#henry and the paper route !!

[snckt]

without a sub-sub-librarian, or even a catalogue, what is to be done?

@asouefanworkevent day four of woevember : the hotel denouement, alternatively titled,   misfiled, a collection of things not where they ought to be.

#woevember #a series of unfortunate events #beatrice baudelaire ii #series . asoue #laineysedit #i'm thinking the things that are misfiled are part of the larger story of k & d. and thus never really make it to their respective places 👀 #that includes bea !! how she must feel. misfiled. is she a denouement or a snicket or a baudelaire ? she ultimately makes that decision but #that doesn't mean the other two aren't just as much as her ... where do file someone like that huh ? #anyways ! screen accurate prop stationary once again makes an appearance with a love note 💕 and her book is my favorite of beverly's #henry and the paper route !! #oh ! i also made the malt ! pictured here !! #anyways she's my favorite denouement (dont tell the others ahaha)

[sattlersquarry]

superfreaky (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: [AU inspired by Freaky (2020); modern body-swap-with-a-slasher AU] The Hawkins Hacker has been terrorizing your town for years now. What happens when he digs his hooks into you is surprising. It's shocking. It's downright superfreaky.

Word Count: ~7.3k

Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, violence, grief, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of death and serial killers/slashers. all the characters are at least 18 in this (and Steve is the same age as the others). There's no descriptors of the reader except when she and Henry Creel swap bodies (then, you're Jamie Campbell Bower). Also Officer Callahan is your stepbrother in this.

a/n: this is a halloween fic. I'm aware that it's mid-November and everyone on this website has moved onto winter/holiday fics. I'm late! I'm sorry! Blame depression/personal life weirdness/my horoscope.

🔪🔪🔪

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 12th, 2023

Your life kind of sucks.

Just a little.

Currently, you’re dressed in a godawful tiger suit on a Thursday night, shaking your clip-on tiger tail like there’s no tomorrow. You don’t want to be here, but extracurriculars look great on college applications. If you want to get far, far away from Hawkins, Indiana after graduation, this is the kind of shit you have to do to be impressive on paper.

Plus, someone must be the brave soul that dons the Hawkins High school mascot costume on the sidelines of basketball games. The brave soul that gets soda cans chucked at your head by Billy Hargrove.

You turn and scowl when you feel the liquid splash across your back—not that Billy can see through your stitched-on tiger expression.

He and his buddies laugh and laugh, until team captain Steve Harrington chews them out for being assholes. You can’t help it—you inwardly swoon at the sight of him defending your honor. With that floppy hair and those gorgeous eyes and…

You snap yourself out of your wild, romantically charged fantasies about said basketball player when he jogs his way toward you.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” he asks quietly. You lift your mascot head and give him a small smile.

“I’m good,” you say. You shrug. “I’m used to it.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head.

“I’m really sorry. I told Hargrove to cut it out when you threw the nachos last week, but he just doesn’t know when to quit.”

The Tiger cheerleaders begin the school fight song.

“I’ve gotta get back into it,” you say. “But, um, thanks.”

“Anytime,” Steve says. He shoots you a smile before jogging back to his teammates. The timeout is over, and he steps back onto the court.

As you flail around next to the cheerleaders, the Tigers sink a three-pointer thanks to Steve and win the game.

Post-game, you shuffle into the parking lot with your best friends Robin Buckley and Jonathan Byers by your side. Jonathan works for the school paper and photographs the games while his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, interviews players and attendees on the sidelines. Robin is in band and plays the trumpet. (Sometimes, you wish you’d followed their extracurricular pathways instead of going the mascot route.)

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Robin points out, sensing your disdain as you glare at the tiger head in your hands and the oversize, fuzzy orange slippers adorning your feet.

“I do!” you say. “It’s senior year, fall semester. I can’t flake now. It’ll look bad on my applications.”

“You and those applications,” Jonathan says with a shake of his head. “You’ve been worrying about them since we were freshmen.”

“Obviously! They’re my ticket out of this town. It’s not safe here anymore.”

Robin and Jonathan share a look. They know what you’re referring to: the Hawkins Hacker.

The Hacker is the town's own slasher. He claimed victims every year around homecoming for years and years, until 2016, when he suddenly stopped. However, just last night he killed again. The whole town—including your stepbrother Phil, who’s a cop—are on edge.

“Do you need a ride home?” Jonathan asks, spinning his car keys in his hand.

“No, it’s okay,” you say. “My stepmom’s on her way. And there are plenty of people around. I’m totally safe!”

Famous last words.

Literally. (Almost.)

“You sure?” Robin questions. “Because he’s taking me and Nancy home too, but he’s got an extra seat!”

“I’m good,” you say. You hold up your cell phone. “She texted me an hour ago to say she’d get me on time. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

Your friends look a little worried, but you wave them off. Game attendees meander out of the school and head to their cars. It’s a sea of people. You’re fine.

However, the minutes tick by, and the crowd thins out. You watch the away team hop a school bus and zip back to their hometown. You feel the temperature of your tiger suit inch up a few degrees when you see Steve wander to his BMW with a couple teammates in tow.

It’s considerably quieter than it was when you first left the game. You text your stepmom LeAnn once, twice. Then you call her once, twice, three times. A third text, a fourth call. Nothing. Radio silence.

By now, it’s dead quiet. Everyone is gone. You feel an icy chill zip down your spine, like you’re being watched…

You miss your father. He died about a year ago, and he was always on time.

You startle when the phone in your hand buzzes. It’s your stepbrother Phil.

“Hey!” you say. “Where’s LeAnn?”

“Passed out again,” Phil says with a beleaguered sigh. “Where are you? Did Jonathan give you a ride home?”

“No, I told him your mom was coming to get me,” you say. “Can you—”

Beep! Beep! Beep!

You pull the phone away from your ear and groan. It’s dead. Just great.

A streetlight across the parking lot flickers. When your eyes adjust, your heart drops through your stupid mascot feet and to the center of the earth: there’s a man watching you.

You can’t tell, but it looks like he’s wearing a mask. You gulp, panic stretching itself through every fiber of your being.

“Please don’t be the Hawkins Hacker,” you mumble to yourself. “Please don’t be the Hacker. Please don’t be the Hacker.”

The Man continues to stare. Something glints in his hand. It frightens you.

“My stepbrother is on his way!” you yell, hoping to scare him off. “He’s a cop. With a gun.”

That doesn’t seem to bother the man at all. In fact, you see him walk toward you—a slow, Michael-Meyers-esque stride that has you shrieking in fear and stumbling to the school doors.

You yank at them to no avail. You don’t bother looking back and instead run around the school building to the football field. Panting from exertion and sheer fear, you duck under the bleachers and hide behind a big banner.

You slap a hand over your mouth to quiet your panicked whimpers. Why oh why did you trust LeAnn to get you on time, when every night for the past month she’s drank a whole bottle of chardonnay at 6 p.m. and passed out? Why didn’t you go with Jonathan when he offered? Hell, why didn’t you ask Steve for a ride? He’s a nice guy! He would’ve done it!

Now, you’re hiding from a slasher in a stupid rubber gray mask. And if you die and come back as a ghost, you’ll be wearing the Hawkins High mascot suit for all eternity.

You watch the Hackers’ feet as he stands in front of the bleachers and listen as he steps on them. He seems to think you’ve left, and you hear him wander off.

Or, so you think. Actually, he sneaks up behind you and grabs your leg, yanking you out from your hiding place.

You scream and kick at him, hitting him right in the nose and giving you the chance to run.

You don’t get far, though. He tackles you somewhere around the fifty-yard line.

“No! No!” you scream as he raises the knife above you. The knife has a spider carved in the handle with red ruby eyes. “Please! No!”

You push at him, knocking his mask off. His face is gaunt: all sallow cheekbones and purple under-eye bags. His eyes are a dull, washed-out blue, and his blonde hair is scraggly and unwashed.

You hate that his face is the last face you’ll ever see.

He plunges the dagger into your shoulder just a few inches shy of your heart and you scream in pain, the bloodcurdling sound echoing across the football field. The Hacker hisses in pain and drops the knife. He touches his shoulder and looks angry at the sight of blood on his fingertips.

His blood. From the wound that appeared on his shoulder after he stabbed you in the same spot.

Bang! Bang!

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” Phil roars from across the football stadium, gun raised in the air.

The Hacker stumbles to his feet and ambles off. Still prone on the ground, you turn on your stomach and watch him go, shocked at what you witnessed. How did he get stabbed?

You’re in so much shock, you don’t even realize that Phil is by your side until he gently helps you sit up.

“You’re okay!” he says, voice tinged with an urgency you’ve never heard from him before. “I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

“It hurt him too,” you mutter, a bit delirious. “It hurt him too!”

“Try to stay calm, okay?” Phil says. “You’re in shock. I got you, Y/N.”

You hear him bark into his radio: “This is Officer Callahan! Send an RA unit to the Hawkins High football field! My stepsisters’ been stabbed!”

The rest of your evening is a blur. You get patched up by paramedics and then taken to the police station to give a statement.

LeAnn arrives as you’re sitting with the sketch artist, crying and screaming and apologizing a million times. You forgive her (even though you aren’t sure you want to), and later that night, you hear Phil chewing her out for drinking and forgetting you again.

“She could’ve died, Mom!” you hear him yell as you lie in bed and try to sleep. “If I had been just a minute too late, we would’ve lost her and Allen in the span of 11 months!”

“I’m sorry!” LeAnn sobs. “I just had one glass—”

“One glass, Mom?! Try the whole bottle!”

Despite your anger at her, your heart breaks for LeAnn. You know your dad’s death has been hard on her. She hasn’t been doing too well since he passed, but sometimes you wish she’d realize you weren’t doing that great either. Phil tries to comfort you both, but he’s so busy with work, his pep talks are usually thirty seconds long between bites of a bagel before he’s rushing off to save Hawkins again.

Your phone blows up with texts and DMs. Somehow, the kids at school found out what happened and won’t stop messaging you for details on your encounter with the Hacker. You can’t deal with it. Except, there are some messages that you do respond to:

---

Text Thread with BOBBIN and JONNY B GOOD

BOBBIN: Oh my God!!! Y/N are you okay??? Please text back!!!

JONNY B GOOD: We saw what happened on the news. Please text us when you have a chance. We’re worried about you and thinking of you rn.

BOBBIN: WE’RE FREAKING OUT!!! ARE YOU OKAY???

JONNY B GOOD: Robin, just chill. She’s probably resting.

BOBBIN: Please don’t die and leave me alone to third wheel Nancy and Jonathan!!

JONNY B GOOD: Wooooow.

YOU: Wow is right. I got stabbed and those are your priorities?

BOBBIN: SHE LIVES!!!! YEAHHHHHHH!!!

YOU: Yep, I’m alive. I’m really sorry but I feel like shit. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?

JONNY B GOOD: Of course. We’re here when you need us.

BOBBIN: WE LOVE YOU <3

YOU: <3

---

DMs from steve.anthony.h83

STEVE (steve.anthony.h83): Hey Y/N I saw the news I rly hope ur OK

YOU (y/n.y/l/n86): Hi Steve, thank you for reaching out. It means a lot to me. I’m not feeling too good right now.

STEVE (steve.anthony.h83): Im sry to here that that sux 😞😢💔

---

God, even his text message typos and cheesy emoji usage are endearing. You’re in too deep with this crush.

---

YOU (y/n.y/l/n86): Yeah. But I think I’ll be okay.

STEVE (steve.anthony.h83): Anything I can do 2 help? Maybe I can get u smtg, wats ur fav candy?

YOU (y/n.y/l/n86): Oh, that’s sweet, but you don’t have to do that!

STEVE (steve.anthony.h83): I want too 😃 do u like nougat

YOU (y/n.y/l/n86): I love nougat!

STEVE (steve.anthony.h83): Perfect 😃 Ill bring u sum tmrw after school 🍫

YOU (y/n.y/l/n86): Thank you, Steve ❤️

STEVE (steve.anthony.h83): Feel better Y/N 😃😃

You go to sleep, shaken up but in slightly higher spirits thanks to your conversation with Steve.

🔪🔪🔪

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 13th, 2023

You blink awake hours later, startled at the sight around you.

You aren’t in your room. You’re lying on a mattress on a concrete floor. The room around you is full of weird stuff: grandfather clocks, paintings upon paintings of black widow spiders, and mannequins with nails in their faces like Pinhead.

“What the hell!” you say. You gasp and clutch your neck. “Why is my voice so deep?!”

You stagger to your feet and look around the creepy space. Why are you further from the floor than usual? In the corner, you see a mirror half-covered with a sheet. You yank it off and gasp.

“AHHHH! IT’S THE HAWKINS HACKER!” you scream.

The Hacker screams as well. You reach your hand toward the glass—and the Hacker reaches his hand toward it as well. You pull it away and so does he.

The you in the reflection is the Hacker. Holy shit.

You realize where you are: the old mill. Phil told you to stay away from this place because it’s where drug deals go down, and where Eleanor Gillespie got attacked by birds that one time.

You rush away before you can freak out too much. You head downtown, mind swirling.

This must just be a nightmare. Right? A really, really realistic, terrifying lucid dream.

But when you hit your head on a tree branch (because you’re way, way taller than you used to be) and it actually hurts, you realize it’s not a dream. You’re really the Hawkins Hacker. Somehow, you’ve swapped bodies with a homicidal maniac.

You need to find Phil. He’s been your stepbrother for a decade now and you trust him more than anyone else. He might be able to know what to do—or just be a shoulder to cry on.

You pass an electronics store, and your heart sinks when you see your face—the Hackers’ face—on TV.

“The Hawkins Hacker has been identified as Henry Creel,” the news anchor says, showing a photo of the face that you are unfortunately saddled with now. “He’s most known for killing his mother, father, and sister as a teenager—and also for driving a Jeep Wrangler through a Dairy Queen drive-through window without a license.”

“Hey!” someone shouts nearby, having connected the dots. “You’re the killer guy from TV!”

You don’t even stop to see who’s yelling at you before you run as fast as you can, ducking through alleyways to lose whoever’s chasing you.

You can’t go to the police station now that your face is plastered all over the news and social media. But you need an ally, or allies.

Besides Phil, the people you trust the most are Robin and Jonathan. You sneak into Hawkins High through the gymnasium doors, wishing you had your mascot head to hide under. Then, you take a quick shower in the locker rooms and hide until class change is done.

You slink through the empty hallways and make it to the school’s auditorium. That’s where you, Robin, and Jonathan spend study hall every day.

You open the door to the theater as quiet as a mouse, hiding in the wings for a moment when you overhear them talking about you.

“I hope Y/N’s doing okay,” Robin says with a sigh. She takes a bite of an apple and says through chews, “Why did she blow us off earlier?”

“Give her a break, Rob,” Jonathan says. “She’s probably really shaken up. But it is weird that she even came to school anyway. I wonder—”

“Guys!” you say, stepping onto the stage. “It’s me! Don’t freak out.”

They immediately freak out.

“AHHHHH!!! THE HACKER!!!” Robin screams. She chucks an apple core at your head and it bounces between your eyes. You stumble back and groan.

“COME ON!” Jonathan says, grabbing her hand and dragging her away from your, fear flashing in both of their eyes.

“Wait!” you shout. “Come back!”

You follow them as they run through the hallways and end up in the school cafeteria’s kitchen. A lunch lady shrieks and runs out when she sees you.

“Stop!” you call, following Robin and Jonathan to the back room. “Wait! Please just hear me out.”

Jonathan snatches up a soup ladle and hits you in the spine with it.

“ARGH! Dude, stop!”

Robin grabs a tray of mozzarella sticks and lifts it above her head. The sticks go flying when she whacks you in the head. Repeatedly.

Angry that they won’t stop hitting you, you yank the tray out of Robin’s hand and toss it away. Your newfound strength the body you’ve found yourself in possesses surprises you. The old you would’ve grappled with Robin a lot longer before getting the tray from her, if you even got it at all.

Robin tries to jump on your back piggyback-style to tackle you to the ground, and you elbow her in the stomach.

“Cut that out!” you bark as she wheezes.

Jonathan hits you again with the ladle and you shove his shoulder, a bit too hard. He falls on his butt and winces.

“Enough!” you say. “We’ve hit each other over and over. Can we agree we’re all tired and end this?!”

“No!” Jonathan says, pulling himself back to his feet by gripping a countertop. “You attacked our friend and now you’re attacking us!”

“I’m not attacking you!” you say. “I’m trying to get you to listen. I am not Henry Creel. I am not the Hawkins Hacker. I’M Y/N! YOUR FRIEND Y/N Y/L/N!”

“As if!” Robin scoffs. “I’m calling 911.”

You snatch the phone from her hands and hold it high above your head. She’s tall, but not tall enough to reach it thanks to your longer arms.

“I promise!” you beg, holding your other arm up in surrender. “It’s me. It’s Y/N!”

“Yeah, right!” Jonathan says darkly. He picks up the ladle again, wielding it like a lethal weapon. “Tell us something only Y/N would know or we’re going to the cops.”

“What’s Y/N’s favorite movie?” Robin asks, eyes narrowed.

“I tell everyone it’s Casablanca but it’s The Muppets Take Manhattan!”

“Favorite candy?” Jonathan demands.

“Three Musketeers because I feel guilty that everyone shits on nougat when it’s really not that bad!”

“Who’s Y/N’s biggest crush?” Robin asks.

The face that’s not yours blushes deeply.

“Duh,” you say. “It’s Steve the Hair Harrington.”

Jonathan and Robin share a look. A sense of realization flashes on their faces.

“Handshake?” you offer. You hand Robin her phone back and hold out your hands—or, Henry Creel’s hands—and wait.

Robin and Jonathan slap you five, before the three of you complete the intricate handshake you made up in seventh grade.

“Holy shit!” Robin shrieks, eyes shining. “You’re really Y/N!”

She pulls you and Jonathan in for a group hug and you laugh.

“Oh, thank god,” you say. “If you didn’t believe me, I don’t know what I’d—"

“Hold on,” Jonathan says, pulling out of the hug. “If you’re actually Y/N, that means the Hawkins Hacker is going around school wearing your face!”

“Oh damn,” Robin says. “Is that why you look hot today?”

“What do you mean I look hot?” you say, trying not to take offense to the implication that you don’t look hot every day.

Robin opens Instagram and shows you a photo posted to the student-run Hawkins High Gossip Instagram page. It’s a blurry photo of you (or Henry Creel in your body) walking in the hall past Billy and his asshole friends, who are checking you out. Instead of your usual mousy wardrobe of flowy skirts and cardigans, you’re wearing a tight black tank top, a red leather jacket, and bright red lipstick.

“Hot damn!” you blurt out. “I do look hot! Shit, have I hurt anyone? Or, has he hurt anyone?”

Jonathan grimaces.

“Tommy H. was found unconscious in the chem lab,” he says. “He was mostly fine, except his eyebrows were burned clean off…”

“But if fake-you did that,” Robin says quickly, “you aren’t liable because you weren’t in control of your body!”

“I don’t even know how we body-swapped in the first place!” you lament. “How do I get control of my body back?!”

“Let’s think about this,” Jonathan says. “Maybe it was some kind…spell? Or enchantment?”

“Enchantment?!” you snap. “Dude, be for real!”

“Wait,” Robin says, eyes shining. “I heard about this!”

She opened the internet app on her phone and went to www,theweeklywatcher,com/body-swap.

“No fucking way,” you say. “The Weekly Watcher is not a refutable source!”

“Why not?!” she says, scrolling ferociously until— “Ah! Found it.”

She shows you an article about the mythology of body swapping. At first, you roll your eyes, but then—

“That knife!” you gasp. “That’s the knife he had!”

You point to the photo, featuring the ruby-eyed spider in the knife handle.

“According to this,” Jonathan says, “that knife is an artifact that was used in ancient rituals."

“If you’re struck with the blade when the clock strikes midnight,” Robin reads, “you and your attacker switch places. And you have 24 hours to stab him and switch back.” 

“No, no, no!” you groan. “That means we only have 12 hours left!”

“That’s plenty of time,” Jonathan says. “Where’s the knife? You have it, right?”

“No!” you say. “Phil took it as evidence.”

“So we’ll just steal it from the police station,” Robin says, as if it’s easy and obvious.

“Oh, sure,” you lament. “We’ll just waltz into the police station while I have the face and body of a mass murderer and steal evidence. Easy-peasy!”

“We’ll figure something out,” Jonathan says. “Come on.”

The three of you head toward the exit and end up walking past the woodshop classroom. You do a double-take and watch yourself enter the hallway. Or, you watch the Hawkins Hacker parade around as you.

“Hey, stop!” you shout at Henry Creel. He pauses and turns. A shiver runs down your spine at the dark, evil look gracing your features. Features you’ve seen your whole life, features you’ve struggled to like after years of taunting and bullying. Now, they’re marred with the evil spirit of the Hawkins Hacker.

Yet, goddamn. You look hot with red lipstick. Who knew slashers had good fashion sense?

“Don’t try to run,” Jonathan says, the waver in his voice indicating that his bravery is false. “We’ve got you cornered.”

The Hacker suddenly changes expressions. Instead of a nasty glare, he opens his eyes wide, covers his cheeks with his hands, and shrieks: “AHHHH! IT’S THE HAWKINS HACKER! GET HIM!”

A couple cops run around the corner of the hall and you curse, rushing toward a side door with Robin and Jonathan in tow.

“GET YOUR KEYS!” you yell. “We have to get out of here or I’m headed to jail forever!”

Jonathan struggles to start his car, but he peels away just before the cops can stop you all. After your first-ever police chase, you three lose your tail in the parking lot of the big-box store LeAnn works at.

You hide out in a changing room while Jonathan and Robin find you a disguise—a plastic Halloween mask of Bill Clinton’s face.

“I can’t see or breathe in this thing,” you grumble as your friends lead you back to the car.

“If you get arrested,” Robin points out, “you won’t be able to switch back.”

You bite your tongue from any further complaints, too worried about just that.

“So, what’s the plan?” Jonathan asks, once you all are back in his car. “How can we get the knife?”

“About that,” Robin says. “I think we need to bring in your stepbrother.”

“If Phil doesn't believe us, we're in big trouble!” you protest.

“He’s an ally!” Robin shoots back. “And we need one if we’re going to…oh shit.”

She holds up her phone screen for you and Jonathan to see. You squint through the eye holes of your uncomfortable mask and gasp when you realize what’s going on.

“Fuck!” you groan. “What the hell is he doing?!”

It’s another post from the school gossip Insta. The Hawkins Hacker is schmoozing with Billy and his clique of jerks at the local indoor mini-golf place. You watch in the video as he leans into Billy’s ear and whispers something before sauntering off.

The caption of the post says, “OMG is Y/N Y/L/N like, hot now?!”

“I resent this!” you snap. “Why is everyone under the impression that I’m not hot all the time?!”

“No, no, no!” Jonathan gasps. “Look!”

At the tail end of the video, you see Nancy and Steve follow Henry Creel into the glow-in-the-dark golf course.

“They’re going to get killed!” he says, turning the ignition in his car with shaking hands and reversing haphazardly, almost taking out a mulberry bush as he speeds toward the golf place. “Robin, call Nancy now.”

“She’s not picking up!” Robin says, phone to her ear. “I’ll text!”

Your stomach churns with anxiety. If the Hacker kills Nancy and Steve while he’s in your body and you switch back, you’ll feel guilty forever. You’ll also go to jail. But if you don’t switch back, you’ll go to jail as Henry! This is all too much.

You’re certain the pale face that doesn’t belong to you is green right now as Jonathan drives like a racecar driver to save his girlfriend and your crush from “your” wrath.

🔪🔪🔪

Steve’s not sure what’s gotten into you today.

First, you showed up to school. That was surprising after your attack.

“Hey!” he had said when you walked into woodshop class. “How you feeling?”

You hadn’t responded, but you had looked quite intrigued when he accidentally cut his finger working on his birdhouse.

“Ah, shit,” he’d grumbled. “Do you have a—”

You leaned over and licked the blood clean off his finger. It startled him—and annoyed him when that freak Eddie Munson mumbled, “Whoa, that’s hot,” from across the worktable.

Steve’s cheeks glowed rosy red, flustered at your boldness. But you’d left class before he could do or say anything about it (or give you the candy he brought for you).

And now, after school, you’re standing with Billy and whispering salacious things into his ear. Since when do you like Billy? Billy, the guy that throws things at you? Billy, the guy that wrote “Y/N Y/L/N is an ugly stupid bitch” on the bathroom stalls? Billy, the guy that didn’t give you the time of day until you dressed differently?!

Why doesn’t she like me?! Steve thought, trying to look unaffected as you continued flirting with Billy. He fails, the wrinkle between his brows getting deeper as you continue talking to Billy in a low voice.

“Steve,” Nancy says urgently, rushing up to him. “We need to talk.”

“Can it wait?” Steve says. He crosses his arms. “I don’t want to do anything right now except sulk.”

“Something’s really, really wrong,” Nancy continues, ignoring Steve’s pity party. “Jonathan’s MIA and isn’t messaging me back. And neither is Robin. And Carol claims she saw them earlier get in Jonathan’s car with a tall, blond weirdo.”

“So, maybe they have a new friend,” Steve says. He squeezes the handle of his mini-golf putter and watches you walk toward the glow-in-the-dark course. “I need to go talk to Y/N.”

“No!” Nancy hisses, following him as they cut through the crowds. She tucks her phone deep in her purse. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The Hawkins Hacker is a tall, blond weirdo. Carol didn’t get a good look, but—”

“But you think your boyfriend and Robin are rubbing elbows with a killer? Nance, that’s bullshit.”

“It’s not!” she snaps. “I think that, somehow, that tall blond weirdo is actually Y/N and that girl that you’re going to go talk to is the Hacker.”

“That makes no goddamn sense,” Steve says. “Body-swapping isn’t possible.”

“Just listen to me! I was reading an article in The Weekly Watcher…”

Nancy follows Steve into the course, whispering her findings and bringing up Y/N’s odd behavior as they navigate the dark room lit up with black lights.

The more he listens, the more it makes sense. You’re not acting like yourself. But it still seems too far-fetched.

“I don’t know, Nance,” Steve says, scanning the room for you. “I think you need to stop listening to Robin so much.”

Swish! The beaded curtain leading into the next section of the course rattles as Henry Creel barrels through.

“Nancy! Steve!” he yells. “Watch out!”

Henry pushes them to the side and grabs Y/N’s hand—huh, when did you sneak up behind Steve and Nancy? The Hacker twists your wrist and you cry out.

“Y/N!” Steve shouts, rushing forward to protect you. Before he can, Jonathan and Robin grab his arms.

“No, no, let them fight!” Robin says.

“Let go of me!” Steve snaps.

He watches, helpless, as the Hawkins Hacker punches you between the eyes and you crumple like sand.

“Whoa, cool!” Henry Creel says, turning around and facing the four teens with an excited glimmer in his eye. “I’ve never knocked someone out with one punch before.”

“Wait!” Nancy says. “Am I right?”

“Right about what?” Jonathan asks.

“Did Henry and Y/N…switch bodies?”

Henry (or, Y/N?) puts his hands on his hips.

“Girl, how did you know?”

It all becomes too much for Steve. He blacks out.

🔪🔪🔪

When Steve wakes, he’s lying on the Byers’ couch. Henry Creel sits on a kitchen chair next to him.

Steve opens his mouth to scream.

“Wait!” Henry says. “Steve, don’t freak out. It’s me! I know I look like the Hacker, but it’s Y/N!”

Across the room, the person that looks like you is tied to another kitchen chair.

“Steve, don’t listen to him!” Y/N laments. “He’s crazy! He brainwashed these three idiots into working for him!”

“Who are you calling idiot, idiot?” Robin snaps.

“Steve, I was right,” Nancy explains patiently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Y/N and Henry Creel have switched places.”

“No!” the tied-up Y/N shrieks. “Please! Steve, look at me.”

Steve turns his head toward her.

“No!” Henry says. “Look at me, Steve.”

Steve turns back toward the Hacker/potential real you.

“Steve!” the tied-up Y/N groans, trying to sound in distress but actually moaning like a Bridgerton reject. “Steve! Steeeeeeeve!”

“Oh, dry up, bitch!” Robin snaps.

“Jesus Christ, Robin!” Henry says. “Don’t talk to him like that when he’s got my face. That’s rude.”

“This is all too much,” Steve says, jumping to his feet. “I—I can’t be here.”

He darts toward the door, but before he can exit the Byers house, Henry stands and says, “We danced together at our freshman year Snow Ball!”

Steve pauses with his hand on the door handle.

“It was in the parking lot,” Henry continues. “You were vaping and I was leaving early, because truthfully, I was having a terrible time. But I saw you, and you saw me, and we split a snowflake-shaped sugar cookie and talked for, like, half an hour. And then someone propped the doors open and we could hear the DJ, and he was playing that creepy ’80s song about always watching someone, and we ragged on the lyrics for being weird and stalker-y. But you asked me if I wanted to dance, and we did for half a minute, and then my dad came to pick me up and I left. But that was the most fun I had had all semester and it gave me a fat, embarrassing crush on you. And I really, really wish I wasn’t a total coward, or I would’ve told you way sooner than our senior year—and when I wasn’t in the body of a serial killer.”

Steve watches the way Henry nervously wrings his hands—he recognizes it as a habit of yours. For a long minute, he’s not sure what to think.

🔪🔪🔪

For a long minute, you’re not sure what to think.

You just blurted out your secret crush on Steve Harrington to Steve Harrington, and he’s staring at you like he doesn’t understand you.

But then, he gives you a small smile.

“Maybe this is weird to say while you’re in the body of a serial killer,” Steve says, “but I have a fat, embarrassing crush on you, too.”

Your heart soars.

“Pathetic,” the fake-you/the Hacker grumbles. “You’re both cowards. I can’t wait to gut you like a fish.”

“That’s enough!” Nancy says sharply, shoving a sock into the Hacker’s mouth. He glares up at her with your face, but Nancy doesn’t even flinch.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Jonathan says, “let’s divide and conquer. I’ll stay here to keep an eye on murder Barbie.”

He nods in the direction of the scowling, incapacitated Hacker.

“And I’ll drive the rest of us to the police station,” Nancy says. “Y/N, you’ll stay in the car while we distract your stepbrother and steal that knife back. He should be the only one working, because everyone else is hunting you. Er, Henry.”

“Knife?” Steve asks. “What knife?”

“It’s a spooky, magic dagger and it’s the reason Y/N and Henry Creel are swapped!” Robin says.

Steve blinks once, twice.

“Right. Totally. That makes sense.”

“Let’s go!” you say. “We have four more hours to do this!”

🔪🔪🔪

While Nancy and Robin go to get the knife, you and Steve wait in the car.

It’s a little awkward, due to the circumstances. When you imagined sitting in the backseat of a car with Steve Harrington, you hoped for something a little more amorous. Not you in the body of the Hawkins Hacker.

You start to feel a little brave and even consider reaching for his hand to hold—when you see the fake you running down the sidewalk and into the station.

“What?!” you say. “How’d he get out?!”

“Shit,” Steve says. “You stay out of sight, I’ll try and stop him.”

“No!” you say. “My stepbrother’s in there! I have to go help. You stay here and call Jonathan! Make sure he’s okay.”

Steve frowns but nods, agreeing to stay behind.

When you bolt into the police station, you see Phil with his hand on his holster, glaring at Robin and Nancy. Fake you feigns a frightened gasp and runs behind him when you enter, and Phil pulls his gun and points it at you. You throw your hands up.

“Don’t shoot!” you squeak.

“Kill him!” Henry says from his hiding spot.

“Don’t! Stop!” Robin and Nancy shout.

You see the spider dagger on the ground by your friends’ feet. Before you can try and grab it, Henry does and runs out of the station.

Phil doesn’t even give him a second look.

“Put your hands behind your head,” he says to you, “and walk slowly into the cell.”

“This is a mistake!” you protest, but following his instructions so you don’t get pumped with lead.

“Please, Officer Callahan,” Robin begs.

“We’re telling the truth,” Nancy says, “just—”

“Quiet, you two!” he barks. “You! Keep walking.”

You gulp and step into the cell.

“Do you remember what I got you for Christmas in 2017?” you ask.

“Shut up,” Phil says. You glance behind. He still has the gun pointed at your back, but you see his hands shaking. And his finger’s not on the trigger.

“It was a pack of limited-edition Pokémon cards,” you continue. “Mint condition. With a holographic Charizard. But I didn’t realize I ordered a rip-off pack called Pokeymans, so it was actually a Chumpizard card.”

“How the fuck do you know that?!” Phil demands, voice shaking in tandem with his hands.

“Because I’m not the Hawkins Hacker!” you say. “I’m really Y/N. And…I’m sorry about this.”

With Henry Creel’s strength, you knock the gun out of Phil’s hands. It skitters across the floor, and you yank him by the arm into the cell.

He stumbles against the back wall and you step out, closing the door and locking him inside.

“HEY!” Phil screams, yanking at the bars. “LET ME OUT!”

“I’m so sorry!” you say. “But it’s really me. I have to hunt that bitch down and stab him with the stolen dagger and then our bodies will switch back and things will be normal again!”

“STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER!” Phil roars, evidently not buying into the body-swap story.

Touched, you clasp your hands to your chest.

“Wait, you called me your sister!” you say. “Not stepsister! That’s so sweet. You’re my brother, Phil. And I’m going to make things right.”

Phil furrows his brow, confused, as you run out with Nancy and Robin in tow.

Jonathan and Steve meet you three out front.

“Your brother can’t drive for shit!” Steve says. “He just almost ran us over with his squad car.” “That wasn’t Phil!” you say. “It was Henry! He stole his cop car. But why? Where the fuck is he going?”

“Earlier this evening,” Nancy says urgently, “I heard you—uh, him—tell Billy that they should throw a homecoming party at the old mill, since they canceled the real dance.”

“That’s where he lives!" you say. "His homebase. It’s where I woke up this morning.”

“It’s his hunting ground,” Robin says darkly. “No doubt he’ll be killing teens left and right.”

“We have to stop him,” Jonathan says.

“No shit, Byers!” Steve says. “Let’s go!”

🔪🔪🔪

When you arrive at the mill, your group agrees to split up.

“Wait!” Steve says, before you dart off. “Hold out your arm.”

You hesitate and do as he says. He attaches his watch to your wrist.

“I always have it set for five minutes ahead,” Steve explains. “So I’m not late to stuff. So we have 30 minutes to find the Hacker, get the knife, and do the switch.”

“Everyone keep your phones close,” Jonathan says. “Move out!”

You divide and conquer, searching the party of wild, drunk teenagers for the evil man wearing your face. Eventually, you find him in an empty back room — towering over an unconscious Billy with an axe in hand, ready to whack the bully in the skull.

“WAIT!” you yell. “STOP!”

The Hacker freezes and turns, giving you an evil smile. You see the hilt of the magical dagger shining in a sheath attached to his belt. 

“It’s you again,” he spits.

“Yes, hi,” you say. “It’s me. And I’m going to ask you to put the axe down before I make you.”

The Hacker cackles.

“Really?” he says. “Even in your pathetic, puny body, I could overpower you in half a second. Plus, this jerk makes your life hell. Don’t you want me to finish him off?”

“No!” you snap. “Because I’m not a monster like you!”

You notice Jonathan in a doorframe behind the Hacker, staying out of his eyeline.

“What’s your problem, man?” you ask, hoping to distract him so Jonathan can take him by surprise. “Why do you kill people?”

“Do you really want to know why?” Henry asks. You nod.

“Well, guess what: there’s no reason. None at all. I kill people because I think it’s fun!”

“You’re sick,” you mutter.

He grins evilly.

“And you’re my next vict—Argh!”

Jonathan interrupts the Hacker’s evil spiel by hitting him in the back of the skull with a fire extinguisher. The murderer crumples to the ground, the axe flying out of his reach.

He doesn’t stay down for long. Thankfully, you’re able to tackle him and snatch the magical knife into your hand.

You raise it above your head, and—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You gasp and look at Steve’s watch. The timer is done. You’re out of time.

The Hacker laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Shit,” you say, tears of anger and despair welling up in your eyes. “Shit! I’m stuck like this!”

“I win!” the Hacker cackles. “You’ll be tossed in jail, and I’ll be free to keep killing. I think I'll stab your little boyfriend Steve next.”

You’re about to drop the dagger and run, unsure of where to go or what to do, when Jonathan says: “Wait, the clock tower!”

You whip your head over to look at him, brow furrowed.

“The clock tower in the library!” Jonathan continues. “It’s not going off! You still have time!”

Puzzle pieces fall into place.

“Steve sets his watch five minutes ahead,” you say, glancing at your wrist.

Henry Creel’s eyes widen, and then you plunge the dagger into his shoulder.

You feel strange, like you’re floating in the air. Then, suddenly, both you and the Hacker are thrown backward.

When you hazily blink and sit up, you see the Hacker doing the same.

“It worked!” you say, face splitting into a grin.

The Hacker glares at you. You feel a chill down your spine. But before he can do or say anything, your brother swoops in with his gun raised.

“Hands where I can see them!” Phil yells. The Hacker grumbles but obeys. You and Jonathan skirt away from him as Phil slaps handcuffs on the killer and drags him into a squad car.

“Y/N!” Robin shouts, running over with Nancy and Steve in tow. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m okay,” you say. You wince and grip your shoulder. “Except I reopened my shoulder wound, and I think I’m going to have really, really freaky dreams every night for the rest of my life.”

Phil races back over once his colleagues have Henry Creel in custody, fussing over you like a mother (brother) hen. You find yourself seated in the back of an ambulance with a freshly bandaged shoulder.

After Phil steps away to debrief Chief Hopper on the arrest (and to lock the magical dagger away once and for all), Steve wanders over.

“Can I sit here?” he asks, gesturing vaguely next to you on the back bumper of the ambulance. You nod and scoot over.

“How’s your arm?” Steve asks.

“It’s mine again,” you say, “so it feels amazing, despite the stab wound.”

“I’m definitely glad to see you as yourself again,” Steve says, cheeks flushing pink. He looks down at his fidgeting hands, the epitome of bashful, when he adds, “Actually, now that you’re yourself again, I was going to ask if you wanted to go on a date with me sometime.”

Your insides melt.

“Really?” you practically squeal, trying not to sound too eager. “Ah, I mean. That would be cool, or whatever.”

Before you can convince yourself not to, you give Steve a quick kiss on the cheek. He beams at you, but you both roll your eyes when you hear Robin, Jonathan, and Nancy hoot and holler from a few yards away.

Everything will be fine, now. You’ll be fine. That’s what you tell yourself when Phil drives you home and LeAnn gives you a million hugs and says how happy she is that you’re okay. That’s what you tell yourself when you fall asleep after having a lovely text conversation with Steve. That’s what you tell yourself when you have nightmares about being stuck as the Hacker forever, nightmares where he escapes jail and kills you (and everyone you love) once and for all.

But you tell yourself it’s fine, that you’re fine. That nothing is wrong, despite the chill down your spine that can’t quite go away.

🔪🔪🔪

a/n a happy yet spooky ending. is everything really fine? is the hacker really gone for good? maybe I'll write a sequel one day. or maybe I won't, as to not torture y/n any more.

tag list: @hollandweather @starry-eyed-steve @aloneinthehellfire @a-dealwith-god

if any of my mutuals (or anyone else) would like to be tagged in any of my future steve fics, lmk!

#st fic: superfreaky #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n

[ouatsqincorrect]

ok so I’ve gone through 1x02 and there definitely aren’t as many hidden details as there were in 1x01 but here are the ones I was able to find

1. Gas prices are only 95¢ because Storybrooke is still stuck in 1983

2. these things don’t really mean anything but Henry has a couple model planes and a record player so it’s some nice insight into his character

3. there’s apparently tennis news in Storybrooke? also the newspaper is only 75¢ and somehow the damage Emma did to the sign is worth $1,200. the paper also tells us Emma crashed the bug at 3am and the road that the town line is on is called Route 1 (we see the paper in the scene before with Sidney and I wanna know what’s in the “Storybrooke Fun Facts” section)

4. there are A LOT of umbrellas in Archie’s office (like this picture isn’t all of them) and he has a display of pipes on the wall which is a nod to the original Pinocchio

also, you can’t really see it in this photo but at the top of the room, there’s forest wallpaper, kind of like the ones at granny’s and in Regina’s office and got to hand it to the set designers, they did a good job making Storybrooke feel like a fairytale realm trapped in our world

5. there’s a heart box on Regina’s desk

6. also in Regina’s office, of course, we have her horse statue and the bowl of apples

7. there are SO many clocks in this season as a whole, but this episode was just insane

we start the episode with the clock tower moving from 8:16 to 7:53 and then pretty much every scene (in present time) then on has a clock or multiple clocks in it

like here in Regina’s room (I counted 6 in Henry’s room)

and in these two Emma and Henry scenes, there’s these shots in front of Standard Clocks (in the first one, Henry’s telling Emma about her role in the storybook and in the second one, they’re walking away from Archie’s office after Emma burned the pages)

#ouat rambles

[tintagel-or-cockleshells]

WIP almost Wednesday

Since I’m posting a new chapter tomorrow, I mean. (Three chapters left to write!)

Alex annoys the shit out of Nora when they meet up at hers for a post-England debrief. He’s walking on air, almost whistling with happiness, and Nora slams a coffee down in front of him.

“I understand you got some, but apparently while I was away my neighbour started to learn violin.” she hisses. “I’m on like negative 3 hours sleep.”

Not that she’s not been busy, though: she’s turned her living room wall into one of those massive mind maps you see on TV, with strings of different colours running between pictures of the royal family, Shaan and Pez, and things like POSSIBLE ROUTE and FAKE PAPERS? written on notecards in Sharpie. It looks impressively unhinged, and as Alex surveys it he has a feeling the podcast ending is before them. That the collage of pictures of Henry from ages 11-17 above the TV are going to whisper the answers to them. Alex spots her phone buzz with a text from Pez, too. Interesting. Once all that has run its course he’ll want to know the details.

Tagging, in no particular order, @clottedcreamfudge @rmd-writes @everwitch-magiks @dumbpeachjuice @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @kiwiana-writes @nixieteeth and @gloriousclio!

#the not-tuba au #cold cases lost causes #WIP Wednesday

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter XVIII: The Eternal Promise

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

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is the last chapter of The Indignant Pawn! Thank you so much for reading and following along on this story! It means the world to me and I’m so happy that I was able to complete this for you, and so soon. I ended up having more time than I thought, and I was so inspired. I couldn’t start to study for finals without completing this, unfortunately. Please let me know how you feel about the ending. It’s been years in the making. 

One more thing, I opened commissions! If you're remotely interested, please check out this post!

Happy Reading!

- Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

MASTERLIST  

. . .

MAY 12TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

It was early noon and you were already exhausted. 

Last night, the Glücksburg Castle staff separated you and Ciel the moment your steamship docked at the port. They pulled you apart before you could share much of a goodbye; taking you to the castle in different carriages and in separate routes before showing you to separate quarters. In accordance with common wedding superstition, you weren’t to see Ciel until the wedding ceremony, the next day. 

Instead, your company was the bridal party, handpicked by Queen Victoria. The Hesse sisters occupied the full length of the brunch table’s left side, talking amongst themselves.  

Despite being married across the continent, they still came in a set of four, the beautiful and elegant daughters of your late Aunt Alice. The eldest, Victoria, was about ten years your senior, married to Louis of Battenberg, the adventurous one. She was engaged in some emphatic discussion with her sister, Elisabeth, one of the most beautiful women in Europe, the papers liked to say.

Elisabeth turned down numerous dukes and princes before Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich captured her heart. 

The other two sisters were Irene and Alix, both were shy and withdrawn, at least by comparison to their siblings. Irene was content to let her elder sisters engage the European press, enjoying her serene marriage with Prussian Prince Henry. Meanwhile, Alix was still engaged to Nicholas II of Russia. She was unpopular with the Russian public, but a noted beauty.

“I believe our gowns are soft blue or some shade of periwinkle, are they not?” Victoria of Hesse said ponderously, adding a half-spoonful of sugar into her tea. She had your deceased aunt’s pleasant smile and joking eyes-- at least from what you remembered of Aunt Alice.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Elisabeth replied, “Gangan had our modiste send over my measurements and that was all. Do you know, Marie?” she asked, turning the table’s attention back to you. 

“No; Gangan handled all of the wedding planning,” you hoped your tone was light enough to portray amusement. “I haven’t so much as seen my gown, much less yours.” It was true. Nina merely sent your measurements to your Matron of Honor, Aunt Beatrice, and that was all. You were even unsure if the wedding was going to take place at the castle or a traditional church. 

“We should hope it is a more vibrant color than blue, no?” Grand Duchess Maria chimed in, seated at the right of the table by Lizzie. You managed to convince your grandmother to allow the Midfords to attend the wedding, so long as you strictly referred to their familial relationship, rather than past engagement. Not to mention, Ciel needed stand-ins in the wedding procession for his parents.

She seemed well-suited to the royal table, easily carrying conversations with the Hesse sisters, and winning over the Grand Duchess. Maria was advertising her and your Uncle Alfred’s son, Alfred II, for Lizzie to consider marrying. They were the Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, and they were looking for a bride for their second son. Lizzie would make a better duchess than you did a princess.

“If it’s a baby blue, I think it could look quite elegant,” Irene said. “Especially if the gentlemen wear deep navy and with chartreuse accents.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Lizzie smiled. “That color scheme is perfect for the spring.” Her word of agreement seemed to encourage shy Irene. Lizzie navigated these situations flawlessly, engaging the outspoken, and encouraging the quiet. You respected her ability to infuse cheerful care into every conversation she was a part of, even if it was these sort of superfluous topics.

After all, this was the sort of aimless conversation you had been entertaining all morning. It was endless torture with a side of tea and miniature pastries and finger sandwiches that the other women hardly touched. You would’ve taken the pain that came after Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet over entertaining this group of frivolous women. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Princess Beatrice of the United Kingdom entered, carrying a wooden box with both hands. By the tension in her shoulders, it seemed heavy.

Beatrice was your youngest aunt; Queen Victoria’s youngest child. She was Victoria’s known confidante; living with her for years as her secretary. Beatrice and her husband, Henry of Battenberg, made home with Victoria since their early marriage.

And for the next several days, she was to serve as your Matron of Honor.

You were satisfied with that choice, as well. Out of all your grandmother’s daughters, Aunt Beatrice was the most motherly. Marie was fond of her — she was a bridesmaid at her wedding in 1885. You were always most partial to your Aunt Louise, the Duchess of Argyll, but much to your silent chagrin, she was not a part of the wedding party. 

The table rose, everyone dropping into a shallow curtsey, though Duchess Maria’s was too quick to be genuinely respectful. Your aunt was too humble to comment on it and make an unnecessary scene. Instead, Beatrice took measured strides towards you, exchanging knowing smiles with the rest of the table.

“Good morning, Aunt Beatrice,” you greeted, swiftly kissing one another on the cheek. “Thank you for being here,” you said, though you doubted the queen gave her the option.

“Of course,” she smiled fondly, setting the heavy box on the table. 

“Marie, Aunt Beatrice had to secure your ‘something borrowed’ as it were,,” Victoria of Hesse explained. She gestured to the guard behind Beatrice with the slightest chin tilt. Of course, all traveling jewels from the royal vault needed to be accompanied by a guard and a gun.

“Go on, Marie,” your aunt encouraged, setting the thick wooden box down. “We all spent ages in the vault picking the right one for you.” 

You smiled. You hoped it looked more grateful than nauseous as you unclasped the box. Crimson velvet insulated the box’s interior, cushioning the imposing tiara that sat inside. The diamonds sparkled, cut into long, pointed off spikes. Small circle-cut diamonds lined each spike.

This tiara was a piece your grandmother obtained as a gift at the beginning of her reign in 1837, originally commissioned by her uncle, King William IV for his wife. 

“Queen Adelaide’s Diamond Fringe,” Aunt Beatrice said, though you knew the name. It was one of the oldest installments in the Royal Collection. Likely sensing your surprise, your aunt chuckled, “it did not take much convincing on the Queen’s part. Not after I insisted it would look best with your wedding gown.”

Reluctantly, you used the cloth included in the box to pick up the tiara, inspecting it more closely. The diamonds sat on the heads of two generations of royal women: Queen Adelaide, Queen Victoria…and now, you. An imposter. Royalty by blood, but of course, not by private association.  

“It’s lovely—” you began to say, until your cousin interrupted you.

Elisabeth of Hesse gasped, “Aunt Bea! You’ve seen her dress!” The rest of the table expressed their overlapping speculations, was it lace or tulle? Was the neckline straight across or Queen Anne?

“Elisabeth, Victoria, she would never hint at such a secret, there’s no point in accosting the woman,” Grand Duchess Maria scoffed, taking a cavalier sip out of her tea. She was jealous. 

“You will see it tomorrow!” Beatrice replied, laughing. The reminder of tomorrow forced another jolt of anxiety down your spine, but you used the energy to laugh as well. “In the meantime, I was also tasked with escorting you to your fitting, Marie. I do apologize for cutting your breakfast short, ladies.”

“That’s all right,” you smiled, carefully putting the priceless tiara back into its box. The moment you clasped the box, Beatrice’s guard took hold of it. After a reverent bow to the room, he took his leave, likely going to put the tiara into Glücksburg vault.

 At least you could escape this useless chatter. 

. . .

Given that your day was nothing short of exhausting, you should have had an easier time falling asleep. Yet, you paced Marie’s quarters, restless. It was unsettling to be around all of her recent belongings; letters, left behind clothing, books, her violin. It was as if she was truly on a short vacation in England.

A new lump of guilt rose in your throat.

But more importantly, you wanted to see Ciel. Strangely, after only a day of separation, you missed him.

Having lived together for the past several months, you were accustomed to being around him. Even if some of the time you spent together was quiet, and you only felt his presence at your side.

“I was sent to escort you to my Lord’s room, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian’s voice came from behind you. 

Instinctively, you turned on your heel and reached for the closest weapon possible, a small pair of scissors off your vanity. They were hardly big enough to cut thread with. You brandished the scissors in Sebastian’s general direction, but failed to find the voice’s source at first glance. The butler blended with the shadows, wearing nearly all black. He chuckled mirthlessly.

His red eyes were certainly glowing in the dark. 

“Yes, Sebastian?” You asked impatiently, putting the scissors back on the table. They wouldn’t be of much help to you, anyway. Nothing would be— not against some… being… that caught bullets. 

“My Lord requests your presence in his quarters. Unfortunately, you’ve made him care for you. Considerably,” he said. You hated his smile, the light tone his voice took. You would prefer he yell, or scowl, or frown. Anything to replace the patrronizing look that you knew so well. 

“Made him?” You questioned. Your eyebrows knitted together indignantly as you crossed your arms. What was he insinuating?

“Yes,” the butler said bluntly. “You’ve become an unfortunate distraction. A scourge to his soul.” His… soul?

“Thankfully, that is not for you to decide. Any opinion you have is irrelevant to us, Sebastian.” You said, turning your back to him to find flats to slip on. You never knew Sebastian to lie; he certainly wasn’t holding back at that moment.

“I simply want you to be aware that my loyalties will always fall with my master,” Sebastian replied, the undertones in his voice clear enough. If there is a life and death situation tomorrow, I will let you die, if I can.

“Well, you’ve been such an obedient servant, thus far,” you mirrored his obsequious tone, pairing it with your own reprimanding smile. “You ought to keep your Lord’s best interests in mind. Not to worry, Sebastian, I can handle myself.”

“Happy to hear it, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian replied, bowing with a hand over his heart. The gesture was as genuine as Duchess Maria’s greeting to your aunt had been.  

“My Lord ordered me to escort you. There are guards in the hallway,” the butler explained. His eyes brightened, daring you to decline him. 

You scoffered in disbelief, shaking your head. It was precaution from Diego’s warning, you assumed. “Fine.”

You left the room first, surprised that there was no guard fixed outside your door. Though you knew where you were going, Sebastian led you to the guest wing. Instinctively, you remembered where to step so as not to cause the wooden floor to complain.

Every few paces, Sebastian would have you pause to let a guard pass. Apparently, he sensed them much sooner than you did. 

Do some reading about the supernatural after all of this is over with, you reminded yourself. The thought was ridiculous, but there was no harm in investigating. Besides, Sebastian was becoming too unmistakable to continue ignoring. 

The moment you knocked on Ciel’s door, Sebastian disappeared. Your fiancé opened the door. Before he could speak, you hugged him tightly, hiding your face in his nightshirt. You breathed in his familiar scent, letting your eyes flutter closed. Your fingers grabbed fistfulls of his shirt, bunching the material around his back. Ciel hardly managed to close the door behind you, locking it to be safe.

“I waited to see you all day,” Ciel said simply, brushing strands of your hair behind your ear when you looked up at him. He pressed a greeting kiss on your cheek. “My groomsmen insisted we explore the city. It was quite a hindrance.”

“Well, I was stuck in a flock of blushing bridesmaids,” you laughed humorlessly. “If I so much as started saying your name, they would throw some fit— something about bad luck.”

“If simply saying my name is bad luck, seeing me must be absolutely damning,” Ciel quipped smugly. He guided you to sit on the edge of his bed, shamelessly regarding you. You returned the favor, your gaze catching on the way his collar bones protruded under his loose nightshirt.

You thought about the last time he sat on the edge of his bed with you present, climbing into his lap, pleasuring yourself against the hardness in his trousers. Technically, you wore more that evening than in this current moment. All you wore was a white nightgown. Nothing under it, nothing over it. It was made of satin, as sheer as a curtain.

Ciel made a respectable effort to look at your face only. 

“Tomorrow night, we will be wed,” you said meaningfully, feeling your face flush. 

“Yes,” Ciel’s response was impatient, “we will be.” He hated to wait, but he was never one to do something so significant haphazardly. If you were to consummate, you had to be married. But this time tomorrow, you would be. 

An amused smile tugged at your lips, “my Aunt Beatrice was giving me…anecdotes about her wedding night.” The interaction had been excruciating during your gown fitting, but now you thought it was rather humorous. Beatrice was a few years past 30— she had three children, another on the way, so it was rumored.

Ciel cringed at the thought of your relative telling you about what takes place behind a couple’s locked door. As if he had no clue, and didn’t want to know. You knew he knew. “And I thought nothing could be worse than my own cousin.”

While your eyebrows knit, initially figuring he was referring to Lizzie, but you took a sigh of relief upon realizing that he was speaking of Edward Midford, her brother. He was Ciel’s best man.

“Better than Sebastian,” you quipped. However, your smile faltered at the thought of the butler. Marrying Ciel meant you were resigning yourself to a life with a powerful, supernatural servant who wanted you dead. If given the chance, he would kill you. 

“Y/n?” Ciel frowned, mirroring your disheartened expression. 

“It’s nothing. I just…I suppose I’m tired,” you said unconvincingly. 

You rested your head on the side of his arm. “Being here…seeing my aunt and cousins. Living in my sister’s room....” It wasn’t the full truth, but certainly wasn’t a lie. There was an unwavering pit in your stomach. A premonition that something was about to go terribly amiss. 

“We’re taking the first steamship tomorrow night,” Ciel replied, running his thumb over your knuckles. It was a habit he picked up from you, the way you liked to ground yourself through small, repetitive motions. “I assumed being here would be difficult for you.”

“Where are we going?” The destination of your honeymoon was supposed to be a surprise, one left to Ciel’s careful planning. However, you were never one for surprises, and you would be away for about a month. You deserved to know where you were going to be for such a long span of time.

Ciel replied in French, “Quelque part où il y a du vin, des champs de lavande et une grande tour, ma chère.” He rarely used his second language, considering you couldn’t understand it and he was in the midst of perfecting his German, but it was attractive. You flushed at his graceful accent, the way the complex language suited his voice. 

“Ciel…” you started, chuckling fondly. 

“Et quand nous y serons, nous ferons des choses innommables les uns avec les autres,” Ciel continued, gauging your reaction. He kissed your cheek and slightly below your jaw before moving your hair out of the way to press a peck on the nape of your neck. The more you were intimate, the more you noticed his fixation with your neck. 

As Ciel turned to face you completely, his hand released yours to settle on your bare thigh. You moved further up the bed to make space.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “nous avons tous deux attendu si longtemps.” Your arms erupted with goosebumps as you pulled him closer, his lips centimeters from your own. 

For all you knew, he could be stringing nonsense into sentences, but it didn’t matter. It sounded perfect, his tender touch giving way for a new warmth to spread in your stomach.

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you pulled him down against the bedspread with you. The kiss was breathless and all-consuming. It ignited every nerve— down to your toes. You could feel Ciel’s warmth through his shirt, and you were consciously aware of everywhere your skin touched his. His legs bracketed yours. 

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he kissed the center of your throat, your drumming pulse point. He paused, an amused grin playing at his lips. 

“What is it?” You managed. 

“Do you recall the last time we were in a position like this?”

After a beat of silence, you laughed. “Our dispute! When I nearly broke your nose and ran away.” Even when you hated Ciel, you couldn’t bring yourself to meaningfully injure him. 

Ciel hummed in confirmation, though his dubious look suggested he thought your recollection of the altercation was self-serving. “And you still looked like you wanted to kiss me. Even when I held a knife right here,” his fingers grazed over the scar on your throat— a superficial wound above your left carotid. 

“Yes… just like this,” you smarted, pulling him close to steal an innocent peck from his lips.

“Yes, I suppose just like that,” Ciel conceded, rolling his eye. 

“What’s more, you couldn’t bring yourself to press harder,” you added teasingly, pulling him back in for a long kiss, treating this opportunity to be intimate with your fiancé as if it was your last.

. . .

MAY 13TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

You didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. 

Mey-Rin and Nina made elegant work with your makeup; darkening your eyebrows, painting on a blush that made your cheeks look flushed, a lipstick that made your lips appear bitten. After all, obvious makeup was considered fraudulent and deceptive; the work of women who worked street corners, Queen Victoria would say. 

Nina twisted your hair into a French twist updo, leaving curled strands out in the front. Queen Adelaide’s Fringe Tiara felt heavy on your head, fastened to your hair with pins. It dug into your scalp, the pain made it impossible for you to forget that it sat there.

Your gown was surprisingly simplistic; it was whiter than snow, free of any lace or bead detailing. Instead of was a sheen of satin, the lustrous fabric beautiful without being flamboyant. Your sleeves, controversially, were off the shoulder, meeting in a seam in the middle of your chest. 

To hide the gruesome scar on your arm, you wore matching white gloves that reached your elbows. They were out of season, but there was no way for you to hide the old wound otherwise. 

Under such a heavy dress and tiara, you were ready to collapse. Your preparation team had you awake before the sun rose, giving you a small breakfast before stuffing you into a carriage and taking you to the church to get dressed. It was a prayer room made into a makeshift dressing areafor your purposes; security did not want to risk the wedding party arriving at the ceremony in carriages, per tradition.  Instead, everyone in the wedding had to get to the church at inane hours to let the guards watch every doorway and window for intruders, once again taking separate carriages in different routes.  

You took a deep breath in, trying to settle your nerves. You were marrying the man you loved, someone who understood you in a way that no one since Baxter did. Only…now your life was to belong to the monarchy once more. This wedding ceremony was more symbolic and full of circumstance than romance. It wasn’t yours and Ciel’s. It was Europe’s. 

Not to mention, Diego warned you that Mariana had a plan. Mariana…it was still strange to have a real name for the woman. A reason why she was determined to kill you both, but more importantly, Ciel. You couldn’t allow that, even if he did kill her husband.

No matter how security prepared, she was still a threat. She would try to kill the both of you until either she succeeded, or you killed her first. Still, you knew that every possible measure was made. Sebastian would protect Ciel to the bitter end, regardless. That was what mattered. 

There was nothing more for you to do besides having the wedding. You laughed at your reflection. You looked like a princess, but what raced through your mind — murder, death threats, the leader of a foreign drug empire — were not regal bride concerns in the least. 

And you looked much more calm than you felt. At least you could contain your inner turmoil; stuff it down, sort your worries into neat categories. Impending doom, a death threat, a potentially supernatural butler. Hide it all behind the image of a jubilant princess who balanced the weight of a diamond tiara and a dagger all the same. 

Besides, there was no other option. Ciel had an earldom to run, a business to support, an Underworld to terrorize. He was too proud to live in middle class America. He would detest waking up every morning, and that would soon become a hatred for waking up with you. All you could do was marry, and support each other in your new royal family role. Dispel evil together. Dispel Mariana if she attempted to challenge you. Maybe even have a child or two. 

You squeezed your eyes closed, thinking about last night. All you needed to do was complete the day, and you would be together. In every way a couple could be together.

There was a stiff knock at the door, forcing you to open your eyes and paint a pleasant expression on your face. “Come in.”

“Marie,” Christian, your eldest brother, entered. You figured he would be walking you down the aisle — giving you away — instead of your father. No one told you, but you had the good sense to expect it. It was well-known that Queen Victoria disliked your father. She didn’t care for Prince Christian I, matching your mother, Princess Helena, with him because she couldn’t find a proper European house to marry her middle child into. 

Meanwhile, it was no secret that Victoria favored your brother. The Queen adored him for studying at Wellington College as she wanted, and she found nothing more befitting of a prince than serving in the military. Christian recently returned from an expedition in Isazi as an officer in the British Army. His skin was still lightly tanned from being in South Africa for so long. He wore his uniform and full officer decorations. Other men in the service were likely doing the same; Edward Midford and his father, Lord Scotany.

“Christian,” you were unsure how Marie greeted him, and your hesitance showed. There was a beat of silence as he regarded you.

Christian raised his eyebrow, “why did you do away with Christle?” He was referring to that puerile nickname you both used for him as children. 

Marie still referred to him as Christle at this age? He was a military official!

“You’ve been acting differently lately, Marie. Are you sure you love Phantomhive? Is this what you want to do?” Christian asked, worry furrowing his eyebrows. He looked like you when you were apprehensive, the same level stare, pursed lips. 

“How am I different?” You asked. It was easy to act around Queen Victoria and your mother— anyone who spent more time worrying about themselves or their positions to really understand the difference between you and your sister. But Christian was more complicated. He was your authority figure while your mother was opening hospitals abroad and your father worked. Christian spent plenty of time playing with Marie, admonishing you for being lax in your duties as a child. As the eldest, he was 16 the second time you ran away, 15 the first. 

You felt like you were nine years old again, getting admonished for refusing to ride a horse side saddle, or for getting mud all over your dress before the family portrait. 

“You’re…acting quite like Thora,” Christian said, his militant eyes practically staring into your soul. You tried not to grimace at your old nickname. 

He wasn’t accusing you; his voice was thoughtful or concerned, if anything. “Aunt Beatrice was worried, too. I only…” he paused. “I only want to ensure that this marriage is what you want. You will always be my younger sister, even if I’m supposed to be giving you away.”

The honorable Prince Christian never changed.

“If I’ve been somber…I don’t mean to be,” you replied. “I…the past few months of my life have been terrifying. I know you were away in Africa but there was a death threat sent to court. On my life. The Phantomhive manor was even attacked, months ago,” you rolled down your glove to show him the injury. If you could persuade your brother, no one would question you. 

Christian sighed, his face unchanging. The military seemed to desensitize him to these sorts of wounds. He inspected the healed scar, and nodded once. “It healed well. Phantomhive’s medic is rather talented,” he admitted gruffly. The irony being, that the medic was Sebastian, a monster who wanted you dead. 

You pulled the glove back over your forearm. Christian didn’t argue with you, but you knew he was unconvinced. Before he could speak, the quick notes of Mendelsson’s Wedding March reverberated throughout the church, preceded by soul-shattering chords. That was your cue to join the procession. 

Christian glanced at the clock to confirm the time was right. “We have to join the others,” he offered his arm. You laced yours with his, and two servants you didn’t know picked up your gown’s long train. 

When you joined the procession from behind, the first of the wedding party was already walking down the aisle. First was Queen Victoria, accompanied by her secretary and two guards; the Officiant; Lord and Lady Scotany as they filled in for Ciel’s deceased parents; your parents; Ciel and his groomsmen. You and Christian joined from the hall behind the doors to the Sanctuary, so you didn’t see any of them before they walked. 

Instead, you saw the middle of the procession: your bridesmaids, the Hesse sisters, Cornelia, and Aunt Beatrice. Cornelia was one of your bridesmaids because her husband, Edward, was Ciel’s best man. It was more of a formality, than a show of closeness between you. 

After them was the ring bearer and the flower girl, respectively. While you expected Victoria to insist the roles be fulfilled by your younger cousins, she allowed Ciel to fill those positions from his own friends and family. He asked little Beatrice Moore and her betrothed, Theodore Ambrose, the next Earl of Granard. Beatrice was still giggling at the fact that she shared a name with a real princess, your Aunt Beatrice.

You settled behind the children. Little Beatrice nearly missed her cue because her eyes were locked on your tiara and seemingly endless gown. Beatrice waved at you vigorously, causing you to smile. “Marie! You look so beautiful!” She exclaimed, shooting Theodore an irritated look when he tapped her shoulder and reminded her to walk with him. 

One of the servants handed you a bouquet of flowers, alstroemerias with white roses, and baby's breath incorporated. It was your turn to walk down the aisle with your brother, but you couldn’t help but wish it was Baxter at your side. That this wedding had less people, a tiara that didn’t weigh more than your brain…

Smile. You urged yourself not to buckle under the weight of everyone’s states. Everyone stood for the entire wedding procession, given that Queen Victoria was standing as well. No one sat while the highest-ranking royal stood. 

First, you passed the servants and guards in the furthest pews from the altar. Mey-Rin dabbed at her tears from under her glasses, Finny waved, Baldroy nodded once. Nina smiled at you, gesturing for you to keep walking in time with the music. You had paused for a half second, attempting to find Sebastian. The awkward timing forced Christian to stop his stride to let you catch up. 

You didn’t see Sebastian, and you were unsure if that caused you more anxiety, or alleviated it.

Strictly-screened journalists and press members were in the pews in front of the servants. Their cameras clicked, lenses immortalizing the moment. You smiled for them, struggling to find a place to look.

The music echoed throughout the Sanctuary, overly cheerful. It was the same chords repeating on the grand organ behind the altar. 

Closer to the altar were the aristocratic and the royal guests. Several faces stuck out to you— your Aunt Victoria, the Queen’s eldest child; brother, Albert; Aunt Louise; Mateo and Valentina Bianchi ; the heirs to the English throne, Uncle Edward and Alexandra of Denmark. 

You caught Lizzie’s emerald gaze; she was in the front row, to the side. She looked at you before pointedly looking ahead of her. Look at the man you love. The rest of the world will simply fall away. She was too empathetic for her own good, sometimes. 

As you took your concluding steps towards the altar, you finally looked at Ciel. She was right. Your heart flipped immediately, taking in his deep navy suit. He had a white rose tucked pinned over his chest, his signature flower. The tie tucked into his jacket was a soft pink; pale enough that you thought it was white at first glance. The rest of the wedding party coordinated with him, the bridesmaids wearing the same pink, and the groomsmen the same blue.

Ciel didn’t smile broadly, but you knew better than to fixate on that. Instead, the corners of his lips turned upwards. He took in your appearance slowly, as if he were fixating on a painting. Inspecting every detail with the intensity of someone trying to commit each brush stroke to memory.

At the altar, you took your place across from Ciel. Christian stood behind you, to the officiant’s side. Aunt Beatrice took your bouquet for you.

All you needed to do was finish the ceremony, and you would have the man across from you all to yourself for the next month. Just you, him, Carl, and the servants abroad in some beautiful place. There was no royal tour— all you needed to do was attend Alix of Hesse and Nicholas II’s wedding in Russia as guests.

The thought of such solitude was elating. It helped your smile widen naturally, though your cheeks were beginning to sting.

The music quieted into a small, soothing tune that the officiant could speak over. 

“Welcome, everyone,” the officiant said. He was an agind man with kind blue eyes and a thoughtful smile. There was a gold wedding band on his left ring finger, matching his red and gold robes. “Please be seated. Thank you all for joining us on this joyous day and cloudless afternoon.” 

“Every one of you today has been invited today because you, in one way or another, shaped the lives of these lovely individuals standing before me, Her Highness Princess Marie Louise of Schleswig-Holstein and Lord Ciel Phantomhive.”

Not hearing your name hurt you more than you thought it would have. 

“For those of you I have not had the chance to meet, my name is Reverend Arthur Green. I have officiated the past…six… royal weddings,” he said with a flourish, making a show of counting. There were scattered laughs in the audience in response. Green was close with the Queen, who sat in a distinguished throne to the side of the author with her Munshi, Abdul Karim. Notably, not all of her children were present— likely for security reasons. 

Reverend Green continued, “we were all taken by surprise by this sweeping love connection, but seeing the way these two beautiful souls regard one another, their love is strong and true.” 

You felt your face redden, matching the new flush over Ciel’s cheeks. 

“I have vows prepared for both the bride and groom,” Green announced. Neither of you expressed a desire to write your own vows, and you doubted the Queen would have let you. She was reluctant with royalty expressing such passionate feelings in public, preferring to preserve the dignified appearance her Royal Mob upheld. 

“Please repeat my words, Your Highness,” he requested, forcing you to refocus. 

You repeated. “I, Marie, take thee, Ciel Phantomhive, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.”

Ciel repeated the same vow, having the same reluctance with saying your name. No, Marie’s name. 

This is just the beginning, Y/n.

Ciel broke into a broader smile, yours matching his. His blue eye seemed even darker in the sunset. When you looked at him, you saw your honeymoon, your future, your husband. Your closest friend and confidante. Your heart fluttered, your mouth was dry. More than anything, you wanted to kiss him.

When you looked at him, you forgot about the weight of the tiara on your head.

“Your Highness, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Lord Phantomhive, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forever?” Reverend Green asked.

“Yes!” You said more enthusiastically than you meant to. The guests laughed, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught Lizzie’s amused grin. You cleared your throat, “yes, I do.”

“And Lord Phantomhive, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Her Highness, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forever?”

“Indeed, I do,” Ciel’s reply was much calmer than yours, but his face was full of love. It made your eyes sting, as if you could cry. You tried to blink the forming tears away. You thought about what his lips feel like, how his arms feel when they wrapped around you to combat your surfacing feelings.

The both of you already loved, honored, cherished, and protected each other. You’d do it forever, if that’s what the Fates had in store for you.

Reverend Green nodded at Theodore, preparing the child to get ready for his cue to bring your wedding rings up to the altar. 

Theodore nodded aggressively in response, tightening his grip on the small cushion with your rings. The audience laughed, but you couldn’t make yourself look away from Ciel to survey their responses any longer.

Green grinned, his eyes brimming with tears as well. At least you weren’t alone in your tragically sentimental feelings. “Now, if there is anyone present, who can show just cause why these two persons may not be joined in matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace,” he declared, naturally assuming that no one in the audience would protest. 

The gasps and screams forced you to look away from Ciel and into the audience as it rippled, devolving into chaos. They dove away from a singular woman who stood, aiming a small purse gun at the altar. 

Guards sprang into action, their guns unlocking, but they couldn’t shoot with terrified guests fleeing and hiding. Mey-Rin argued with a soldier, likely in an effort to take his weapon and fire. She was the best shot there, but you assumed the guards refused to let her bring a weapon in.

You didn’t need to look longer to know what was about to happen. You refused to let it. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you moved. You pulled yourself out of Christian’s restrictive grip, and pushed Ciel to the ground, just as the woman shot. The shot sounded throughout the Sanctuary, amongst the course of screaming guests, shouting guards and crying guests. 

You remained standing, merely feeling a searing warmth rip through your left chest. It was nothing like Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet. In fact, it hurt less. It was hot like nothing you’ve ever touched, but it didn’t hurt. Not even the hot stove you touched by accident as a child compared to the sensation in your chest. 

Ciel managed to pull himself off the ground, startled by your hard shove. He’d tripped down the short steps and hit his head, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed. You would have been relieved, had he not been staring at you in panic.

“Y/n,” he managed, horrified. 

But you name was lost amid the chaos. Before you dared look down, you took a quick survey of the rest of the Sanctuary. Queen Victoria and most of the guests fled or hid, guards shielding their escape. Edward sprung in front of Cornelia, the Reverend, Theodore, and Beatrice. The children cried for their parents, who were likely forced to leave with the guards. 

Reverend Green trembled behind the altar, bear hugging young Beatrice and Theodore, the Hesse sisters and Aunt Beatrice fell to the floor, covering their heads. Your brother stood before them, gun drawn. Royalty received crisis training for situations like this. 

Mariana was gone, having used the chaos to make her escape.

“Edward, take the kids!” Cornelia demanded, “get them to their parents.”

“I will not leave you,” Edward Midford insisted, his voice trained to be steady in the face of danger. He was a soldier, like Christian. 

“I-I can,” Reverend Green said, trembling. “Come on, children. We must— we must, go.” He tried to let go of them, but Beatrice held on, hiding her face in the man’s robes. 

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to them,” Green assured Cornelia, but neither child seemed interested in leaving.

“Y/n!” Ciel shouted, his face red as if he’s been trying to capture your attention. He put his hand on your shoulder, but he was trembling. His gaze alternated between your chest and your face, and you made the mistake of looking down at your fresh wound. At the fresh crimson blood that blossomed on the left side of your dress’s bodice. It was in the middle of your left breast— the third or fourth rib you assumed. 

“Oh,” you managed. Your legs buckled, but Ciel caught you and carefully helped you to the floor. He tore his jacket off and pressed it against the wound, hard enough for you to cry out in pain. The ease that he pressed indicated that the bullet fractured your ribs. Ciel sensed that the wound gave way too easily and paled. 

You took a difficult breath in, shivering despite the warm bullet in your chest. Your teeth chattered.

Pain, tenderness, difficulty breathing, you told yourself. Baxter always said that self-assessment came first. It was a small gun. The best you could hope for was a fractured rib, but the way your chest gave way to Ciel’s pressure suggested it was shattered. 

“Why can a shattered rib be dangerous, Y/n?” Baxter asked.

Massive bleeding from ruptured blood vessels, bone fragments from the rib can puncture a lung… or my heart.

Air could build around the lung and cause a tension pneumothorax… assuming the bullet didn’t puncture the lung and do that already.

“Ciel, keep the pressure steady,” Cornelia said. You forgot she was a nurse. Maybe you had a chance, if it wasn't a tension pneumothorax. But you never had that kind of luck. “Help me check for an exit wound,” she said to someone on your right side. The three of them lifted your torso up, and confirmed that you were also bleeding out from the back. They ripped the satin from your gown and used another man’s jacket to slow that bleeding while Ciel held pressure on your front. 

“We need a carriage to get her to a hospital,” Cornelia declared, checking your pulse.

“I-I think the guests took them all,” Lady Scotany said, “Alexis— go check. For a guard, a doctor, a commoner with a carriage, anyone.” With a grim nod, Alexis Midford ran with Baldroy and Mey-Rin. 

“Marie, I know it hurts but I need you to do your best to breathe. And wiggle your fingers,” Cornelia said, but you were more concerned with Ciel. His hands were soaked with your blood, despite Aunt Beatrice continuously giving him new material to help stop the bleeding with. 

“Marie!” Cornelia repeated. When you didn’t respond, she turned to Ciel. “Ciel, you need to tell her to breathe,” she said, “she will listen to you.”

You were Marie, even when you had a bullet in your chest. It was a cruel joke.

Were you not breathing? Was that why your lungs were aflame? Was that why your throat was constricting? Was that why your vision coated in white, and your ears rang like church bells?

Ciel trembled, but he nodded. “Look at me,” he ordered, “breathe. You need to breathe.” Breathing hurt. It hurt more than any pain you ever experienced in your life. It hurt more than your arm. Inhaling hurt more than the bullet itself hurt. 

“T-trying…” you managed.

“You’re doing well, Marie, it’s okay,” Lizzie said, sniffling. Your head was in her lap, though you were unsure when she showed up. “J-just focus on breathing.”

My ribs are broken. I probably have a tension pneumothorax, you wanted to cry out. But your voice wasn’t cooperating. You could feel your rationality slipping out with the same urgency blood bubbled from your wound.

Cornelia cut your bodice open, cutting through the dress and corset. Finny gave his jacket to Lady Scotany to drape over the right side of your chest, for your modesty. As if that was the most concerning part of the situation. 

“Take a deep breath in,” Ciel said, repeating Cornelia’s words. You shivered, struggling to do as told. Your lungs were already full— as if you took an inhale prior, held it, and tried to inhale again, all without exhaling. 

“Abnormal lung sounds,” Cornelia drew back to watch your chest as you struggled to breathe. “Asymmetrical expansion of the chest,” she mumbled gravely.

The problem with being right all the time, meant that you had also diagnosed yourself correctly. And this diagnosis was fatal without near-immediate treatment.

“What does that mean?” Ciel insisted. “Cornelia!” He shouted, but the nurse didn’t meet his gaze. 

“It probably means it’s a…tension pneumothorax,” Cornelia admitted.

“She got away,” you heard Baldroy say from a distance, returning with Lord Scotany. He shouldered his coat off to let Lady Scotany put it beneath the exit wound on your back. “Guards were too concerned with gettin’ the royals to safety. Took all the carriages, too.”

“What does that mean, Cornelia?” Ciel shouted.

“Where is Sebastian?” Lizzie asked, trying to keep her voice level. She removed the heavy tiara from your head and gently smoothed her fingers over your hair.

“Sebastian?” Lady Scotany asked. “He’s getting another carriage. We need to get her to the hospital.” 

You wanted to laugh. With Sebastian getting the carriage, you were surely going to bleed out— or die of hypoxia— whichever came first. You were going to die in front of an altar. In a church. At your own wedding.

“Cornelia!” Ciel yelled. 

“Ciel, shut up and let me work!” Cornelia put her ear to your chest again. 

“Air is building around the outside of her lungs, rather than inside because the bullet— or a bone fragment punctured it,” Christian said, pitying your…husband? Fiancé? 

“The air puts pressure around the punctured lung, and that strains that lung and her heart. Since the lung is punctured, air keeps getting stuck when she inhales, so there is no room for it to expand when she breathes,” your brother explained.

Your lung definitely collapsed. The well-meaning pressure Ciel put on the wound couldn’t be helping, either.

“Hyperresonant chest percussion,” Cornelia noted under her breath. Her concerned frown deepened.

“Cornelia, her neck,” Christian added calmly. He kneeled at your other side, across from Ciel, light fingers touching your throat, feeling for your trachea. “Tracheal deviation to the right and distended neck veins.”

“Tension pneumothorax,” they said in synchrony, sharing a look. 

“So what can we do?” Lizzie cried out. 

“Dying,” you mumbled, fully believing that these were your final moments. The procedure you needed was impossible on the floor of the church. If Sebastian was tasked with the carriage, you weren’t going to get there in time. And he was why you were shot, in the first place. 

He caught bullets. He wanted you dead…it was simple. Bloody demon.

That’s what he was, wasn't he?

“We need a large bore needle!” Christian exclaimed.

“A needle? Whatever for?” Lizzie cried out.

“To evacuate the air,” Cornelia said, “but we don’t have the right kind here.”

“So what do we do?”

“You are not dying, you utter imbecile,” Ciel insisted, steady tears streaming down his face. You weren’t sure if he noticed that his forehead was bleeding, much less the salty tears streaming down his cheeks. “She was bloody aiming at me.” 

You wanted to reach out and wipe the tears off of his face, but your arm was limp at your side, refusing to obey. You could wiggle your fingers, but you couldn’t quite muster the strength to lift the limb. You tried again, but your arm fell to your side uselessly.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, pounding in your brain. It was a welcome change from the terrible ringing.

“I’m s-..sorry,” you managed, but it was a lie. If you hadn’t pushed Ciel, it might have hit him. If the man you loved died from your inaction, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself for it.

You felt there was a constrictive corset around your brain, tightening and tightening. Your breathing was rapid, in out, in out, in out. You could feel your head throb in time with your heart. With every inhale you managed, you got less air. 

But even so, you would do it again. 

“They’re not going to have the right needle here, we have to burp the wound.” Cornelia said. “Otherwise, she’ll suffocate before the carriage gets here.”

“Burp the wound?” Ciel asked incredulously. 

“The air caught in the pleural space won’t come out safely and she’ll suffocate if we don’t let air escape the opening that’s already there. Ciel, you need to step aside for a moment,” Cornelia explained.

“But— but, she’s still bleeding! I’m…stopping the bleeding! She will bleed out if I stop!” Ciel argued, looking from his bloody hands on the wound to your paling face. Back and forth once more.

“She’s going to die of hypoxia if you don’t let the air out of the lung cavity, Ciel.” Christian said. “You need to move, or I will move you.” Christian was much taller than Ciel. It would’ve been as simple as moving a chess piece.

Ciel moved reluctantly, and switched spots at your side with Christian. 

Cornelia moved the blood-soaked dressing from the wound, and you caught a quiet rush of air before she put fresh dress fabric over it once more. It was only a little easier for you to breathe before it grew difficult again. However, she quickly  removed the dressing when she noticed you beginning to strain. The nurse repeated the process in tandem with your discomfort. 

You shivered, watching the world above you— Ciel’s face, Lizzie’s, your brother’s. The world was brighter, it was blurry. And then it was refined. It was vibrant, and then it wasn’t. Vibrant, clear, blurry, bright…

Was this what Baxter saw? you wondered.

“No, Y/n. It’s not your time, yet.” Baxter said. “You need to wait. You need to try to live. The doc’s comin’ in a carriage with his supplies. He will be there. Just hold on. We’re all here for you every step of the way. You will not die.”

Earnest Baxter.

You refocused on Ciel. His face was clear, and vibrant. And then it was blurry. It was bright. He was still bleeding. He was still handsome.

You put all of your focus into your next words. “I love you,” you managed. Your eyes fluttered closed, it was getting too hard to concentrate and keep them open. 

“No, don’t you dare say that!” Ciel demanded. “You will not die. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” his fingers felt warm on your face, they smelled like blood. Your eyes fluttered open again. You smiled weakly. 

You weren’t sure what you would do without Ciel, either. 

“It’s…not my intent to but…” that might be out of my hands.

This was supposed to be the day you eternally promised yourselves to one another, but apparently, plans sometimes went awry. Sometimes, the determined widow got her happy ending.

But you won too. All because the last face you were going to see was the face of the man you loved.

“Surgeon’s here! He’s got supplies!” 

Hold on, Y/n.

. . .

Acknowledgements:

First of all, I want to thank everyone on Amino (who I unfortunately, didn’t keep in contact with) for telling me that the first 2 chapters of this fic were worthwhile. Without motivation from them, I never would have felt inspired enough to keep developing this idea. 

I also want to thank my best friend for listening to me rant about this piece. About the hours and hours of research about historical figures, laundry in the 1890s, makeup in the 1890s, speech, Victorian slang terms, hair, names, German breakfast food, types of tea, Victorian wedding traditions, serial killers, post-traumatic stress disorder, bilingualism, travel, everything. Even anatomy, dangerous chemicals, ages of me studying self-defense, waltz, and harp tutorials on YouTube. I even did the math-- Cornelia really is an 8th-generation New Yorker! I sat down and put a half hour into making a very preliminary family tree for her. Don’t even get me started on how many times I watched the anime and took notes on the cast’s speech and mannerisms. I even scoured Pinterest for reference pictures, outfit inspiration…everything you could ever want. It all amounted to 300+ pins to my TIP board, and exactly 127,411 words.

I digress. My best friend is so motivating, and without her telling me not to force myself to write when I don’t feel it, you guys wouldn’t have gotten anything close to this quality of work. In fact, she’s also a bit responsible for a scene in this chapter.

I also want to thank Sweet Anon, mylostleftfootsock, katherine101, for consistently reaching out to me in asks, DMs, and commenting. You all motivate me so much, and there’s nothing quite like knowing that the story I write touches you. Without knowing people were really engaging with what I put out, writing would have taken a lot longer, if it happened at all. 

Thank you all, so much. I’m so grateful for every single read.

I can't wait to share my next projects with you. I'll even give you a few hints to make up for this ending: Ciel Phantomhive, ballerina!reader, fake courtship, serial killer. Do with this what you will <3

Love, Dan

#the indignant pawn #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel phantomhive #ciel phantomhive x y/n #ciel phantomhive x you #black butler fanfic #anime fanfiction #historical fiction #historical romance

[obey-me-disaster]

-Proposing to-

Leviathan x gn!MC

A/N: This is part 3 of the series 'Proposing To'

I would like to say a special thank you to threadtheocracy on twitter /@thread-theocracy on tumblr for letting me use their ideas for the brothers from their DnD AU. You should definetely check them out.

Also another special thank you to my DM cause the setting of the DnD campaign and the NPCs were made by him ^-^.

Also, anything between ‘ ’ is when a character in the campaign talks.

"Do you remember what we have talked about?" You said facing six out of the seven brothers.

"Yes, we all have of our characters sheets and everyone has their own set of dice. But are you sure this will work? I've never really played DnD but I know quests can get quite side tracked" Satan couldn't help but raise his concerns, and he wasn't entirely wrong either. While the brothers were on the plan, the story could still take another route, but you were the one that decided to propose to Levi, the only brother missing from the table at the moment, through a DnD game.

Once you got this idea into your head you couldn't get it out. You had to ask the brothers to play in the campai cause DnD session with only one person playing the story...wasn't bound to be any good. You stayed up late coming up with both a story and character sheets for the brothers so that the campaign can be good, but you couldn't help but feel nervous.

What if the story goes into other direction? Do you just continue through multiple sessions until you reach the point where you propose? Do you give up? Change the point of the story where you propose? Negative thoughts started to cloud your mind, making you doubt yourself and your plan, but those didn't last long once you felt someone pat your back. "Don't ya worry about anything! We're gonna be on our best behaviour tonight!" With a moment to calm yourself gained some of your confidence back and just in time as you heard a knock on the door.

"Um, MC? You told me to come here for a surprise, can I open the door?" You nearly tripped over your own feet trying to get to the door, ignoring the snickering coming from the other brothers. Checking yourself once more you opened the door. "You came just in time, take a place on that empty chair over there".

As Levi made his way into the room he couldn't help but notice the character sheets, the different types of dices and some maps sitting on the table. "Don't tell me...ARE WE REALLY GOING TO PLAY DND?! This isn't a prank isn't it? My self esteem couldn't handle that after just getting a bad ending in Mystical Messenger!!" After handing him his own character sheet you were fast to reasure him. "It's neither a dream not a prank, I've decided to make a little surprise for you. Tho this will be only a one-shot and not a full blown campaign"

The last part seemed to fall on deaf ears as Levi was reading his character sheet. "You made me a warlock with the fathomless pact?! HOW- How did you even know I wanted to be that?! MC you're the best Henry I could ever ask for!"

"Soon they'll be more than that" Satan slapped Mammon across the head. "Don't listen to this moron. Do you want to check our characters too before the session?" Hearing that Levi snapped his head towards the forth born. "You didn't even have to ask, of course I want to seem them."

The only sounds that could be heard after everyone handed their character sheets to Levi, were him muttering about something or nodding. "Ok so from my understand Lucifer is an oathbreaker paladin, Mammon is a wild card rogue, Satan is a ranger, to be precise a beast master conclave with a bunch of cats...why am I not surprised." Switching between papers he continues reading "Asmo is a bard, LMAO of course he is a bard. Beelzebub is a beast barbarian and Belphegor is a druid of the dream circle....huh, not totally surprised but I thought he would be a druid of the star circle."

After reading the last of the character sheets he hands them back to each brother. "Now that everyone has their characters back, WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR!? Let's get the session started" And with him saying that, it was your cue to start.

"Ok everyone, pay close attention for the story is about to start." Making sure everyone was paying attention you felt ready to start the story "Your party is here for a common goal, to find the cave of All Treasures. The cave is said to give one thing a person may need or want, no matter how expensive, rare or even dangerous it may be. Each one of you has one thing they desire the most so you got together, a group of strangers, minus Belphie and Beel who actually know eachother-"

"Of course they know each other, you can't really separate can you?" Both Satan and Levi turned towards Asmo, with sour expressions on their faces. "Asmo please shut up-" "Yeah shut up! I am trying to listen to MC." The third born turned towards you with a look you only see when he is playing his favourite games ot watching his favourite animes. "Please go on with the story".

"-anyway...The thing that everyone wants the most is written on your character sheets. Please keep it to yourself for now." Taking out a map of the world the session is taking place in you pointed different places of importance on it." You are currently in Be'heel, but you need to get to Bellanova where the cave is rumored to be, but to get there you need a ship. Currently your group is in the port trying to find one. What are your characters doing?"

All the brothers are in deep thought, some of them looking like a child lost on a random street, it kind of reminds you of your first dnd session. Finally Levi seemed to get an idea. "Can I roll for perception? That way I might find a good ship". Handing him his set of dices you let him roll. "And it's a 13, not bad Levi! Your character sees a lot of expensive ships that you might not be able to afford, but just as you were about to give up you noticed a pirate ship. It seemed to stay afloat with the power of black magic, hope and duct tape"

"Ya know, a pirate ship ain't seem like a bad idea, we might get some treasure too!" Mammon looked really proud of his reasoning. "Is treasure all you think about? But I guess at least checking out that ship doesn't sound like a bad idea. My character picks up his cats and heads towards the suspicious ship". After making sure everyone was on the same page you continued to narrate the campaign.

"As everyone makes their way towards the ship, you see a guy coordinating people on carrying stuff. Do you want talk with him?" Everyone looks at each other before giving you a nod. "I will do the talking! No man can resist my charm~" Asmo winked at you as if you were the pirate he was about to try and charm. "Hey! No winking towards my Henry!" Levi looked like he wanted to grab you and hold far away from his brother .

"No need to fight guys! Asmo, you can try talking with him, and since you are new to this I will give you an advice, please roll arcana or perception first, believe me, you'll need it." Asmo looked between the dices confused before you just handed him the right one.

"And you rolled, 20! Holy shit, do you have a plus on your perception?" Everyone turned their attention to Asmo, some knowing what rolling a 20 ment while others just looking confused. "Hmmm, I think I have a +3? What does that mean?" Asmo gave you his character sheet in order for you to check it out. "Yeah it's a +3, and that's wonderfull news! With a roll of 23 you are able to sense he is no ordinary person, he seems to have some higher power to him, a person not make your enemy. Now that you are aware of all of this, Asmo you can make your move"

The avatar of lust looks through his character sheet confused, before just putting them away "This is too confusing, since this is role play I will just do it the old fashioned way~" Clearing his throat he leans in towards you. 'You got a pretty nice ship over there, just perfect to also take me and my group to a little place called Bellanova right?' Pretty satisfied with his introduction you turned towards the others "Do any of you want to add anything else?".

Levi takes a deep breath before taking one of the dices "Can I roll for persuasion? We still need to find out who this pirate is, and I am not about to make the same mistake as that one backround character from One Slice!" Seeing him get some courage made you happy, it was a sign that the whole proposal plan has big chances to work. You were a bit afraid that the other brothers will take the lead and not let him actually shine. "Of course! While you roll you can think of what you want to say"

Taking the dice he roll and lands on a...19! "I also have a +1 so that makes it a 20! Can't believe I actually got so much.." The avatar of envy looked a bit in disbelief. "Anyway! I turn towards the character and say 'Sorry for my friends bold approach, my group is searching for a way to get to Bellanova and we wondered if we could board on your ship in case you go there? Can we also get you name?'" Levi seemed to really get into his role of an adventurer but that was to be expected, he always did better when it came to playing the role of a character he liked.

Deciding that was enough for the character to be receptive you chose to make their game easier. "The pirate seems to take into consideration what you have just told him. His hight is average, he's lean and athletic with piercing blue eyes and has medium long hair that looks meticulously messy with jade beads in it. 'The name is Jean, and it seems you guys got pretty lucky. My crew is just about to head towards Bellanova. We also got more free space than usal since some people of our normal crew are in a mission in Brennux so you are welcome to join us on our ship, Lady Fortuna's Lament' "

Seeing as they got a ship some of the brothers high fived between each other. "Good job Levi, ya got us on the ship!" Mammon ruffled Levi's hair.

After you let their characters explore the ship, interact with the NPCs and find out more about the NPCs that were away. And to Asmo's dismay, Jean was taken by one of the NPCs that was away, and seducing him didn't work either. You've even decide to give them a fight agaisnt a sea monster in order to take advantage of Levi's character. And just as he planned he finally summoned his pact. You made sure that instead of tentacles to use one of Lotan's head, just as an element of familiarity for him.

"I GOT 24, MC THAT HITS DOESN'T IT?!" Levi showed you his dice and modifier for spells and you couldn't help but think how well this plays into your plan, for him to have his main character moment and save the others. You were planning on having that be the finishing blow no matter what damage he rolls, but he just so happens to roll for damage high enough to kill the monster. "And with that move you kill the monster, do you want to describe how you kill it?"

Levi's eyes lit up, seeing the chance to describe how his character defeats an actual monster! "THIS IS MY CHANCE! SO! I summon Lotan, the waves around us are getting bigger, and more violent yet they are not affecting our ship. Even the sea monster is getting trashed around, and as it is about to retreat into the ocean one of Lotan's head bursts out and bites the beast's neck, dealing a fatal blow"

After letting Levi have his main character moment you called for a time skip so that not only the ship arrives in Bellanova but they also get near the place where the cave is rumored to be. You would have dragged it out a bit longer, making the brothers look for clues and ask NPCs, but you could see some the brothers losing their patience. Not out of boredom, but out of exciment to see Levi's reaction to his surprise.

You made sure to add little detail to either NPCs or the description of places that reminded him of different animes and games he likes, to add to the fact that this entire campaign and world was made only for him. You worried that this might not be romantic enough for a proposal but when you stayed and think about it, creating a whole world, fictional or not, for your lover is romantic in a way.

"Ok guys, your group seems to be close to the cave of All Treasures. The problem is that there are a lot of cave in these mountains, full of monsters and traps. How do you go about finding the right cave?" All of the brothers start to discuss between themselves on the best course of action. A bunch of ideas were put up for discussion just to be ignored a second later. Some of your favourite ideas were: Asmo charming some random monster to show them where the cave of treasures were, Satan sending some of his cats to scout the caves which he quickly shout down. In the end they all decided to roll for perception to see if there are any clues around.

"Mammon and Levi both rolled an 18! Since you guys had the highest scores I will explain what your characters see." All the brothers leaned in to listen carefully to what you were about to say. "Your characters see a ghost like figure of a young girl in a pink hat and dress with light brown haired tied in two pig tails smiling at you. She looks like she wants you guys to follow her."

"A GHOST!? No way I'm going there!" At the mention of the ghost Mammon looked through his character sheet for anything that could him get rid of the spirit. "IDIOT! It's not just some ghost! That description...it must be Ruri-chan or a look alike, we have to follow her! MC my character is going after the ghost." Levi looked like he was about to run for real, and not only in the game, but you have decided to not comment on that, at least not yet.

"Does everyone agree to follow the ghost? Or do you have something else in your mind?" While you did ask the rest for their opinion, you gave them just a small signal that only they could see using magic to tell them to play along, the end of the campaign is over. After everyone agreed to go into the cave you went on with the final parts of the story.

"As your characters followed the ghost of the little girl, you could hear her say that she only allows people she deems worthy enough to see the cave, and that the last person she took to this cave was a tiefling with her baby daughter named Natasha a long time ago." You started to feel a little bit nervous, with the big reveal of the treasures coming soon.

"All of you enter in what you can only describe was a paradise. It no longer looked like a cave but royal room fit for a king. If any of you didn't know any better you would have thought you were teleported into a castle. Tables of food and drinks, piles of gold, bookshelves full of maps and books and 7 treasure chests were waiting for you. The little ghost turns towards your group to say her final words 'I have brought you to your destination. Feel free to eat and drink to your heart's content! The things you want the most each lie inside the treasure chests, one for each person.' And with that the spirit vanished."

You gasped for air after that part, you tried to talk as you normally do, but by the end you got a bit agitated. "I guess this is the end of the session. We should open the treasure chests in the order we showed up to the session." Lucifer said as a matter of fact. You were a bit confused for a second before you realized that Levi was the last one, so you had enough time to calm yourself before the proposal, you really need to thank Lucifer after you're done here.

Levi tried to argue about it, not wanting to be the last but the others were quickly to shut him up, all of them having understood Lucifer's plan. "Since we are going in that order, Lucifer is the first one. Your character walks up to the chest with his name on it and when he opens it he finds a crystal. To the others it doesn't seem that special but you could feel it's powers and you knew that this the cure of the curse that made you break your pact as a paladin." To make things seem more 'realistic' you handed Lucifer a fake crystal.

Turning to Mammon you beging to explain what he found in his treasure chests and you did the same to the rest of the brothers, each getting some item relevant to their character. Belphie got a star chart left by some old druid of the star circle, Satan got some clues that would help him in an investigation for his character and so on.

Facing Levi you finally begin the speech you have prepared just for this moment. "Your character's turn finally comes to open his treasure chest. As he opens it he can only dream of a legendary magical stuff that he might get, but to his surprise he sees a beautiful silver ring, in the shape of three tentacles wrapped around a dark blue stone. As your character was about to pick up the ring, the silhouette of their loved one appeared getting down on one knee." With that sentence all the brothers besides Levi got up and left the room, leaving the two of you alone.

"MC? What is the meaning of this? Is this part of the story?" Looking at him you didn't know if he was in denial of what was happening or simply confused but it didn't matter to you at the moment. "You can say this is part of the session in a way, but I have to tell you the truth. The whole DnD campaign was made as a way to propose to you. I made this whole world and made sure to put references to things you like just for you!"

You watched as the realization sunk in, his eyes going wide. "You don't mean that you want to marry me right? You made this whole story just for me? Are you sure you want to marry, there are so many better demons out there!" You took his hand, hovering with the ring just above his finger. "There is no doubt in my heart that I want only you. I love you and our time that we spend together, and there is no question about who I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Looking into his eyes you could tell that he calmed down, but now he seemed to be flustered from the sweet things he just heard. You guessed as along as he doesn't faint before you propose it was better that way. "The only question is if you'll accept me. Levi, will you marry me?"

Tears runned down his face, not being able to believe what just happen. This was better than any scenario he could have imagined. "YES I WANT TO MARRY YOU! I want to you to be my player 2, to be my Henry to my Lord of Shadows, of course I am not gonna say no!". A sigh of relieve that you didn't even knew you were holding escaped your mouth as you finally placed the ring on his finger.

You got up in order to wipe his tears and kiss him, but that moment of tenderness was ruined when both of you heard cheering from the other side of the door. "Wait a second...my brothers knew about the whole plan?" Levi seemed to have a moment of realization right there and then. "How did you think I got all of them in the same place to play dnd? But from what I remember they were supposed to leave the two of us alone for good to have our moment." You said the last part throwing a glare towards the door. "Well it doesn't matter now, how about we go and celebrate our engagement somewhere else, where we will not get interupted?" You winked at him as you said the last part and it didn't take a lot for him to understand what you ment, his face already getting hot. "Just lead the way and I will follow you, MC."

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me leviathan x mc #obey me fanfic #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub

[abeinginsand]

Sparrow Spiderman AU

Radioactive wolf spider bites teen Sparrow who was definitely playing with said spider beforehand. Spiders and wolves are just so friend-shaped after all, so of course a wolf spider would be as well! Feel like Sparrow named the spider Top Hat (not sure why other than silliness) and the spider sticks around like Nick jr on Glenn's shoulder

Powers listed below:

Barely noticeable fangs normally but all teeth turn razor sharp temporarily for combat etc cold resistance/minor ice and plant magic? cannot make webs but can high jump half mask, floral and wolf theme (yes their mask has wolf ears...and probably fluffy leg warmers/arm warmers) Who is the person Sparrow couldn't save? I was thinking about Lark but that lead to a villain route. Maybe that is a villain the twins face off against at some point--would be an older Sparrow. But for the main au, maybe Glenn? Close-Freeman and Oak Garcia families are really close here! Glenn's like a fun and mischievous uncle to the twins. Helping teach them how to drive recently too. Lark, Sparrow, Nick, Grant, and Terry are still friends. Nick's been a friend to the twins since childhood, they met Grant in middle school, while Terry is a new transfer student. All of the teens are in the school's adventurer's guild. Its a dnd club that Henry founded when he was in school. Sparrow took over the mantle and brought the club back into existence. Lark brought the 'literally sneaking out and adventuring like when we were kids but more intense' part into things. They lead the club together but Lark doesn't want to be held responsible for dealing with faculty etc so he's a normal club member on paper. I think it could be fun if Lark swaps places with Sparrow sometimes as the spiderhero, did he get bitten too? Possibly and/or maybe the two have a bunch of gadgets for him to use. Added shenanigans...Lark and Sparrow can communicate telepathically sometimes (after both were bitten). At some point Lark does make his own costume, but the two still have fun switching around as usual. Both Nick and Glenn still dislike spiders here and while Sparrow was plenty mischievous regarding that info as a kid (and Nick also brought up snakes in revenge), they are pretty...worried about either of them finding out about Sparrow being part spider now.

#sparrow oak garcia #sparrow oak #dndads #dndads au #lark oak garcia #lark oak #spider #spiders #spiderman au #spiderman #abeinginsand talk tag #Seeing a lot of cool spiderman aus and some posts about the new movie too but #...well I've never seen the first one before :0 Watched it yesterday night and really enjoyed it! #will probably make some doodles at some point too #spidey wolf sparrow au #abeinginsand writing tag

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"Working Hands" by kazoosandfannypacks

Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: G Tags: 2K words, Pining (Mutual?,) Season 3B, i swear each and every one of those run on sentences is necessary Summary: Killian broods at Granny's after hours, pining for Emma and wishing the colder Storybrooke climate didn't make his hands so dry. Author's notes: @silver-the-phoenix and I have had this headcanon about Killian having dry hands for quite a while, but when @cosette141 and I figured out we live near each other and are both experiencing similar cold weather problems, I decided it was high time to sit down and project them onto Killian Jones

Also on Ao3!

 Neverland had been a much more tropical climate. It was warm, and humid, and Killian was used to it. Something about it just felt right to him- he could wear multiple layers in the heat of the jungle and scarcely break a sweat.

 Killian managed to get by with the weather in the Enchanted Forest too, even and especially during this last year- though admittedly, he'd had other things to think about during that time than the weather- atmospheric conditions mean nothing to you when you're separated from the one you love, when you know that you can never see her again, and she doesn't even remember you- when you have to bear all the work of remembering and grieving for the both of you all by yourself.

 But now he was with her- not with her with her, but both in the same realm, in the same town, Emma renting out a room at Granny's just down the hall from him. 

 "But what does it all matter?" Killian thought. "All I did was bring her back to Storybrooke, back to her family, back to a life that still doesn't need me."

 Of all the memories they'd shared, the ones where he felt a connection with her the most- the beanstalk, their kiss on Neverland, sharing drinks in New York- in all of them, in all those moments where she almost made him feel special in her eyes- in all of them they were alone. She'd never treated him so fondly when her family was around- she scarcely acknowledged his presence then- and Storybrooke was a land filled with her family.

 But what he wouldn't give to have just a moment alone with her!

 He tried to turn his mind from that and found himself remembering how cold he was here in Storybrooke, and how sharp and brisk the air, and the havoc it was wreaking on his hand.

 He could handle the cold without a need for change of clothes- if losing a hand didn't make him stop wearing twenty nine buttons in every outfit, surely something as impersonal as the weather wouldn't convince him to change his aesthetic. He didn't mind the harsh winds, as it reminded him of his days on The Jolly Roger- and how he hoped she was being treated well now.

 But what really bothered him was what the cold did to his hand-how it roughened it like sandpaper, crackled it like sands under the sun- how, much like the crocodile's cold heart had made his skin rough and scaly, so the cold weather made Killian's hand.

 Today though, all the cold was really getting to him- he almost considered making himself a cup of coffee, or some of that cinnamon hot cocoa Henry loved so much, just to warm up- but at the same time he knew if he used Granny's ingredients without her permission, he might lose his roaming privileges around the diner after hours.

 But he quickly forgot all about the quest to keep warm-he looked up and was warmed through the core when he saw Emma Swan enter.

 He noticed her before she noticed him, but when she did she seemed a bit startled. 

 "Hook!" she asked, clearly searching for an escape route. "I didn't know you were here, I…"

 He didn't want to watch her walk away- her presence was a soothing one.

 "That's alright, Swan." He said. "I wouldn't've brought you back to Storybrooke if I didn't want to run into you every now and then."

 Emma rolled her eyes, but she also didn't leave, instead taking a seat at one of the bar stools across the room, staring intently at a paper napkin that had been left on the counter.

 Killian watched as she stared at it for a few minutes, seeming more than a tad frustrated with every passing second. He tried to continue his solitary brooding, but after a few minutes he realized the futility- it was ridiculous to mourn his affections for Emma when she sat thirty feet away from him.

 So he got up, quietly, so as not to startle her, and walked over.

 "What are you doing?" He asked. She started, and out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the napkin move.

 She let out heavy breaths, trying to regain her composure. "Just testing out my magic a little." Emma said. "Granny said I can work on it in here at night, while Henry's not around."

 "How's that going?" Killian asked.

 "So far?" Emma asked. "Not well. wasn't exactly a master magician when we left, and I haven't been practicing this past year."

 "That's alright, Swan." He tried to reassure her. "I'm sure you'll regain the hang of it in due time."

 "I appreciate your vote of confidence," she said, then turned back to the napkin.

 "What are you trying to do?" Killian asked.

 "I'm trying to move it." She snapped.

 "Well that's not so hard." He joked, trying to ease her tension. He then picked up the napkin and placed it a few inches away from where it was.

 "Without touching it." She glared at him.

 He blew on the napkin and it slid across the table a little.

 "That's not so hard, is it, love?"

 "Oh wow" she rolled her eyes, "master Yoda couldn't've taught me better himself."

 "Master who?"

 "From Star Wars." Emma said.

 "Star Wars?"

 She rolled her eyes again and turned back to the napkin.

 He felt sure he was distracting her, that his presence was a hinderance, but after she haunted his every moment the last three years, he felt it only fair to haunt even one of hers.

 "Is there anything can do to help you?" He asked, pulling out his flask.

 "Leave me alone?"

 "Alright." He wasn't about to infringe on her boundaries, but he hesitated only a moment before he left, just long enough to take a sip of rum.

 Perhaps it was fate that she looked up at that moment as he brought the flask to his face with his chapped, red hand.

 "Woah." She said, and he turned back a moment.

 "What?" He asked, corking the bottle and stashing it.

 "Your hand." She said. "It's so dry."

 It was his turn to roll his eyes as she dug through the small backpack she'd brought in with her. "Thanks for noticing for me, Swan." 

 "Here," she handed him a small canister, "this lotion works wonders."

 "Thanks." He said, holding the circular green container, and looking down at his hook, wondering how well he could apply the lotion with it.

 "Oh." His hook had caught her glance, and she looked up at his face, "I'm sorry, uh, do you want help?"

 "What?" He asked, unsure how to respond. His pride said it was an insult for her to even ask that, his humility said there was no way Swan cared enough about him to even offer that- but his heart said "please."

 "Sorry, just- do you want me to help you?"

 "Yeah." He blinked a few times as she twisted off the lid and scraped a dab of the lotion onto her finger. It was very rare for Emma to initiate any contact with him, especially physical, so he was a little surprised at her stepping down from her high walls to touch him.

  "Stop making this romantic, Killian!" He thought. "This is purely platonic, she's the Savior, she probably feels obligated to help."

 Despite his best thoughts, it was hard to push back his feelings as she took his hand and caressed it- no, not caressing, just applying the lotion, just trying to fix his crackled skin- there wasn't anything romantic about the magic of her touch, the sparks he was sure he felt, how every swirl of her thumb was like writing love letters in a language only they knew- but surely it meant nothing, just like their kiss on Neverland.

 She hadn't looked up at him the whole time- and he knew, because he hadn't taken his eyes off her for a second- but instead had focused on smoothing his rough skin as best as she could.

 "I think that'll have to do it." She said. Did she feel the same tension he did? Surely she didn't. Did his hand feel the same in hers as hers felt around his? Surely it didn't. Did their touch rouse passions any further awake in her, like it had in him?

 Surely, it couldn't've.

 She'd made the mistake of letting her hand linger half a second- a half second which Killian read into, which Killian almost felt meant hope, in which Killian didn't think he'd be out of line if he took the opportunity to twist his hand so he could hold hers- so he did, holding her fingers between his fingers and thumb.

 He didn't look her in the eyes- the scared expression he knew they'd hold would break his heart- but looked down at her beautiful little hand, and how well it fit in his.

 "Thank you." He said, and dared to play on his old-fashioned reputation in her mind, dared bring her hand to his face, dared to bring her knuckles to his lips, dared to kiss her hand.

 Had she grown up a princess in the Enchanted Forest, she would've been accustomed to this, probably receiving this gesture from every man who crossed her paths- and he never would've done it if that were the case.

 But nature having presented an opportunity to thank her as none ever had- but all ought to have- he took it. 

 It felt so right, so right to hold her fingers to his lips, so right to show her the love and honor she was due- so right that it felt a great sorrow to let go.

 He risked looking in her eyes afterward, afraid of her confusion and anger, but instead seeing confusion and awe.

 "You're welcome." She said.

 She didn't turn away from his gaze, and he wanted to savor the moment as long as he could- for in that moment, he almost felt like maybe, like maybe he was something in her eyes.

 But as he remembered who she was- the beautiful princess, the Savior, a hero in every realm she graced with her presence- he remembered himself- the filthy pirate, the vengeful captain, the villain of every story he forced his way into- and he realized how ridiculous it was for him to think he'd ever be good enough for her.

 And to share this moment with her, but to know she'd never care for him, not like he cared for her, that he was trying to wedge himself into another life he didn’t belong in, it tore him apart.

 "I should go." He looked away from her, unsure what he was even staring at, or where, just not at her, "I'm distracting you from your magic practice."

 "Right." Emma turned back to the napkin on the counter as he walked away.

 He scolded himself for that hopeful little part of him that told him to look back, told him to see if she was watching him leave- but he listened to it anyways, and saw her not looking at him at all, instead intently focused on the napkin.

 So he intently focused on whatever was ahead of him, on the hallway, on his door, on his room, on the door he could slam, then that he could lean back against, and heave a heavy breath, looking down at the hand that moments ago had held Emma's- and that probably never should again.

 But had he watched Emma a moment longer, he would've seen her magic in action, seen the napkin move across the table at her will, in response to her feelings.

 And he would've seen how the napkin snuck across the table and landed a moment on her knuckles, just as his lips had moments ago. He would've seen how, in response to her feelings, her magic had tried to mimic him, to recreate and replicate his affection for her. He would've seen her excitement at making her magic work shift into panic as she realized too what that meant- that perhaps his feelings were more mutual than she'd been letting on, that perhaps she enjoyed their moments alone almost as much as he did, that perhaps she cared for him in return- and he would've seen her smile as she looked back at the hallway he'd just about disappeared down.

 If only he'd been able to bear watching her just a moment longer!

 Then perhaps, he wouldn't find himself where he did now, staring up at the ceiling on a lumpy old mattress, staring at the hand that had just touched hers, placing a finger to the chapped lips that had just kissed her hand, clenching the fingers he’d just let her slip through, lost in his pained, impassioned wondering, trying to shake himself, but knowing after a year’s struggle that it was a losing battle.

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time season 3 #fanfic #csff #kazzy writes #fic rec #once upon a time #ouat #once upon a time fanfic #once upon a time fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #otp: try something new darling

[fluffydavey]

oooh for the reassurance stories what about “ i would pretty much trust you with my life. “ or “ i'm not going anywhere. “

reassurance starters || prompts or what about both though 👀

Jack's stretching his tired limbs as he stands in line, listening to Albert sweet talk Wiesel into getting out of paying yet again, when Davey and Les come rushing behind them, late as usual. Gone are the days that Davey tries to explain themselves, instead he just hopes he’s not too late to get shouted at by Wiesel. Still, Jack stays behind to wait for the boys, ignoring the looks Crutchie sends his way as he goes about to start his own selling route with Finch.

This morning Jack hears them before he sees them, and his attention is instantly drawn to the two Jacobs brothers. Normally they’re in good spirits, rushing while chatting away with each other. This time though, something is off between the two. Jack’s had his share of arguing with his own brothers to know that Davey and Les are in the middle of an argument. Which is new. No matter how often Davey plays the big brother card, Les tends to listen, even if he tries to make the ever-patient Davey annoyed by his actions while doing what he's told. This morning is different though.

"Les, you knew this day would come," he hears Davey murmur, in a hurried breath. When he sneaks a quick glance at the two, Les has his arms folded across his chest, sulking. Davey's eyes are fixed on his little brother, his eyebrows furrowed as he speaks.

“You’re just saying that because you’re happy about it!” Les calls out, which suddenly gets the attention of more of the newsies. Still, they know better than to get involved in other people’s business - Crutchie is concentrating extremely hard on counting his papers, while Race is slowly looking for his matches to light his cigar. Both, Jack notices, stay closer to the Jacobs boys than they actually need to be. Jack decides to take the same approach - he doesn't want to get involved in their argument, but they are selling partners of course, so he needs to knows how to prepare himself for dealing with a stroppy ten-year-old.

There’s a tug on his shirt, and when he turns around, Les is frowning up at him. “Les, no," Davey says, using his big brother tone that's used when he thinks Jack can't hear them. He reaches out for his little brother, but like clockwork, Les is too quick for Davey to stop.

"Dad's going back to work!” Les tells him, and Jack turns to Dave for confirmation. Davey sheepishly just nods, and Jack stares at the two, realising they’re waiting for a reaction from him.

“That’s great! Tell your father I’m real happy for him!” he says, thinking he’s walking on fairly steady ground. He would have thought the boys would be thrilled at the news, since their father has made a faster improvement than expected.

“We’re going back to school Jack!” Les continues, clearly not getting the reaction he expected. That’s when it hits him, and all he can think is, fuck.

“Les, you knew this wouldn’t be permanent,” Davey says quietly, and Jack realises that everyone is paying attention now. Crutchie and Race are staring at them, not even bothering to pretend like they’re not eavesdropping. Elmer stops himself just as he’s about to drop money in Wiesel’s metal case, while Henry and Mike are whispering to each other, eyeing Davey up.

Jack’s trying to take this information in - they’ve been selling together all throughout the summer. He’s gotten used to their routine, waiting for the brothers to join them in the morning. Sometimes, Davey would sneak him some extra breakfast his parents had made, which was always a bonus. They’d make their way through the busy Manhattan streets, hawking headlines and taking a break when the sun became too much.

One day in particular, that Jack likes to remember maybe a little too much, they had decided to sit down in Central Park, watching as Les quickly made friends with children his age. He had convinced Davey to lie down on the grass with him, and the two were watching the clouds, laying slightly too close together for it to be casual.

“Do you think they’re the same clouds everywhere else?” he had asked, in between trying to convince Davey that one cloud looked a lot like a cowboy boot. It was mainly to hear Davey laugh, and to his delight, the plan had worked.

"Why, you thinking about the clouds in Santa Fe, cowboy?" Davey had asked, turning his attention to Jack. He remembers how it felt when he had turned to face Davey too, how he had forgotten to breathe by how close they were - struck by Davey's hazel eyes staring back at him, and how beautiful the other boy had looked.

"Nah, I got everything I need right here," he had answered truthfully, forcing himself to look away before he did something very, very stupid in public.

He thinks of that moment, and how they'll never have one like that again. Because Davey's going back to school, and he'll forget Jack ever existed. How could he compare to the people Davey goes to school with? Davey's never actually spoken about his classmates, but he imagines a group of intelligent, well-spoken and important boys just like Davey.

Jack's never going to get to share moments like those in the park with him again.

"Jack!" Davey says, sounding annoyed this time, and Jack realises he's been in his own world for some time now. "I said, I got your papes. Come on."

They go on their usual route, but no one is talking. Davey tries, but he soon gives up, focusing on the task at hand instead. Les is angry, and Jack is - well, he doesn't know how to actually describe how he feels. It isn't until Les finds a group of well-off people standing by a market, that Davey elbows Jack. "Come on, tell me what's going on in that mind of yours."

He thinks he could lie, he could say that there are other things on his mind. He could pretend he's sick, or he's worried about one of the other boys. But when he looks at the concerned look on Davey's face, he feels the walls he wants to build start to shatter before he can even do anything about it. "You're leaving."

"We'll still be out selling with you at the weekends," Davey says, which actually does help a little, but still, it's still not the same. "Maybe the evenings too. Just in case, you know?"

So he'll still get Davey every day. For now. "That doesn't mean things won't change." God, he sounds so stupid. He wishes he could shut up, pretend that nothing's bothered him. "But I did mean it, I'm glad your dad's better."

"Jackie, I'm not going anywhere," Davey smiles, and Jack watches him suspiciously. He doesn't know that for sure - anything can happen once Davey goes back to his normal life. But, he doesn't owe Jack that promise. Davey takes a look at Les, who has an even larger group of people eating out of the palm of his hand. "Come here, one minute."

He lets Davey blindly lead him down an alleyway, one close by so Davey can still peek his head around to check on his brother. "I didn't want to make this a huge thing, because it isn't, trust me. I'm not exactly thrilled about the idea, truth be told."

"But I thought you missed school," he says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll miss being with you even more," Davey says, without missing a beat. Jack feels dizzy at the confession, and can't help but smile at Davey's words. He's not used to people saying things like that to him, especially someone like Davey.

"Can I do something stupid?" he asks, without thinking. He nearly takes it back and tries to think of something else, but Davey's already nodding at him.

"I would pretty much trust you with my life," he says, smiling softly at Jack. "Nothing you do is stupid to me."

The floodgates are well and truly opened at this point, and Jack just thinks, fuck it. He's wasted too much time already, especially when Davey's going to be leaving him (not permanently, he has to remind himself).

His hands reach Davey's face, one warm palm cups his cheek while the other drapes over the back of his neck, pulling him down as Jack stands on his tiptoes to meet him halfway. Jack brushes their noses together before their lips meet for the first time. It’s soft, full of gentle wanting and contentment, and Jack sinks into the kiss, wanting to hide in it forever.

When they pull apart, Jack can't stop the smile on his lips. He hears the sound of Davey's laughter, and he thinks they'll be okay. School or not, they've still got each other's backs. "If going back to school was what it took to make you kiss me, I should have gone back a long time ago."

"You can't say that to me just before I have to share you with people I don't even know," he pouts, as Davey wraps his arms around Jack's neck, pulling him impossibly close.

"Don't you worry Jack," he says, leaning to press a kiss on Jack's forehead. "I'm all yours."

#my writing #jack kelly #davey jacobs #me to me the entire time writing this: don't hurt The Boy #don't mention his bad time in school #still can't write an endingggg #one day!!

[scotianostra]

July 7th 1575 saw "The Raid of the Redeswire"

This has a number of names, The battle of Carter's Bar, The Redswire Fray being another two, it has been described as a skirmish in what should have been a run-of-the-mill Warden’s meeting had been arranged between John Carmichael, the Keeper of Liddesdale, and the English Middle March Warden, Sir John Forster. It's also been described as the last major battle between Scotland and England, I would hardly call it a battle, although we (The Scots) did give them a good beating that day!.

There would have been fines to be paid, men to be handed over to answer for their crimes, and paperwork to be exchanged. It is unlikely that either side had considered an all-out fight. Things seems to have gone well enough, until the case of one individual was raised. Carmichael demanded that he was handed over, Forster denied knowledge of his whereabouts, which was not believed. Insults were exchanged and then the entire meeting descended into violence. The skirmish seemed to have gone the Scots way due to the the fact that the English mainly fought with bows and swords, but the Scots were armed with firearms as well as more traditional weapons.

Walter Scott wrote about the Skirmish n the first edition of the Minstrelsy of 1802

"Some gaed to drink and some stude still

And some to cards and dice them sped

Till on ane Farnstein they fyled a bill

And he was fugitive and fled.

Then was there nought but bow and speir

And every man pulled out a brand;

"A Schafton and a Fenwick" thare:

Gude Symington was slain frae hand."

Farnstein, is said to be the man the English were after, however local tradition states that it was a man by the name of Henry Robson, official papers of the time don't identify the man.

Anyway the story goes that the Scots were forced to retreat, but during their flight they met up with another group from Jedburgh, who were late to the meeting.This gave the Scots an advantage. They began to break the English lines and in time, the English were routed. The English second in command, George Heron was killed, along with his brother John and 23 other Englishmen. Forster and several other nobles were captured, and the Scots conducted an impromptu raid, taking 300 cattle from local farms., well it would be rude not to!

Prisoners were taken by the Scots, and brought to James Douglas, 4th Earl of Morton, who was the regent for King James VI. This soon became embarrassing for the Scots, as the prisoners, who were being held at Dalkeith Castle, had likely been taken for their ransom value, although Douglas stated that it was to keep them from being killed in the heat of battle.[He wrote a letter to Queen Elizabeth describing the events, but she was outraged and sent William Killigrew to demand immediate satisfaction from the Earl of Morton. Douglas was directed to meet with George Hastings, 4th Earl of Huntingdon, who was the lieutenant of the northern counties, to work out the details, and the two men were able to come to an amicable solution, as Douglas didn't want to anger Elizabeth, and she wanted to avoid a war.

Forster and the others had been treated with kindness and were released with gifts and an apology for being held.

Carmichael was delivered to York as a prisoner for trial, but was acquitted as the English court found that Forster had engaged in an unprovoked attack.

The picture shows a monument known as the Redeswire Stone built in commemoration of the battle. It reads, "On this ridge, June 7th, 1575 was fought one of the last border raids, known as The Raid of the Redeswire".

#scotland #scottish #england #scottish borders #history

[incarnateirony]

Oh, by the way, Shea. You once tried to color my lineart. Of the many things we bit our tongue on,

My lineart on the left from 2009 or so, when I lived in Texas, before we were ever together. The right was you coloring it during the second wave of our relationship in the late 20-teens.

It's a perfect illustration even in lineart of you fucking things up and taking lazy routes, like deleting half of the eyes, much less the... the... I mean.

How about this, take my own art of the same essence, from around 2002, because again, I was the only one invested for a lifetime,

I was young, I drew it on a corner of paper and it's ancient, so it has the resolution of a thumbnail and that is what it is, and such is the cost of a lifetime of work ironically dating, but I'm pretty sure how you can see a literal teenager had better vision in every sense, and here it did have the singular eye for sake of size, sure, but the rest of it is just a perfect example of you butchering everything of mine you trace over.

You literally have no shame.

That wasn't a fucking scarf around his neck, Shea.

It was a snake.

(...and part of his wing but you're good at cutting those.)

AND YOU CUT OFF HIS FIBER OPTIC TAIL TO SHOVE HIM IN GREECE. or a very lazy egypt with no defining hieroglyphics.

That's what the wires behind him were Shea!! My guy literally connected to Akasha Internet with Peacock Fiber Optics, my gal. You fucked up the thing again, and it's a perfect example how you've fucked it up the whole time while trying to trace.

Cut him out of his element to shove him into another time you decided he belonged in, and thought his snake was a scarf to wear!!! You know, the one who can't see for shit at night unless it's a full moon because somebody fucked up him and his ancient family's eyes.

Even the underbelly, you didn't understand the highlighting, and it looks nothing like a snake belly now, I don't know WHAT the fuck that is, but you keep fucking up that it's all snakes!!! and where did the seraph wings go even in the under-wrap i just. ITS ALL SNAKES SHEA. ITS A SNAKE IN A HELMET WEARING A SNAKE CONNECTED TO AKASHA INTERNET

Maam, the wire tail framed akasha through infinite monitors. That is literally where he belonged, and was always placed, and I just couldn't finish because my connective tissue disorder gave out before finishing his wing much less the walls. But his cable tail was there and you cut it to displace him.

Like deadass even in the stupid roleplays you loved, that thing only existed in the halls of digital akasha, or on full moon nights. On the original I had ironically turned up the brightness to hide some wire scratches I never finished either but you can still see them on the wall behind him, as well as his tail starting under him, and you fucked it up.

What is not clicking. Also why the fuck are his talons blurple.

NO SERIOUSLY, EVEN IN YOUR STUPID GAMES!

CRAZY COCAINE BEAR LADY HUMPING MY DO NOT HUMP CAT DISTRIBUTION SYSTEM, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO EXPLAIN THAT WHETHER IT'S AARON, ASH, OR WHAT YOU CALL HERMES OR THOTH OR WHATEVER OF THE DAY, YOU ARE NOT IN THIS GAME LOBBY, YOU HAVE YOUR OWN SERVER, PLEASE HOP THE FUCK OFF MY FLOPPY DISK NOT ONLY HAVE YOU MIXED UP YOUR COSMIC DATA AND PLAY DISCS, YOU'RE TRYING TO PLAY ON MINE AND IT'S FREAKING WEIRD

YOU ARE A PIECE OF CRAP PERSON. IT'S A GOLDMINE OF A QUOTE. HENRY IS FUCKING TIRED AND YOU WON'T TAKE A MESSAGE. WHAT EVEN IS THIS MOVIE

seriously lady what isn't clicking, "Min" was the fucking helmet. Almost like a Persona mask or something idk. Try that hat on. secret third trick to pop a lid. there's a jar in a box under a nuclear reactor in the bottom of the sea o/~ Happy listening! Who taught you the sounds of the ineffable? Who taught you ANYTHING you have corrupted?

You cannot harass us back, you will just destroy us both, and that includes you.

Amenti, Shea.

My name is Aaron. I misheard "ah Min" from what I thought was "Ash". I added to it with other random stuff as an idiot kid I had around me. It became Minerva, then went back to Min. But it was always Aaron. The halls of Amenti were calling. I asked who I was and it answered. "Min" is just the first Rumpocky incident, and you're even feeding on the corpse of my mistakes wholesale, and refuse to stop. Kinda like me yelling that you're Cowardly Maya and you heard Mara. Same energy. Same misheard lyrics.

You aren't in this game lobby. You're still doing the Idiot Kid part in your mid-thirties because you've refused to listen for a hundred lifetimes.

I'm not just being mean when I say you were literally the problem and slowed me down five or ten years with your distractions and letting you throw haze over the path trying to Everybody's Interpretations Equal every time your shit didn't make sense, or was contrary, or we winced at you displacing him and cutting off his tail but not wanting to disincentivize you trying to grow your art, or whatever. You were literally in my way, and got angrier when I stopped letting you lead us both down into roleplay and channeling distractions land, and now we're here. With you stalking me years later and refusing to understand why. And you accidentally Belief*ing in me until I am the cosmic GM that is breaking and rearranging your system from home base. And you aren't in this game lobby.

The only reason any of you is here at all is you keep trying to break in, and I decided to acquiesce to your weird screaming banging on the cucumber latch road shortcut door pissing on the floor stalking, and it's not going as great for you as you think.

Henry is tired, Shea, he just wants out of your cages. You can't own me anymore, even if you got confused about who I was. And he thinks you're a piece of crap person and bad bird parent. An alchemically lid popped goldmine of a quote you happened to catch while ~working on something. Happy listening. I guess.

Human Vesuvius two, electric boogaloo. The citizens couldn't see the signs. They thought they would be fine.

#piratecandyrumpockyridingsniffmakesbuttrumhoopleborpna #woman i literally work in halls of reflection #will you stop trying to copy lives #it won't work #every day i log into a Unified Platform powered by Genesys to reflect people's own psychodome #between guiding a bunch of socials #even sitting here #in a game skin #while you keep trying to summon one or honestly several of mine #you're really fucking up the weather in here #madam it is not a fucking metaphor #you still think virtual systems ready is irrelevant huh #like you are so lost to your own mess you actively refuse gnosis #lady #you want real bad to find a way to write me to be the baddy here #it's you you're the baddy #it's you and it's here and it's a con and it's in the room with you #my brothers my daddy my ancestral memory my soul #not yours now hop the fuck off of me #that's my save file and you're fucking it up #so now it's fucking YOU up #IT SHOULD NOT BE THIS FUCKING DIFFICULT TO DUMP YOU CRAZY COCAINE BEAR LADY

[star-going-supernova]

Idea (that I am attempting to write).

During a loop, Hennry decides that he just wants to draw for a bit before the next loop. He ends up designing a more modern take of Bendy, alice and Borris, (modern to him i should say). Some stuff happenes, the Ink demon 'eats' the papers, the trio bust out of the ink demon and decide to help hennry, but unless they use excess ink from searchers, their like 3 feet tall.

(In game terms, you could use ink from killed searcher to summon one of the three, who would all be able to help in different ways. Boris could unlock secret routes around the studio and break down walls. Bendy could use his 'devilish deals' to mess with enemies, even being able to incipacitate pursuers for a limited time using anvil or hole traps, and Alice could charm or purifiy smaller enemies to help you.)

Ooooh, that sounds fun! Henry deciding to put the loop on hold so he can draw is just such a quintessential Henry thing to do, good for him.

#i answered a thing #cody the kirby #life and times of star

[yr-obedt-cicero]

So I've tried to research this and I literally cannot find it anywhere, but is Schuylkill River Incident with Hamilton true? I've read about in fics but I could find an actual source.

Yes, it is true, as told by Henry ‘Light Horse Harry’ Lee, who was present at the incident, in his memoirs;

“...while the British general pursued his route across the Schuylkill, directing his course to the American metropolis. Contiguous to the enemy’s route, lay some mills stored with flour, for the use of the American army. Their destruction was deemed necessary by the commander in chief; and his aid-de-camp, lieutenant colonel Hamilton, attended by captain Lee, with a small party of his troop of horse, were despatched in front of the enemy, with the order of execution. The mill, or mills, stood on the bank of the Schuylkill. Approaching, you descend a long hill leading to a bridge over the mill-race. On the summit of this hill two videts were posted; and soon after the party reached the mills, lieutenant colonel Hamilton took possession of a flat-bottomed boat for the purpose of transporting himself and his comrades across the river, should the sudden approach of the enemy render such retreat necessary. In a little time this precaution manifested his sagacity: The fire of the videts announced the enemy’s appearance. The dragoons were ordered instantly to embark. Of the small party, four with the lieutenant colonel jumped into the boat, the van of the enemy’s horse in full view, pressing down the hill in pursuit of the two videts. Captain Lee, with the remaining two, took the decision to regain the bridge, rather than detain the boat.

Hamilton was committed to the flood, struggling against a violent current, increased by the recent rains; while Lee put his safety on the speed and soundness of his horse.

The attention of the enemy being engaged by Lee’s push for the bridge, delayed the attack upon the boat for a few minutes, and thus afforded to Hamilton a better chance of escape. The two videts preceded Lee as he reached the bridge; and himself with the four dragoons safely passed it, although the enemy’s front section emptied their carbines and pistols at the distance of ten or twelve paces. Lee’s apprehension for the safety of Hamilton continued to increase, as he heard volleys of carbines discharged upon the boat, which were returned by guns singly and occasionally. He trembled for the probable issue; and as soon as the pursuit ended, which did not long continue, he despatched a dragoon to the commander in chief, describing with feelings of anxiety what had passed, and his sad presage. His letter was scarcely perused by Washington, before Hamilton himself appeared; and, ignorant of the contents of the paper in the general’s hand, renewed his attention to the ill-boding separation, with the probability that his friend Lee had been cut off; inasmuch as instantly after he turned for the bridge, the British horse reached the mill, and commenced their operations upon the boat.… Lieutenant colonel Hamilton escaped unhurt; but two of his four dragoons, with one of the boatmen, were wounded.”

(source)

Though I'm pretty sure the claim that the camp thought Hamilton was deceased, and that they were drinking in mourn as he comes in soaking wet — is a bit of a stretch, and a myth.

Hamilton evens writes partly bitter about it too, to John Hancock [18 September 1777];

“I just now crossed the valleyford, in doing which a party of the enemy came down & fired upon us in the boat by which means I lost my horse. One man was killed and another wounded. The boats were abandon’d & will fall into their hands. I did all I could to prevent this but to no purpose.”

(source)

#amrev #american history #american revolution #alexander hamilton #historical alexander hamilton #henry lee #light horse harry #schuylkill river #history #cicero's history lessons #queries #sincerely anonymous

[readingbooksinisrael]

Books Read in August 2022

Rereads

Henry and the Paper Route/Beverly Cleary (Henry Huggins #4) (mg realistic fiction)-Henry really, really wants a paper route. He’s not old enough for it so he decides to prove that he’s responsible enough, anyway.

The Importance of Being Earnest/Oscar Wilde (humorous romance play)-It all starts when Earnest forgets his cigarette holder at his friend’s, Algernon’s, house and a few lies come out...

Moving Pictures/Terry Pratchett (Discworld #10) (humorous fantasy)-The alchemists have discovered how to make a ‘moving picture’ and it’s taking the Discworld by storm. Now they just have to make sure that nothing else gets out from behind the big, mysterious doors buried in the sand to take the Discworld by storm, too.

Wild Traveler/A.M. Lightner (mg dog story)-Randy and his parents pick up a stray dog all alone in the Nevada desert. Back in the East he accidentally escapes. He also happens to be a coyote and not a dog.

4.5 Stars

Roller Girl/Victoria Jamieson (mg realistic fiction graphic novel)-Astrid is going to go to roller derby camp with her best friend! Or so she thinks. It turns out her best friend wants to go to ballet camp with Astrid’s worst enemy leaving Astrid to deal with roller derby camp alone.

Watercress/Andrea Chang and Jason Chin (picture book partial-memoir, partial-fiction)-A young girl hates that her parents pick watercress from the side of the road until she listens to their story.

4 Stars

Fry Bread/Kevin Noble Maillard and Juana Martinez-Neal (culture/food based Native American picture book)-A family makes fry bread.

The Invention of Hugo Cabret/Brian Selznick (mg illustrated/graphic historical fiction)-After his father dies and his uncle disappears Hugo is left alone in the walls of the Paris metro station, repairing the clocks and a mysterious automaton his father left him.

3.5 Stars

An Enchantment of Ravens/Margaret Rogerson (ya fae based romance fantasy)-Isobel makes her living by painting portraits of the Fair Folk. When she puts human emotion in the portrait of the prince of the autumn court he kidnaps her in order to bring her to trial.

To the Future, Ben Franklin!/Mary Pope Osborne and A.G. Ford (Magic Tree House #32) (children’s fantasy time travel)-Jack and Annie have to find Ben Franklin and convince him to sign a very important document-one that the United States cannot exist with out. But they’re not sure they can do it..

The Woman in the Library/Sulari Gentil (adult literary murder mystery)-An author and her beta reader correspond over the book she’s writing, wherein a woman is murdered in a library and the four suspects all have iron-clad alibis: they were all sitting in the Reading Room when she died.

3 Stars

Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine/Gail Honeyman (adult realistic fiction)-Eleanor Oliphant does her job and talks to her mother once a week and mostly just tries to avoid people and do her crosswords. On the way home from work one day she and her coworker bump into an old man who faints. This changes the trajectory of her life.

Sword Stone Table: Old Legends, New Voices/ed. Swapna Krishna and Jenn Northington (adult Arthuriana retellings/explorations anthology)-Short stories that explore the Arthurian legends from the 5th century to the 19th to the 22nd.

2.5 Stars

Epically Earnest/Molly Horan (ya romance)-Janey’s friend Algernon stole her spit. Not in a creepy way: in order to send it to a dna test because she’s adopted. A relative comes up. She has to decide whether she wants to meet this relative while also figuring out how to ask her crush out.

2 Stars

Tomorrow I’ll Be Kind/Jessica Hische (didactic picture book)-Small animals show how they’re kind, grateful, etc. in with fun illustrations.

1.5 Stars

The Midnight Library/Matt Haig (adult didactic sci fi)-A woman who resorts to suicide is given a chance to live many different lives based on changing her choices until she finds one she loves.

Pixels of You/Ananth Hirsh, Yuko Ota and J.R. Doyle (new adult sci fi ai comic)-When a human girl and an ai girl with an internship in a photography gallery fight the curator of the gallery makes them do a piece together.

#wrap-up #rtm #read this month #august 2022 #august #2022