as Fintan’s eyes widened and his dagger, which would have been blocked by Bronte’s had they not turned, slashed across Bronte’s torso.

Oralie might have screamed. She couldn’t tell who was screaming, and for all she knew it could have been Fintan. His horror was strong enough to reach her, guilt prickling across her skin as Bronte collapsed.

“Bronte!” That was her voice this time, Oralie thought distantly, her scream ringing across the battlefield as she reached desperately for her best friend.

“Ora- Oralie.” They reached back, weakly, painfully.

Their dagger was laying on the ground next to her. Their blood was already coating her hands.

“Why?” Oralie pleaded. “Why would you di- get hurt for me?”

“Because I love you. Idiot.”

Oralie could feel Bronte’s pain surge through her, a phantom slash all the way down her chest as sticky sorrow poured across her hands, but their sentiment was genuine, the warmth of friendship radiating through. “I think- I think you’re the idiot.” She might have been crying, the sticky warmth of tears indistinguishable from the sticky warmth of love mingled with sadness. “You saved me, you saved the one who’s always been so weak.”

“Fucking nonsense. You’re- ah!” They gasped, and Oralie flinched as the pain doubled in intensity. “You’re stronger than anyone I know,” Bronte finished weakly. Their bangs fell across their face, strands of brown tinted red with blood as the rest fanned around their head like a halo but plainer.

“Bronte,” Fintan whispered from somewhere nearby.

Oralie would have killed him, if she could, but Bronte just stretched out a trembling hand. “Brother.”

“Bronte,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to!”

Bronte’s emotions shifted, damp regret scratching against Oralie’s heart like wet wool. “I was the one who failed you from the start. I’m sorry.”

“Big brother,” Fintan whispered, and Oralie’s hands were sticky with his sorrow and Bronte’s blood.

“I forgive you. I forgive you.”

And Fintan was sobbing now, that she could be sure of, the enormity of his guilt crushing her and making it hard to breathe. Was she breathing? She couldn’t be sure.

“Oralie.” Buried under waves of pain, soft prickles of concern reached Oralie, and she drew a shuddering breath as Bronte tapped her hand lightly. “Oralie.”

“Y- yes?” Her voice failed her, wobbling under the weight of Fintan’s guilt that might have been her guilt that might have been Bronte’s worry.

“Don’t let go, okay? Don’t give up, just because- just. Just don’t give up. Please. You deserve to be happy and you will be.”

“It gets better someday,” Oralie whispered, remembering what she had told them so many times.

“It gets better. Someday. Promise?”

“Promise what?”

“Promise you won’t give up.”

Oralie took a shaky breath. “I promise.”

In some corner of her mind, she was vaguely aware of the fact that one of Clarette’s creatures had thrown Gethen away from the three of them, that a familiar grief- Emery’s- was prickling the back of her neck, but all she could see was Bronte’s chest rising and falling too quickly as their breathing grow shallower.

“Good. Tell Sophie I’m proud of her. Tell the rest of the Council that I cared about them- except. Except tell Alina to get fucked.” They pressed a leaping crystal into her hand weakly. “Tell. Serenel. Ramil. My parents. I loved them. And never- never forget that I love you. So much.”

“This isn’t goodbye. This isn’t!”

“It has to be.” Bronte smiled painfully. “I’m sorry.”

And suddenly Oralie was drowning in the absence of their emotions, all the sticky sorrow vanishing from her hands and leaving only blood. “Bronte. Bronte! Please, don’t go!” She knew it was futile already, knew there was only one thing the lack of emotions could mean, but she begged anyways, holding them close like she hadn’t been able to do for Kenric. Kenric. Words and oaths and memories spiraled through her mind, leaving one final grief, which she screamed to the world. “You promised me, Bronte! You promised! You said you’d never leave, not like- not like Kenric!”

I’m sorry. The memory of those words echoed through her mind, the pain behind them tearing through any remaining numbness. I’m sorry.

It took her a moment to realize that someone was saying them out loud too, a different voice and a different sorrow clinging to her heart. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Oralie.” Emery’s golden voice was rough, the sentiment in it more real than anything he had said as Spokesperson.

His sorrow drowned her as he pulled her into a gentle embrace, and Oralie let it. It was easy to let the pain of others wrap her up tightly just like their arms, far, far easier than facing the rage and grief and guilt pooling in her chest. For once, Oralie embraced the numbness.

There was blood on Emery’s shoulder.

That was the first thing she noticed when she could notice anything but grief. The bloody spot was small, but seeping outward slowly, and just as sticky as his pain. Focusing in on his emotions, Oralie narrowed down a phantom ache in her shoulder, right over where the blood on his was.

“Emery’s hurt.” Her voice didn’t sound like hers, rough and distant. “Left shoulder.”

“Shit, nice catch, Oralie!” That was Livvy’s voice, her usual cheer strained and cracking. “Handy uh, having an empath around, I guess.”

Oralie stared at golden embroidery of Emery’s tunic, watching it slowly become stained with blood. “Yeah.” She didn’t know when Livvy had gotten here, didn’t bother to wonder.

Livvy’s worry was prickly. “I’ll fix that up, if you don’t mind moving back, Councillor Oralie?”

“Okay.” Oralie stepped back and wondered how her voice could sound so dead while her chest was rising and falling still. She was vaguely aware that Livvy was fussing, vaguely aware that Emery was sighing, but it all seemed very far away even though they were right next to her.

The next thing she was aware of was someone putting their hand in hers softly, a pearl ring shimmering on the middle finger.

“I heard what happened,” Liora said quietly.

Oralie said nothing.

“I don’t know you well, and I didn’t know Bronte well. But I hope you know we’ll all stand by you.” Liora’s concern was less prickly than Bronte’s had been, more like flannel than felt, but just as real.

Oralie didn’t know what to do with the knowledge that Liora cared enough to worry about her, had no way of discerning even what she felt about it. “Thank you. They- Bronte- told me to tell you- you and the others, that is- that they cared. Even though it didn’t seem like it.”

“Even though it didn’t seem like it,” the other Councillor repeated softly. “Sounds like Bronte.”

“It does.” Oralie’s words felt fragile in her mouth.

Liora squeezed her hand. “Don’t hesitate to knock on my door if you need. I don’t talk to people much, but I do care.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Oralie let the other Councillors shunt her around for the remainder of the day, let Emery take charge as always. Liora stuck by her most of the time, a quiet, stable presence that Oralie was grateful for, or would have been if she could feel anything but numb. Livvy tried futilely to cheer her up once or twice once the doctors had finished fixing everyone up, but it did no good. Oralie could barely process the jokes, let alone find them funny.

Finally, they were leaping home, but it seemed that Oralie’s trials weren’t over for the day. Waiting for them were the members of Team Valiant, worry apparent in their stances.

Sophie scanned the line of Councillors, not meeting Oralie’s eyes as usual. “Where’s Bronte?”

No one answered her.

Sophie’s gaze was as prickly as her fear when it landed on Oralie. “Where’s Bronte?”

Oralie couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it.

“Did they get held up? Did something happen? Are they hurt? Please, what happened?”

The anguish in Sophie’s voice broke Oralie’s heart, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

Emery did so instead, steady voice tinged with sorrow. “Bronte was killed in the fight against the Neverseen.”

“They were defending me,” Oralie whispered. “It was my fault.”

“No!” Sophie’s emotions were too many textures at once, all tempered with sharp disbelief. “Bronte can’t just be dead! They were like, a million years old! That’s not fair!”

“Our world very rarely is,” Emery murmured.

“Well fuck that all!” Sophie burned with anger, voice sticky with sadness as she turned to Oralie. “And you just- and they were saving you?”

“There was nothing Oralie or anyone else could have done,” Emery put in quickly. “I don’t know the full details, but it was a dreadful fight.”

“I want to hear it from her.”

Oralie didn’t meet Sophie’s gaze.

“Councillor.”

The world was too bright, the green of the grass too vivid for such a sad day, Oralie noted distantly.

“Oralie,” Sophie snapped, and the genuine hatred behind it was almost enough to make Oralie crumble on its own. “What the fuck happened?”

“Don’t talk to your elders like that,” Emery scolded.

“I don’t care! Bronte is dead and Oralie won’t talk and- and maybe it should have been her!”

Oralie could feel the horror and regret the second Sophie’s words left her mouth, the uncomfortable dampness of those emotions brushing her skin in the silence those words left, but regret didn’t change what had been said. Or the fact that it should have been Oralie. “She’s right.”

“No!” That was Terik, from the other end of the line of Councillors. “No, Oralie, no. It shouldn’t have been any of us. Let alone you.”

“If it came down to Bronte or me, it always should have been me who died,” Oralie whispered. “They deserved better. They always did.”

“No,” Sophie said quietly. “No. I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry! I didn’t think- it wasn’t right! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Oralie.”

Her name sounded safe in her daughter’s mouth for the first time since Sophie had learned the truth.

Oralie drew a shuddering breath. “Bronte told me to tell you they were proud of you. Before they died. They wanted me to pass on the message.”

“They- they were?”

“They were. They were so proud.”

And Oralie was crying, and Sophie was crying, and even unflappable, unshakable Emery was crying a little bit because it didn’t matter who ‘should’ have died, Bronte was dead and it was left to the rest of them to pick up all the broken pieces and try to make them beautiful again.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie whispered into Oralie’s shoulder, sadness more sticky than her tears on the already-ruined gown. “I’m sorry.”

Emery offering “I’m sorry” as a condolence.

Bronte’s last words of “I’m sorry”.

Fintan desperately apologizing for hurting them, a pained “I’m sorry”.

“I’m sorry,” Oralie whispered back, feeling the weight of the others’ words behind her own. “For everything.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry- I’m sorry for what I said.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

And they held each other and knelt on the too-green grass of Eternalia and cried until even Oralie had no more tears left. Only then did they get up, wipe their faces, and decide to go on, one way or another.

#councillor Oralie #Councillor Bronte #semp writes #sophie foster #KotLC #councillor Emery #blood tw #death tw #gore tw #angst

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

Note

While I love all the smut, I crave for drama to happen between Arthur and reader. I loved the jealous Arthur post you've written and the bits of drama in your fanfic but how will he handle if the reader is one who is jealous and it leads into a heated argument, where the reader almost breaks up with him? Or vice versa.

Okay, this was supposed to be short, but I just wrote ten pages for this. God, why couldn’t I have had this motivation in college! Anyways, hope you like it!

You’ve been at this stupid ball in Saint Denis for a little over an hour. The mayor of the city was throwing it for the Italian big suit that kidnapped Jack. You were suspicious about the whole thing immediately. Why in the hell would the man who kidnapped Jack and then returned him invite Dutch and the others to a ball? Definitely strange, but it was above you when it came to information. Dutch and Hosea explained to you and Tilly that they wanted you both to come in order to help them blend in a bit more with the crowd. Easier to pick up on contacts and potential future schemes.

You’ve always hated balls. Having to dress up, look perfect in order to impress people you’ll never like anyways. You’d take an old, dirty pair of jeans and work shirt anyday over all these damn layers. There couldn’t be a worse torture than this.

You’re waiting in the courtyard while Dutch and Arthur meet with this Bronte man. Hosea and Bill are mingling in the crowd, Tilly’s getting involved with a group of young men who seem to find her interesting. Dutch told you to go mingle as well, but that isn't your thing. You don’t “mingle”.

You head over to the banquet tables where fruits, cakes and other delicacies are being offered. You hope Arthur will come down soon. You’ve been involved with him for quite some time now and things couldn’t be going better. He’s the perfect companion. You couldn’t design a better man. His only flaw is his insecurities in himself and it sometimes tends to make him a bit jealous. Not that you mind. You get jealous when passing women eye him hungrily.

When you’re standing next to the table, you grab a glass of champagne and are about to ask the man behind the table for a piece of cake when you hear your name being called. You turn and see not Arthur, but a man you haven’t seen since you were fairly young. His name immediately springs into your mind. Benjamin Dowel. When you were fourteen, you lived in the same town as him and held a massive crush on him. He never knew this of course. Most of the teen girls in town had a thing for him, you were just another face in the crowd. But your relationship back then had been different. You were close friends through your teens until his father got a job in Saint Denis and his family moved down here. You wonder quietly how he wound his way into such an illustrious event as this.

“Y/N!” he says again, stopping from you only a few feet away. You smile and then notice his suit. White jacket and shirt, white bow tie and black dress pants. Exactly like all the other waiters.

“Benjamin!” you say, ignoring his position. “Oh my God, how many years has it been? You look great!” And he does look great. His ears aren’t nearly as large and his skin’s cleared up. It doesn’t help that he’s got a pleasant square shape to his shoulders, though that could be the jacket. He’s still handsome with his dark hair and eyes, plus his smile is still enough to make any woman swoon. It’s no surprise he’s even more attractive now than he was all those years ago.

“Y/N!” he says, gesturing to you. “You look… wow, you look great!”

You blush and clasp your hands. “Thanks. So… you’re a waiter here?”

“Yeah.” He goes on to tell you that when he turned 18, his father demanded he get his own job, so he found a position working as a waiter at the saloon, but would work events like this. He’s been doing it for nearly ten years now as it is good work and pays well enough.

For the next little while, you and Benjamin continue to talk and reconnect. You’re reminded why you had a crush on him for so long. He’s sweet, observant, funny and has an unwaverable sense of loyalty to his father. You’re constantly aware that Arthur’s around here somewhere and he’d be furious if he saw you flirting with this guy. However, he has no room to talk. You know that if Mary called on him again, he’d be off to see her faster than you could blink.

You’ve always been jealous of Mary. She treated Arthur horribly and yet he let her keep a hold of him that you’ve never been able to understand. There’s no doubt in your mind that if things went the way Arthur wanted, he’d pick Mary over you. After all, you’d seen her. She’s beautiful, smart and not afraid to voice her opinions. It’s no secret that Arthur views you as just a second choice. He’d rather have you than be alone, but Mary is still his preferred option. That knowledge has always been a sore you’ve worked hard to hide.

A reasonable amount of time has passed and Arthur hasn’t come to find you. He must be out trying to find the mayor. It’s given you and Benjamin a lot of time to chat. You ask him at one point if he needs to return to work, but he just shrugs and says you’re worth getting fired for. The two of you head off the edge of the courtyard near a nearly empty gazebo. He’s moved much closer to you than you’re almost comfortable with, but you don’t step away.

“Y/N, can I tell you a secret?” he asks. You nod. “When we were kids, I, uh, I was really sweet on you.” He’s blushing worse than you’ve ever seen and rubbing the back of his head.

You blush too. “Oh, Benjamin. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because I knew there was no way you felt the same. And we were such good friends. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“Well, you should have,” you smile. “I was sweet on you too.”

He smiles again, almost as though he couldn’t believe it. His hands come up and settle just above your elbows. He squeezes lightly and moves even closer.

“You were always pretty,” he whispers, “but now you’re damn near radiant.” He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips. It’s so sudden that you’ve no time to react, no chance to tell him about you and Arthur. Plus you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t always been curious what his lips feel like.

You’re waiting for that spark though, now that he’s kissing you. Instead, you feel nothing. Not like when you first kissed Arthur. When that happened, there was definitely something there. But with Benjamin, there’s not even the sense of remorse or guilt. Just nothing.

You pull away. “Benjamin, I… I can’t. You’re a great guy and my closest friend growing up, but-”

You’re cut off by the sound of breaking glass. The two of you turn and see Arthur stomping away, everyone else watching him, and a broken champagne glass only a few yards from you. Shit, there’s no question he witnessed what just happened.

“I have to go,” you say, squirming out of Benjamin’s grasp. You chase after Arthur, calling his name, but he doesn’t respond. You see him in the darkness heading off the mayor’s property and towards the swampy pond, its banks dotted in manicured flowers.

“Arthur!” you call again as he stops near the water. He turns to you and his eyes are angry and betrayed. Your stomach drops, but you run up to him anyways.

“Arthur, let me explain. I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean for me to see that shit, am I right?” he snarls.

“No, that’s not what I was going to say. He kissed me, not the other way around.”

“Who is that feller anyways?”

You sigh and explain how you know Benjamin. Arthur’s eyes darken further.

“So he’s your ‘what if’ guy, am I correct?” he demands.

“I… I guess so. Arthur please, what he did was the last thing I wanted to happen. You know I’d never cheat on you.”

“Do I?”

You’re taken back by his response and a little offended. “Yes, Arthur you do. You know I’d never betray your trust and I know, or at least I hope, I have the same courtesy from you.”

“And what the hell does that mean?”

“You know exactly what it means, Arthur!” you say, your temper flaring. “Don’t lie to me and say that if that Mary didn’t say ‘Oh Arthur, I need you’ that you wouldn’t go galloping off to her. We both know that’s exactly what you’d do. I ain’t stupid, Arthur.”

He glowers down at you, his jaw tight. “That ain’t fair, Y/N! You know that ain’t the way it is-”

“Yes it is, Arthur! I know for a fact that I’m better than you being alone, but if things were different, you’d pick her. A thousand times over and over again! So don’t you dare tell me that it isn’t fair!”

“You always been jealous of Mary,” he hisses. “You always suspected the worst of me whenever her name is even mentioned.”

“And have you proven me wrong, Arthur? In Horseshoe Overlook, you went tromping off to her. It didn’t matter we’ve been together for over a year, you still went to her. And then what did you do? You lied to me, said you were just going off to tell her to stop pestering you. But I know for a fact you went in hopes she’d take you back!”

“And how the hell would you know that?”

“Because I followed you, Arthur! Forgive me for being suspicious, but I had to know for sure. I know your past with her and so I doubted you were going to tell her goodbye. And guess what? I was right! You went chasing after her brother hoping that she’d see how good of a man you are and want you back again.”

“You seriously followed me? Well so much for us having a trusting relationship!” he roars.

“Yeah, I know it was a shit move on my part, but like I said, I’ve always known you’d choose her over me. I know if she ended up saying she actually wanted you back, you’d have come back to me and said things were over. I know I’m not a prize, Arthur!”

You’re crying at this point and you’re hurt and upset. Not once has Arthur said you were wrong, that you were what he wanted. You can tell by the look in his eyes he’s not planning on contradicting you either.

“It’s not fair,” you go on, more quietly this time, “for you to still be pining for Mary and for me to not have anyone else in case this doesn’t work. You have no idea how much it hurts to know you still love her and to know you’d just toss me aside so easily the moment she says your name.”

You wipe your cheeks, waiting for him to say something. His face is still dark, his eyes glaring at you. “Yeah, but I don’t go around kissin’ people from my past. Especially in front of you. What you just did hurts too, Y/N.”

His words are enough to confirm your fears. He loves Mary more than he’ll ever love you. Nothing you can do or say can change that.

“You know what, Arthur?” you finally say. “We’re done. I’m not going to compete for your affections. Not with some silly woman like Mary who isn’t even around. It’s not fair to me for you to be jealous and for me to just be okay with you wanting Mary. I can’t do it anymore.”

His eyes widen. “Y/N, no. Ya don’t need to do this.”

“Yes I do, Arthur. I’m never going to have you the way I want, so I’m not going to try anymore. It’s over. I’ll move my things out of your room back at Shady Belle.”

Before he has the chance to say anything further, you run off towards the street. You should be going back to Dutch and the others, it’d be the easiest way for you to get back to camp, but Arthur will surely be there too. You can’t bear to be around him anymore, so you wander the streets for a moment until you see the other guests’ horses lined up, waiting for their masters. The boy watching over them is napping, so you pick the horse farthest from him and canter off. You don’t care that the boy is calling and hollering for you to come back. You have to get away.

When you’re back in camp, you head immediately up to your shared room. Or what was your shared room. There, you strip out of this stupid dress and tear off the jewelry. You leave them on the chair near the table. They were gifts from Arthur; you don’t want them anymore. You change quickly back into your everyday clothes and quickly pack up your belongings.

You head outside and towards the two wagons where the other girls sleep. When you first joined the gang, there wasn’t really any room for you, so you slept under the wagons. It was actually kind of nice because it was covered from the elements and you didn’t have another person on either side of you. You stuff your belongings under the wagon again and roll out your bedroll. Mary-Beth asks what you’re doing, but you wave her off, not really in the mood to explain what just happened.

When your things are set out the way you like, you’re not really tired enough to go to bed, plus you’re still hurt and angry. You also know Arthur’s likely to come find you and want to talk, but that’s the last thing you want. You head off to the boathouse behind the manor and sit on a rickety chair you’ve seen Strauss occupying multiple times.

It’s late in the night when you hear the sounds of the coach rolling back in and Dutch’s loud voice carries over to you, though you can’t really make out what he’s saying. Your stomach tightens almost painfully as you worry about if anyone will tell Arthur where you’ve gone. An hour passes though and he doesn’t. Finally, you feel safe enough to go and try to get some sleep under your wagon.

A few very awkward days pass and Arthur still has not tried to talk to you. Now that your anger is finally gone, you feel somewhat hurt that he hasn’t. Even though it was you who broke things off, you didn’t want to. You had to in order to protect yourself, but you still love him. He must be satisfied with things being the way they are. Hell, he’s probably daydreaming about Mary, or worse, he’s actively looking for her. A letter from her came to him the day after you broke up and Arthur’s been running off to the city a lot.

The other girls try to get you to talk about what’s going on, but you still don’t really want to. Dutch has even approached you and tried to smooth things over, but you wonder if Arthur asked him to. You never saw it, but Hosea spoke to Arthur and gave him a few honest opinions, trying to help him straighten things out as far as how he felt about things.

Part of you wonders if maybe it’s time to leave the gang. Arthur is such a vital part of it, he’s involved with pretty much everything. You won’t be able to do any jobs anymore without him being involved in some way or another. You come to the decision that you’ll just go off on a hunting trip for a few days. You’ve done it plenty of times before, so Dutch won’t think anything of it. And maybe, if you end up preferring the isolation, you’ll just end up not coming back.

You pack up your bedroll but leave most of your other possessions behind. Most of them are gifts from Arthur anyways. A picture of some wolves he got from a photographer, another photograph of you and Arthur taken from a few weeks back. You feel a pang when you look at it. He looks so happy. You lay it back down and then crawl out from under the wagon, hop up onto your horse and leave. No one stops you, they all know at this point you and Arthur aren’t together anymore. You secretly despise their mixed looks of disappointment and pity. The likelihood that you’ll ever see any of them again is small.

Once you’re away from Shady Belle, you gallop north towards New Hanover. You have not enjoyed Lemoyne much. Too hot and humid. You prefer the green and blue hues of the Heartlands. The change of scenery is a welcome relief. The vast open landscape feels incredible. You realize now that you’ve been cooped up in that swamp for too long. You’ve needed this.

Game is plentiful and you do some hunting, catching a few deer and rabbits. You only take what you can carry on your horse in case you end up not going back. Right now, you don’t want to at all. It feels good to be out here on your own, enjoying the warmth and the light. No one’s around to bicker or perform mindless chatter. In fact, no one’s around at all. It’s all wonderful.

When night comes, you pitch your tent in case it rains. You stock your fire and cook some of the meat. Instead of Pearson’s usual stew, you treat yourself to a can of beans, an apple and some fresh cooked venison. Stars twinkle above you, reminding you of your newly acquired freedom.

While it’s been nice to be out here on your own and take a few steps back from life with the gang, you find yourself missing company. Particularly Arthur’s. You spent many nights with him out in the wilderness and they ended up being some of the best times. It wasn’t just that you could be as loud as you wanted while fooling around with him, but all the walls between you came tumbling down. You could be yourselves. You find yourself crying again at the thought that it would never happen again.

Somehow, you end up falling asleep. In the morning, you lie inside your tent, feeling slightly miserable. You don’t know what’s going to happen. You don’t really want to abandon the gang and Arthur, but you don’t know if you can manage to live with them and him like this. You don’t want to end up like John and Abigail, barking angrily at each other at every turn. At least you and Arthur didn’t have a kid together.

The smell of roasting coffee beans wafts into your tent. Did you make some last night and forget about it? No, you couldn’t have. You never have coffee except early in the day since it keeps you up too long. The thought that some stranger might be in your camp going through your stuff sends a jolt down to your stomach and makes you get up quickly. When you get outside, you find not a stranger, but Arthur.

He’s kneeling down next to the fire, cooking some fresh meat on your grill. From the percolator you can hear water bubbling a little and steam coming from the spout. That explains the coffee smell. Arthur looks up when you come out, his face blank. Your stomach clenches tighter. He’s probably come to finish the fight.

“Arthur, I-” you begin, feeling defensive.

“You ain’t gotta be worried, sweetheart,” he says, his eyes hidden beneath his hat. He pours some coffee into a tin cup and hands it to you. “Why don’t you come sit down?”

You hesitate and then accept his cup, sitting down on the opposite side of the fire. Having no idea what to say, you take a sip of your coffee. An awkward silence passes between you for a few moments before Arthur finally says something.

“Y/N, I um, I didn’t come here to beg you to take me back. I ain’t gonna put that kinda pressure on ya. But I did want to try and apologize, but you never gave me the chance at that ridiculous party.”

“I’ve been in camp with you three days, Arthur. You could have come talk any time.”

“I know, but I wanted to talk with you alone, but you were always with someone. It was like… I don’t know, felt like ya didn’t want me to.”

“I didn’t,” you admit. “We said our things at the party, Arthur. There isn’t more to say.”

He looks down at the fire. “Maybe for you. But please, Y/N, give me the chance to talk?”

You recognize that he’s asking and not demanding, so you nod. He sighs and rubs his eyes for a moment.

“What you said about me and Mary. Well, you were right. If she said even the tiniest word, I woulda gone to her. But these past few days without you have been tougher than all the years I spent without Mary. When she broke things off, my heart was broken. But when you broke things off. My heart wasn’t broken, it was just gone. I’ve taken ya for granted, Y/N. And you were right. It ain’t fair of me to accuse you of tryin’ to start things with other men when I’ve kept Mary in the wings for so long.”

Arthur stands up and approaches your side of the fire and sits down. He leaves several inches between you out of respect. “Y/N, I said I wasn’t gonna beg ya to take me back, and I’m not. However, if you wanted to reconsider trying again, I just want ya to know I’ll always be waitin’ for you. I’m willing to leave Mary in my past where she belongs. I guess I’m just hoping you’ll be in my future.”

You’re trying not to cry again. You know when Arthur’s lying and his voice and just his energy says he’s being as authentic as ever. Your logic is telling you to say no, to leave things off. But that’s always been your problem. You’ve always listened to your brain more than your heart, which was why you were automatically suspicious when his first letter for Mary came. Maybe if you listened more to your heart, things would be different now.

Arthur sighs again, looking away. “Anyways, I just wanted to set the record straight between us. I understand and I’ll respect your decision.”

Arthur gets up and starts walking towards his horse, forgetting the meat he left on the grill to cook. If you let him leave now, the door to your future with him will close forever. You can’t let that happen and so you launch to your feet.

“Arthur!” you wail, running up to him. He turns to be almost knocked off his feet by you throwing your weight at him. Before you can control yourself, you’re sobbing into his chest. He says nothing, but he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight and sets his chin on your head. He’s warm and familiar. You’ve buried yourself into him like this many times. His scent envelopes you, only adding to the range of emotions rushing through you.

After a few moments, he loosens his hold and pulls you away slightly, giving you the grin that shows his wonky tooth. You love when he smiles like that. He dries your cheeks with his fingers before pulling a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he says softly. You sniff and nod, feeling like you must look like a child. His hands find yours, rubbing them softly. “So… I hope it’s not too soon to ask, but-”

You shake your head and cut him off. “It’s not, Arthur. And yes, I’m willing to try again.” He smiles again and all you want him to do is hold you again. As if reading your mind, he pulls you back into his arms, letting you rest your head into the crook of his neck. His right hand settles on your lower back and his left wraps around your shoulders.

“You’re too good for me, darlin’, but I’m grateful you’re giving me a second chance. I love you.”

#arthur morgan #red dead fanfic #awkward asks #rdr2 fanfic #I'm awkward

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