Chapter Text
The week had only just begun and it was already just as hectic as ever. Madelyn had been rushing about, trying to go about the day's errands with an over-hyper toddler on his hands.
I know what you may be thinking: Madelyn?? But that's a girl's name! And to that, I, Madelyn Eden Porter, reply to you, "fuck off you sexist prick."
I must admit, being a boy with what most people consider to be a girl's name is difficult sometimes. I mean, girls are treated bad enough already and to be a boy who is treated the way sexist people would treat a girl is both disrespectful and stupid. But alas, that is the way things are.
My brothers, of course, loved to tease me about my name - in fact, they are the only ones I don't mind doing so. I know that they just mean good fun when they say something on the lines of "Oi! Girls don't hit people!" But this is perfectly understandable seeing as how during those times I am most likely beating at least one of them up. It's not my fault though, in fact, I blame it entirely on my two oldest brothers, Percy and Seth. It's just playful sibling rivalry. For example, Percy once referred to me as an angry kitten due to my easily riled temper. His black eye didn't fade for a week.
I grew up in a somewhat large family who lived from paycheck to paycheck in our small cottage on the end of town, rented from our lord (no not Jesus, why would he even need money?). Things were often tense when the time to pay rent or taxes came around, but for the most part, we were happy. I was the middle child, though there was a large age gap between my two older brothers and three younger siblings. Well, almost three, I should say. My mother is pregnant with my third - and hopefully, last! - younger sibling.
My family in all consists of my father, my mother, my two oldest brothers (they're twins) Percy and Seth, me, and my three younger siblings, Penny who is three, Daniel who is one and a half, and Poppy, who has yet to be born.
My father is often not around, usually working late hours on the field for our lord. Our lord was a whole other problem. He was granted this land - consisting of a dirty and noisy town he decided to call "Grimsby" and if the name itself doesn't give you a hint to how horrid it is to live there, then picture this: a small town that rests on the edge of a large cliff. The skies are constantly grey and the soot from the workshops only darkens it further, making it difficult to breathe easy. There is only one church and our lord made himself the priest - which I'm still not convinced is entirely legal but what am I able to do about it?
Our lord owns an estate house not far from the middle of town and it is the only place on his land where you can find green grass and running water indoors. All of the peasants (and some of the less favored vassals) are forced to walk a little more than 3,000 yards and back to collect water from the village well.
Our town is actually relatively small, and with a whopping two hundred people living there (note the sarcasm), I'm constantly surprised that our lord has managed to fuck things up so badly.
Anyway, enough about that selfish bastard. Let's get on to the good stuff, like why where I am right now.
Due to my parent's problem with money, which had only gotten worse since mother had to take maternal leave because of the soon-to-arrive baby, I was at a loss for what to do. Percy and Seth were usually gone during the day - almost as long as father - trying to get jobs, and mother, who got horrible morning, midday, and night sickness was always resting in her room these days. That left me, a small sixteen year old, to take care of the babies. Thankfully, Penny was old enough that I didn't have to watch every single movement she made which helped a lot because little Danny boy made up for more than her share of mischief.
Now that I'm older, I often found myself swamped with housework, between laundry, cooking, and dusting I hardly do much else, and all with a gurgling baby on my hip. My wavy blonde hair came down just over my shoulders, though you couldn't ever really tell because most of the time I had it tied up with a bandana to keep it out of my face while I made up for the role of housekeeper. Today I wore my blue apron over my loose, washed-out jeans and blouse. It was currently covered in patches of flour and peas (Danny never was easy when trying to get him to eat his vegetables, but I didn't really hold him for it; they're disgusting!). Considering my state, I'd like to think that my exasperated sigh was justified when, just as I caught the screeching, soaking wet and naked toddler (ugh, bath days), a knock on the door sounded through the cottage.
"Danny," I scolded, scooping up the wriggling child, "that is quite enough out of you, young sir. Don't make me through Mr. Bunny out the window again." This got the baby to stop all acts of resistance and, huffing, I made my way towards the door. I wrapped Danny up in the quilt that hung over the small living room sofa and stuck his pacy into his mouth before forcing a smile and opening the door.
"Oh, what do you want?" I asked, face dropping into indifference immediately as I recognized the caller.
Thomas Harwires.
I had an immense dislike of the boy the very first day I met him in the playground in kindergarten all those years ago. He had been taller than most of the kids there, which wasn't hard to do considering we were all 5-6 years old. I still remember how angry I got at him when he started making fun of my hair and clothes. Now, it wouldn't even make me bat an eyelash, but I was known for my easily triggered temperament when I was younger and I had very much not appreciated being made fun if the very first day at school.
When I got home that day I let out all of my tears into my mother's chest as she stroked my hair and consoled me in her low, soothing voice.
"It's alright, darling, I'm sure that boy didn't mean anything too spiteful towards you,"
I looked up, a betrayed look spread across my face, which was now a blotchy red with tear tracks going down my cheeks, dampening my shirt. "He did too, momma! He said I looked like a little girl!"
"Now, now... is being compared to a girl really all that bad? After all, I used to be a little girl once, "
"Of course not, momma! But he certainly said it meanly. And then his friends laughed at me an-and then he pushed me off the swing." I sobbed.
"Oh, dear. Hush now, sweet one," she murmured, wiping my tears with her pretty lace handkerchief. "That wasn't very polite of him, was it?"
"No, it wasn't," I stated plainly.
"Well, perhaps he just wants a friend." She suggested, rocking me in her lap carefully.
"He has friends."
"Hmm... Maybe he likes you? Sometimes little boys are taught that they aren't allowed to show their real feelings for people, and so they are mean to little boys and girls when they actually are quite fond of them."
At this I wrinkled my nose, "ew, momma, that's gross."
"What's gross, my love?"
"Thomas doesn't like me, I mean, we're too young for that sappy love stuff! And besides, even if I might look like a girl, I'm a boy. And boys can't like other boys!" I stated this clearly as if surprised my mother could be so silly to say such a thing.
Instead, my mother chuckled, "Of course they can, sweetheart. And girls can like girls, too. Or you can like both or neither."
I sighed and shook my head, exasperated. "Whatever you say, momma, but Thomas still doesn't like me. And I don't want him too either." I decided.
A few years later I would realize that boys did love other boys, and that I was one of them. And unfortunately, my mother was also correct about Thomas. Who, while it was his turn in a game of Farmer in the Dell during recess, Thomas chose me as his wife, bent down, and kissed me! Now, I knew I liked boys, but I did not like Thomas for many reasons, and I hit him on his head, breaking the kiss, before tackling the brute to the ground and hitting him repeatedly in the stomach and chest. The boy had wheezed and before I could land a satisfying blow to his nose I was pulled off of him, still kicking, by my older brother Percy, Seth doing the same to Thomas.
He wasn't hurt terribly, as he was still aggravatingly taller and stronger than I, but I was sent home to my parents for a stern talking to nonetheless. My mother had been sure to tell me that, while it was wrong of Thomas to just kiss me like that, I was not to resort to violence unless absolutely necessary.
His insufferable cocky demeanor hadn't left him to this day, and he hasn't left me alone since. Of course, there was no more assaulting, but he constantly borderline harassed me anytime he saw me pass by while doing errands.
And now, the git had the nerve to show up at my door.
"Hey, sweetie," Thomas was leaning up against the door and leering down at me. I readjusted Daniel on my hip and huffed, "what do you want, dickwad?"
"Hey, that's not how a lady should talk, and in front of the babe, too." He tisked and shook his head at me, "it would do well for you to learn some manners if you want to get yourself a husband."
"Thank you for your problematic advice, Thomas. Now, would you kindly tell me why you've decided today was a good day to darken my doorstep?" I say sweetly.
"Unfortunately, I am merely a messenger this time," he reaches into his uniform and takes out a letter containing the lord's wax seal.
I reached out to take it when he pulled back, waving the letter just out of reach, "ah, ah, ah. You know, I was wondering why the lord might be addressing a letter to you, and then I noticed that a great many of the parcels I am to deliver to today are of a similar fashion."
I narrowed my eyes, fully intending to kick him right where it hurts before being forced to listen to the oaf's monologue when an excited shriek came from the toddler of my side and Daniel grabbed the envelope from Thomas. I gasped, delighted, maybe this kid wasn't such a terror after all.
"Well done, Daniel," I praised as I rescued the envelope from damp hands, turning and walking towards the kitchen table.
"Oh, come on lovely, you know I was going to hand it to you eventually-!"
I kicked the door shut on the way in.