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scribbleseas · 2 years

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The Indignant Pawn, Chapter XV: The Hand Of Karma

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault (once in the prologue), objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, kissing

CHAPTER WARNINGS: insinuated sexual assault, drug addiction (opioids)

Author’s Note: Happy Holiday Season, everyone! I’m sorry this was so late. Final exams and final research papers actually obliterated all of my time and creativity. However, I was determined to finish this chapter and get it out before the New Year. I hope it was worth the wait-- I’m thinking this will be the longest you will have to wait for a while. I should be able to go back to my previous semi-regular updating schedule (like every other week).

ps. i had more than half of this chapter formatted before tumblr decided to not work and deleted my progress. fuck.

Happy Reading!

- Dan

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MASTERLIST

APRIL 13TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“Ciel, what do you mean you were unaware that it is Marie’s birthday?” Lizzie’s smile faded, replaced by frustration in her eyes. In times like these, she most resembled her mother, attempting to keep a placid face despite her growing frustration. “Please, tell me you’re playing with me; you absolutely cannot be joking about this.”

When did Y/n decide to allow Lizzie to refer to her so casually? Ciel mused, but that was beyond the point. What mattered was that he now had to waste a day in celebration of a woman he had no desire to celebrate in the first place. He knew it was coming, more than aware where Princess Marie’s birthday appeared on a calendar. Unfortunately, that would be the same date as her vindictive twin, who had been impersonating her all this time.

Besides, Ciel had no way of knowing if Y/n even liked celebrating her birthday; he knew nothing about her childhood and teenage life. She could detest her birthday as he did his for all he knew. In all likeliness, he would never understand, given how closely she guarded her life’s complexities.

After all, Ciel’s birthday was the day of the fire that ruined his life, killing his family and destroying his home. The only present he received that year was a demon butler that he summoned from the pure hatred that poisoned his soul. Maybe Y/n’s birthday reminded her of the palace that was abusive enough to cause her to run away twice.

“Lizzie, what I mean is: I have much more important things to worry about. Such as keeping her alive,” Ciel replied, sighing at the drafted letter in front of him. He was in the middle of penning a response to the man he put in charge of the hiring process for all of his new steamship fleets. Each ship needed a captain, a sufficient number of workers to load and unload heavy cargo boxes, and operators to keep the vessels working. Ciel had just finished reviewing each of his manager’s selections and was writing to approve each one.

He lied, considering there was no real threat toward anyone besides himself. After all, the real Princess Marie was already dead, and all Ciel was “protecting” was her lying and bloodthirsty counterpart, sent to him as part of a ploy for his life. However, Ciel still had to remain consistent with each pretense. No one else could know the truth.

“How could you be this obtuse?” Lizzie asked incredulously, with a newfound bluntness to her words. Ciel appreciated her more for it. “It’s the woman you love’s birthday today! You cannot sit idly by! I allowed our engagement to go to rubbish; don’t you waste that by not making her feel loved!” Lizzie exclaimed, quick hands pulling the half-written letter from Ciel’s focus to force him to focus on her.

“Love her?” Ciel couldn’t fathom the idea of liking Y/n, much less loving her after gleaning the truth. It was a weakness, and if he hadn’t let himself grow so attached, he would not have needed the phone call to show him that Y/n was not Princess Marie of Schleswig-Holstein. There were too many signs that he let go because she made his heart drum in his chest with such ferocity he could hear it in his ears. “I don’t--”

“Yes, you do love her,” Lizzie said with the same gumption Ciel noted during their private discussion at the wedding. They had a similar exchange; his cousin insisted he loved the princess, and he assured her he was incapable of all love.

“One moment of her dancing with another man drove you half-mad,” Lizzie said, laughing sadly, despite the tears in her eyes. She dabbed at them with a napkin carefully. “I could only wish you would care for me that much.”

“I do care for you.”

“It’s not the same. Think about it.”

And he had thought about it.

Y/n drove him half mad with her constant mimicry and her instantaneous sarcasm. Her relentless mind that formed such witticisms and strategy that either left Ciel defeated in a game of draughts or lying on the floor, writhing in pain. She hurt him. It was her mission to hurt him.

And yet, it was Ciel’s instinct to care for her-- beyond keeping her alive. Her smile painted his world. Her lips lit a fire in his stomach. When she laughed, shivers rolled down his spine. Even worse, Ciel would smile in response before he understood what he was doing.

While it was his duty to care for both Lizzie and Y/n, he never found himself searching for ways to go out of his way and bring a smile to his formerly betrothed’s lips. Ciel never found himself thinking about Lizzie so much he felt deranged. He never would have offered an extension of his first kiss to his cousin in a fiery moment of unconstrained passion. A culmination of his frustration and the sheer depth of what he felt for the woman who both drove him beyond insanity and pulled him back into what felt like the body of a living human being.

He’d been a corpse. And she’d brought him back to life, forcing him to feel emotions he’d never-

Enough.

He’d made himself blush. Damn it all.

Ciel groaned, hiding his face in his hands. Days ago, he would never have allowed his cousin to see him so…vulnerable. But if not his cousin, who else? Ciel clearly couldn’t work through his emotions himself. Sebastian detested Y/n, and it didn’t take a genius to know why. If Ciel could feel himself changing, indeed, his soul was changing. It was brightening, and that wasn’t the sort of taste that lured a demon.

“Fine, fine,” he surrendered, ignoring his cousin’s delighted laugh. While he wasn’t sure he loved Y/n, there was some driving passion behind his feelings for her…despite her litany of deception and lies. “What do you reckon I do, then?”

A half-decent Guard Dog would do nothing of this sort. He should have been writing detailed reports of his findings over the past several months to turn Y/n into the Queen, torturing her to find the name of her employer. It wasn’t possible for her not to know. He needed to understand the whole of this ploy she’d forced him through like a pathetic chess piece.

But apparently, Ciel Phantomhive was ignoring his duties. He’d drafted that letter to Her Majesty over and over but discarded each attempt, unable to scribble the right words down. The right words to send Y/n to a probable execution.

Grinning broadly, Lizzie exclaimed, “we celebrate her birthday! You buy her a cake and presents, and make her feel like the most important person in your life, of course! I had Nadia make her the cutest dress,” she gestured to the delicately wrapped box in Paula’s hands. The pink bow atop the box bounced in the handmaid's hold.

“I will inform Sebastian to stop at the jeweler’s,” Ciel said as if he were making funeral arrangements rather than planning a birthday dinner. He shouldn’t be celebrating this woman. He should have her tortured by Sebastian until they could extract the answers they required from her: who wanted him dead, and why, and how did she survive all of this time? Was everything she said to him a lie?

Ciel was weak, and for that, unsure if he could forgive himself. But he could live with that sort of hatred. He’d lived with it every day for years. Besides, for every bit Y/n weakened him, he had the same impact on her; he was sure of it.

That being said, he had the perfect gift for Y/n; a far cry from a dress or jewels Marie would desire. Sebastian could quickly stop at the bladesmith’s while he was out. Ciel began to sketch.

. . .

Sebastian decorated the gazebo delicately, per Lizzie’s direction. Plush pink roses and vines twirled around each column supporting the roof, adding a graceful ambiance to the scene. The air smelled of flowers and sugary frosting as the demon walked the hitwoman’s birthday cake from indoors to the dining table; Y/n sat at the head, Lizzie forced Ciel to sit at her right hand, and she sat across from him. His servants filled the rest of the table, an oddity, but Lizzie wanted the celebration to be as meaningful as it could be on such short notice.

“Happy Birthday, Marie!” Lizzie was the first to cheer as Sebastian approached with the dual-layered cake decorated with intricate frosting patterns Ciel struggled to see in the dim light. A half dozen candles sat around each layer, each lit, casting an orange glow over Y/n’s face as Sebastian placed the dessert before her.

“Happy Birthday, Your Highness!” Mey-Rin, Baldroy, and Finny echoed, a little more reluctantly than Ciel would have liked. However, Lizzie failed to notice their hesitation, more fixated on the opulence of the frivolous cake Sebastian whipped together.

Y/n merely offered a strained smile in response, her eyes searching. He could tell; she was wondering why they celebrated her birthday after Ciel condemned her to her fate. She wanted to be anywhere else. She distrusted Sebastian, such was evident by the way she flinched at the miniature, yet brilliant, flames atop each candle.

Ciel had to admit, they made him a bit apprehensive as well. He focused elsewhere, returning his attention to Y/n’s skeptical expression as she listened to the exchange between Lizzie and Sebastian.

“Sebastian, this cake looks lovely! I cannot believe you’re such a talented baker,” Lizzie gushed, squinting at the complex designs, swirled eddies, and flowers made of frosting, all measured and perfectly symmetrical.

“You are simply too kind, my Lady. I’m no one deserving of such high praise; I’m simply one hell of a butler,” Sebastian simpered, basking in the complimentary glow Ciel’s cousin cast all around her. He never received such praise from Ciel simply because his ego was so inflated it hardly fit in the manor, to begin with.

“You really outdid yourself this time, Sebastian, yes you did!” Mey-Rin added, vehemently staring at her lap to avoid looking the butler in the eyes. Her face flushed red.

“Thank you, Mey-Rin,” the butler grinned slyly and bowed at the waist. He began preparing the Green Tea for the table, strategically picked to pair with Y/n’s favorite cake flavor. Or was it Marie’s favorite cake?

“It would be a shame to keep everyone waiting any longer. This cake does look divine,” Y/n puckered her lips to blow out each candle. Thankfully, the scent of smoke dissipated quickly-- it was causing Ciel’s heart rate to steadily rise. He swallowed the lump in his throat, soothing his stress with a short breath. Once again, he caught the overwhelming scent of sugar and roses.

The table broke out into applause and cheers, to which Ciel was late to engage, slowly clapping. Out of rhythm.

Across from him, Lizzie sent him a vexed look, purposefully looking between him and Y/n, who plucked each candle off the cake to keep the wax from dripping onto the frosting. She hardly flinched at any unbearable heat from touching the hot candles. A princess would have asked a servant to do this for her, unwilling to put her fingers at risk of burning.

These slight hints should have exposed Y/n ages ago had Ciel not been so utterly daft.

Wish her a happy birthday, you heartless fool! Lizzie widened her eyes at him, gesturing with her head.

Could she be more obvious? She might as well speak her mind at this point.

Ciel felt his cheeks warm as he returned his focus to Y/n, trying to create some semblance of fondness to appease Lizzie. He was a brilliant liar; smooth lying should’ve come easy, but the words died on his tongue.

With a final withering look Ciel’s way, Lizzie carried the table’s happy atmosphere. Clearly, she was the only one invested in the celebration-- Y/n looked like she was considering several exit strategies, and Ciel’s servants were still reeling from the brawl she brought to them over a week ago. She was a force to be reckoned with, indeed. Much like Finny had a bruised abdomen to show for it, the discoloration under Ciel’s eyes and wrist had only cleared up a few days prior.

“And Marie, did you know that it’s good fortune for you to make the first cut?” Lizzie asked, gesturing to the elegant, serrated knife Sebastian left aside the cake on the platter.

“I did not,” Y/n lied with a tactful smile, meeting Ciel’s eye as her nimble fingers wrapped around the knife’s handle. She was mocking him, reminding him of the damage she could do with such a blade. His stomach lurched in response to both Y/n’s sardonic look and the sense of dread that came from witnessing her with a knife.

Y/n used two hands to wield the knife handle and force the blade into the cake’s bottom tier. She made a show of pretending there was notable resistance from the layers of cake, frosting, and filling. Please, she was strong enough to nearly have broken his wrist. And his nose! Who the devil did she think she was fooling?

Be honest, Ciel. A few days ago, you might’ve been fooled.

After Y/n made the first cut into the cake, Sebastian did the rest of the hard work, cutting slivers for everyone at the table. The servants excused themselves to ‘help’ Sebastian with the cleaning.

Lizzie hurried everyone through inhaling their cake because she wanted Y/n to open her gift: a complex aubergine dress with puffy sleeves, understated and graceful. The deep shade of purple complimented Y/n’s sharp eyes.

Y/n didn’t have to pretend to be impressed by the dress; it was a decent selection. It showed ample thought on Lizzie and Nadia’s part, analysis of the deep and studious color palette Y/n favored, simple lace embellishments of the same shade, and a back that closed by a complex tying mechanism.

“I love it, Lizzie, thank you,” Y/n said, running her fingers over the expensive satin. So as not to ruin the dress, she folded it neatly in the box, for the most part, tugging a sleeve out of it to get a better look. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Nadia is brilliant.”

“I’m so pleased that you like it,” Lizzie grinned, “but I think Ciel might outdo me tonight. That’s why I saved him for last.” She smiled, but her eyes threatened him: you did get her a gift, did you not?

“I’m not sure I would say that, but I did pick something for you, Your Highness,” Ciel admitted, setting aside his pride for the sake of his plan. He needed to act seamlessly to keep his cousin satisfied and unsuspicious. If Lizzie suspected something was wrong, she would never leave and, inevitably, find out the truth. After all, he was a skilled liar, but not even he could keep his frustration at bay.

He pulled the velvet box from his pocket, the moment feeling annoying reminiscent of his impromptu ‘proposal.’ By the brief grim look on Y/n’s face, she drew the same connection but accepted the little box nevertheless. To her apparent relief, it wasn’t another ring but a pair of pearl drop earrings set in gold. Ciel didn’t know the intricacies of jewelry; he merely had his butler go to the jeweler's and pick something passable. Much like him, Y/n wouldn’t see the difference between freshwater cultured pearls from China (which they were) and glass imitation ones.

“Those are incredible!” Lizzie gushed, gaping at the earrings with approval.

“They are, yes,” Y/n agreed wryly, shutting the box with an air of finality. “Thank you,” she shifted in her chair as if she was fighting a suffocating desire to leave.

“My pleasure,” Ciel responded mechanically.

Naturally, Lizzie disapproved, watching the exchange with a frown. Of course, she was dissatisfied. And she wouldn’t leave if she was dissatisfied.

Ciel cleared his throat, “Your Highness, I actually…have another gift for you. But…I would prefer to show it to you…” it was excruciating to formulate each word. Alone. Without meaning to, he looked at his cousin pointedly.

Catching his accidental look, Lizzie took it as a cue to act. She forced a yawn, dramatically pressing the tips of her fingers to her lips. She rolled her shoulders back in an exaggerated stretch. “You know, I am actually rather sleepy,” she said unconvincingly, “I shall go find Paula…and… take my leave! Goodnight, Ciel! Happy Birthday, Marie!” She said, slowly rising out of her chair, only to scamper away when she got to her feet.

“-- Lizzie!” Ciel protested, feeling as if his cousin had left him abandoned at sea. Left adrift without a lifeboat to take him out of uncharted territory: facing Y/n in disquieting neutrality. He stood to get a better look at his cousin as she grew further from his vision, calling for Paula.

“I’m retiring for the night,” Y/n lied, finally standing. “You didn’t have to do this. I’ve never cared much about celebrating my birthday,” she took a step away, but before she could continue, Ciel stopped her, his hand nearly missing the back of her shoulder.

“I had no choice. You know that.”

Y/n turned on her heel, combat-ready by instinct. “You did. She’s only your cousin now, it’s not like you have to maintain her happiness,” she shrugged her shoulder, frowning at Ciel’s hand. He refused to let her leave before he could finish his piece.

“No, I—” he started to explain.

“You, what? Did you have more questions to solicit me with? I’ve told you everything I know about the woman. I’ve given you my bloody word, what more can you possibly want from me?” She raised her chin, daring him to challenge her.

But Ciel knew what Y/n’s word was worth; he couldn’t trust her more than he could hope to fight her and live. Besides, the Undertaker said Y/n liked to have the complete picture of everyone she worked with; a sense of their backgrounds, grievances, and why they wanted someone dead. Without knowing the whole picture, she would not take on a mission like this.

Ciel couldn’t even recall killing a natively Spanish household and leaving a pregnant woman alive. Could Y/n’s employer be lying?

“Just…” stop being so bloody stubborn and come with me. “...I decided to get you another gift. For you. Not who you pretend to be. Do you want it or shall I have the bladesmith melt it down and use the materials for something else?” Ciel demanded, letting his extended hand drop back to the side. Y/n’s mouth opened to formulate a response, but he wasn’t finished yet: “I will be waiting in the drawing room. Meet me there, or refuse. Your childishness is not my concern,” he feigned aloofness as he passed her, showing himself back inside.

Ciel would have taken pleasure in saying that he genuinely couldn’t care if Y/n joined him. He wished his ego and heart were that fortified, but if he had claimed they were, he would’ve been lying to himself.

Instead, Ciel spent the next two hours glancing at the open door, using a copy of Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil to keep himself from staring at the door like an overattentive dog.

Even worse, he wished he could say he was comprehending the German words he was reading, but that would be another lie aimed towards himself that was simply too far. Lying to someone else was excusable-- Ciel did it all the time, every day, every hour.

Lying to himself would be weak. He was not weak.

He could acknowledge that as he waited for Y/n, she was in the front of his mind. Not Nietzsche’s thinking, not his responsibilities as a good and vicious Guard Dog. No, he was wondering if she would show. If she would like his gift. What she might say.

Perhaps he was weak.

“I would’ve assumed you retired by now,” her voice made Ciel straighten his back, tense. His mouth felt dry. He fought his instinct to stand as he would have for an active royal. She wasn’t Princess Marie. He knew that, yet his muscle memory preferred treating her as so.

“I am aware of how stubborn you are. My only option was to simply withstand your thickheadedness and you would eventually surrender,” Ciel responded coolly, satisfied with the way he kept the quiver out of his voice.

“In that case--” Y/n started, turning to leave. She’d hardly stepped foot through the threshold.

“Y/n,” he interrupted her with a cutting stare. One might think he was urging her to drink a poison chalice rather than sit and open a birthday gift from him. On the couch in the drawing room…where they haven’t been together in what felt like ages. It was only a little over a week, but when Ciel thought of how things were before the phone call… it could have been a decade’s difference.

“Fine,” she snapped, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. As far as she could get.

Really? She was the one who attacked him and nearly broke his nose!

“I thought you might like something more to your tastes,” Ciel said, reluctantly offering the pristinely wrapped box to her.

“You didn’t have to,” she inspected it before tearing the paper along the taped seams as if she wanted to preserve the wrapping.

I know that; I don’t have to do anything. I wanted to. Don’t ask me why.

She opened the box to reveal a dagger, the blade sharp and forged from steel. The handle was made of white marble, its quillion sculpted into gold swirls, matching the bottom of the handle.

This was one of the first times Ciel rendered her speechless, but her face told him everything he cared to know. Her eyes were wide as she took in the dagger’s every detail. Her face reddened, matching the soft pink roses Sebastian used to decorate the gazebo. Like one of Lizzie’s gowns.

Her dexterous hands tested the dagger, determining its weight and how the handle fit in her calloused palms. Ciel would know they were calloused-- he’s had the pleasure of holding them while waltzing. At the time, he’d presumed they were callused from the harp, not the everyday labor of an acting commoner and… the general toil of murder.

“I’ve always preferred to use daggers. Ever since I started…” she began, her words something adjacent to a thank you. His neutral frown nearly cracked.

“What caused you to start?” Ciel asked before he could help himself. For a moment, Y/n looked like she was considering turning her new blade against him and slitting his throat, but instead, she merely sighed. She watched her reflection in the flawless blade, her face clear of makeup, her hair out of its sophisticated braid.

Y/n moistened her lips, finally bringing herself to look at Ciel. Her thumb caressed the handle as she spoke, describing a day that took place… five years ago. March 1888.

She was a poor 16-year-old, homeless and alone. Entirely out of stolen jewels from the German royal family, starving. It was pouring rain, and she had no other choice but to huddle under the scaffolding outside the Undertaker’s shop. Cold, wrapped in tattered blankets, watching the world continue without her.

Nobody cared about her or the other homeless children living on the streets.

“My William did not deserve this. He was a good man. A good and honest man,” a woman’s insistent voice shook. Four children and another lady around the same age accompanied her. She cradled a baby in her arms while the other woman held an umbrella over her head as they left the Undertaker’s shop.

“I know, Edith. I know. It was a terrible accident-” the other woman began, only to be cut off.

“It was no accident! Armed bank robberies are not accidents,” Edith refuted, allowing one of her daughters, presumably, to hold her hand while she used her occupied arm to cradle the swaddled infant. “William, the father of my children, was murdered. And you don’t understand what I would do to his murderers if I--” she whispered forcibly.

“Those are not Christian thoughts,” her sister gasped, “you mustn’t think of the world in such a manner. God always has a plan, have faith in Him,” she urged, walking along Edith’s two sons.

Y/n listened intently, studying Edith, listening to her. Her husband was probably William Wagner, one of the four tellers murdered in a violent bank robbery the other day. Established newspapers printed their names and obituaries alongside their portraits.

William Wagner: survived by his wife, Edith Wager, two sons, and two daughters, William Jr., John, Victoria, and Ava.

The man had kind eyes and smile lines. Y/n couldn’t imagine the loss the family suffered…any more than she could imagine letting the scum who murdered him (and the other three men) live.

Edith wanted to cleanse the world of evil, a Christian thought, and you wanted to afford a loaf of bread. And, of course, be the hand of karma. Justice itself-- if all the government wanted to do was hold prisoners in jail cells for the rest of their lives, wasting tax money on food to keep them alive. Meanwhile, they ignored the homeless children on the street, refusing them any money or food.

Y/n could dispatch bank robbers for Edith and William. And she did, that night, using a trusty dagger that wasn’t much different from the one she held in her hands. She snuck into their holding cells under the guise of being one of their relatives, wanting to say goodbye. If they knew better, their guards didn’t care enough to stop her from killing them.

Afterward, finding Edith’s home was simple. Dodging her grateful hug was not.

“I am not a senseless killer, Ciel,” Y/n said starkly, practically challenging Ciel to second-guess her. He was reluctant to. “You are the King of the Underworld. Not many people know what that means. I do, and in my professional opinion, you need not think long and hard about why someone called me to kill you.”

Ciel frowned. He thought about his Madame Red, all of the broken children he ordered Sebastian to incinerate each time his finger pressed into his shotgun’s trigger.

She was a serial killer, Jack the Ripper. They were too traumatized to ever live a happy or decent life. Every time he shot, his bullet lodged itself into a criminal.

They weren’t the same. They couldn’t be the same.

. . .

APRIL 15TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

Ciel started his work day writing a letter to Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. Y/n and Princess Marie’s grandmother. His sovereign and employer. This was not the sort of inquiry he thought he would have to pen to the Queen of all individuals, but it was more time-efficient than sending postage to Germany. After all, the royal twins’ mother, Queen Helena, tended to spend most of her time racing around Europe to open charities. Any letter addressed to Queen Helena and sent to Germany would take ages to reach her desk.

Besides, no reasonable Queen would allow her daughter to marry below her social caliber and outside the royal family. No sensible Queen. Ciel stood a fighting chance, seeing as the Phantomhive family was in Queen Victoria’s service for generations.

Ciel’s bloodline was the closest to the monarchy without genuinely being a part of it. Queen Victoria would consider how valuable the Phantomhive line might be to her family-- particularly when she was already the Grandmother of Europe. A branch of her family tree ruled every established European country; there was no tactical advantage in Princess Marie marrying another German prince.

Thus, he reached above Queen Helena’s authority. If Ciel could gain Victoria’s approval, he would be unstoppable-- no one would undermine her authority, not even her own daughter.

Ciel uncapped his pen and began to write, his handwriting pristine through balanced lines and even loops:

Your Majesty,

I write to you with a request that might seem unfounded, but in truth, it has been months in the making.

As you are aware, I was previously betrothed to my cousin, Elizabeth Cordelia Midford, since childhood. Though recently, she has opted to end the arrangement with her parents’ consent as a result of my untimely courtship.

During my time as your granddaughter, Princess Marie-Louise of Schleswig-Holstein’s supervisor and protector, I feel that my…

The ill feeling in Ciel’s stomach stirred once more, threatening to reach his throat. He rubbed his forehead in a weak attempt to dispel his forming headache.

He detested almost nothing more than expressing his feelings and asking for permission. To have to do both in one letter was almost more than he could manage.

Almost.

He picked up his pen again:

…emotions towards her have grown much more intense than I might have anticipated, from a respectful acquaintance that a guard might have to a feeling much more intense than such professionality. I feel that my connection with Her Highness has grown undeniable; to the extent there is too much intensity to deny both in public and…

Ciel hesitated.

to ourselves. While I could never presume to ask for Her Highness’s hand while she is promised to His Highness Prince Aribert of Anhalt, I do feel it is sensible of my station to first appeal to you.

As per usual, I shall only act at your will and discretion. I am your Guard Dog, and I do put my duties to the Crown above all, including my personal feelings.

With Gratitude,

Lord Ciel Phantomhive

With that, he folded the stationary into itself and fit it into an envelope. He poured wax over the envelope’s opening and pressed his family cress into the steaming liquid, immortalizing his family crest: the widespread two-headed eagle with a shield in front of it. Under this shield was a banner with the Latin for power and rule. Potentia and Regree, respectively.

“Sebastian,” Ciel said, calling his demon back from the short errand he sent him on. His butler needed to deliver his outgoing postage and this newly drafted letter to the castle. Beyond that, Ciel was impatient to reap the results of Sebastian’s trip. And admittedly, he craved a decent parfait.

Without wasting a moment, Sebastian breezed through Ciel’s office door, holding a sterling silver tray with a notebook the size of a dictionary and, of course, the parfait that occupied Ciel’s mind. The demon’s expression was as placid as ever. A surprise, considering he’d spent his morning investigating Y/n, someone he may detest more than Grell Sutcliff. Or even Pluto, the demon dog Ciel took in with the sole desire to bother him.

“Yes, my Lord?” Sebastian chirped as he put a napkin on Ciel’s desk to avoid scraping from the glass's bottom.

“Tell me about your findings,” Ciel responded, trading the stamp with his family seal for the small spoon to dig into his snack. He gestured to the notebook with his spoon as Sebastian unloaded it from his tray, placing it on Ciel’s side.

Ciel opened the notebook, scanning over the first page. Sebastian filled every line with the victim's name in chronological order. He started at the top, looking for the first name he did not directly recognize.

Cooper Finley

Amelia Dyer

Felix Keating

“Tell me about Felix Keating,” Ciel ordered, vaguely recalling the headline that appeared in the paper several months previous. Shortly before Y/n arrived at the estate. The businessman’s servant found him stabbed in the back of his carriage. Ciel didn’t mind the death, considering he was visiting London to see a play. Any commoner’s rage might have been provoked at the sight of a rich man amongst them-- Ciel had disregarded the murder.

Sebastian obliged. “Mr. Felix Keating, a prominent iron manufacturing owner. Found murdered the night of December 17th, 1891 by his longtime coachman, Horace McLaughlin. Cause of death, blood loss due to a stab wound between his fourth and fifth ribs. All of this occurred several days after a legal court found Keating innocent of all dangerous workplace and child labor charges, following the death of Margaret Calvert, a young girl working in one of his factories. Poorly built machinery malfunctioned, causing it to combust and-”

“I understand,” Ciel interrupted firmly, having no desire to hear the gruesome details of a young girl’s demise. “And her parents?”

“Yes, I spoke to them. They were quite stubborn, but eventually, they came around. The husband, Eric, confessed to everything-- meeting Y/n, attempting to pay her, saddling themselves with an alibi-”

“Attempting to pay her?” Ciel said, ignoring Sebastian’s vaguely irritated look. The demon disliked when he interrupted him.

“She refused to take the full sum of her pay,” the butler clarified. “Quite…merciful of her, considering their living conditions,” he continued, as if the compliment was difficult for him to admit.

Well, of course. They are factory workers who live in Birmingham. They could use all the money they could get. If they were affluent, they would not have had their daughter working at such a young age in the first place.

“I never requested your opinion, Sebastian,” Ciel chastised, only to further irk his butler, “now tell me about her first murder.”

While Ciel already knew about her first paid killing, one could only assume Y/n’s first murder had to be a different circumstance. No one decided to make a hobby out of slaughtering others without having done so successfully beforehand.

“Gladly, my Lord. Investigating her first murder took me to the Dowager Baroness, Lady Cecilia Wright.” The demon smiled again, the look somewhere between fond and malicious. The same expression he wore after he extracted information from certain women. Like Beast. And that nameless nun. “Though we did have a meaningful discussion, she did insist on speaking with you, my Lord.”

Ciel fought the bile that threatened to rise up his throat. “Fine.”

“I thought you might agree, so I told her we would make a private appearance at her soirée tomorrow evening.”

. . .

APRIL 16TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

When Ciel considered Lady Wright’s history, it made sense that Sebastian’s investigation of Y/n’s early life led him to her. The late Lord Steven Wright was murdered the morning of February 3rd, 1888-- four years ago and a month before Y/n’s first paid murder.

There was a suspicious amount of mystery surrounding Baron Wright’s death. From what Ciel recalled, an armed thief broke into the Wright estate, resulting in the Baron’s murder. While the paper prided itself on the specific details it published, this case was particularly vague, leading the public to suspect there was something…more to it. However, it didn’t concern the Queen, and evidently, what was no concern to Her Majesty, was no concern to Ciel.

Besides, Cecilia Wright’s estate was now a popular destination for elegant and frequent parties-- no one missed the Baron, an avaricious man known for toeing the law with technicalities. Perhaps, Her Majesty was pleased with his demise.

“You’ve put together a lovely party downstairs. People seem to be enjoying themselves,” Ciel broke the leisurely silence between him and the Baroness. She led him from the intense party to a room that seemed to be converted from an office to a sitting room. Sebastian waited outside the door because Ciel could hardly tolerate the evident flirtation between Lady Wright and his butler. It was tough to watch, and Ciel had withstood even the most gruesome sights.

“It truly is amazing when your imbecile of a husband dies and you have no children to continue his ridiculous legacy?” Lady Wright’s smile spread slowly, a little deranged. Her forehead creased as she grinned, matching the smile lines on either side of her lips. Despite being a noblewoman, her cheeks were sunken in, matching the deep bags under her tawny eyes. Her pupils practically swallowed her brown irises, making them appear like twin black abysses.

Ciel’s first instinct would have been to express his condolences for her lack of children, but her maniacal smile said otherwise.

“Everything he owned is mine. All the money, the property… I love my life,” she rambled, her gloved hands fiddling with her gold bangles until she stopped abruptly, staring into Ciel’s gaze. Her smile melted. “And I did not murder my husband to achieve this life if that is why you are paying me this visit, Queen’s Guard Dog.”

Ciel found her face disarming whether she smiled or not. Her eyes still shone with a certain lack of sanity, whether she looked like the party’s hostess or a manic killer. He straightened his posture in response to her change in demeanor.

“Of course not. I know your husband’s killer, and I know you know her as well. I wish to question you about her.” Ciel corrected her, his words causing her to relax once again. “Y/n Y/l/n,” he added to prompt her into speaking since the girl probably asked (threatened) her to keep her mouth shut.

“Yes, that was her name,” Lady Wright hummed, a hyperactive hand coming to twirl at one of the adlib strands of hair that framed her face. Her auburn hair was graying at the roots.

“Would you tell me exactly what happened the night of the Baron’s murder?

She raised a thin eyebrow, “and why would you need that sort of information? Are you meaning to apprehend her for a murder carried out four years ago?”

“Not at all. I would only like to…understand her history more,” Ciel answered truthfully. If he was to live with someone who lied to his face repeatedly, slowly reeling him into an inappropriate relationship without imagining a bullet between her eyes, he had to understand who she was. He deserved to understand who she was. In total-- beyond what she chose to disclose.

Lady Wright was unconvinced.

Ciel took a hurried breath in, growing frustrated with the Baroness. What else was he supposed to say?

I need to know everything about her. She’s an unending mystery, and I want to understand her. Put all of the pieces together. I need to justify not turning her into the Queen for who she is. I need to justify why I thought to press my lips against hers when I had a knife to her throat.

He must have looked more tortured than he meant to because Lady Wright smiled. She laughed warmly, a quivering hand settling over her heart.

“I understand, Lord Phantomhive,” her eyes sparkled. “Your face tells me everything I need to know. You love her.”

“Love is not an emotion I understand nor feel,” Ciel’s frown deepened. Y/n drove him to the very brink of sanity. He detested her, yet, he could never force himself to drive her away. Love couldn’t be this maddening. An emotion made to bring people together couldn’t hurt this much.

“My Lord. No one understands love,” Lady Wright corrected. “Stop fooling yourself trying to understand it. You must be wiser than that.”

“Fine,” Ciel mumbled, his gaze casting off to the side. “I understand.”

“Now let me tell you about the girl I met four years ago,” Wright started, sitting back in her chair. “Y/n broke into this estate through the servant’s entrance and found our quarters in the early morning. I only caught her when she started crying afterwards, wailing on our carpet…getting blood all over it.”

“And the sound of Baron Wright bleeding out next to you failed to-”

“Yes,” Lady Wright interrupted Ciel crisply, “I am a heavy sleeper. Your darling butler knows this. Now would you let me speak? Incredibly rude to interrupt a lady.”

Ciel nodded once, fighting the temptation to roll his eyes.

“I asked her why she killed him and she told me he sent men to her home and they killed someone important to her over an inane plot of land. Then they tried to…hurt her,” Lady Wright said meaningfully, her fingers returning to the gold bangle that hung around her skinny wrist. “She killed all three of them. And my husband, which I took no issue with- I was sure that the bastard was cheating on me, anyhow.”

He considered her words: three men dead, a close friend dead. From conning Steven Wright for over some land. The most common land scam in the business world was claiming to have purchased over acres within a foreign country, making a fake contract, and selling it for money before the buyer could go overseas and validate the claim made. Ciel imagined something of that caliber took place. It would have been much too easy to pull off, considering Y/n was fluent in German.

“She took me to that shack of hers and it was truly gruesome,” Wright reminisced with the same sick grin. “Four men. Dead. I had to ask my most loyal staff to help us clean. You know, I wanted to take Y/n in and raise her, but she refused me. Heaven knows why.”

Because you are 59 and wearing elbow-length gloves to hide the wounds from your opioid addiction. What 16-year-old in their right mind would want to be ‘taken in’ by you?

“And you are certain that your husband caused harm to her and killed her friend?” Ciel asked, holding onto his very last shred of hope that Y/n was a serial murderer with no motivation. They simply could not be of the same occupation because that would mean Ciel had significantly less of a reason to dislike her.

“Yes, completely,” Lady Wright answered. “Insurmountable proof of personal violation and her friend…I believe his name was…Bernard? Benjamin?” she hesitated, unconvinced by the names that surfaced to mind before her face lit up, “Baxter! Was a corpse on the floor. She was clearly distraught over the man.”

And that revelation nearly made Ciel the same level of ill that he felt when he stared into Amelia Dyer’s dead eyes. When he realized that the girl he knew as Princess Marie was a killer set to make him his next target.

Only now, he realized that perhaps…this killer might have been better than he was.

After all, Ciel dispelled evils that worried Her Majesty. Y/n worked to dispel evils that caused direct harm to the underrepresented- a pair of factory workers from Birmingham. For less than half the sum of her pay! Ciel took generous compensation from the Queen, no matter how insistently he told her he required no payment for her bidding.

Y/n was correct to say it didn’t take a lot of thinking to understand why someone might wish Ciel dead.

In truth, she was better than him.

. . .

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longlivetv · 2 years

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I posted 9,694 times in 2022

535 posts created (6%)

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Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cages-boxes-hunters-foxes

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I tagged 2,080 of my posts in 2022

#prev tags - 67 posts

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#statistics say if you go with ‘it’s time to go’ you’re much likelier to be happy with your choice than if you stay ‘right where you left me’

My Top Posts in 2022:

I am a pop-tart cupcake glitter gel pen lives up her ass swiftie and I no longer give a fuck that it’s whatever the new cringe is to actually love the thing you love I’m just here to have a good time and clown with my besties and celebrate my fave

226 notes - Posted September 22, 2022

Who else is excited for “Forbes has to release a headline correcting themselves because they underestimated Taylor Swift” season?

Old classics:

See the full post

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Is she wearing the Red ring to announce a song called Maroon by “fate”? She thinks she’s so slick

278 notes - Posted September 30, 2022

Wait.

Dylan played drums. Rina did the cinematography for the videos.

Everyone on stage at VMAs was part of Midnights.

They both knew what she was gonna do.

Fuck

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My #1 post of 2022

One of the things I love about this hellsite is that there’s no pressure to be original or create content or be artistic or funny. You can log onto this fucked up app and just vibe with the content that’s already here, and not only are people totally cool with it, it’s encouraged, and is even the bare bones action that keeps this thing alive. And sometimes that’s what you need. A chill place to just vibe, and yet still be a part of something.

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Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

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lec743 · 2 years

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The Ocean’s Kindness (FNAF Fanfic)

Beginning + Ch. 8 + you are here + Ch. 10

Summary: You contemplate the likeliness of ever getting back home and things take a turn for the worst.

Note: Hey, look at that. Not my last chapter nice. Also, there’s blood and violence in this chapter.

Word Count: 7340 words

I’m inspired to write this story by @bamsara , @paper-lilypie, and Chex_Nyx on AO3.

Don’t like reading on Tumblr, neither do others. Here!

AO3

Fanfiction

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

CHAPTER 9: HEART BROKEN

It took three weeks to get to the sight that Captain Sun said the sea glass will be. In that time, you had officially mastered being a crew member on the Crusty Waters.

You knew your knots by heart. You knew the basics of sword fighting and you were a good aim with your little gunpowder pistol. You were quick at doing your job and you don’t get knocked over by the ship’s rocking like you used to.

With your personal projects, you’ve gotten a lot better at pick pocketing with Bonnie as your competitor and you feel like you’ve improved in your personal gymnastics training. Even Happy Frog and Moon have been asking you to train them in gymnastics.

You wish your family could see you know. They’d be like, what happened to our little girl? You've gotten so much sun; you're covered in sun kisses. What happened to your hair? You looked amazing with long hair. You look so thin; have you not been eating enough? We missed you so much.

You miss them so much. As much as you’ve grown to love this world, you still want to go home. Heck, you wish you could show your new friends on the Crusty Waters what Earth is like. Show them sandy beaches, parks with trees, concrete buildings, and all the other things that they don’t have here.

You also wish you could introduce your parents to your friends. You’d love to see the stupefied looks on their faces meeting actual furries and dryads. Or well “stickmen” as they are preferred to be called. You especially want you parents to meet Sun and Moon. You’ve gotten quite fond of them, despite everything. However, you’re not any closer to getting back home than you were when your journey started.

You’ve gathered as much information about Zulon as you could but they’re just stories. All the things that they’ve done aren’t even consistent like facts. Whoever Zulon truly is, or was, was long lost and it seems to you that whatever Zulon is, or was, can only be truly known by those that they bring over from different dimensions. You can’t help but think that maybe you’ve lost your chance to connect with them or maybe you need to find a way to connect with this god somehow.

But how?

There was a rough slap to your back as the sudden shift made you hit the railing with your chest.

“What are you thinking so hard about,” Roxy asked as she leaned against the railing of the ship.

You rubbed the soreness out of your chest.

“I miss home.”

Roxy’s ears flattened to her head, “I see… Anything you miss in particular?”

You run your hand through your hair and fiddle with the sleeve of your oversized star-spangled jacket, “I miss my parents, the food, my succulent garden, and I really, really miss dirt. I never thought I could miss dirt so much.”

“We have plenty of dirt here.” Roxy said with a chuckle.

“No, no, no, no. That’s dust. I’m talking about actual dirt. Soil so brown it turns your hands black. It smells of dead leaves and cut grass and fresh rain. It makes my bones ache just thinking about being on solid ground again.”

“Wow,” Roxy said, “That does sound kind of nice,” she turned away from you to look out at the open ocean as it sparkled with the sunlight, “I wish I could have seen Zulon when it was full of trees and mountains.”

The two of you stand silently as you look over the ocean’s surface. The two of you saw a few fish sail through the sky. Probably trying to avoid a predator.

“So, any particular reason why you came over here?”

“Hmm? Oh, yah!” Roxy said as she snapped her finger-like paws, “Your boyfriend is looking for you.”

You snort out a laugh, “What boyfriend?”

“More like which,” Roxy teased.

“Oh, so I have more than one now, do I?”

“Three as far as I’ve been counting,” Roxy said as she toyed with her claws.

You cross your arms over your chest as you lean your shoulder against the railing, “Uh-hu. And These mysterious boyfriends are?”

“Monty and our two captains,” she said with a toothy smile, not looking at you as she continued to examine her claws.

You sputter, “Excuse you. I wouldn’t say that out loud around Chip. I’m pretty sure the bear has a crush on Monty. Second of all, Sun and Moon are happily together as far as I’m aware.”

Roxy side-eyes you, “How common is polygamy in your world? Do you know what it is?”

“Yes, I know what it is and the commonality of it depends. Earth’s a big world with a lot of people on it.”

Roxy pushed herself off the railing with a short, high-pitched, “Huh,” then said, “Anyways, it’s Captain Sun that’s looking for you. Last I saw him he was below deck in the supply room. I think he needs your help with something.”

You wondered what the stickman could need help with, and you also, briefly, wondered why Roxy sounded so coy.

You jog away from Roxy with a wave and said, “Okay. See you around!”

You grab a lantern near the entrance of the staircase leading below deck, but you don’t light it until you’re at the supply room. A side effect of sleepless nights and wanting to walk around while bored, is that you’ve managed to memorize the entire enteral layout of the ship.

Just as you lit the little lantern you hear crates falling and a string of curses.

You run in to find Sun sprawled on the floor with a tipped over lantern by his head, and crates on him.

“What are you doing here,” Sun shouted in surprise at the sight of you.

“Don’t worry! I’m here,” you shout in a panic as you first pick up the turned over lantern and smooshed any stray embers that escaped it with your bare feet. Then you got to work on getting the crates off Sun.

“Sun, are you okay? Are you hurting anywhere? Do you need Mr. Hippo to look at you?”

You grunt and strain as you move the heavy crates off the solar themed stickman.

“Don’t worry. Most of the crates landed on my chest and stomach. I’m mostly wood there,” Sun said cheerily, “But seriously why are you down here?”

“Roxy said you asked for me,” you explained, a little confused by the question.

Sun mumbled something under his breath, but you were too focused on getting him out from under the pile of crates to pay attention.

You get the final box off him and you grab his out reaching hand, pulling him to his feet.

“Easy,” you say, worried that he’ll faint or something. It’s just occurred to you that you wouldn’t know how to care for your crewmates if they got hurt. You’ll need to fix that.

“I promise, I’m fine,” Sun said as he held and patted your hand, “I wouldn’t have been down here for long even if Roxy hadn’t sent you.”

“That doesn’t exactly stop me from worrying, Sun,” you didn’t catch his smile as it disappeared when you asked, “What happened? What are you looking for?”

Sun let’s go of you and clears his throat, “Oh, uh. I was uh, looking for some spare parts for theeeeeee… Rebreather!”

“I thought it was fixed?”

“It is! It is! It’s just, uh, I want to have extra parts close at hand for incase. We don’t want our diver to drown while they’re down there,” Sun stated.

“No, we don’t. Did you find the extra parts?”

“Not yet. They’re somewhere in one of these top crates.” Sun gestured to their surroundings. “I tried climbing them, but as you can see, it didn’t go well.”

“Yah, this place feels like an OSHA violation waiting to happen,” you state looking through the shadows at the strapped down but precariously stacked crates.

You go over to a stack and start climbing up it.

“OSHA? What’s OSHA?” Sun asked as he started going through the crates that fell on him.

You explain what the organization is about to the best of your abilities, but Sun got the general idea.

It takes a few crates, but you open the right one and get out the parts Sun said he wanted for the Rebreather. As you climb down with the goods, you see Sun hastily putting something into his inner jacket pockets before slamming the crate lid back onto the crate. Then he quickly turns to you, looking nervous.

You raise an eyebrow at the man. You think very highly of your Captains at this point. So, you don’t think that whatever secrets that Sun’s trying to keep from you is malicious in any way, and you don’t question him. You just give him a look that you hope reads as, you’re terrible at being sneaky.

Sun gives you a nervous smile in return as the flower petal-like sunrays around his head are pinned to his head, then he asked, “Got it all?”

“I sure do. Don’t forget our lanterns,” you reminded him.

“Of course,” Sun said as he grabbed them and followed you out, “Honestly, I’m sure we don’t need these, with a smile as bright as yours.”

You snort at that.

“What, don’t you believe me?”

You roll your eyes heavily since your back is to him, and you said, “No. No. I believe you. I just laugh when I get complements.”

“Well, you have a sweet sounding laugh and I could listen to you talk all day if you’d let me.”

“Uh-hu.”

“And your singing voice. It’s ethereal and lovely.”

You snort at that.

Sun kept laying on the complements, like a child covering a cake in three layers of frosting, as the two of you walked up to the deck.

You sneezed from the sun shining in your face and you said, “Okay. Okay, Captain. I’m drowning in complements and I’m not a good swimmer.”

You look over your shoulder at Sun’s silence.

The lanterns were put away and he has a hand on his round chin as a smile was slowly stretching over his face. A twinkle of mischief was shining in his sky-blue eyes.

“What was that saying you’ve used before,” he thought for a moment, then he bent down so he was eye level with you, “Get good, scrub. Cause, I ain’t stoppin’.”

You snort so loud you sound like Orville when she sneezes. You’re wheezing, you’re laughing so hard. That phrase sounds so foreign coming out of him, you couldn’t help but cackle as you walk over to the diving team by the Rebreather.

Sun was walking to his cabin as he looked too smug for saying something so silly.

You were still laughing as you placed the extra parts by Happy Frog as he was giving the rebreather a once over.

“What’s got you all giggles and smiles,” Monty asked, “Not that I’m complaining.”

Through your laughter you see that Monty isn’t in the rebreather suit and you stop laughing to say, “You’re not going under?”

“Nope,” you hear Freddy say. You turn to follow his voice as he walked around the Rebreather and gets behind you, “I’ll be going down this time.”

You grimace at the thought. You don’t like seeing anyone going into the depths of the ocean, but you were at least used to the idea of Monty being down below. This was your mentor and one of your best friends. You really hate the idea of him being by himself on the ocean floor.

Freddy smiles at you and pats your head affectionately.

“Come on now. The process is perfectly safe,” the orange/brown bear reassured you.

“Mmmmmmm,” you grimace.

“Will it make you feel better if you hold onto my lifeline?”

“Not really, but it’ll be something,” you state as you stuff your hands into you coat pockets and smooth your fingers over the sandstone carving with your right hand.

You helped the diving team prep the crane and you watch Happy as he gave Freddy’s suite one last look over. One of the crewmembers that you don’t know the name of, a wolf, was on the elliptical bike that pumps air into the suits and was pedaling at a strong but steady pace.

Freddy got hooked up and then he hopped onto the stone tablet. Monty and Chip raised him and the tablet into the air and moved it over the side of the ship. You held onto the lifeline dutifully as you watched him sink below the waves.

Before Freddy fully disappeared below the waves, he gave you a short wave with the pickaxe in his left hand. You wiggled your right hand’s fingers at him in a nervous wave.

In an attempt to calm your nerves, you sang Abba’s Dancing Queen to yourself.

You had repeated the song four times before you felt Monty slap you on the back.

“Relax, Cher, he’s fine.”

“I won’t relax until the job’s done,” you state stubbornly.

You felt the rope in your hands being pulled and you tell Monty it’s time to bring up the load.

Chip and Monty huffed and puffed as they struggled against the weight of the sea glass and the resistance of the water on it. When it broke the water’s surface, your eyes sparkled at the sight. It was so shinny! They even had a rainbow-hologram like affect to them. The little magpie part of your brain wanted to steal and horde the rocks, but you resisted.

You watched Monty, Chip, and other crew members unload the platform and then take the supplies below deck. Then Monty and Chip got to work on lowering the platform back into the water.

Later, Bonnie came over to relieve the wolf of bike duty when the third load of sea glass was raised and then unloaded. You were looking out to ocean when you noticed a little dot in the distance.

“Hey, Happy?”

The light-green frog man walked over to you, “Yah, Tiny?”

You side eye the frog. He’s literally only once inch taller than you.

“Is that a ship I see?”

You point with your face as you don’t take your eyes off the dot.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Happy pull out a spy glass from his pants.

“It is. And they’re waving flags for trade,” Happy said, then he yelled over his shoulder, “What do you think, Bonnie? We want to trade with anyone?”

“We could use more rope,” Bonnie stated as he huffed and puffed from the bike.

Happy grabbed the rope from your hands, “Will you go tell the Captains about this.”

You nod and run to the captain’s cabin. You knock on the closed door.

“Who is it?”

You say your name but before you could say anything else you get spooked by a loud bang and a string of curses.

You stand uncertainly outside their door until Moon opens it. He held the door close to him like he was hiding the inside of the cabin for some reason.

“What can we do for you Starlight?”

“We spotted a ship in the distance waving trade flags. Bonnie says we could use more rope, do we need to wave some flags too or what?”

“Oh! Mmm…What other flags were up?”

You shrug.

Moon walks out and closes the door behind him as you back up and start to follow him.

“Where did you see the ship?”

You tell him and lead him over to the diving team. Once the two of you were standing by the railing with Happy, Moon got out his personal spy glass and looked at the boat.

“Oh! It’s one of Eclipse’s boats! We’ve traded with her crews before. She’s also a stickman captain,” Moon added with a small smile.

You smile at Moon’s restrained excitement.

“Someone go tell Chika to fire the cannons to get their attention. I’ll go get the flags.”

“I’ll tell her,” you say as you dash away.

After telling Chick about the trade, you had time to hide. Your hiding spot in the captain’s cabin was a no go it seems for the time being, and it’s too hot to stake it out in the crow’s nest, so you go to the crew’s quarters and hide under Chika’s bed. Honestly one of the best places to hide inconspicuously. Who’s going to go around the ship looking under beds?

Thirty minutes later, after you’ve hidden yourself, you hear the bang, bang, bang of the cannons going off and you settle in to take a nap.

# # #

Sun got excited when Moon told him that one of Eclipse’s ships will be coming up for trade.

Sun hopes that this ship will have Eclipse on it and not one of her old first mates. If it’s Eclipse, Sun was tempted to convince Moon to introduce you to her. With your permission of course.

If not, then at the very least he’ll get some extra little shinnies to add to the necklace he and Moon are making for you.

As per protocol, Freddy was called up to stop mining for safety’s sake as the Dying Light got close enough to send out rowboats.

Sun used his personal spy glass to look out to the ship and the little rowboats. He saw a blue bunny was on one of the rowboats. Her ears were hidden by her captain’s hat. A black wolf and a brown fox rowed her over, as she waved at the crew of the Crusty Waters.

Sun sighed, “Awe, It’s Bon Abell.”

“Well, don’t look too disappointed,” Moon teased.

Sun put away his spy glass, “Wh-I’m not-Of course I’m happy to see Bon Abell,” then in a pouty voice Sun added, “It’s just we haven’t seen Eclipse in a while, and I wanted to tell her about Starlight.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Moon stated with a comforting pat on his partner’s shoulder.

Sun sighed, exasperated, “I know. I know.”

“Want me to start welcoming them aboard, Captains,” Freddy asked from his seat by the Rebreather.

“No, you relax,” Moon stated, “You need to recover from your time under water. Orville!”

She trumpeted from the other side of the deck; she was in the middle of mopping.

“Start the Welcome!”

“Right away, Captain Moon,” she said gleefully as she dropped her mop and started running to do the job.

Rope ladders were thrown overboard. More rope was used to tie the trade goods and to then be lifted on board. Then rowboats were tied into place against the ship.

The crew boarded from the rowboats, with their weapons at their hips. It’s not such a strange sight to see as the crew of the Crusty Waters were also armed, and the two crews started to converse and gossip.

The blue bunny, Bon Abell, was beaming at the sight of Moon and Sun, in very much the same fashion a parent who hasn’t seen their kids in a long time would do.

“Oh, look at you two,” she said with a soft gravelly voice, “You two haven’t changed a bit!”

She grabbed Moon and Sun’s hands.

Sun and Moon squeezed her furry paws.

“We age differently, Bon Abell,” Sun reminded her, playfully, “Is your memory going in your old age.”

“Oh, hush, you! Let an old bunny admire her old charges.”

“Even in your old age, you’re as beautiful as ever,” Moon stated.

“Oh, Moon, my silly boy. You always have such a way with words,” the blue bunny let go of their hands to cup Moon’s face. Moon bent down to allow her this. Sun watched on in amusement.

“How are you two doing? Are you staying healthy? How much trouble have you two been getting up too?”

Sun and Moon side eyed each other, then Sun said, “The normal amount of trouble.”

Bon Abell chuckled as she let go of Moon’s face then went to hug Sun, “That’s good to hear. Have either of you seen Eclipse lately?”

“No. It’s been a while,” Moon stated.

“I see, that’s too bad,” Bon Abell said as she patted Sun’s back to end the hug, “Let’s get to work then, shall we?”

Sun and Moon asked how the Dying Light 2 was doing and how she and her crew were fairing. They asked what she’s seen and what she’s been doing and what she’s learned. She answered their questions and asked the same of them as they went over what they wanted to trade.

The two captains got their extra rope, and dried fruit, and soap, in exchange for their extra dye, dried fish, and small shards of the sea glass they have mined so far. Moon and Sun even saw Bon Abell’s personal collection of seashells, and they paid using their quartzers for those. They wanted to add them to the necklace they were making for you.

Bon Abell and her crew were taking their time reloading everything back onto their rowboats, but Sun and Moon didn’t mind. This was their old friend and second closest thing to a mother figure they had, not counting Eclipse. Any time spent with Bon Abell is a good time.

The blue bunny was talking about her adventures and Moon and Sun were nodding along, happy to listen to her, until she brought up something they were hoping wouldn’t be brought up.

“Have you heard about the rumors of the new creature?”

“New creature,” Moon asked hesitantly as he and Sun shared a look.

“Aye. The legendary beings that, by Zulon’s “grace”, are brought to our world and destroys everything? I heard we have a new legend in our waters. Makes you wonder what kind of monsters we’ll have to face with this new creature huh?”

“Not all of Zulon’s creatures bring destruction,” Sun timidly added.

“Hmm. Could have fooled me. I swear, Zulon’s only out to end us all,” Bon Abell stated.

Sun saw Moon frown heavily at that.

“What’s changed your mind?”

Bon Abell turned to Moon, slightly confused, “Hmm?”

“You’re the one who made me think of Zulon as a lonely creature with your stories, why do you think our planet and god is out to get us?”

Bon Abell sighed sadly, “Oh, my silly boy… Life has a way of wearing you down, like winds on a sail. I don’t believe in Zulon’s innate kindness anymore.”

Sun and Moon looked at their old friend and Mother figure with a heart wrenching look.

Bon Abell patted Sun’s forearm, then said, “Don’t worry so much about me. I’m working on making things better.”

An unfamiliar voice shouted over the casual chatter of the two crews, and he said, “I found it!”

A brown fox was holding up your unconscious form for all to see.

Sun and Moon were frozen at the sight. Then all around them they heard the sound of pistoles being loaded and they looked to see that the Dying Light 2’s crew had their weapon’s drawn and pointed at them and their crew.

Sun and Moon turned to Bon Abell, and she had a pistol trained on each of them.

She met Moon and Sun’s shocked looks with a soft motherly smile.

“Now boys, I thought you were in only the “normal” amount of trouble.”

Sun looked to Moon as Moon asked, “Bon Abell. What’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

“Well, I’m going to give that thing to the Agony Cult, and then it’ll do its evil little thing, and hopefully I’ll be able to kill two fish in one barrel.”

“You’re in the Agony Cult,” Sun shouted in disbelief, “You hate the Agony Cult!”

“I’m not in the cult, and I promise I still do hate them, Sunny, but there are a few things that I happen to agree on, with them,” she sighed, “For now, if I pretend to work with them, they’ll destroy themselves from the inside out when I give them the creature.”

“You and Eclipse wanted nothing to do with them! What would Eclipse think,” Moon asked.

“I think that they have no say in the matter, since they’re dead.”

Sun was reeling from that. What does she mean Eclipse is dead?

“No she’s not,” Moon disagreed vehemently.

“Yes, she is. I killed her myself.”

“No!”

“I’m sorry, Sunny, but it’s true.”

“If it was true, then you wouldn’t have asked if we’ve seen her! You know she’s too stubborn to die,” Moon spat as he stomped closer to Bon Abell.

Bon Abell cocked the hammer to her pistol and aimed it at his soft chest. Moon halted in his angry stride.

“Don’t make me kill you two. You’re just as much family to me as Eclipse was. I honestly had hoped she would have joined me instead of fighting me on this.”

“Please don’t do this Bon Abell,” Sun pleaded, “We can talk this out. Don’t take them away from us.”

Sun watched Bon Abell’s aged face scrunch up in concern.

“Does the monster have you under its spell, Sunny?”

“They’re not a monster!” Moon growled.

“They’re our friend, and a valued part of our crew,” Sun stated.

Bon Abell shook her furry blue head at them in concern, then she yelled, “Brutus, bring it over here! And nobody make a move, or we will shoot!”

The brown fox walked through the crowd with your unconscious body dangling from his one arm. Sun didn’t know if they hurt you to make you unconscious or if they found your hiding spot and you were asleep. Neither prospect was good since you’re such a deep sleeper.

The brown fox stood before Bon Abell. She holstered one pistol and then she lifted your head by your hair. Your face was relaxed, and your mouth was slightly open. You were dusty, Sun could tell by the line your drool was making down the side of your cheek.

“This flabby, almost furless, creature is only using you two and your crew. It’s biding its time until it can unleash its horrors to our already ravished world…” she trails off as she lets your head drop as she touches the star-spangled jacket you’re wearing.

“They’re not like that,” Sun defended you, “You don’t even know them.”

“And do you know them? Truly,” Bon Abell asked, a stern look on her face.

“Better than you do,” Moon stated.

“I made that jacket for you,” the blue bunny changed the subject, “I can’t believe how much it has you two around its little fingers.”

“Please. Bon Abell, please. Just talk to them. They’re a good person,” Sun pleaded, not wanting to fight her but also not wanting to lose you.

“These things never bring anything good!”

She roughly grabbed you by your round ears to lift your head. You spasmed in the brown fox’s grip and your eyes flew open.

Bon Abell jumped back at your awareness.

You threw your legs up and over the brown fox’s shoulder and hooked your ankles around his neck. Then using your body like a spring, you slipped out of the brown fox’s hold around your waist and front flipped to your feet. Toppling the fox overboard in the process.

You then flung yourself at the bunny as you wrestled to get the other pistol out of her grip. A shot rang out in the air as the two of you fought on the ground. Seconds later, the whole ship was fighting. Shots were being fired, and swords were clashing as people yelled battle cries over each other.

Sun and Moon moved to help you, but they were immediately distracted by a chicken and a wolf coming at them with swords. The two captains immediately drew their own swords and defended themselves.

# # #

You had no idea what was going on but the danger you felt was real and instinct kicked in. The blue bunny holding a gun out at Sun and Moon was a threat you had to end. Granted, not your smartest move, but suddenly being awake doesn’t make the brain work all that well.

You’re on top of the blue bunny. In your panic you can only assume that they were here for you, and you had to get them off your ship. Your first step being, getting rid of their weapon.

The bunny is stronger than you and she manages to knock you off her by headbutting you in the nose.

You see stars as you fall on your ass.

You look up to see she’s getting back on her feet and is about to train her pistol at you, but you’re close enough that you can kick her legs out from under her feet.

She falls heavily on her stomach, her head bouncing off the railing before hitting the deck.

The pistol falls out of her grip, and you grab it and throw it overboard.

You could have kept that… Damn it, bad instincts.

You look back down at the blue bunny and she’s pulling out another pistol.

Panicked again, you hop onto her back and grab her pistol holding hand with both of yours, trying to slam it out of her hands to get rid of it.

The blue bunny’s other hand was reaching around for you, clawing at your leg, stomach, back, and thighs as she tried to get you off her.

She scrambled to her feet, and you wrapped your legs tightly around her waist as you held on to her pistol holding arm, working on forcing her fingers off the weapon one finger at a time.

With a hop, the blue bunny fell hard on her back, on to you, crushing the air out of your body, but you still held on tight even if your attempts to grab her pistol had slowed.

As she was getting back up onto her feet again, still clawing at you and twisting to get you off her, you continued to hold on tightly with your legs and hands.

She fell on her back once more. Then she ran backwards until she slammed you against one of the masts. Still, you persisted. Never letting go. You know what it feels like to be in pain and to have the breath knocked out of you. You’ll get your breath back, just focus on the task at hand.

The blue bunny was doing more damage to you the longer you were on her. So instead of forcing the gun out of her hand, you changed tactics.

Making sure the gun was aimed for the air, you wrapped your finger around her furry finger, and the trigger, and pulled it seven times. You spin the barrel after each pull of the trigger, and you made sure that it was empty.

The blue bunny pinned you against the mast as she started elbowing you in the ribs.

You let go of her arm to then grip her ears and you pulled. A pained scream filled your ears as she hit you harder in the ribs.

With her chin up you wrap your arms around her neck and squeeze with all your might, and for extra measure you squeeze your legs around her waist just as hard.

Her claws dug into your forearms as she scrambled to get you off her.

You could feel her trying to force her chin under your grip to try and bite you, her buck teeth grazing dangerously close to your skin, as she ripped at the flesh of your arms with her claws.

You don’t let go.

She falls backwards and lands heavily on you again.

You don’t let go.

She manages to get your left forearm into her mouth, her bucked teeth pierce through your flesh, but you shove your arm farther into her mouth and you tighten your right arm’s grip around her neck.

You don’t let go.

You feel her starting to slow down.

Still, you don’t let go.

Then you’re seeing stars. You feel the weight of your opponent leave you and you scramble back to get away. Your head aching and ears ringing with the sound of fighting around you, you look back to see a black wolf with a sword in hand, helping up the blue bunny. She was red with your blood, making her dyed blue fur look almost purple.

“Look out!”

You look towards who was shouting at you and you manage to dodge a swing from a sword as a toad has started to try to impale you.

“The cult never said you had to be alive,” she croaked.

You trip and dodge away from the sword slashing toad.

There was a blood thirstiness in the toad’s horizontal pupils as she chased you across the deck as you two dodged other fighters. It was like the idea of you dying by her sword excited her.

You trip over a pile of rope as she swings down her sword at you.

You lean into the fall, and you do a backwards somersault, and you grab some rope as you get back onto your feet. For a few merciful seconds, the toad’s sword is stuck in the wood of the deck.

With the rope in hand, you charge forward and wrap the rope around their feet. Making them fall to their stomach and on their face.

Now you’ve only seen this in movies, but you hog tied the toad to the best of your abilities, using the bowline knot you learned from Freddy. Then you left them squirming on the deck as you wrenched their sword out of the deck. You gripped the handle of the sword between your teeth, and you climbed up the nearest jacob’s ladder.

Once you were on one of the lowest booms, you looked out across the deck.

You saw Chika and Roxy, back-to-back near the entrance to the lower levels of the ship. Chika had a pistol in each hand shooting down people from halfway across the deck and Roxy had a dagger in each hand with blood on them and on her jaws as she attacked anyone that got too close.

At the stern of ship, you saw Pigpatch and Monty, hold out in a shootout, with a white bunny and a gray elephant. The two of them seemed to be holding their ground as they hid behind the barrels of left-over beer from the slumber party. They looked like they were having fun.

You saw Foxy fighting with a yellow chicken in a very heated sword fight. You thought Freddy was good with a sword but watching Foxy move was like watching a ballet recital. Him and the chicken were extremely focused on each other, and no one bothered to try and interrupt them by taking a shot at either party. Probably an unspoken politeness rule or something.

At the beak head of the ship, you saw Sun was fighting with Freddy. Sun was using his pistol and Freddy was using his sword. Sun would shoot the targets that were farther away, and Freddy was push back and stab anyone else that got close.

In the middle of the deck was Chip, Bonnie, Mr. Hippo, Happy Frog, Orville Elephant, and everyone else as they were fighting the main bulk of the invaders.

You noticed that someone was missing. You look desperately across the crowd. Then over at the bow spirit, the pointer of the ship, you see that five invaders have cornered Captain Moon and they were slowly pushing him up the bow spirit. They were fighting him and trying to trip him up, so he’ll fall into the water.

You scramble to the highest, and closest point on the mast. Then you find a nice, long, sturdy rope and you cut it. You make sure the other end of it is secure and you take a moment to steel your nerves.

Breathing through your nose with the sword still in your mouth, you talk out loud.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Zulon, but if you can, or I’m just going crazy, let me help my friends. Some kind of divine intervention would be great cause I don’t know what I’m doing!”

With that you do a running start, and you fling yourself off the highest point of the boom on the mast. You’re free falling, then the rope snaps with tension as you slide a bit down the rope, giving your hands rope burn. You swing at an ark and you’re heading towards the crowd that has Moon cornered.

“Head’s up!”

The five intruders and Moon turned to you.

You reach out a hand towards Moon.

He grabs onto you and falls with the swing of the rope as the two of you make your temporary escape away from the onslaught.

You laugh manically through the sword in your mouth.

“I can’t believe that worked!”

“Pay attention!”

The two of you make a rough landing on the roof of the captain’s cabin.

You spit the sword out of your mouth, and you immediately start rambling, “Captain! I’m so sorry this happened! I should have found a better hiding spot! How do we know we’ve won or when the battle has ended? I’ve never had to do this before!”

“You’re bleeding,” he said as he made to tear off his shirt sleeve.

You put your bloody hand on his hand, “Not now! Moon! Please! What do we got to do?”

Moon looked solemnly to the ground as he tried to speak, lost his words for a second, then said, “We’ve got to kill the captain.”

“Okay, well, is there another option? I’d rather not kill anyone.”

“They’re killing our people or at the very least they’re trying to. We have to kill her. She’s giving us no other option.”

Shots rang out and you feel a searing heat in your right side. You grip yourself and look down to find that you’re now bleeding through your star-spangled jacket in your kidney area. God, you hope you’re not actually shot in your kidneys, going pee will suck in the future if that’s the case.

The two of you turn to see the blue bunny that you were tangled with before, aiming her gun directly at you. Your blood still staining her front. She’s not shooting more at you or at Moon even though she could. In fact, she’s looking directly at Moon, like she expects him to do something about it.

“Okay, you’re right. She’s not giving us a choice,” you said through gritted teeth as you staggered to stay on your feet.

You feel Moon’s strong grip on your shoulder.

“Stay here.”

“What about—”

“That’s an order,” he said as he took your sword from you.

Now with a sword in each hand, you watched him run off after the blue bunny as she stood her ground against Moon and as she drew her own sword.

You can tell by Moon’s stance that he doesn’t want to do this. You feel like there’s a history here that your missing, but it’s too chaotic to do anything about it.

You crouch at the edge of the captain’s cabin’s roof as you press your left hand to your bleeding side. You stay ready to jump, just in case you find an opportunity to help.

The blue bunny had her sword pointed straight at Moon’s chest as Moon had one sword pointed to the ground and the other pointed at the bunny woman’s chest. The two swords’ men started circling each other on the deck.

“See what happens when other worldly creatures come to our world. They always make a mess.”

“You don’t get to blame Starlight for this, Bon Abell.”

The blue bunny scoffed, “You’ve given it a Stickmen name? I thought I taught you better than to give names to pets that you can’t take care of!”

The two of them clashed. If it was nighttime, you’re sure you would see sparks.

As you watched them fight, you got the sneaking suspicion that they’ve fought before, but never like this. You kept your eyes glued to the sight before you, hoping that your crewmates had your back if they saw anyone trying to take aim at you.

As you watched them twirl and slash at each other, in the beginning, you thought that with Moon having two swords, he’d be at an advantage, but the longer you watched, the more you realized that Moon needed the two swords to be on even ground with the bunny woman.

The blue bunny moved with a calm swiftness that contrasted against Moon’s more nervous and slightly sloppy movement. Moon kept attacking her, as neither gave up ground, but it was obvious that the blue bunny was playing with Moon.

“Oh, my silly boy, have you not been practicing your sword fighting like you should,” the blue bunny asked like a disappointed mother.

It made your skin crawl hearing her talk like that to Moon, or maybe you were becoming cold from blood loss.

“Shut up!”

Moon slashed at her. She parried with ease and counter attacked. She looked like she was putting more force into her swings, pushing Moon backwards.

You nervously shoved your free hand into your jacket pocket, and you felt the sandstone carving in your pocket. You smoothed your fingers over the carving of the Zulon’s heart nervously.

A realization struck you as you look down at yourself and you pulled out the stone carving. You could throw this at her as a distraction.

You hear a clang.

You look back up. In that short amount of time when you weren’t looking, the blue bunny had managed to get Moon sprawled on his back with her sword to his chest.

Moon still had a sword in his hand, but all the bunny woman had to do, to kill your captain, was push forward in one swift motion.

Well, not on your watch.

# # #

Tears pricked at the corners of Moon’s eyes as he looked up at his old mentor and mother figure. Him and Sun never thought this could happen, that someone that they thought was family would turn around and hurt them.

“I’m sorry things had to turn out like this,” Bon Abell said, a genuine look of hurt on her face, “I’ll make this quick. Thank you for one last game.”

There was a sickening smack of stone hitting bone. A round disk fell next to Moon’s shoulder and broke. Disorienting the bunny woman.

Moon took his chance.

The lunar being smacked aside Bon Abell’s sword than he pushed his own up and into her heart.

Moon held onto her. Embracing her for one last time, pretending for just a moment that this was a warm and welcoming moment.

Everything was still as he slowly lowered her to the ground, pulling the sword from her chest.

Moon looked up and around as he saw everyone looking at the two of them.

Moon looked back down at his old mentor and closed her empty eyes.

Standing back up he said, “Get off my ship. And take your dead captain with you.”

A black wolf walks up and lifts Bon Abell’s corpse. Then one person after the other, the crew of the Dying Light 2 boarded their rowboats and went back to their ship.

The crew of the Crusty Waters opened their sails and moved away from the Dying Light 2. Moon watched as Bon Abell’s ship got smaller in the horizon until it disappeared. Moon jumped a little when he felt Sun’s grip on his shoulder. The lunar themed stickman let his gaze linger a bit longer on the horizon before allowing his partner to turn him.

Sun was already crying.

The sight made Moon’s floodgates open.

The two stickmen embrace each other as they mourn their loss.

#pirate au #alternate dimension #fnaf #fanfiction #chapter 9 #y/n

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fortressofserenity · 8 months

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It Would’ve Worked Better In Another Form

Somebody on Tumblr pointed out that a character like Mera would’ve worked better as Aquaman’s sister rather than his wife, admittedly this might be their opinion but it does make one wonder if characters would’ve worked better if they’re written or depicted differently. In the case with X-Men’s Amara Aquila, a white woman with the power over volcanism, because she appeared in brownface by posing as an indigenous Brazilian woman it seems for all of X-Men’s talk of having mutants stand in for ethnic minorities, it fails spectacularly there and I don’t think there are any mutants who speak minority languages either.

We could have had Rahne Sinclair speaking in Scottish Gaelic and to lower my standards, Scots if one wills, or Forge and Dani Moonstar speaking Cheyenne but those who do are very, very few. I think this is likely one of the reasons why not a lot of X-Men fans are this interested in foreign languages, let alone minority languages especially if they’re this underrepresented that they might as well look for it elsewhere. I got into Celtic languages because I listened to Celtic music a lot, not because of the X-Men because unfortunately none of the mutants I know speak in those languages. Talk about serious underrepresentation, especially for minority language speakers.

Back to Amara Aquila, the one situation where she would’ve never been a racist character is to have her be Native Hawaiian, I don’t think there are any Hawaiian mutants that I know of in the X-Men stories even if they always try to portray mutants as the oppressed minority. Hawaii even has a lot of volcanoes, one of its mythological characters is linked to volcanism that Amara Aquila could easily be a modernised version of her. I would be even nicer if she actually spoke Hawaiian from time to time, given I think minority languages really do deserve more representation as they’re this endangered. But then again I don’t think that many X-Men writers are interested in minority cultures and languages.

This explains why they keep harping on the mutant metaphor, yet almost none of the mutants themselves speak a minority language. Why Hawaiian mutants are kind of really underrepresented among them, since there’s pretty much none I can think of. To the point where it would’ve been wiser to make Amara Hawaiian, if because one of the Hawaiian goddesses manipulates volcanic activity herself. The Roman equivalent is male, so this portrayal is rather strange. Add to that she posed as an indigenous Brazilian is pretty much done in bad taste, why bother having a white character appear in brownface when another indigenous mutant would’ve sufficed.

New Mutants, being one of the many X-Men sub-teams, got another indigenous mutant in the form of James Proudstar but I think Amara Aquila should’ve also been indigenous. Well that’s me getting into Hawaiian culture, but it does make you wonder why most X-Men writers never seemed so deeply into non-western and minority cultures for all their attempts at using the mutant metaphor. To the point where it’s far likelier they were never that deeply into these cultures to begin with, which would explain why a number of nonwestern and minority ethnic mutants either fall into stereotypes, cultural appropriation or are ill-conceived as it is with Xuan Cao Manh.

Last year she was given a more realistic Vietnamese name, if because the writer who wrote her romance with somebody else knew Vietnamese and her other name was gibberish. One would only wonder what would happen if Marvel had Kenyan writers to pen Storm’s adventures, I think it’s likely they also would’ve been alienated by a character who could’ve represented them. This is why despite being technically Kenyan, Ororo Munroe never speaks in Swahili nor does she celebrate Boxing Day every 26th of December. The character who could’ve represented Kenyans never felt Kenyan, if because she’s written by white writers for so long that she’s their idea of an exotic black woman.

Not so much an actual African woman, let alone a Kenyan woman at that. This explains why they’re written the way they are.

#xuan cao manh #x-men #new mutants #cultural appropriation #racism #amara aquila #ororo munroe #marvel #marvel comics

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jr-moviebuff · 2 years

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Hah

Me making a new Tumblr post in 2022 that isn’t an automated link to my Wordpress blog? Likelier than you think

#me #Twitter's a sinking ship #Fuck Elon

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incorrect-inkworld-quotes · 3 years

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Inky Holiday Exchange 2021

I had the great honour to gift a little something to @schleierkauz for the @inkyholidayexchange. I tried to incorporate what you like as best as I could and I really hope you’ll enjoy! Without further ado, here’s the thing ✨

I’d Come Home For You Too

“Brianna…”, Roxane interrupted, the tone barely chiding. Brianna stayed silent then, ate her food instead and Dustfinger couldn’t find better words to save himself from his faults. Something death hadn’t been able to wash away. His faults stayed, they would stay. Always.

----

When Brianna comes home for a week, Dustfinger is reminded of his guilt of leaving again and again. It's not that he doesn't want to fix their relationship, it's just that he doesn't know how to.

3594 words, no warnings, just Dustfinger trying very, very hard to be a father.

A gentle breeze caught Dustfinger’s long hair, tugged at his cloak as if it was calling him away. It brought the smell of oleander along, of the soft moss growing on the trees nearby like a veil. Brought along the whisper of the wind, maybe even its touch. Like a white finger, tracing his face where his scars once had been.

He couldn’t help himself but to move his own, bring some warmth back to his skin.

Warmth. He had longed for it the past few days. Not even the fire had managed to scare the cold away completely, the one that nisted deep inside his chest like a reminder. His nights had been cold, had made him wake up drenched in sweat and sweet words on his lips.

You will come often. And go often. He still didn’t know what the white women’s words meant.

Wandering deep into the wayless forest had been his attempt at trying to get rid of it. The impression of not being alone. The angry buzzing of the fire faeries reminded him of his purpose. Not that their nectar could improve his abilities any more. He still had enough from coming here the last time, his understanding of the flames deeper than ever before. It had been more about the ritual. Having a bit of nostalgia, of old routines to ground him.

However, the wind.

The wind tugged at his coat, whispering, touching, teasing.

He looked into the distance, back the way where he had come from and thought of Roxane’s cottage, of the red anemones growing in her garden; and suddenly he wondered why he had gone out into the woods if he could easily find everything he needed at home.

You fool, have you still not learnt?, he berated himself and bid the forest good-bye before he could fully be welcomed by it.

His heart was a silly little thing, and treacherous on top. This was nothing new, but he felt the betrayal deeply each time when he saw Brianna and still hoped for a smile. Softness. Anything, really, but the deepness in her eyes that spoke of unfamiliarity and coldness. Betrayal of its own kind.

She had grown a lot since he had seen her last, grown completely, perhaps. Her face had lost the last of its childlike roundness, her features now sharper like her mother’s. Healthy. It calmed him to see that she was treated well as Violante’s maid, it calmed Roxane as well. She arrived just at the same time as him, on a proud horse that kept her dress’ seam clean and pretty. Expensive clothes, he could tell. It was what she deserved.

He patted the goose so the alarm quickly stopped, but Roxane still came out to see what had caused the short commotion. There was an instant spark of happiness in her eyes as she saw them both. He hoped that his own eyes mirrored hers.

So he, quite sensibly, asked his daughter, “Were you kicked out again?”

Her face instantly fell into a scowl, she didn’t even deem him an answer. Instead she hopped down from her horse, and went to hug Roxane tightly.

“Violante told me to visit for a week. It’s been so long”, she explained to her mother. She offered a bundle of fresh herbs. “A gift.”

“How generous”, Roxane answered with a smile, then sniffed on the plants.

“She also gave me a list of herbs to bring back.”

“Of course. Come in, both of you must be hungry.”

Dustfinger didn’t hesitate to follow her inside if only to escape the weird tension in the garden. The house was as warm as he left it, Jehan sat at the table and copied texts Resa had left him. Even if he had been suspicious of her at first, he too had warmed up to her easily. She visited regularly to buy herbs from Roxane, taught Jehan and Farid as payment and left work for them to do until she’d come next time.

“How has been work? How is Jacopo?” Roxane asked while she prepared a simple lunch. Some bacon, grilled pepper and bread.

“He is… Still Jacopo”, Brianna answered carefully.

Dustfinger could only imagine what hidden meaning lay behind those words. How could one describe a child like this? That murdered his grandfather cold blooded? If he was like his mother, surely he would be fine. Silvertongue had said something about a child psychiatrist, Resa had agreed eagerly. Violante had consulted a soul healer after they had explained the concept then, but Dusfinger’s hopes were rather slim.

“He stopped kicking the dogs”, Brianna added. A small victory at least! “And you? How have you been?”

Roxane brought over the food with a heartfelt smile. “How could I possibly be better than this with all my favourite people at one table?” With a small gesture to Jehan, she said, “Put your work away for now, let’s eat.”

Then, for the first time, Brianna looked at Dustfinger. “And your son? How’s he?”

That’s what she called him. He believed she was trying to be petty, but he had no excuse to call Farid anything else. Not after-

Well. There was no use in correcting something that wasn’t truly wrong to begin with. Dustfinger cleared his throat a bit. “He is well. He is with the Black Prince for a while. Seeing the world.”

“So why are you here?” The accusation cut through the room like a knife, hurting just like Basta’s knives had hurt. Just deeper.

Dustfinger looked down on his plate, on his bacon, preppers and bread. He knew that he’d say the wrong thing, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. Not anymore. “Those places I’ve already seen.”

“That would be boring, I am sure.”

“Brianna…”, Roxane interrupted, the tone barely chiding. Brianna stayed silent then, ate her food instead and Dustfinger couldn’t find better words to save himself from his faults.

Something death hadn’t been able to wash away. His faults stayed, they would stay. Always.

When he helped Roxane wash up the dishes, she put a hand on his wrist. “She’s still hurt. You have to understand.”

Did it seem like he did not understand? Really? But I do understand, he wanted to say. I understand that she’s hurt. Sometimes I just don’t understand why you’re not hurt also.

He handed Roxane the cloth to dry her hands afterwards and they moved outside, continuing the work. The well’s bucket had fallen and even if he could not call water, it was what he tried to fix now. He could not help but wonder who had done these kinds of works while he was gone and Roxane had been alone. It made him ache for a time long gone by, made him feel guilty, made him wish that the reminder of it would not currently help Roxane with the flowers. That was the cowardly part, hidden well within himself, only rarely acknowledged and already believed gone.

Yes. The fear of death might be gone. He treasured life. But the coward inside of him simply had found a new fear for him to avoid. Like cold voices it whispered in his mind, asking him why he had returned early, just in time to run into Brianna? What a coincidence. To trust his whim and have it pay so perfectly, cruelly.

The day passed, so did the next and nothing Dustfinger did or said helped the tense situation between him and his daughter. What he did or said was nothing. Not even that helped. It soured his mood and his surroundings picked up on it. The goose took longer to calm down and Gwin would not stray a foot from its master, as if afraid to be left behind. Which was a reasonable fear and that made all of it even worse.

The nights were cold, not just because the winter drew nearer, but also because the dreams were filled with memories, with longing calls and white faces. It made him wake up multiple times at which he pressed his sparkling hot hand on his chest, to find back to the warmth. Angrily he stared into the darkness that usually brought him peace, only to see Brianna’s disappointed face in it. If he knew how to fix it, he’d try.

On a late afternoon, the sun already started to set, Jehan had finished copying lines--his handwriting was so much better than Dustfnger’s--and ran outside to help his mother.

The boy crouched down to weed the flower beds and it was merely a couple minutes until he flinched back from the fire anemones.

“Here, let me”, Dustfinger mumbled and quickly pulled the dandelion and grass around it. The anemone’s leaves like tiny kisses on his skin, instead.

“It’s unfair”, Jehan said and pouted. Suddenly, Dustfinger found himself helpless. Had he been there to push a hundred pouty lips back in, to stroke away the frowns between those childish eyes, he’d know what to do now. But he hadn’t been there when Brianna had been in spite, when Rosanna had been in despair. Not even with Farid. Roxane knew what to say, even Silvertongue would know.

“What is unfair?” he asked. Summoned a smile.

“Farid wouldn’t get burnt. But I do. I get burnt every time.”

Dustfinger looked down at his hands and saw the red spots where the plant had come too close. It was truly an unfair fate for someone scared of the flames. Carefully, he covered it with his own, called the heat back and left unblemished skin behind. The child made wide eyes. For the first time since he saw him use his skill and it loosened something inside his chest. Maybe, he simply didn’t understand that it was the same tongue that called the fire back that could also summon it.

Eagerly, he grabbed at his sleeve. “Will you show me one time?”

Dustfinger squirmed. Hadn’t he only meant to teach Farid? Jehan wasn’t even his own.

What nonsense. He could have slapped himself. He squirmed some more while he reminded himself that Jehan was as much his as Farid. And to teach him how to tame was not so bad, was it? Especially not if it managed to take his fear a bit.

“Someday, maybe”, Dustfinger replied. A gasp.

When he looked up, he saw Brianna, her lips pressed thinly together, just as she turned around and walked away. Stomped away, but with grace (and pride).

Whatever he had done wrong, it was totally beyond him. He swallowed down whatever wanted to rise in his chest and scrambled up to follow her.

“Brianna- Wait!” he called and found her in the back, taking the laundry off the line. She might have been in one place now, but she certainly did not wait to talk. Which was a blessing and a curse, because he definitely didn’t know what to say to her, but at least he had the opportunity to.

Gwin jumped onto his shoulder, a calming presence.

“I- I don’t know what I did wrong”, he muttered under his breath, more for himself than for her, but she had heard despite it.

“I am not surprised, you never seem to do.” Great, so she was willing to talk at least. That made it worse.

“I am sorry. I wish I knew. I want to know. Really.”

She continued her work, not looking back or replying. He had talked with Roxane about it, multiple times. Leave her time. But let her know that you’ll be there once she’s ready, tell her. He didn’t have the words to say it. What would he give for those hated words other people could control so powerfully. Orpheus, Fenoglio, Meggie, Resa. Anyone’s. At this moment, he really did not care, he just wanted to say, “Brianna, I want to fix this.”

“Then try”, she hissed, and stomped inside (gracefully).

Wasn’t I just trying?, he wondered and felt as helpless as if he had been thrown into an entirely different world. He knew what that had felt like, so he could make that comparison with utmost certainty.

Dustfinger was restless. He tried to ignore it, that feeling of tingling fingers, of the blood pumping faster than he needed for sitting still and the desire to breathe in the peculiar smell of the forest, the sea, the mountains. A foolish desire, he knew, as it was just a ghost of old longings, he had just tested that out, he did not need to try it again. His true desire was to talk with Brianna without either of them abruptly shutting up or storming off. No, he would sit this week out and prove that he did not have to run away from his fears. He could face rightful rejection. Hadn’t he faced death herself? How could this be any worse?

Just as he finished those thoughts, Roxane put down a basket in front of him. “We’re out of paper and ink. Will you go and fetch some? Jehan needs it for his work.”

Dustfinger was certain that he had seen a whole stack of paper just two days ago, he couldn’t have possibly used it all up yet. For a moment, he wondered if this was just an excuse for him to leave, if Roxane had seen right through him. Most certainly she had. Thankfully, he took the basket and the purse and made his way to Ombra. If they needed new paper and Roxane asked him to go, who was he to refuse? He would be only gone for a few hours. The trip might bring fresh air to him, let him recharge in peace from his overthinking.

The imagery had been admirable, really.

“-and how would I know if no one ever tells me such things? I just told Darius yesterday, didn’t I, Darius?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, there you have it. It is impossible how expensive the paper is and even more impossible how impossible it is for me to buy it! They won’t even talk to me while paying, they only talk to Darius!”

The loud voice of the old woman made his ears ring, as if the streets of Ombra weren’t loud enough already.

“If you hate it so much here, maybe you should go back to your world then?” Dustfinger hissed only to be met by a scandalised face.

“And leave my family behind?” She gaped at him, but used to call him rude. “You of all people should know how much pain it brings to be separated from one's family!” Dustfinger flinched. “Also, I really quite like it here, aside from horrendous paper prices.”

“Well, good thing you have it, now. I need to buy some too.”

“Paper?” Elinor repeated, but stepped aside to give room at the stand.

“Yes, for my s- for my wife’s- for Jehan, my-” Pathetically, he gave up. The old woman did not laugh, though. Rather, she looked at him with understanding. She waited until he had purchased paper and ink, no matter if he wanted or not, and then walked a few steps along.

“It’s difficult to bond with him?”

Dustfinger thought back of Jehan’s excitement when he had told him he’d teach him to tame the fire and could not totally agree. The boy had opened up to him in the last months, it became easier every day. No, it was not that hard to bond with him.

“It’s okay. It’s much harder with my daughter.”

“Brianna?” The old woman put a hand on his arm, squeezed with sympathy. Darius smiled at him, too. He did not know what to make of it.

“Yes. She doesn’t like me. I do not know how to… Talk to her.”

“I understand”, the old woman then said and nodded. “After my niece had disappeared, contact with Mo and Meggie had been sparse. He never really admitted it, but I think he tried to avoid me, so that I would not ask too many questions. When you all turned up on my doorstep that one day, I also did not know how to be. Especially with Meggie, who looked so much like her mother but carried so little from her, as she grew up without her. I am not good with kids. I’m really not.”

Dustfinger remembered. Now that she pointed it out, he truly could see the similarities.

“But now you are good with all of them”, he mentioned and hated the longing and envy that was so obvious in his voice.

“Yes, yes I am. Bonding in Capricorn’s village must have helped. If I am grateful for any of it, then simply that I got to get to know Meggie in that time. You can’t expect to trust and talk to one another easily if you don’t know each other well enough. It needs time.”

“That’s what Roxane says, too.”

“Well then, there you have it! What is the problem?”

“It just doesn’t work”, he admitted and after a raised eyebrow, he told her begrudgingly how Brianna stayed over and how they simply could not talk to one another without it just going wrong.

“You can’t just exist next to each other. When I say that you need to spend time with each other, I mean that you should work on one thing together. Have you considered that she thought you were going to teach Jehan your fire magic and that she was jealous?”

“But she doesn’t want that.”

“Have you asked?”

No. He hadn’t. He had just assumed, because she had never asked. But had he offered? He hated to admit it, but the old woman was right. He thanked her with a scowl on his face and hurried to get back home, now with an urgency to see Brianna again he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hastily, he put down the basket on the kitchen table and went to look for his daughter. He found her sitting under the autumn’s sun, humming a soft melody. She flinched a little with surprise when she noticed him.

“I-”

“You’re already back”, she noted.

“I was just in Ombra to get paper.”

“I assumed you’d take a detour.”

“I wouldn’t. Not while you’re here.”

“Mum, you mean.”

“Yes, but-”

“I’m glad you came home for her, then.”

This was not how Dustfinger had planned for the conversation to go. All the words he had memorised on his way back home were gone, now. He was at point zero again. He had no control over the words, he did not understand them as well, he did not speak them as well, he-

He called the fire, let it paint a face with its flames, so close to what photos were like, just yellow and orange and red and a bit blue. Brianna could clearly not stop herself from looking at it in wonder. There was a frown between her eyes.

(He wished he had learnt how to wipe it away.)

“This is what you looked like, when I had seen you the last time before I was gone”, he whispered. “I could not call the fire like this, then. I could not draw you or write about you. All I had was my memory, but I promise I held onto it. I held onto you, even if I have nothing to show for it.”

Brianna was silent, watching as her own face tingled over his hands.

After she had gotten her fill, she looked to the ground, said eventually, “I didn’t know you could do that.”

And Dustfinger got a hold of himself and responded, “Would you like to learn?”

With big eyes, she stared at him. They looked watery.

“How to talk to the fire, I mean.”

“I don’t need to know how to do your tricks. I can sing, that pays plenty already.”

“You don’t have to”, he quickly reared back. “Only if you want to. I’d teach you.”

“We barely see each other. I bet you wouldn’t even be here the next time that I visit.” She crossed the arms before her chest, but nothing about her defensive posture could hide how her voice cracked.

“I’m home a lot. If you let me know, I’d come home then.”

“Yeah.” She swallowed, looked into the distance and he let the flames die, didn’t know whether to reach out or to give space.

“I do come home”, he repeated. “I always have and forever will. For Roxane, but also for you. I’d come home for you too.”

“I don’t need you to”, she snapped back, tears in her eyes that she was too proud to shed and her arms crossed before her chest.

“But if you wanted me to.”

And that was, apparently, more than either of them could handle. Because Brianna could not hold back any longer and somehow he couldn’t either. So he found himself with his arms around her shoulder, while she hid her sobs against his chest. He knew it was just a beginning, as he stroked over her red hair in calming motions. They would need time and he did not expect her to forgive him just like that. Maybe he would never teach her a single thing.

But he could. If she wanted to, he would do anything.

When the week was over, Brianna left with a bundle of fresh herbs and a smile on her face that did not dim for the first time when her gaze shifted to Dustfinger.

That night, he slept through, warmth in his heart.

#InkyHolidayExchange2021 #inkheart #inkspell #inkdeath #inkworld #dustfinger #roxane #brianna #elinor #darius #fanfiction #on this tumblr?? it's likelier than you think!!#it's only the second one though so please have mercy on my poor soul

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