The carrd is for all my posts/stories/and rules for requests.
*If you want my NSFW blog - dm me (18+)
*All requests and asks are welcome! If you want to request anything having to do with the Yugi twins, you can request here or here. Anything else can be requested here or in the comments (here or on any of my AO3 stories).
*If the ask deals with NSFW-content (which I deem to be anything more than kissing, swearing, mild gore and/or heavy whump and angst, or anything I've ever posted on this blog before) please send to my NSFW blog.
*Current hyper fixations are: Black Butler and Hanako-kun
*But I will write for: every fandom listed on my Ao3/Carrd + probably plenty more that I haven't listed. I lurk in more fandoms than I write for lol.
Current requests:
Possessed!Mike x Vanessa
Link for Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riahlynn101
Link to all the self-preservation chapters: https://www.tumblr.com/riahlynn101/799491027268403200/could-u-link-all-the-self-preservation-chapters
Mike x Vanessa thoughts/stories: https://www.tumblr.com/riahlynn101/800424557861306368/all-my-mike-x-vanessa-thoughts
Phantomhive twins & yugi twins:
Part one: https://www.tumblr.com/riahlynn101/788281346643656704/a-comparison-of-the-phantomhive-and-yugi-twins
Part two: https://www.tumblr.com/riahlynn101/814212276324384768/phantomhive-twins-vs-yugi-twins-part-two
Congratulations.🎉. I’m so happy for you. Thank you for updating. And I’m happy to my story. Of Charlotte possessing Mike and Vanessa have romantic feelings for him. And she has to save him! Thank you. You’re the best. Riahlynn101. Note. When can I get a release date?! Thank you
Hey! Thank you :D!! That means a lot! Of course I can give you a date, kinda. I guess it would be more of an estimate. Sometime between now and August 24th, with the probability of it being done this week either Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday.
Thanks again for your kind words and thank you so much for being so patient with me <333
I know no one cares, but I passed the CBSPD exam. Which means I'm officially a certified sterile processor. Along with that, I just got a job offer an hour and a half away from my home. I'm incredibly excited, nervous, and overjoyed to start (what I hope to be) the next chapter of my life (finally lol)!
I'm finally done with my summer classes, and I don't start my new job until August 24th (at the earliest). Which means I'll be playing catch up with requests until then.
I have two I have planned (a sequel to one of my Black Butler stories and, yes, the possessed!Mike X Vanessa story).
But if you have any more requests/want updates on any of my other stories/asks/anything else I would do so within the next couple weeks.
When I start the next semester and start working it might take me a month or two to update again.
Thank you all for being so patient with me! It's always much appreciated!
And this has nothing to do with anything else, but OMG security breach 2???? Gregory, my baby, coming home to us at last!!!!????? Maybe?? I don't know, but whatever steelwool has planned, I'm hyped!
Here's my AO3, if anyone wants to peruse my stories: Riahlynn101 | Archive of Our Own
And here's my carrd if you want the Tumblr version of my stories (which are usually the exact same as the AO3 version just formatted differently. I also usually include other posts I have made for each fandom as well): MLC
Will the Story of Mike getting possessed by Charlotte ever coming out. With Vanessa having romantic feelings she has to save him will ever come I’m interested to see what happens.
Yes! Absolutely! Thank you for being so patient with me. I just finished another request I had today, and yours is the next one on the list. Thank you so much for your request! And I apologize if it seems like I was intentionally ignoring you or anything. And thank you for reaching out :D!! Give me another week to get it done, and if it's not done by...let's say...next Friday (July 24th) I have to make the story 5,000 words or more long OR I owe you another request (on top of the current request) about whatever you want! Whichever you prefer!
Ao3 Request #2: Two times the Yugi twins reunited + one time they reconciled.
Or in which Amane Yugi can't express how he truly feels and Tsukasa suffers as a result.
Trigger warnings: Implied/referenced murder, self-hatred, negative self-talk, and Olympic levels of bad communication.
"I’d love to see an angst fic where the twins in present time make up or reconcile with everything. I feel like there’s sm built up tension between them it’d be cool to see that tension unleash :))" - Original request by strawqerri (on Ao3). (Thank you and sorry it took me so long to get it done <333)))
I want to do another version of this for whumptober that's a lot more angsty and focuses specifically on the Yugi twins (and everyone else but they aren't important here) coming back to the present time with the full knowledge of the other timelines. Hanako would be a little predictable (maybe. Unless he tries to play it off - again), but Tsukasa, I feel, would be a wild card.
How would he feel about being a not-really real, semi-nonexistent ghost that's stuck as a four-year-old? How would he feel about Amane becoming merged with the red house entity? Would he think it's exciting? Would he care? Would the red house entity //allow// him to know and/or care?
Not to mention how everything is going to play out in /this/ timeline (chapter 128 - chapter?). I feel like something MAJOR is going to happen to all of the characters involved but especially Tsukasa. For instance, there are theories that he might meet the cursed trio in chapter 131, or that the timeline at the end of chapter 130 is one where Amane died as a toddler (either due to the red house taking back its wish or because Tsukasa never got to make the wish or the red house wants to mess with and punish Amane).
All that to say, I want to wait until September-October before I write the angstier version of this chapter/request, because even though it's unlikely we'll be anywhere near the present timeline by then, we'll (hopefully) have some idea of where the story is going. With that being said, I could end up being a total liar, lose self-control, and write that story tomorrow.
Wow! I talk a lot! Please, forgive my ramblings. I hope you all enjoy the story. Thank you for the request :D!!! And I'm sorry it's not super angsty or anything, I was feeling a little sentimental today.
Yugi fluff? In MY writing? It's more likely than you think.
--
#1: A Return From the Red House
Amane hears his brother before he sees him, nestled safe and sound in their parents' adoring arms. The months of constant worrying and fearing for the worst are over now, but he can’t shake the feeling of wrongness that washes over him when he hears Tsukasa giggle.
That same feeling of wrongness amplifies when his brother pulls free from their parents to tackle him in a hug. The teddy bear they had gotten for their last birthday falling from his grasp as he throws his arms around Amane with a familiar shout of, “Amane! Amane!”
He pushes that feeling deep, deep down, because there’s no reason to feel like that. Nothing’s wrong, and more importantly, his little brother is back.
Amane sighs, wrapping his arms around the brother he’s missed so much. “Tsukasa! I’ve missed you so, so much!” Except he’s not great at words, so he doesn’t say that last part. Just an exclamation of his brother’s name and a tight squeeze with his arms to offset how deeply unsettled he feels. But he’s sure his brother understands all the same.
Tsukasa rests his head on Amane’s shoulder. “Did you miss me, Amane?” His voice is quiet, too low for their parents and the police officer who are chatting nearby to overhear.
“Of course I did!” He says instantly. What a silly question! There hasn’t been a day that passed that Amane hasn’t cried his eyes out, wondering if it was all his fault Tsukasa had been lost or worse, taken.
Tsukasa squeezes him tighter - if such a thing is possible - and giggles again, the sound playing right up against his ear. It’s familiar. It should be familiar, but all he feels is cold, dark dread. The type someone feels before entering a pitch-black room or plunging into an inky black abyss. But his brother is back, and Amane refuses to dwell on that feeling any longer.
He holds his brother’s hand the whole way home, stopping only once so Tsukasa can pick up (what he seems to think is) a fairly cool rock.
“Amane?” Tsukasa asks that night, changed from the birthday outfit he’s been stuck in for the past six months by their mom into a matching pajama set with Amane.
“Hm?” He hums, rolling onto his elbow.
Tsukasa still has his own room, just as Amane still has his. But these last few months have left Amane uncertain and anxious, and the moment his mom started to pull his brother away to put him to bed, he broke down crying.
Tsukasa doesn’t seem to mind for his part. He stretches out on the old futon like a cat in a sunbeam, a smile cracking his face. “Is Amane still a crybaby?”
A look of pure annoyance crosses his face before he can stop it. “No….I…I just missed you is all.” Except, once again, Amane doesn’t say anything at all after ‘no’ because the words get caught in his throat, so he rolls over instead. “Goodnight, Tsukasa,” he mumbles, facing the door. The window is locked - he already made sure of that. If anyone was coming to take his little brother away again, he’d know.
“‘Night, Amane!”
-x-x-x-
#2: Back From “Time Out.” (Or the first time Tsukasa sees his brother in forty-six years)
It’s been forty-six years, six months, and ten days since Tsukasa’s last seen or heard from his older brother. Well, that’s not totally accurate. He’s heard Amane once or twice before, but it’s always been faint, barely there, like the last flickers of candle light on a moonless night. He always finds himself reaching for it, desperate for attention, for the care his brother used to show him (even if it was fake), for the love he’s always wanted.
But Amane’s voice is so much clearer now, happy in a way it hadn’t been in life, and Tsukasa cannot contain himself any longer. He unfurls, the bag of donuts he hitched a ride in, shakes horribly. The contents breaking up into chunks on the picnic blanket Nene-Chan must have painstakingly laid out to have a picnic with Amane.
He feels a bit bad - well, he thinks he might feel a bit bad, which is close enough - about ruining their date, but he misses his brother terribly. Four decades is a long time, understand. It’s nearly a lifetime (or two).
He takes shape, feeling his brother’s mounting horror as he slowly reveals himself fully. Tsukasa is the one without a knife or weapon, and yet, his brother feels threatened enough to hold the kitchen knife he killed him with, out in front of him, his hands shaking imperceptibly.
But he isn’t perturbed one little bit. The worst is over anyway, and what is one little skirmish in the grand scheme of things? Sure, it finally unveiled how much his brother hates him, and sure it led to his untimely end, but Amane is his brother and he will always love his brother - terrified look on his face and knife in his hand and all.
He touches his brother’s face. A hidden part of him hopes his touch might soothe his brother’s terrified expression, and make him realize that maybe, just maybe he missed Tsukasa just as much too.
His skin is soft, unmarred by the cruelty of life, but so, so cold. It’s just like his. Even in death, it seems, they remain the same.
He’s splashed with a thermos full of liquid by Nene-Chan, and all he can think before falling to pieces like wet construction paper is, Amane sure is a good actor.
-x-x-x-
#3: A Return to Normalcy
Time resumes in the clockkeepers' boundary, and instantly Hanako feels himself shake all over.
The weird thing that no one tells you about messing with time is that the lingering feelings of all previous timelines converge, pressing down on you from all sides.
He doesn’t know what conspired in those timelines, or how many there were, but he knows something must have shifted or changed when time froze. He feels it in his chest, in the way Yashiro stares at the back of his head, and most pressingly, he feels it in how his brother stares up at him with uncharacteristically soft eyes. It makes something in him splinter then crack.
He doesn’t deserve to be looked at that way. Not when everything in him is telling Hanako he’s a monster - far worse than he ever was before - whatever occurred in the other timelines feels less like something that was forced on him, and more like something that was always meant to happen. He’s meant to take and destroy and hurt everyone he loves in every timeline, and saving them was a fever dream he had always been chasing but could never quite reach. And maybe a monster like him shouldn’t be saving anyone. It makes more sense (and feels a bit better) than saying he couldn’t save anyone. Like it was out of his control.
(But if he just tried a little harder or did something a little different or didn’t talk back to their mom or left the house on time that one morning or was a little nicer to his brother despite his oddities….maybe just maybe none of this would be happening. Maybe he wouldn’t be a monster, and he would be able to pretend that his brother and him were nestled under blankets, giggling as they talked in hushed voices).
“Amane?” His brother mumbles, continuing to lay on the ground where Hanako left him. He feels sick, looking down at his little brother on the ground. He tears his eyes away, looking to the side. A few tears escape the corners of his eyes. He’s never been good at pretending.
“Amane?” His brother asks again, a little more impatient. Hanako watches his brother stand up out of his peripheral vision, but he remains unmoved. The last person he wants to see him break apart is the one person that’s seen him do so again and again. “Amane!” Tsukasa is persistent - somehow more persistent than he had been in life - and his presence is both suffocating and comforting and Hanako can’t decide whether to indulge himself a little by leaning closer or ignoring his brother entirely and seeing what the others are doing about two out of the three clockkeepers.
“I have to go-”
“Why?” His brother’s voice cracks, and the piece in Hanako that had splintered and cracked breaks clean in two. He thinks right then of a boy half his brother’s current size that brought him pinecones and rocks and would replace the cold compress over his forehead when it got uncomfortably warm before mom even knew something was wrong. He thinks of a boy with clear amber eyes, wide like saucers, that would hold his hand whenever he got scared; of a boy that cared deeply and didn’t care who knew.
“I-I,” he sputters out. “I don’t know,” he finally admits in a whisper. He bows his head in shame. He doesn’t know why he runs away all the time or why he can’t say what he’s thinking or why he just has to ruin everything all the time.
“Why….why do you hate me so much, Amane?” Tsukasa asks, and Hanako feels himself react as if he’s been slapped clean across the face. Let the record show that outside of killing his brother, he has never said the words to the aforementioned brother “I hate you.” Nor has he ever indicated anything but the opposite, at least, he thinks he hasn’t.
Sometimes he means to convey one thing but the opposite happens instead. He’s never been good at expressing himself and sadly that trait has only gotten worse the longer he’s been dead. But he feels a pull right then to comfort his brother, to say something, anything to reassure Tsukasa that he’s got it all wrong. He loves him.
“Tsukasa,” he says, “I…I love you. So much. And I know how hard-headed I am, and how apathetic I can seem towards you, but I do love and miss you a lot. I just….I guess I miss my little brother.”
Except Hanako only gets out the first ‘I’ before his throat locks up and the words are lost somewhere in his throat. He tries again, because his brother’s eyes are pleading with him in a way they never have before.
He feels his bottom lip quiver before he even starts speaking. Another tear escapes, sliding down his cheek. “I-I miss my little brother,” he admits sheepishly. “And I know, I know, you’re standing right in front of me, but for the longest time I thought you weren’t you. That you were an imposter with my brother’s face. And that led me down a pretty dark road. I….I don’t know if you are the real Tsukasa or not, but I don’t care.” He does care. He’s always cared, but maybe he can love this fake Tsukasa anyway. He grew up with this Tsukasa, held hands with this Tsukasa, protected and cared for and told all his deepest secrets to this Tsukasa. Imposter or not, this is the version of his brother that he’s most familiar with. Maybe his real brother would forgive him for that, for giving in after half-a-century of tug-of-war.
“But I am real, silly Amane.”
Something in the way he says “silly Amane” makes Hanako nearly fall to his knees, because that, that is his brother. His real brother. Tsukasa.
Maybe it’s the inflection in his brother’s voice or the impatience or the words themselves, but it sounds more like Tsukasa than Tsukasa’s sounded in decades. He sounds just like his brother, and the implication of that breaks Hanako’s heart into a million little pieces.
He crumples to the floor, and his brother reaches out to steady him before he can crash down too hard. Tsukasa follows him to the floor, clinging to him like a baby koala bear. “Amane, Amane, Amane!” He repeats over and over, nuzzling the side of his face against Hanako’s, and it feels less like a reminder of all his past misdeeds or a punishment and more like forgiveness. A homecoming nearly fifty years in the making.
“I love you, Tsukasa,” he murmurs, holding just as tightly to his little brother. “And I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know, Amane,” he murmurs back, fingers sliding through similar choppy hair. “I know.”
I want to use my blog more, and I’m in a talkative mood. So, here’s a non-fandom, very personal take #1:
Sometimes I feel like I talk too much, but people (irl but I’m sure online as well) usually tell me I’m too quiet/not very present. It’s a weird feeling, and I guess I have a tendency to ramble and rant, so it feels like I say a lot when I rarely say anything at all. Just one of those things that makes socializing hard, because people either think I’m standoffish, looking down on them, or just plain pathetic. When really, I’m just trying to either stay in my own little world (where I feel safest) or I’m trying to observe before interacting to make sure the person is “safe” to engage with OR I simply have nothing to say. Oftentimes, the words I want to say or write feel locked away in my mind.
June 1st is TOMORROW. It means that GAY PEOPLE will exist, but only for ONE MONTH. Do not forget to buy your tickets to see them NOW, or else you will have to wait AN ENTIRE YEAR to be able to meet them AGAIN.
Summary: After an unknown incident turns O!Ciel (Astre) into a five-year-old he's left at the mercy of Undertaker and R!Ciel.
Or I just wanted an excuse to write a de-aging fic about O!Ciel.
--
“Astre,” Ciel starts, holding five fingers up. “I will give you until I get to one, and then-”
“Shut up!” His brother screams, flailing his arms in an effort to push him away. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Ciel grabs his arms in firm but gentle hands. His brother continues to squirm.
“Five.” His brother tries to kick his shin, but misses by several inches. “Four.” Astre screeches bloody murder, wrenching one of his arms free, and takes a swipe at Ciel’s face. Again, he misses, though not by much. “Three.” Ciel lets his brother go, and he tumbles to the ground. Astre glares at him.
“I hate you!”
“Two.” His brother tries and fails to spit on him. The saliva slides pathetically down his brother’s chin. Ciel stands imposingly above him, giving him a moment to come to his senses.
“I. Hate. You! Both of you!” He cranes his neck to Undertaker who watches the scene with both immense entertainment and slight worry. Still, he remains silent, letting Ciel deal with his much younger brother on his own terms.
“One.” He scoops his brother up, which despite his own small, malnourished stature is a lot easier now that his brother is five-years-old again and not fourteen like him. He holds him close to his chest, keeping his arms contained. He continues to screech, but Ciel doesn’t let that perturb him.
This is his duty as the eldest son and older brother.
A few days earlier he had been in the middle of another blood transfusion when Polaris ushered in his brother-his very much not almost-fourteen-years-old brother-with a note from Sebastian that basically read that he couldn’t take care of Astre like this, and that he doesn’t fully understand why this happened but he would find a way to reverse it. In the meantime, despite having all his facilities, he would be much safer under his and Undertaker’s protection rather than facing all the external threats that plague the Phantomhive name alone.
His brother hadn’t been happy, and had been even less happy when Ciel immediately decided to force him into some of their childhood clothes that survived the fire by being stored at the townhouse. Thankfully, he had had the foresight to have it brought over weeks ago.
He hadn’t needed to talk to Undertaker to know the man was thinking the same thing. If they can manipulate Astre into being his normal, five-year-old self, then it would be much easier to dissolve the contract when the time comes. Especially if Sebastian can’t find a way to reverse this.
Which had been a lot harder than either of them thought.
Astre had been a kind, gentle, thoughtful, and most importantly, very sickly child. But his sickness hadn’t seemed to act up once since he was brought there, even after screaming at the top of his lungs for “Sebastian.” Ciel is always quick to reprimand him with a pop to his mouth or a swat to his bottom. Not that it ever makes him stop doing it.
Ciel makes it to their old nursery. His brother whimpers in his arms, tuckered out by the many tantrums he threw all day long. He had to do a blood transfusion earlier in the day, so he can only imagine the vitriol that Undertaker had spewed at him.
“I hate….you….” His breathing has started to become deeper, and his words are slurred with sleep. He fights to keep his eyes open, even as Ciel lays him down in his old bed and climbs in next to him.
With a practiced hand he strokes his brother’s hair, tucking stray pieces behind his ears. Astre blinks sluggishly up at him, probably trying to comprehend where he is and why Ciel is there.
“Shhhh….sleep.”
“Cece,” he whines, placing a soft hand atop Ciel’s.
He’s taken back by the abruptness of his brother’s change of mood. He struggles to find the words to respond. This, this is the little brother he remembers. The one that he recalls fondly in his memories.
“Yeah?” Cece had been his childhood nickname between them. It had started when his brother couldn’t pronounce his name when they were toddlers, but it persisted until a tutor harshly reprimanded his brother for not using Ciel’s proper name. Hearing it again makes his barely beating heart warm.
“Cece, I want Cece.”
“I’m here, love. I’m here.” He tries to nuzzle his face into his brother’s hair, but he is roughly shoved back with way more force than he thought possible for a sickly boy of five to possess.
“Nooo, Cece. Not Cece.” Astre shakes his head furiously, eyes going wide. “Not Ciel. You’re not Ciel. Ciel is….they took Ciel.” His breathing picks up, and it’s all Ciel can do to remain calm, holding his brother as close as he allows until the memory passes. His body shakes and he gags and Ciel knows it’s only because of his brother’s stubbornness to not eat anything that he hadn’t thrown up.
His brother clings to him, tears drying on his rosy cheeks, and not for the first time, he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.
“Cece,” Astre says, voice timid in a way that Ciel only recalls from before his death.
“Yes?”
“When are mother and father coming home?”
Ciel feels his throat tighten, and he has to force himself to say something. “Soon, baby boy, soon.”
“I miss ‘em, Cece.” His voice trembles, and Ciel can see his hands squeeze the quilt just a little bit tighter.
“Me too, Astre. Me too.”
“And Cece?”
Instead of answering Ciel brushes some hair away from his brother’s forehead. Astre leans into his hand. His forehead is burning hot.
It’s one thing after another, isn’t it?
“I don’t feel so good.”
“Try to get some rest,” Ciel says, making a mental note to have the Undertaker take a look at Astre after his nap. “You might feel better after a nap.”
“But I really don’t feel good.”
“Shhh…rest. Sh, sh, no tears now.” He wipes his brother’s face with the back of his hand. Astre sniffles, leaning further into Ciel’s personal space.
“Don’t leave,” his brother begs, hiccuping.
“I won’t. I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Ciel stays there, resting alongside his sickly, little brother. Memories of old washing over him as he recalls days past of doing the exact same thing. Only back then they had been the exact same (sickness aside, of course).
“Sweet dreams, little brother,” Ciel says, kissing Astre’s sweaty forehead. His brother, despite the pain and the confusion, smiles, already half-asleep.
Happy pride month to those that celebrate! I hope your month is full of whimsy, light, and all your wishes and dreams for a better future (in this case for the LGBTQIA+ community) come true!
what’s your opinion on miketosis?? as someone who absolutely loves schmelly i’ve also been thinking a lot about them lately… i just can’t get enough of bisexual mike schmidt
btw i miss your fics 🥹
I think it’s a cute ship, but I’m a sucker for any ship involving Mike. NessXMike (I think that’s called securitywaiter or something like that). JeremiahXMike (don’t know if they have a shipname). And obviously MikeXVanessa (or affectionately and funnily enough Schmelly).
But to be honest I’ve been so out of the loop the past six or so months that I thought Miketosis was the name of a new theory. Which it kind of is. From what I found it refers to both versions of movie Mike being equal to one whole game Michael Afton/Mike Schmidt. A little confusing but isn’t that what FNAF’s all about?
Anyway, I think the ship is super cute (as mentioned above). I love the potential dynamics at play. We don’t know a lot about Michael Afton in the movies (yet), but we can make some assumptions. Like he has abandonment issues, he probably acted out to get attention as a kid, and he’s fairly expressive (which isn’t the same thing as being able to express yourself in a healthy way) but he seems to be a performer like his father. And what do we know about Mike Schmidt? He has abandonment issues, he acted out as a child (according to Aunt Jane in movie 1 Mike always had a temper as a kid), but he’s not super expressive. They almost seem complimentary to one another.
Here are some SFW headcanons for Miketosis: (I’ll be referring to Mike Schmidt as Mike and Michael Afton as Michael). None of these are in order (just as a heads up):
Fun fact, certain drugs that are prescribed for sleep (like benzodiazepines or SSRIs if insomnia co-occurs with anxiety or other mental health condition) can cause a dysfunction in regulating body temperature (which usually means people who take them have a tendency to either run super cold or super hot). All that to say, I headcanon Mike has trouble regulating his body temperature and has to rely on cuddling with Michael in the winter to stay warm. (He’s on his own for the summer, but Michael does make sure the freezer is always stocked full of popsicles and icepacks).
Michael is the more outgoing out of the two of them, but he doesn’t mind leaving a busy place if Mike wants to leave. He actually gets pretty good at detecting when Mike wants to leave before he even has to say a thing.
Abby takes a while to warm up to Michael, but only because she’s loyal to Vanessa, and doesn’t want her brother to get hurt.
But once she does, she’s constantly chatting his ear off about Freddy’s and her robotic inventions and anything and everything under the sun. It’s another thing that endears Mike to him.
Michael and Vanessa slowly reconcile through watching Mike and his sister interact.
Mike is the one to tell Vanessa about their relationship. She was supportive but hesitant as she feared her brother was using Mike to avenge their father.
Thankfully, her suspicions are quickly proven wrong.
Michael kisses Mike first. They were discussing a movie they just watched, and Michael couldn’t take it anymore.
They both like the sci-fi and fantasy genres. And they definitely watched the first two Lord of the Rings movies on DVD and saw the third one in theaters. Mike even brought his little sister along as she seemed mildly interested in it.
They buttheads often. Due to their upbringings, trauma, and the many things thrown their way. But they’ve made it a rule to never go to bed angry, never raise their voices at one another, and to always walk away if they feel like they’re going to say something they’ll later regret.
Mike surprisingly isn’t a coffee drinker, but Michael definitely is and he drinks it black.
Mike has to come to terms with his bisexuality. He’s had crushes on guys before, like for instance, Jeremiah, but he’s never acted on it.
Michael is at ease with his homosexuality, though it’s not something he’s ever told anyone before. Especially in a small town in the early-2000s.
Mike confesses first, though it comes out in a flurry of words and apologies.
Michael is quick to reassure him.
I’m sorry if none of these made sense. I’m not the best at making headcanons. I didn’t mention this above, but I honestly think the shipname “Miketosis” is so cute! Sadly, and unfortunately, I think it beats Schmelly in the name category.
Thank you for the question and sorry I didn’t answer sooner <333
And AWWWW!!! THANK YOU!!! I’m so happy to know that people like my Mike X Vanessa stories. I actually just got an ask about a week before I got this ask, requesting a story about possessed Mike and Vanessa trying to save him. I’m hoping to have it done before my semester starts on June 5th.
I appreciate any and all questions/requests even if I don’t get to them until months later <333 And I’m sorry if it seems like I don’t care/won’t respond. I promise I will at some point.
Again, thank you for your kind words and your question! I had a lot of fun thinking up headcanons! Miketosis and Schemelly forever!
Once, while on a trip to Brighton, a slightly younger Arthur witnessed a fish flop helplessly on the sandy beach. Its gills and mouth opened and closed as it tried to take in mouthfuls of water. A fruitless endeavor as it was stranded on land. Unable to watch it struggle any longer, he threw it back into the sea and watched it swim away.
Now, with the tightness in his chest getting worse, he wonders if he, too, needs to be thrown into the sea. Maybe a nice fish would come along and throw him in just like he had done for that fish. Despite the pain, the mental image makes him laugh.
Auntie Anne visits him once or twice. It’s so hard to tell who’s coming and going when he’s stuck in a half-awake, half-asleep state. She instructs him to take it easy and reprimands his father for leaving him alone. She then gives him some bitter tasting medicine that makes Arthur gag and slathers some eucalyptus and mint paste on his back and chest. It leaves him feeling sticky and weird, but the tightness in his chest isn’t as noticeable.
His father lingers the longest by his bedside. He only leaves for an hour or two at a time, sometimes leaving with darkened veins and hollow eyes.
“How are you feeling, love?”
“Better,” Arthur answers honestly. He fiddles with a loose string on the quilt. “Do I have asthma?”
His father sighs, climbing closer to him in the too large bed. He nestles his face in Arthur’s hair. “Yes. Just like your grandmother. I should’ve seen it coming, but I was hoping you might’ve inherited your mother’s and my good health.”
Arthur feels his face burn. “Sorry,” he says meekly.
“Don’t apologize for something you can’t help.” His father’s voice is stern but kind. Arthur leans further into his space, taking refuge in his hold.
His father continues, “but this also means you’ll have more rules to keep your asthma in check.”
“Rules? What kind of rules?” He’s never been partial to rules. He’s followed them, yes, but he’s found them to be often tedious and boring.
“Like….” his father plays with a lock of Arthur’s hair, twirling it around his finger. “You can’t go outside unless the weather is just right.”
“But father-”
“Don’t father me. This is for your own good. Oh! And you also have to limit your physical activity, you might overexert yourself. I’m also making it mandatory for you to take a nap twice a day, three times if you’re showing signs of illness.”
Arthur frowns. “But what will I do during outside time?”
“Have some tea. Read a book. Draw a picture. Play with your toys. Anything at all. You can even play chess with Tanaka or talk with Undertaker. I’m sure both of them have some interesting stories to share with you.”
“But- I want to go outside,” he whines, wriggling away from his father’s hold.
His father tightens his grasp, pulling Arthur closer. “Stay,” he demands. “Stay put.” He brushes the back of his hand over one of Arthur’s flushed cheeks. “There, see, it will all work out.”
Arthur sniffles. “I don’t like this asthma!” Tears slide down his cheeks, and his father wipes them away with a handkerchief just as fast as they appear. He dabs at Arthur’s face, humming to himself.
Arthur rolls over in the bed, borrowing his face in his father’s bony chest. His shirt smells of lavender and rose oil. It makes him feel a bit sleepy. He clings tightly to his father’s shirt, falling into a deep sleep.
-x-x-x-
Ciel lays with his son for a while longer. The poor boy needs all the comfort he can get. He pets his hair and kisses his cheek, carefully sliding out of the bed. He still has stacks of paperwork he needs to do.
His son stirs, whining at the loss of contact. He shushes him, brushing Astre’s fringe back with all the care in the world. Ciel hums, placing another kiss on his son’s forehead. “Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, soothing his hair back the way it was.
He’s halfway through a stack of tax paperwork when the door to his office swings open. Undertaker strolls in without a care in the world.
“How’s the little one, Milord?” He asks in his usual infuriating way. Ciel doesn’t dignify him with a response, continuing to work through the tax paperwork.
“Come on, I heard he’s taken after Lady Rachel.”
“Yes, quite unfortunate too. I was hoping my mother’s asthma wasn’t genetic.”
“Quite unfortunate indeed, but you do know you have to keep a closer eye on Astre, right?”
Ciel rolls his eyes. “I have already explained the new rules and boundaries to him. He didn’t take it well, but I feel as though limiting physical play and outside time should keep him adequately protected.”
“But why stop there, Milord? Why not keep watch over him day and night? Who knows it might help you two grow closer.”
“That’s a ridiculous idea, and-” Ciel stops himself, really thinking the idea over. It had only been because he forgot a book that he caught Astre’s asthmatic fit in time, but what if he hadn’t? What if he was too late?
“Alright,” he agrees, setting his pen down and folding his hands under his chin. “I suppose I should be more involved in keeping an eye on Astre, at least more than what I have been doing thus far.”
“Very good, Lord Earl. Starting off, might I suggest introducing him to the star lords?”
Ciel sighs. “Yeah, I suppose so.” It’s not that he doesn’t want to introduce what, by some definitions, would constitute as his coworkers to his son, but they aren’t the most mentally stable bunch. “But if they even think about hurting a hair on his head I won’t hesitate to have them killed.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Undertaker says, chuckling to himself. “I’ll see to the other star lords gathering together.”
“Sure, sure, now, leave me be!”
Ciel pretends to look at the paper in front of him until he hears the door open and close. He leans over his desk, head in hands. Somehow, someway, he’s going to regret this.
-x-x-x-
His fellow star lords were brought back to life just as he had been. A little girl who had been combined with her twin, named Layla and Al, a girl around Ciel’s age that died in a circus accident, called Doll, and a young man who served under his father as a butler but died in the attack, only going by his star lord name, Polaris.
“I have gathered you here today for a very special reason,” Ciel says, hands clasped together. He can feel his son picking out at the small crowd from behind his back. He smiles. “I wanted you all to meet my son.”
He bends down, gently tugging on Astre’s arm to get him front and center. “Come on, don’t be shy.”
The group all have a vastly different reaction from one another. Layla coos, while her counterpart Al reaches for the knife tucked in her apron. Doll seems indifferent, though she gives Astre a kind smile. And Polaris looks about two seconds away from bursting into tears.
Ciel keeps his son close just in case any of them feel the need to lash out. It wouldn’t be the first time a bizarre doll lost control, and he would hate for it to affect his son in any meaningful way.
“Hello, squirt,” Doll says, probably the most level-headed out of the three of them. Astre clings to his arm, looking up at him for permission.
He nods. “Go on,” he encourages, giving him a little push. He keeps an eye on the other two, but they seem nonreactive at the moment. He focuses on his son and Doll who are talking about anything and everything. She makes his son laugh, which should make Ciel happy but all it does it make a part of him burn with, not necessarily rage, but something far more discrete. Something that makes his heart ache with longing and sick with jealousy.
He pulls Astre back. “Alright, meeting dismissed.”
Doll frowns. “We were talking.”
“And now you’re done.”
Polaris reaches a hand out for Astre, but Ciel pointedly ignores him, pulling Astre towards the stairs. “You all have your assignments from Undertaker. Thank you for coming. Tanaka will see you out.”
Astre pouts. “I was talking to that girl, father.”
Ciel doesn’t respond, too afraid he might yell at his son. He leaves him in the nursery without a word. Maybe he needs another blood transfusion?
-x-x-x-
Three days after returning from Phantomhive manor, Elizabeth receives a letter from Ciel. Their son has taken after his grandmother and developed asthma. And while it shouldn’t surprise her, their son’s poor condition worries her terribly.
Asthma can be quite serious even with mild cases, and her late aunt Rachel could get extremely ill and be bedridden for days at a time.
She finds herself packing a bag, and calling a carriage to take her to the manor. While Ciel says he has everything under control, Elizabeth would much rather see their son to make that assertion herself. Besides, every ailing child needs their mother.
-x-x-x-
Arthur coughs into his sleeve. The tightness in his chest comes and goes, but the annoying cough never seems to fully go away. He sips his tea slowly, hoping it might do something for his sore throat. Tanaka, or Gramps as he insists Arthur call him, put some honey in the tea to ease his pain.
The door to the nursery opens, and that same woman with golden hair stands in the doorway.
“My little angel,” she says, opening her arms.
Wanting comfort, Arthur abandons his tea and hurries over to his mother. He leans into her hug, wrapping his own arms around her as well. “I’ve missed you,” he admits, somewhat sheepishly, because he barely knows her. He feels foolish feeling that way, but he says it anyway.
“I’ve missed you, too, silly boy,” she whispers into his hair like a confession. It makes Arthur’s heart feel warm and fluttery. He relaxes in her hold.
Their hug doesn’t last for long, because the door is thrown open, and there, frowning, is his father.
“Lizzy,” he says. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Ciel,” she greets him. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop to see you first, but I had to make sure that Astre was okay.”
“He’s fine. As you can see. Why don’t we talk about this in my office? Alone.”
His mother bites her bottom lip. “Okay,” she finally agrees. “I’ll be right back, Astre, okay?”
“Alright,” he says, already missing her warmth.
-x-x-x-
Ciel stands in front of his office’s window. His hands are folded behind his back. “So, why did you come all this way again?”
Lizzy has always been overbearing, in his opinion. Not always in a bad way, but right now her inability to, in simple terms, go away isn’t helping that assertion. He can’t understand why she seems so unwilling to leave their son’s side for more than a few days at a time. Though, perhaps he’s being unfair. He does have unlimited access to Astre whenever he wants, and their son did just develop an illness….
“I received your letter, Ciel. I needed to come see him with my own eyes. I needed to make sure he’s alright, and I was hoping, with your permission of course, if I could stay a couple of nights to watch over him.”
It’s not like Lizzy isn’t aware of his current condition. It’s hard to hide, what with him looking the exact same as the day he disappeared, maybe with a scar or two hidden away now. But having her here is troublesome. Lizzy is smart and capable, and both of those things can only spell trouble for Undertaker’s and his blood-smuggling operation. But then again….
“You’d watch Astre?”
“Our son? Of course I would. I want to get to know him.”
That same burning feeling. Like envy but duller. All of his emotions are duller nowadays, almost entirely numb. He has to rely on his preconceived notions and experiences to navigate social situations. He knows he likes strawberry flavored things and playing outside rain or shine. He knows he loves to dance and likes to play the violin. And he knows he loves his family above all else, especially Lizzy and especially their son.
He knows all these things like the back of his hand, remembers the feelings of warmth, contentment, and exultation it all used to give him. But now he’s been reduced to a bitter numbness. Which is why he can’t pinpoint what that burning feeling is. He pushes it aside.
“I would be happy to host you for a few nights. I’ll have Tanaka show you to your room.”
-x-x-x-
“And I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down!” Lizzy reads to her son, gently stroking his hair. His hair is baby soft and from here she can smell the lavender soap Ciel (and she supposes their son) uses for bathing. She breathes in the familiar scent, silently reminiscing on days past.
“Mother?”
She hums, putting the book down.
“Do you love me?”
“Why of course I do!” She replies instantly, a hand over her heart. “I’ve loved you since I felt the first flutter of life in my tummy. I’ve loved you since you were this big.” She demonstrates with her fingers, holding her thumb and pointer finger close together.
Astre giggles. “That big? But that’s not very big at all.”
“No, it’s not, and yet, I loved every inch of you.”
Astre frowns. “Did father?”
“Love you?”
“Uh, huh.”
Lizzy nods. “Oh, yes. I dare say even more than me. You have to understand the amount of pressure we were both under, and your father had far more to lose than me.” Which was true in a technical sense, though she stood to lose far more in social standing than him if her pregnancy got out. “But he liked to read to you when you were that small and sing and talk to you. Even after word got out, and our families started keeping a closer eye on us, he continued to treat us well.”
“Does he still love us?” Astre’s voice is small and timid, like he’s afraid of the answer.
“Your father has gone through a lot. He’s endured more than we can possibly know, and some of that might’ve impacted his personality and how he moves through the world. But, you know what?”
Astre looks up at her with innocent eyes. “What?”
“He’s come home to us, and because of him, we’re able to have this conversation. I thought I would live the rest of my days without seeing you again. And your father is gracious enough to let me stay here with you until you get better. He’s a good man-” though, she would hesitate to call Ciel a man. Not out of disrespect, of course, but it feels wrong somehow. “-and he loves us as much as he possibly can.”
Astre frowns. “But he barely spends time with me.”
“Ever?” Lizzy asks.
“Well, not ever. He taught me how to play chess, but outside of that he’s…” he trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence.
“Distant? Like I said he’s gone through a lot. He does love you, Astre- what? What’s wrong?”
Her son looks frustrated. His hands are balled into fists and he’s clutching the quilt like a lifeline. “I don’t like that name,” he says, “it’s not mine. I’m not Astre.”
Lizzy frowns, sensing the incoming tantrum. “I know your grandparents named you Arthur, but here, your father and I named you, Astre. It means star in French. It matches your father’s name.”
“But I liked my name,” he insists, sitting up. “Why can’t I be called Arthur?”
“I understand that, but you’re Astre now. It’s best to get used to it.”
“Well, it’s not fair!” He jumps off the bed and darts from the room.
Lizzy puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my.”
-x-x-x-
Arthur feels himself get angrier and angrier and angrier still when he thinks about it for too long. Even at his measly age of four, he knows who he is and what his name is, or was. Arthur isn’t a particularly dazzling name, nor is it pretty, but it’s his. And he wishes his parents would respect that.
It feels like every tiny bit of control over his life has slowly been eroded away. First he’s taken from the only home he’s ever known and then he’s forced to adapt to a new household with new rules and forced to go by a new name.
Gah! He’s so mad! He wants so badly to throw something or bite someone or…or….
He sniffles and burning hot tears slide down his cheeks. He wipes them away but more take their place. He stops in front of his father’s study, opening the door without a second thought.
His father’s at the desk. He looks up when Arthur enters the room, surprise clear on his face. “Astre, what a pleasant surprise.”
Arthur can’t hold back the dam anymore and bursts into sobs. He rounds the desk in record speed and reaches for his father. His father looks absolutely horrified. “What happened?” He questions, pulling Arthur onto his lap. “Are you hurt?” He holds his face in his hands, looking him over with careful eyes.
Arthur shakes his head, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Nuh, no. I-I…” he takes a steadying breath.
“Breathe, love,” his father reminds him kindly, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the drying tears on his cheeks.
“My name is Arthur! And it’s not fair that I have to go by a different name, and I miss my home and I want to go home. And-and I’m really, really sad.”
His father brings him in for a hug, stroking his hair with one hand and embracing him with the other. “Believe me, I understand how unfair and scary life can be, and sometimes I wonder if I had the ability to cry if I would’ve so many times by now. I know it seems unfair that I’ve taken the name you’re used to away, but I promise it was for good reason. I didn’t do it to be cruel. Fate has given us a second chance to do things right, and I’m not going to waste it.”
“I…don’t understand,” Arthur whispers, crying tapering off to something more manageable. Something softer that leaves him feeling bone-tired laying his head on his father’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to. That’s what your mother and I are here for. All you need to do is accept who you are.”
“Who am I?”
“Our child. Astre Phantomhive.”
Astre’s eyes fall shut. He feels safe and sound, nestled in his papa’s arms.
I wrote this on a whim. I know the premise is odd, but please bear with me. I haven't written this much for an idea in years.
Summary: Born out of wedlock to (R)Ciel and Lady Elizabeth Midford, after the fall of the Phantomhive family, then infant, (O)Ciel is sent to live with his great-grandparents. But what happens when (R)Ciel comes back?
Here's the link to the AO3 version if people prefer to read it that way: Inheritance - Chapter 1 - Riahlynn101 - Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler [Archive of Our Own]
Wordcount: 5,641
TW: Teen pregnancy and the usual trigger warnings that follow Black Butler (AKA violence, abuse, and manipulation).
--
Chapter One: The Beginning
Ciel looks at the large banner splayed across the dining room. He frowns staring at the blocky letters that his parents no doubt made the servants spend an agonizing number of hours painting to perfection for a party that wouldn’t start for another day.
“Happy Fourteenth Birthday,” it reads, and underneath, in smaller, less noticeable lettering, “Welcome Home, Sirius.”
He doesn’t like the insinuation that his son is an afterthought. That just because he was born out of wedlock to Lady Elizabeth and him that he’s undeserving of being celebrated. But society is as society does, and he’s lucky that his parents decided to take in the baby and raise him as their own instead of having Lizzy bear the brunt of the humiliation.
Not to mention they don’t even know if the baby will be born or well enough to be away from its mother. But his mother and father had insisted on including him, especially if by any chance the little one was born on Ciel’s birthday. They had equally insisted (quite annoyingly too) that the baby is a boy, and therefore should go by the name they picked out: Sirius.
He had wanted to stay with Lizzy, but she had insisted he go home. It was only after several servants, the doctor himself, and Aunt Frances reassured him that they would keep him updated if anything changed that he finally acquiesced.
They would be getting married as soon as possible. Both to keep their reputations pure and unmarred and to be able to raise their son. As much as he appreciates his parents stepping in, Ciel would much prefer being the one to care for and oversee his son as he grows.
It’s hours later that he’s fighting to stay awake while finishing up his homework that Tanaka knocks on the door.
“Come in.” He straightens his back.
“Young Master, I have news regarding Lady Elizabeth.”
“And? Well?” He hates being so high-handed with Gramps, but his nerves have been causing him to behave in ways that he normally wouldn’t. He knows he’s high-strung, but nothing seems to help his neuroticism except being able to be in the same room as Lizzy. To see that she’s okay.
“The baby is very close to being born. They estimate it could arrive within an hour or so.”
Ciel glances at the clock on the mantle. It's almost midnight.
“Thank you, Tanaka. I’ll go at once.”
“Very good, young master. There’s a carriage outside waiting for you. Your mother will escort you. Your father has gone on ahead to get things settled.”
Ciel nods, feeling a bit sick all of a sudden. This all feels too fast and too slow all at once. He instantly hates himself for being so weak.
The ride to the Midfords’ estate is quiet. Unlike his father who had always been too difficult to read, his mother maintained the same level of respectable sternness beneath her gentle kindness. She didn’t push him to talk, nor did she express disapproval, though Ciel knows this must feel like a betrayal.
“I’m sorry, mother,” he says, because the silence has eaten away his ability to keep his mouth shut.
“Shhh…it’s okay. Try to focus on the positives. For instance, you’re about to be a big brother. Isn’t that exciting?”
“A big brother,” he repeats numbly. “Until Lizzy and I get married, of course.”
His mother’s smile twitches just the tiniest bit. “About that-”
The door to their carriage opens.
Inside it’s chaos. Servants are running around, fetching this and that, while he’s escorted gently by the arm to a side room where his uncle and father talk in quiet voices. He stands in the doorway, unsure if he truly belongs with them. But his father looks up and gestures him closer.
“How was the carriage ride? Thankfully the roads haven’t snowed over.” He turns to Uncle Alexis. “At least it hasn’t snowed as badly as when Ciel was born. That would’ve been a disaster getting here.”
“Right you are about that.”
His father turns back to him, suddenly serious. The change worries Ciel in more ways than one. He finds himself taking a step back, but his father grabs his arm to prevent him from leaving.
“Son,” he starts in an unfamiliar tone of voice. “I need you to understand that this baby, Sirius, as your mother and I have named him, won’t be your son once he comes home with us. It’s important to keep up pretenses. If the queen finds out you had a baby out of wedlock, I don’t know what she would do.”
“But- but if Lizzy and I get married-”
“You and Lady Elizabeth will get married….one day, and we’ll be there to support you. Your mother, me, and your baby brother.”
Ciel swallows thickly. He blinks back tears. Despite his best effort, his voice breaks when he says, “but it’s our baby. Does Lizzy know?”
“We don’t want to upset her while she’s in so much pain. This is for the best, Ciel,” he says as if he didn’t just break his heart and shatter it into a million little pieces.
“O-kay,” he agrees, because at least he still gets to be a part of his son’s life. Even if that part has been reduced to being the big brother.
His father lets his arm go and pats his head. “Good lad. Chin up. You’ll get to meet your brother soon.”
Brother. The word makes him want to vomit, but to his credit, he doesn’t. Instead, he forces a smile and goes to sit quietly by the fireplace.
It’s less than an hour later, twenty minutes past the hum of midnight, that Sirius Phantomhive is born. Ciel rushes from the room, intent on stealing a moment or two with his future wife and their baby before his parents come to ruin the moment. Just a moment to pretend that everything is fine. That they’ll stay together as a family, before Lizzy has her heart broken.
Sirius is small, though it’s not like Ciel has enough experience with babies to compare him to anything. And just as his parents predicted, he is in fact a boy, though a little on the bluish side. The doctors assure both him and Lizzy that he’s perfectly healthy, though they both still worry. His tiny fingers wrap around Ciel’s ring finger, and his little eyes flutter close, exhausted after screaming his lungs out.
“Tiny,” Ciel manages to say without losing his composure. He feels nauseous and at ease and all the emotions in between all at once, but he’s not the one that has just given birth and will soon be told that all that effort will be for naught, so he pushes it all down and allows Lizzy to be the more emotional one.
“You can cry, Ciel,” she says. Her own eyes are watering over as they look at the precious miracle they’ve brought into the world. “Look at him.”
Ciel sobs, feeling his son-because no matter what his father and mother might say, this is his son-retighten his grip around his finger. He makes a small cooing noise that instantly makes their hearts melt.
“He looks like you,” Lizzy observes. And he does. Same blue-black hair, as slim as it is, and the same blue eyes. He’s most certainly a Phantomhive.
“He’s perfect,” Ciel murmurs, pressing a kiss onto the baby’s forehead.
For a second, everything feels right in the world.
Ciel is eventually pushed from the bedroom while the women discuss feedings. He’s taken back home with the promise that, if the baby is well enough, he’d be reunited with Sirius again at the party.
He tries not to picture Lizzy learning that she’d be separated from their child without any way to raise him. Ciel focuses on doing times tables in his head, practicing, because anything is better than seeing the happy looks on his parents’ faces.
Could they not see the anguish they’re putting him through?
Ciel tosses and turns that night, ruminating on the past and future. By the next morning he’s barely slept, but that doesn’t matter because soon he’ll have his son- no, he corrects himself, his brother.
He’ll have to get used to that, lest his parents send his son away.
He rises and is quickly gotten ready for the day. His classes are canceled for his birthday, and he enjoys a nice breakfast with his parents. His father even plays a few games of chess with him before retiring to his study.
An hour before the party is supposed to start he decides to take a nap, but when he wakes up no one is there. While he’s less disposed to needing servants for every little thing, he would expect Gramps to come get him for the party.
A shiver runs down his spine. This could only mean one thing.
Something is wrong.
After a month of abuse and torture, Ciel’s last thought before they plunge a dagger into his heart is of his son.
He wakes, trying and failing to shoot upright. A hand stops him. “Rest now,” it croons. “Soon.”
He sleeps, and he doesn’t know how long he sleeps, only that it’s a lot. And he sleeps some more.
-x-x-x-
Arthur Dalles plays quietly with the train car Auntie Anne gifted him on her last visit. Grandfather reads the daily news in his button-tufted armchair. He seems rigid, almost uncomfortable, but he says nothing to indicate something is wrong so Arthur continues playing blissfully unaware of the current custody battle brewing outside the villa’s walls.
His grandmother works diligently on her latest needlepoint, her hands shake imperceptively. She clears her throat. “Richard?” She says, in that same steady voice she always used no matter the topic.
Arthur pauses mid-play. It’s terribly impolite to ease-drop. A fact he knows well despite his small age of four, almost five. But it’s so hard to resist the temptation to listen in, especially when he’s sitting right in front of them.
“Yes, Beatrice?”
“When do you think they’ll arrive?”
His grandfather laughs, brushing off the question. He readjusts the newspaper and flips to the next page. “Soon, I imagine,” he finally answers, probably sensing his wife’s indignation at being ignored.
Arthur returns to playing with his trains.
There’s a firm knock on the parlour door. “Come in!” His grandfather says, folding his newspaper.
The door opens to reveal their footman, a man named Daniel Allen, accompanied by a rather creepy looking man with long, white hair, wearing mourning clothes. Arthur instantly climbs into his grandmother’s lap, abandoning his train car but grabbing his cuddly toy-another new toy he received on Aunt Anne’s last visit. Though, she insisted it came from someone else. It’s a teddy bear with a bow tied around its neck, and what looks like singe marks on its paws. It also smells like firewood and mildew, but Arthur finds it comforts him more than any of his other cuddly toys ever have.
He burrows into his grandmother’s side, clutching his cuddly toy. His grandmother pats his back, ever the one to indulge his more childish habits.
“Missus and Mister Dalles may I introduce Mister Undertaker.”
“Very well,” his grandfather says, dismissing the footman with a wave of his hand. “Nice to meet you Mister-”
“Undertaker is all, milord,” the strange man says.
“Nice to meet you Undertaker. You must be here for Arthur.”
Arthur shivers in his grandmother’s arms. He feels his eyes water over. He doesn’t know this man, and he wants nothing to do with him.
“Right you are, Milord. I’ll just collect him and any belongings he may want to take with him, and be on our way.”
Arthur cries out. “Go where!? Oh, grandmother, don’t make me go!”
His grandmother wipes his face clean with a handkerchief. “Oh, dry your eyes.” Her voice loses its usual steadiness. It wobbles like her bottom lip. “You’re going home.”
“But this is my home,” Arthur declares. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known.” He knows his parents and brother were killed in a house fire on his first night home. Luckily, he had been in a carriage outside with his cousins when the blaze broke out.
Lucky indeed.
Though, right now, sniffling like the child he is, Arthur didn’t feel all that lucky. He forces himself to climb off his grandmother’s lap, though he clings to her dress. “How- how do you do?” He greets the Undertaker in a shaky voice.
He can’t meet the man’s eyes, but it’s a start.
The strange man cackles manically. The sound almost sends Arthur back into his grandmother’s arms, but he remains where he is, one arm holding his cuddly bear toy to his chest and the other clutching his grandmother’s gown.
“Off we are,” Undertaker says, grabbing ahold of Arthur’s arm.
“Wah!”
He looks back only once to see his grandparents pointedly ignoring his scared expression.
One of the maids and the footman have already packed his things and stored them away in the carriage outside. They bow to them, but don’t move to comfort Arthur even as he silently begs them to.
The footman, Daniel, follows them outside, ready to assist Arthur into the carriage. But Undertaker picks Arthur up, pointedly ignoring the footman, and places him in the back of the carriage with an uncharacteristic gentleness.
They’re soon off, and Arthur watches the only home he’s known for almost five years fade away into a blur.
He falls asleep, nestled between furs, and his baby blanket that his nanny must have packed for his comfort. He snuggles his cuddly toy and hopes that wherever he’s taken to isn’t too terribly horrific.
The sunlight fades to night, and the back of the wagon soon grows colder even with all the furs and blankets. His own cloak barely masks the winter wind’s bite, but he manages to keep his body heat from escaping by curling into a ball.
They arrive by morning, though he remains steadfast asleep. Undertaker chuckles, carrying him inside with the boy’s baby blanket and cuddly toy tucked to his chest.
He opens the door without knocking, because the only ones here are two maids, the butler, Tanaka, him, and-
“You’ve arrived!” Ciel exclaims, remarkably alive for someone so dead. His eyes drift towards the sleeping boy in his arms. “He’s here!” He claps his hands. “Excellent.” He opens his arms. “Give him here.”
Undertaker shakes his head. “No can do, milord. Besides, you’re overdue for a blood transfusion, and he should have a few more hours of sleep.”
Ciel sighs, clearly annoyed, and drops his hands to his sides. “Fine, fine. Have Tanaka show you to the nursery. I’ll go wait in the master bedroom.”
“Good idea, Lord Earl.”
-x-x-x-
Arthur awakens in a darkened room that isn’t his. His nursery had once been his mother’s and Auntie Anne’s, faded yellow walls with painted rabbits, and pink trim are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the walls are painted a sage green-fresh, too, by the looks of it.
His bed is larger as well, twice as large as the bed he had at his grandparents’ villa. His baby blanket has been tucked underneath his chin, and his cuddly toy has been tucked in beside him. He climbs out of the bed, taking along his blanket and toy. For some unknown reason, he feels he might need the added comfort.
He’s dressed in a nightgown, and his bare feet feel cold against the woodfloor. An outfit is laid out on the back of the settee. A kid-sized sailor suit. He’s seen other kids wear them, but his grandmother has always been more particular to one suit and jacket combination.
He switches his cuddly toy to his arm holding his blanket, and gingerly touches the fabric. Was this for him?
He looks about the room. There’s a dresser in the corner, a toybox in the other, and a whole heap of cuddly toys on the windowsill, some from his grandparents’ house, while still others he’s never seen before.
There’s a rug in the center of the room, as well as a dog-sized pillow off to the side. A small table and two chairs sit against the furthest wall, off the carpet, and away from the bed.
The door opens suddenly, and Arthur gasps. He hides his face in his cuddly toy, taking comfort in the smokey smell.
“Young master,” an unfamiliar, feminine voice says, “I need to get you ready for the day.”
He nods, letting the maid work with little fuss. The last thing he wants to be is a burden.
He’s ushered down the hall into a large study. A man, though he looks too young to be a man- more of a boy, but quite a few years older than Arthur himself-stands with his back to the door. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he seems to be looking out the window at something below.
“My lord,” the maid says, lightly pushing Arthur inside. He suddenly feels the urge to hide behind the maid’s skirts, but stops himself, barely, from doing such a shameful thing. “Astre, as you requested.”
He looks between the maid and the stranger, unsure of who “Astre” is. He’s never heard that name in his entire life.
“Good, thank you. You may go. Leave us.”
She bows and shuts the door.
Arthur stands there, unsure of what to do. He was made to leave his cuddly toy and blanket in the nursery, so he has nothing to help him combat his overwhelming anxiety. He steps from foot to foot.
The man finally turns around. Arthur is taken back. The man looks like him, right down to the same small, straight nose and pin-straight hair. He takes a step back, unnerved.
“Oh, Astre, you’re here! You’re finally here!” He rounds the desk with more vigor than Arthur expected.
He tries to speak up, but the words get lost in his throat. “I-I….”
His bottom lip quivers, and the older boy pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Arthur finds himself relaxing in his hold. He rests his cheek on his shoulder. But the tears find him anyway. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve just been waiting so long for us to be reunited.”
“Reunited?” He repeats in a wobbly voice. He sniffles, allowing the boy to pull him onto his lap.
“Yes. I’m your father. Your real father.”
“But-”
“I know they’ve probably told you a story about our family dying in a fire, and it being a miracle you survived. And that part’s true. I thank my lucky stars that you weren’t harmed, but you never had a brother. That was a story my parents made up to cover our family’s reputation. All you need to know is that I’m your father, and Lady Elizabeth Midford is your mother. She’ll be here tomorrow. But for today, let’s get to know each other, okay?”
Arthur nods against the boy’s shoulder. “O-okay. May I ask, who is Astre?”
He sees the boy frown out of his peripheral vision. “Well, mother and father named you Sirius, but Lizzy and I were always partial to the name Astre.”
“Oh,” Arthur says. “But my name’s Arthur.”
“For now,” the boy says. “But from here on out, you’ll respond only to Astre. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Arthur mumbles.
“And you can call me father or papa, and you must refer to Lady Elizabeth as mother or mama.”
“Okay.”
“Okay….?”
“Okay, father.”
“Very good. Now, one last thing, I’ve heard about your poor health. It seems you take after my mother. We’ll monitor your health, and make sure you don’t develop asthma.”
“What if I do?” He’s never heard of asthma before. Sure, he’s prone to colds and the occasional flu, but he’s never dealt with something like that.
“Then, I’ll treat you like precious glass. You’ll be happy, but more importantly, safe. Now, come along, I’ll show you the rest of the manor.”
-x-x-x-
The manor is bigger than his grandparents’ villa, and seems almost brand new. The smell of fresh paint and wood permeates the house. He sticks to the bo- father’s side, clinging to his hand.
“And over there are the servants’ quarters. We generally don’t go there or into the kitchens, those are not places for people like us.”
“Like us?” Arthur questions. At his grandparents’ house the servants were practically second parents to him. The cooks liked to sneak him sweets, and the maids used to read to him when he was ill.
His father pauses mid-step. “Nobles. Are you not aware that you’re a part of the nobility class?”
“I mean, I guess I do.” But Arthur had never thought about it before. Of course, he’s noticed the distinct class differences between the servants' kids and himself, but it never set in how far apart they truly are. “But I can still be friends with the servants and their children, right?” He looks up at his father who stares back in disgust at him.
“No,” is all he says before continuing on their walk.
Arthur hides his disappointment not wanting to cause a fuss. It’s not like there’s any children here anyway, he tells himself, though it’s a small comfort.
“Our family had the manor rebuilt after the fire. It was under construction for almost five years.”
“Wow!” Arthur stares up at the ceiling, mesmerized by all the minute details. “It’s all so….” he struggles to come up with an adjective strong enough.
His father pats his head, laughing to himself, “I know how you feel. I, too, used to feel so overwhelmed by the manor when I was your age.”
“You did?”
“All that fades in time, of course, and you’ll get used to it.”
They arrive in one of the parlours. A small table, big enough to fit two adults across from one another, sits in the middle of the room. Two curved wooden chairs sit at each spot. A large wooden, checkered board sits on the table. White and black pieces lay off to the side of the board.
“What’s that?”
“Chess. I’ll teach you how to play.”
Arthur climbs into the seat. He has to sit on his knees and bend forward to reach the board, but his father doesn’t seem to mind. He goes over the rules and then goes over them again when Arthur nervously looks between him and the board.
“White moves first,” his father says, pushing a piece forward. “Now you go.”
His father wins the first game and second and all ones after that, and Arthur might have felt defeated if not for how much fun he had. The small encouragements and tips from his father also help ease his bruised ego.
“Lord Phantomhive,” a man says, appearing in the doorway. He’s dressed like a butler, so Arthur assumes he is one. The man has a stern expression and thin, grey hair. Arthur looks down at his lap to avoid making eye contact. “Your two o’clock meeting is waiting downstairs, shall I take him to your study?”
His father groans and rolls his eyes. “Bugger.” He turns to Arthur, a sweet smile on his face. “Can you find your way back to the nursery? I have business to attend to. You can play with your toys. The maid will bring your dinner to your room. If you’re good, I’ll tell the cook to make anything you want for dessert.”
Arthur perks up. “Chocolate cake!?”
“Anything you want,” his father affirms.
“Good lad.” He reaches over the table to ruffle Arthur’s tidy hair. “I’ll come get you as soon as I’m finished.”
Arthur is left alone in the large, empty room. He carefully puts the pieces back where they were, not wanting the maid to have to pick up after him. He slides off the seat and leaves the room.
The hallways seem so much bigger and more winding than before. He tries to remember the way to the nursery, but every door looks the same. He passes the study, but he leaves it alone. Grandfather only ever got cross with him when he bothered him while he was in a meeting. His father seems different, but Arthur would rather avoid any confrontations if he can.
He finally finds the nursery. It’s just as he left it that morning. His night gown is nowhere to be seen, so he guesses the maid took it to be washed, and his bed is made. His baby blanket and cuddly toy lay on the pillow. The bear is even tucked into the bed, the baby blanket wrapped around it like a cloak.
Arthur giggles, running for the only familiarity he has now. “I missed you!” He exclaims. He decides against picking the bear up, only because he doesn’t want to undo the maid’s hard work.
He chooses a large book with the words “Fenian Cycle” on the front. He sits on the large, dog-sized pillow, settling in to read a chapter or two.
-x-x-x-
Elizabeth Midford wrings her hands. This is the first time that she’ll see her precious child since the day he was born.
What if he’s rightfully cross with me?
What if he hates me?
She breathes through her nose. Despite her betrothed being dead for the last five years, and nearing twenty years of age herself, her family has never pushed for her to marry. Her brother has even fought off many a suitors in pursuit of her hand.
She knows it’s impossible now to marry Ciel; knows that he’s only alive on a technicality, and that he technically stopped aging at fourteen. And no matter how much she wants to be with him, and no matter how much she wants to raise their child together, she can’t bring herself to look past that.
Edward, now the head of the Midford family, has steadily given Elizabeth an allowance that lets her live as freely as she wants to. He’s even offered to raise that allowance so she can take custody of and raise Astre alone.
Which is something she hasn’t mentioned to Ciel in fear he might do something rash. This isn’t the same Ciel that she once knew. Horrible, terrible things have happened to him, and while Elizabeth would love to take that pain away, she also has to think about herself and their child.
She wouldn’t take Astre away yet. Not while Ciel is still recovering and needs the company. But at some point she would have to.
The carriage rumbles on, Phantomhive Manor in the distance.
-x-x-x-
Ciel sighs, sitting at his desk. His two o’clock meeting went as well as could be reasonably expected. The man left happy, and the Phantomhive estate would soon be a little richer.
There’s a knock at the study’s door.
“Yes?”
The door opens to reveal Tanaka. Lizzy is behind him. “Lady Elizabeth is here, sir.”
“I can see that. Come in, Lizzy.”
She enters, hands folded. She wears a frown which seems so foreign on a face so beautiful. Elizabeth is visibly older now, taller too. The pink, frilly dresses she used to wear have been replaced by a more mature looking dress with muted colors. Her hair is no longer in twin tails, instead braided into a bun behind her head.
“Ciel,” she says. “It’s wonderful to see you. How is-”
“He’s good,” Ciel interrupts her, putting some paperwork away. “He’s in the nursery actually. I have some things to attend to, otherwise I would go with you, but if you would like to see him…”
Elizabeth nods. “Thank you, Ciel. Good day.”
Ciel watches her leave the room. Something feels wrong, off, but he can’t point his finger on it. Maybe it’s because she wouldn’t meet his eyes or the suddenness of her visit that has him rattled. Either way he can’t shake the feeling that he needs to be careful.
-x-x-x-
Elizabeth finds her way to the old nursery with ease. When her family rebuilt the manor they left it exactly as it had been.
She stands in front of the nursery door, unsure of whether to open it or leave. There’s a large chance her son doesn’t know who she is, and an equal chance he does and hates her for leaving (not that she had much of a choice).
She gently raps her fist on the wooden door. The sound echoes so loudly in the large, empty hallway. When she gets no reply, Elizabeth slowly opens the door.
Inside, sitting on a pillow, is the precious child she’s dreamed every night of holding in her arms. She had been so young when he was born, and unfortunately too naive to fully understand the ramifications of having a child.
Astre looks up at her with wonder in his big, blue eyes. He’s a spitting image of his father, practically two-halves of the same whole. There’s seldom any of her in him, but that’s okay. She’ll always love her former betrothed and it makes Astre all the more precious in her eyes.
“Wah!” Astre drops the book, scooting himself off the pillow.
“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry for startling you.” Elizabeth stays put in the doorway, not wanting to scare Astre anymore than she already has. “I’m Elizabeth Midford, your-”
“Mother?” Astre asks, eyes sparkling with an unreadable emotion.
Has Ciel already mentioned her? It would seem so, but it still shocks her to hear that word.
She steps further into the room, the door closing behind her. She crouches down, opening her arms wide. “I have missed you so much my dear, sweet child.”
Slowly, timidly, her son comes into her arms. He shyly puts his arms around her and buries his face in the crook of her neck. She feels him breathe in.
Elizabeth comes to rest on her knees. She pulls Astre onto her laps, rocking them both side to side. “I’ve dreamed of this moment since the day we parted.”
Astre clings to her harder. “I’ve missed you too,” he mumbles, even though there’s no way he remembers her.
“Silly boy,” she whispers fondly into the crown of his head. “How did you ever remember me?”
Astre pulls his head off her shoulder to look at her. “I didn’t, but I used to dream of a pretty lady that smelled nice and had golden hair like a princess. One that held me like you are right now and that said the nicest things.”
“I see,” she says, pulling him back into a hug. If she had her way the world would stop right at that moment, and she would hold him forever.
Astre soon falls asleep in her arms, basking in her warmth like a cat in a sunbeam. She carries him to bed and tucks him in. The bear Ciel and her had picked out for their son’s birth lays next to him, as well as the baby blanket she knitted in her final months of pregnancy while bedbound.
“Precious boy,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Be good for your father. I’ll return as soon as I can. Maybe your Uncle Edward can accompany me. I’m sure he’d like to meet you.”
She brushes some hair from his face, before making her way down the hall, down the stairs, and outside to her awaiting carriage.
-x-x-x-
The next few days are uneventful. Arthur quickly learns how to play chess and even wins a game of it against his father, though he has a sinking suspicion his father let him win. He basks in the glory anyway. It’s not often he wins games, and it’s not like his grandparents ever let him win on anything besides his own merit.
They fall into a routine of sorts. Wake up and get ready. Eat breakfast alone. Have supervised outside time with the maid, a young woman he’s come to know as Jane. Eat lunch with and then spend time with his father. Have a few hours of playtime and reading time, dinner, and then a bath.
It’s no different than his grandparents’ house. The only difference is in how little time he actually spends with his father. His father seems to always be busy doing one thing or another. He feels bad for thinking such a thing, but Arthur’s come to enjoy his presence and resents being cast aside.
Even so, he keeps it to himself. He takes solace in the large, seemingly never-ending assortment of books in the manor’s library. Most of them, his father once told him sternly, aren’t for his eyes until he’s older. But there’s still a substantial amount of books to keep him occupied.
As always, he’s left alone in the parlour. He watches his father go, and wonders if he begs Miss Jane to let him play outside again, if she would let him. He replaces the pawns to their respective places, carefully cleaning up their mess.
He’s about to get up when his chest suddenly feels tight, almost like a rubber band has been locked around his lungs. He coughs trying to ease the pressure.
It doesn’t help, and soon he’s fallen to his knees with his hands around his throat trying to breathe. Now it’s not just his lungs that feel restricted by a rubber band but his throat too.
He coughs and coughs. One of his hands reaches towards the door, and he tries to yell for help but all that comes out is a pained wheeze. He needs his father. He needs-
His vision darkens.
He needs….
The door opens. “Sorry, I forgot my- Astre!”
The last thing he sees is his father rushing over to him, a concerned look on his face.
Day Fourteen: Ai-less Whumptober - "Look Who's Awake."
--
Waking up to his brother’s crying isn’t uncommon for Tsukasa, but it doesn’t make it any less scary.
Sometimes their mom would tell them how, since the day they were born, all Tsukasa had to do to calm his brother down was cuddle up to him. “Like magic!” Their mom would say, replacing the rag over Amane’s forehead.
He goes to do that now, dragging his favorite blankie down the hallway. Mama and papa were both heavy sleepers, and Tsukasa couldn’t stand the sound of his brother crying long enough for either of them to wake up.
It was easier, back when they shared a room, but that was before Amane’s sickness got worse. Mama said it was for their own good, but he’s not too sure about that. His room feels too empty and too dark without the constant companionship of his big brother.
Amane continues to cry out. The sound makes his heart hurt, and he hurries along just a little bit faster. He enters the bedroom, blanket dragging behind him.
Neither of them have mastered how to speak yet, though they have their own language they like to use between them. The only words Tsukasa knows how to say are “Mama,” “papa,” “Amane,” and “okay,” which sounds more like “ma,” “pa,” “Ama,” and “o-tay.” But, as mama says, it’s the thought that counts.
He crawls onto his brother’s futon. “Ama,” he murmurs, crawling under his brother’s covers. He places his blankie between them, hoping it might give his brother the same comfort it gives him.
His brother’s watery amber eyes are half-lidded. He sniffles. “Tsu.” The words Amane can say are even more limited than his own. Consisting of only “Tsu,” “hurt,” and “ma.”
“O-tay?” Tsukasa asks, snuggling closer to his brother.
“Mhm…” his brother grumbles under his breath, trying to form words that he can’t yet say. “Mm…hurt. Tsu…o-o-tay.” In the darkness of the room, Tsukasa can vaguely make out his brother’s features. The way his brows furrow as he tries to say “Okay.” Copying Tsukasa’s pronunciation.
“‘tay. Ama.” He pats his brother’s head, mimicking their mother’s gentle touches. The kind she gives them when they can’t settle down and sleep.
He sniffles, but just as he’s done a million times before, he falls asleep. The tear-tracks drying on his face. He clings to his brother, even half-asleep. Not that Tsukasa minds. He clings just as firmly, snuggling as close as he possibly can.
