Category: Writing

tbo canon

“Charles! What do you think?”

Charlie grimaces as he watches the arms of the sube man shake under the weight of Yu Min. It’s like watching an elderly dog being brought out on the hunt.

Yu Min gestures to another sube servant, her face a mask of calm. “Sit!”

“Er…” How does one even respond to this? “I’d rather not.”

There’s a snort as Yu Min shakes his head. “You’re too soft, Charles. My mother bought me all these sube for whatever I wanted. They don’t get angry like in all those stories.”

“Honestly, I’d really rather not touch any of your animals. They seem ill.” Charlie steps back. How long until he can make his escape? “It’s rather a poor indication of your own status, not being able to afford the actual furniture. You’re showing off an empty bottle of wine, shithead.”

There’s a snarl and Yu Min stands, kicking over the ‘seat’ offered to Charlie. “Your father will hear about your poor attitude. You’re meant to marry my sister.”

“Don’t fucking worry, he knows. I’d rather rut with a beast than fuck your sister.”

There it is. The clenching of Yu Min’s fist. He runs at Charlie, who ducks out of the way and scrambles across the greenery of the courtyard.

“Coward!”

Cowardice has kept him alive so far, at least.

tbo book 1 canon, charlie thoughts (tbo-era), pining

Thandi’s words roll through Charlie’s head time and again. What even is love?

He reviews his assessment of her.

• She’s human, and a good match for keeping the bloodline pure.
• She’s competent, a quick study.
• She appears to be sympathetic to his feelings.
• Her knowledge of magic will be useful in the future.
• She’s well-read and an excellent conversationalist.
• Her temperament, though pleasing, needs work.
• She seems to believe that his participation in child rearing and child making is absolutely necessary.

Hmm. The list feels incomplete. It doesn’t encompass… whatever it is that she stirs in him. He’s sure that he loves his mother, and Josiah. The feeling is very different from what he experiences with Thandi, though.

Thandi… something about her makes him want to… give to her. Seeing her smile gives him an odd euphoria, almost like a drug. It’s more than that, though. Since she crossed the line and… hugged… him, stroked his hair, he’s… wanted more. Comfort related to his childhood?

In which case, why does he crave it from her versus anyone else? There’s an unspoken exception to her in his personal set of rules.

Not only this, but he can’t seem to stop watching her. Thandi’s appearance is magnetic. He could pick her out from a crowd based only on how she walks, holds herself. And she is gorgeous, aesthetically speaking. If he drew more than plants, he’d like to draw her.

It seems that all reason goes out the window lately when he is faced with her. He realizes that he’s simultaneously desperate for her approval and others’ approval of her. It’s beginning to seem that he is left defending Thandi against the party—she isn’t conniving, she’s not plotting, and it seems that her enthusiasm for people is real.

Perhaps that is why he likes her. She seems genuine. Her focus is admirable, and…

And…

He doesn’t want to be separated.

Is that all it is? Separation anxiety? An attachment formed in a desperate search for comfort?

There’s no way to know.

She makes him stupid for her attention, and he can’t seem to grasp the ability to think clearly when her eyes are on him. And worse, when there are others there to see his weakness around her, he can’t seem to help bristling.

All he has to go on is the physiological response: tight chest, phantom touches, anxiety… pain.

Perhaps love is pain.

child abuse, tbo canon

There is a chill in the air today.

Charlie pulls his jacket tighter around his shoulders, giving a nod to the servant on the other side of the glass. She returns the nod, expression grave, before leaving him in the back gardens.

Locked out again.

Father found the bloodstains from his practice, and decided to discourage further “damage of property” by ordering him out into the night for the nth time.

Charlie sighs and paces to keep warm for now.

He’s grateful, at least, that as low as he is, he’s no sube. Compared to him, they’re animals. He’s better than them. Granted, he’s never spoken to any sube, but it’s a relief to see that someone else is suffering.

And that he can enforce that suffering.

As much as his mother disapproves of this attitude, there’s no reason for him to pretend he doesn’t hate them.

He coughs. The stitches on his thighs itch. He wasn’t allowed enough time to apply a poultice to the lines. Frustrating. He stares at the forest longingly.

He’s told that there are families deep in the forest, all sube. It pisses him off that even sube can find freedom somewhere, and he can’t ever escape. He’s got so little time left until his father simply loses patience and marries him to whoever would accept his hand. And then he’s expected to engage in… ugh.

Charlie stands at the edge of the forest, staring in. Wouldn’t it be funny if he just branded himself and ran off?

He’s not ready for that yet. And he still enjoys being above something.

It’s time to gather wood and try to start a fire. It’s only going to get colder.

^{charlie canon, tbo canon, charlie backstory, sexual assault, drunk charlie}

His vision blurs and swims, and a face gets close to him. Someone… here to help?

Someone… someone… anyone will do.

“Hello… you. You are…” He can barely make them out, and they laugh.

“I can’t believe you would do this to your own son, baron.”

“He does it to himself. Go on, introduce him to your son. He’s got to be useful for something.” Charlie can recognize that voice, and anger floods through his mind.

“You—you can’t do this to me! Not again!” He thrusts a finger out to the figure that must be his father. Before more can be said, he’s tugged and guided away, pushed into the arms of someone who manages to dwarf him. There’s the smell of tobacco and citrus, and Charlie’s thoughts float away.

A dashing, beautiful man is holding him steady. Charlie’s considerably smaller, teenage frame is completely enveloped and for a moment, Charlie’s heart skips a beat. “You…”

“I’m Laurence Panee.”

“…you’re beautiful, Laurence…”

Somewhere, someone barks a laugh. Charlie is lost in the eyes of this man. They’re so blue. He’s so strong. So warm. So… so… so.

They begin to talk. Laurence compliments and flatters him and touches him, and somehow it seems so good. It seems meant to be when Charlie brings him to his rooms, when they kiss on the bed, when he feels those strong hands start to massage his body, down… down… down…

He can’t help a gasp as the hand slips into his trousers, grasping him, massaging him to stiffness. Wait. Wait.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

This isn’t what he wants!

Laurence frees him from his pants and Charlie feels breath on him, fear growing quickly. No!

“Wait… wait… no…”

“It’s okay, Charles…” A hand strokes him and Charlie breaks.

“I said no!” He scrambles backwards and slams his bootheel into Laurence’s face, yanking his pants back to proper order. “Get out!”

Hot tears flow freely and he knows that his father has spiked his drink again, manipulated him, put him into the arms of this… whoever he is!

There’s shouting. Laurence leaves. Byron has Charlie removed from his rooms. Nineteen. Stumbling drunk. Someone—he fights them, but something about his voice soothes—guides Charlie into the servant’s quarters. A blanket is thrown round his shoulders and Charlie cries into a burlap sack of potatoes. That soothing voice hums him a song, the one his mother always sang.

Morning is greeted by an empty room and the smell of dirt, oddly calming.

That bastard did it again. No more.

Charlie Backstory, Child Abuse, TBO Canon

Charlie presses himself into a cabinet, holding his breath as he hears the door creak open. He hears the heavy steps of his father as he enters the library. There is a pause, then the steps leave, door clicking shut.

A few more cautious seconds, and Charlie emerges from the cabinet in one of the shelves. His relief doesn’t last long. A hand grabs his collar and yanks him out, Charlie yelping in his small voice.

The red face of his father has a deadly calm on it.

“Are you so confident in your abilities that you believe you don’t need to be schooled any longer?”

“I—”

“Good. You are in charge of the estate today. I am leaving for three days. If I return and things are less than stellar, you will regret ever having been born.”

Charlie’s knees are shaking. Tears are already bubbling up. He’s nine! What good can a nine year old do?! “I already regret being born!”

This earns him a ringing slap across the face, rings biting into skin, force enough to throw him into the corner of the cabinet door. He yelps once more, grasping at what will surely become a lovely bruise in a few hours.

“Then earn your right to live, Charles.”

A failure.

His incompetence is his fault, always skipping on classes. Failing to read the books. Even with his mother and Josiah helping him, he can barely handle the workload. They’re desperate to lighten his load while keeping a secret from Byron’s personal favorites, but there is only so much they could help with without Byron finding out.

The day he returns is dreaded. Many things run like clockwork, certainly, but what there is to do is only a mild success. There are endless sums in shaky writing, notes written illegibly, and worst of all, he was having trouble doing the accounting and is certain that he messed up somewhere.

Byron takes care to enumerate each failure in detail. He pours salt on the floor and has Charlie roll up his pants and kneel on it, arms out in front of him. He paces, resting a cane on his shoulder, as he reads off each error as if he were working through the child’s sins.

Each error is followed by a blow to his arms, his back, his shoulders.

Charlie stares straight ahead, tears dropping, frown deep, and a furrowed brow. He can’t make any noise. He can’t give his father the satisfaction. So he takes it all silently, even when he’s sure that something might have broken. Even when the welts rise and purple. Even when the salt digs deep into his legs, each grain like a bite into his flesh.

Charlie won’t make the same mistake. He’ll make sure that the old bastard doesn’t get the satisfaction again.

Charlie’s thoughts (TBO-era), fluff

When did it start?

When did she start catching his eye?

Charlie stares after her, relishing the feeling of her skin against him, admiring the severity of her expression. She works hard and he… just watches.

Was it when she tried to bring him back to do that obstacle course? She fell backwards, and he was caught off guard by the squeak, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Her face, her pouting good humor! Even after rejecting everything from before, he was compelled to at least help her up.

He had done well to hide his disgust at touch to begin with, but being forced into close and constant contact with the party was awful. And aside from Thandi, the few contacts between his and others were violent and awful and… then he had been made a fool… Charlie grimaces.

Maybe not then.

Was it when Sylvanus laughed at him, broke him down in front of her, as if he knew that Charlie would be weak for her? Put them… so close…?

Was it just… how she treated him? Trying to guide him so gently away from what he now was learning was… less than stellar behavior?

Or was it the moment when she fell and he couldn’t just let her hit the ground?

When she hugged him?

When she fixed his hair?

When she didn’t laugh as his composure shattered?

Charlie feels his cheeks heat, the bracelet tightening on Thandi’s wrist as she works. She pauses and runs her fingers along it, comforting it, and him. It’s a reassurance. It’s a relief. He closes his eyes and decides not to ponder it. As long as it’s her, he needs it.

He… wants it.

A flower buds on her wrist and she smiles to herself, giving it a kiss. Her lips on him are a treasure.