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fancyfeathers · 2 months

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And Then There Were None

(Yandere William James Moriarty x Author!Reader)

Based on this post

TW//serial killing, panic attacks, slight gore if you squint, smoking, usage of drugs(smoking), kidnapping, implied isolation, heavy guilt, heavy depression

And Then There Were None (Yandere William James Moriarty /w Author Darling Masterlist)

Six months, you spent six months, a half a year, in America, New York City specifically, writing and getting inspiration for your next novel. You did not go alone of course, you made the trip with a friend of yours, Alex Pendel, an American novelist who grew up in Manhattan. You stayed with their family during your trip and you certainly learned a thing or two from the very family who runs New York in the palm of their hand, but that all is besides the point now, because now you are home.

Alex took your hand, helping you as you could pick up the skirt of your dress, as you stepped off the walkway that led from the ship to the dock. You noticed as you disembarked the strange looks Alex got from the people all around, you suppose that the suit she wore would certainly draw eyes, you had gotten so used to her family back in America and they were used to her more masculine sense in fashion, her mother even telling you with a fond tone how much Alex looked like her father. But here in London where no one truly feared her or her family that look was bound to draw stares. You also clocked that your luggage was nowhere to be seen as you disembarked which would make anyone else raise an eyebrow but to the two of you, this was just how any other trip would come to its end.

“You wanna bet how many of them came?” Alex asked as you began making your way down the dock, your heeled boots and her slacks making a sharp and dull clicking sound from each of you both as you walked together, arms interlocked. “I bet Réne and Charlotte will be there, I think Evelyn had that family reunion this week.”

“No that was last week, Charlotte I think is up in York, it is her younger brother’s birthday today.” You remarked after Alex’s comment which drew a hum from her as she released your arm to grab a cigarette from her suit jacket pocket.

Réne Drew, Charlotte Basset, and Evelyn Jay, along with Alex Pendel, they all were your best friends. You were all members of a small writer’s club you formed, there were a few other members as well but you all were the founders, you all made the payments for the building in Mayfair, hired the staff, and sent out the invitations to any promising authors, journalists, and poets who may be willing to join your club and they began to pour in. Evelyn and Réne were the ones who were at the club the most out of all of you.

Réne lived a few blocks away in a flat he began renting after moving to London from Marseille, a port city in France. Hisfamily was old money French family who based their fortune in the wine and alcohol industry, but his elder brother was set to inherit everything, so off to England he went, attending Oxford before settling in London and beginning his writing career and becoming a bestselling author know for his works that silently shatter the illusion of humanity in a poignant way by holding a mirror up to us and saying: look at what we truly are, and look at what we pretend to be.

Evelyn was a young heiress from an old money family as well, but one from here in London, titleless, and she was the youngest member of the club as far as age goes, only eighteen when you all founded the club. She is a seemingly innocent and sweet young lady but the human mind can be a very dark place. She often asks, when you all are at the club, questions that truly terrify you, for example…

“Would hunting another person still be considered hunting an animal because humans are a form of animals?”

“If you were being burnt alive would the smoke or flames kill you first?”

“I think there is a murderer in my neighborhood, I keep on seeing traces of blood by the park… Do you think they are burying their victims there?”

She always had the sweetest smile and is honestly quite kind, if not a bit creepy.

Then lastly there was Lady Charlotte Basset, the eldest child and heiress of a noble family, she has more money than she knows what to do with. She moved to London to find direction with her life but instead found strange happiness in her family’s estate there, so she wrote about it and it sold in the blink of an eye. When not at her desk or at the writer’s club, she is often seen taking you all out on the town to spoil you bunch or out with one of her brothers, gambling and drinking. She often takes Evelyn to visit haunted sites all around London so she can get inspiration for her books and scare off suitors with the gossip of the seances she holds in her own estate, which may or may not be true.

“(Name)! Alex!” A high pitched voice called out to you two as you neared the end of the large pier. You looked to where the pier met the land and spotted a young lady with light brown hair and a long yellow dress that lacked any corset and was quite old, no doubt a gift from her grandmother from when she was a girl in the regency era. But that young lady was indeed familiar to the two of you, Evelyn Jay.

She ran over to the two of you, wrapping her arms around Alex first, which was returned with a hesitant hug and sheepish smile from the New Yorker, similar to how an older sister would greet their younger sibling when their friends were watching. Evelyn quickly broke away to greet you, hugging you slightly less tighter than how she hugged Alex. “Oh I missed you two so much! So much has happened! Réne went to Moscow to meet with a publisher and translated there to see if his next novel could be published in Russia first since it takes place there- oh and Charlotte got to meet the queen on her father’s birthday in the spring, and she said Charlotte looked absolutely radiant and-“

“Evelyn!” Alex cut her off with a wide smile across her face as she set a hand on the young lady’s shoulder in an attempt to pry her off of you. “We just got back, give us time to breathe, you can tell us all about what happened later.”

“I know it is just so good to see the both of you.” She spoke in a rush as she slipped her upper limbs away from your torso and then she took a breath and sigh, finally calming down as she looked over the both of you, her gloved hands folding in front of her. “It is… it is just so good to see you, both of you.”

There was something lingering in her voice, something that did not feel quite right but you just summed it up to perhaps your absence over the half a year.

Evelyn led you both to the carriage that she arrived in, and indeed your luggage was being packed up on the back and top of it. While the carriage driver was working on packing up your belongings, you spotted a man in a blue and brown plaid vest with a matching blue tie, his brown hair and eyes matched the brown on his vest while the gold glasses he wore that matched the gold buttons on his shirt and vest. He had a cigarette between his lips and fingers much like Alex did, and this was another familiar face, Réne Drew. He spotted the three of you and waves with one hand while the other pulled the cigarette from his lips.

“I saw Evelyn run off to look for the two of you, I would have gone with her but I just do not have the same energy she has, not with the nights of sleep I have been getting at least.” The French author spoke as a greeting as the two of you approached within ten feet of the carriage. He opened his free hand and arm to you, embracing you in a small hug for a moment, but not Alex since he knows she is not the affectionate type, with the exception of Evelyn that is. “It is so wonderful to see the both of you, truly it is.”

Something was off in his tone as well, now that was strange, Evelyn was one thing, but both Evelyn and Réne, that was how you knew something was wrong.

You glanced over at Alex and you saw a glance that was exchanged with you, silently signaling that she picked up on what you noticed as well.

“Réne, are you alright?” You questioned your friend as he broke away from the hug and he did not make eye contact with you for a long moment, only bugging his cigarette up to his lips to take a long draw from it. “Réne-“

“Sir… and ladies.” You heard the carriage driver call out to you all, hesitating for a moment as he was about to say ma’am but seeing as there were now three women he was addressing he changed his choice of word. “Everything is packed up.”

“Lovely.” Réne responded as he turned to face the carriage driver for a brief moment before looking back at you and Alex. “Let’s… we can discuss this in the carriage.”

Réne helped Evelyn into the carriage first, then attempted to help Alex who simply slapped his hand away and stepped in herself saying. “Réne, do you need help getting in a carriage? The answer is no and neither do I.”

Then Réne reached out to help you in the carriage-

Suddenly you were knocked over as a gentleman walked past you, the heel of your shoe getting caught in between the bricks that formed the pavement below you. You hit the ground, no doubt dirtying your dress that Alex’s mother got for you in America.

“Oh dear, are you alright Miss?” You hear the voice of the man who knocked you over as he reached out a hand to help you up, his voice smooth and calm if not a little worried in your distress. You looked up at him, he was a young man with blond hair and scarlet red eyes, he was dressed in fine clothes, a brown suit and red tie to be specific.

“Yes, I am, just a little fall is nothing to worry about.” You responded as you took his gloved hand with your own as he helped you up, pulling you to your feet. Behind him you saw another gentleman who looked quite similar only the other wore glasses and had a scar that hid itself behind his hair. You looked back to him and smiled, giving him a little nod in gratitude and you extended your hand to him, more socializing was a habit you picked up in America. “Thank you for helping me up.”

“It was the least I could do since I was the one who knocked you over.” He took your hand in his own, giving it a firm shake and squeeze. “I am Professor James Moriarty, it is a pleasure to meet a lady as polite as you, Miss...”

“Oh (Name).” You watched as his smile turned into an expression of slight shock. “Is something wrong, Professor Moriarty?”

“Not at all, I am just a fan of your work that is all.” He responded, shaking his expression away with a slightly embarrassed chuckle and smile.

“Well that is certainly a nice thing to hear after my trip home, I am glad you enjoy my work, Professor.” After your comment you heard Réne clear his throat, reminding you that everyone was waiting on you. You glanced back at your friend before looking back at the professor and giving him one last smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Professor Moriarty.”

“You as well.” He responded as you gave him a small wave goodbye as you turned back Réne who had his arm outstretched to help you into the carriage.

You stepped up into the carriage, swinging yourself over into the corner next to Evelyn that faced away from where the carriage was headed. Alex and Réne sat across from you, Réne nearest to you and Alex nearest to Evelyn. You felt the carriage begin to move, most likely off to your home first since you lived closest to the docks, though close would be an understatement, but that was besides the point. As you finally pulled away from the docks as a whole, Alex was the first to speak up.

“So what has you two all fussed? I thought you bunch were supposed to be happy we are home.” Her comment and tone would have normally drew smiles from you bunch but instead worried glances were exchanged between Réne and Evelyn, the silence was louder than anything else in this moment.

“Guys, what is wrong? You are starting to scare me.” You questioned, your own tone turning serious and grim as you looked between Evelyn and Réne who were tucked into their own separate corners of the carriage.

“While you both were gone something happened, at first no one thought much of it, that is until something like it happened again a few months later, about a week ago.” He began to explain, his hands nervously fidgeting with the pocket watch chain that was connected to his vest. “We thought about writing to you both when the first one happened but chalked it up to a coincidence but then the second one happened and you were already aboard the ship by then and thought it best to wait until you were back here to tell you-“

“Tell us what, Réne?” You questioned, drawing a brief silence from the French author again and his words were picked up by Evelyn.

“Well you know your novels, the one with a blinding snowstorm and a homicidal maniac and then the other one where the little girl poisoned her grandfather with eserine?” Evelyn asked you which you responded with a scoff.

“Of course I do, I wrote them.” You watched as Réne reached into his satchel he brought with him and pulled out two newspapers, one was slightly worn and older than the other, a few months if you had to guess. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and your heart began to pound as he handed them to you.

Then your heart stopped as you saw the headlines.

“Serial Killer in the Blizzard; multiple found dead.”

“Earl of Kent found poisoned with eserine.”

Your lips fell agape as you stared at the papers in your hands, you were so far away from reality in your shock that you did not even notice Alex snatching them out of your hands and begin reading over the paper herself. You must have been in shock for a few minutes because when you came to, Evelyn was rubbing your shoulders and Alex was swearing up a storm and Réne was trying to get her to calm down.

“The deaths were all nobility, but they mimicked your books.” Evelyn commented as she helped you sit up straight from how you sat slouched in your seat.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean!?” Alex snapped back at the young lady across from her.

“Think about it, think about all the major murders over the last few years, who has been killing the nobles of the nation or their aliases at least?” Réne asked and she fell to silence once again, minus the barely audible swears slipping from her lips, leaving you to piece together everything in your already distressed and confused mind.

“…the… the Lord of Crime.” Your words were breathy and uneven as you spoke your response but Réne nodded, his expression as grim as it has been since you stepped into the carriage.

“We… No one knows his motive behind choosing your books, but Scotland Yard has ruled you out from being a suspect since you were in America when the initial incidents took place, but they still have no clear suspects yet.” Réne continued on, your shaking form barely piecing together what he was saying. “We thought maybe you coming back to England would bring an end to them… but now thinking about that now it just sounds silly.”

“I… this can’t be true…”

The carriage was drawn to silence after you said those words, confirming that this indeed was reality.

—————————

You stood at the train station a suitcase packed that you carried, you were going to go visit your mother for a few weeks in your hometown, tell her about your time in America and all the parties you went to and things you saw in one of the most amazing cities in the world, but more importantly to find comfort after you heard about those murders and perhaps receive a bit of guidance on what to do.

“You have your ticket, right?” Little Evelyn asks as she bushed out the wrinkles in your coat as the train pulled up to the station. She had accompanied you to the station to say goodbye, but in reality your friends have not left you by yourself unless you were home since you found out about the murders of the Lord of Crime, it has been Almost three weeks now.

“Yes and I will be fine, Evelyn.” You replied to her worry with a smile which she gave a little huff to as the doors of the train opened up and made your head turn. You gave a glance back to Evelyn and she, like always, threw her arms around you and squeezed you tight, like she was afraid you would disappear into dust if she let go.

“Just be careful alright?” She spoke as she buried her face into your neck, muffling her voice slightly, to which you hummed in acknowledgement in response to her. She finally let go of you, her hands coming to rest on your lower upper arm, near your elbow. Her gaze flicked between you and the ground, as if she was scared to meet your gaze. “I will miss you.”

“I will only be gone a few weeks, it is not like I am going back to America.” You teased her which drew a wide smile across her face.

“I suppose that is true, just… be careful, please?”

“You already asked me that.”

“You already said that, but I will be.” You responded as you switched hands that your suitcase was in so that you could grab your ticket with your dominant hand and so that Evelyn would let go of you fully. “I’ll tell my mother that you said hello.”

“Please do- and oh ask her for the toffee she makes, I have been craving it since the holidays.” She added on, cutting herself off as soon as she remembered your mother’s cooking.

“I will.” There was a brief moment of silence between the two of you again that was broken with the whistle of the train blowing, telling you that you needed to board the train or be left behind. You turned your body but your head faced Evelynas you began to walk away. “Well I will see you in two weeks, Evelyn. We can have tea at the club when I get back.”

“That sounds lovely.”

You stepped up into the train proper as it began to move, almost catching you off guard which made you laugh slightly at your own stupidity. You began looking through the compartment, finding one that was free for your use, or in other words empty. Eventually you found one and got settled, setting your suitcase next to you for a brief moment while you pulled out a book to read, an American novel you bought during your time in the states, before you closed your suitcase and set it on the racks above you.

Time slowly drifted by as you made your way through the book, it was good, but time spent reading for you had just gotten short and shorter for you the sharper your mind got, so now the hours you spent as a child reading your favorite books from the library had turned into half an hour if that. You huffed a sigh as you closed the book and set it on your lap, but you slipped your index finger between the pages to save your spot, after all you are not some psychopath. You gazed out the window as the city of London faded into the countryside of England, it felt so quiet which was both strange and welcome since you really have not had a moment of silence since you were back in your hometown before leaving for America six months ago.

“Excuse me, would you mind if we joined you?” A voice from the hall asked, which silently told you that you must have left the door opened. You turned your head, ready to politely dismiss whoever was asking but-

“Oh Professor Moriarty, correct?” Your words escaped your mouth before you could even think about what you were saying, your sight and mouth working faster than your brain could process. Indeed the man from a few weeks prior at the docks was before you on the train, along with the other blonde man who you did not speak to at the docks and a brown haired man with the greenest eyes accompanying them.

“Miss (Name), I did not even realize it was you, what a pleasant surprise to see you again.” You gave William the same smile he gave you and silently gestured for the three of them to come into the compartment, after all the company could do you some good to take your mind off of things. William sat next to you and the other two gentlemen sat across from you both. William gestured to the both of them, specifically the one with brown hair first and then the blonde. “These are my brothers, Louis and Albert.”

“A pleasure to meet you both, my name is (Name). William and I met briefly at the docks in London when I was just arriving home from a trip to New York City.” You explained, though the explanation was more for Albert rather than Louis since you remember he was there despite him not saying away, but they both smiled in acknowledgement all the same. You glanced at William who was sitting next to you, and while your prior meeting was brief, he was the one you were most familiar with. “May I ask where you all are headed to?”

“I happen to teach mathematics at the university in Durham, but Albert is headed up there for business and Louis is managing our estate there.” He explained which drew a nod from his brothers. “And what about you?”

“Oh I am just visiting my mother and spending some time back in my hometown before heading back off into the world of editors and publishers.”

“You are from Alnwick, correct?” You heard Albert ask which caught you off guard and you nodded with a shocked expression on your face to his question which drew a laugh from him. “I just remembered William talking about one of your books and one of them taking place in the Alnwick Garden since that is your hometown.”

“Oh good, for a second I thought I had a stalker.” You laughed in relief which made everyone in the compartment break a smile at the very least, but then you suppose you do have a sort of stalker in the form of the Lord of Crime and that thought made your smile fade away. “But yes I am from Alnwick, but I moved to London when I started writing since my publisher and editor were located there and it was easier just walking to their office than having to take a whole long trip down there just to have an hour long meeting with them.”

“I suppose that does make sense.” William spoke with his own smile fading into a more relaxed expression. There was silence among you all once more for a minute or two before William chimed in again. “If I may ask another question, you just returned from America, I would think you would want to avoid travel for a time and stay in London to decompress and relax.”

“Well I just do not think I can relax there right now…” You answered, your gaze falling down to the book that sat in your lap with your finger wedged between its pages, your hands and palms especially growing a tad clammy. “…Since you are a fan of my books then I am sure you heard about what has happened with the Lord of Crime incidents involving two of them. My friends told me about it on the carriage ride back home and it has just been itching my mind in a way I do not like, so I decided some country air and family would do me some good.”

“I see….” It felt like William’s tone in voice changed slightly, growing darker, maybe drawing more into his thoughts for a moment, but only a moment. “Then I suppose it is a good thing to get away from all the commotion to recover from that shock.”

“I do hope so.”

You spent much of the train ride in silence, reading over the book you brought along with you, and then rereading it once you finished. Eventually the Moriarty brothers excused themselves to go to the dining car, they invited you but you rejected their offer since you would be having supper with your mother when you arrived in Alnwick and your mother would not you spoiling your appetite since she would certainly have company over to welcome your return, your grandparents who were still alive and your siblings if they were around. Besides, you wanted to look through your manuscripts and notes from America to see what you could use for your next novel since your stay in New York City was to force creation and inspiration and you certainly could not pull those out around William since you were told he was a fan of your work, spoiling something like your next novel would be cruel.

You read through your old writings and the scene of the city came flooding back to you. Honestly you wished you could go back now, forget about what has happened and just enjoy life, but now it feels like your lust for life has just vanished since Réne handed you those newspapers in the carriage when you and Alex returned home. You sighed, setting your papers, journal, and pen back on the seat and got up, a quick stretch and a trip to the washroom would do you some good. You slipped out from your and the Moriarty brother’s now empty compartment and into the hall. The train was fairly quiet this far into the trip you noted as you walked down the hall and looking around, one of the men in the compartments waving to you as you both made eye contact as you walked passed. The washroom was at the end of the cart while your compartment was at the front, you shut the washroom door after you and turned the lock so no one would walk in. You did not really need to use the bathroom, but you just really needed a change in scenery and a moment to freshen up, fixing your hair and running your hands over your dress to get the wrinkles out.

You smiled as you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, remembering a book you wrote a few years prior. It was on a train like this, an American tycoon was found murdered in his compartment, stabbed a dozen times with his door locked from the inside. The victim was actually inspired by one of Alex’s brothers who you met when he came to London to visit her and to attend to work affairs, whatever that may be, you learned not to ask questions when it came to her family and their family business.

You opened the washroom door before you stepped out into the hallway and began to walk back to your compartment. You thought back to your gardens in your hometown, that would be a good place to write if it was a clear day, write a few chapters of your book over the next few weeks before coming back down and handing it off to your editor which would give you some time to relax in London while he works on that, you could probably have time to meet with that new poet who had just become a member at your club while you away in America, they were from Germany to believed and-

Your thoughts were cut off as you stepped in what sounded like a puddle, that was strange, you were on a train, did someone spill their drink? No that could not be it, you were in the washroom for such a short time that they would probably still be here, trying to clean it up. You looked down at your boot covered foot to see what you had stepped in…

“What?”

That cannot be right, the puddle was a dark crimson red, like blood, how was that possible? Your eyes followed where the puddle was coming from, leaking out from a door to your right that you passed while walking to the washroom. You looked up into the glass of the door…

And the scream that ripped from your throat must have alerted the whole train.

Dead, the man you passed by earlier was dead…

No, that was not possible…

You could not have been in the washroom for more than five minutes…

But there he was, dead.

You did not even realize that the train staff was pushing you out of the way as they came running to the scene. They were also taken by their shock and had to hold back their screams as they could handle the situation. One of them stepped forward, and attempted to open the compartment door…

“It’s locked.”

Your eyes widened at that statement.

This couldn’t be-

“Get her back to her compartment, she needs to sit down.” The voice of one of them told another and you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder and guided you back to your compartment. The door opened and the Moriarty brothers were already back and to them you must look like you just met death, and in a way you did. You felt William’s hands come to take you by your forearms to guide you down to your seat next to him while Albert talked to the crewman, but you could not process what they were saying as Louis and William were checking to see if you were alright as far as your physical condition, but mentally…

You were a mess, pale faced, tears rolling down your face, hyperventilating, all things someone should be after seeing a dead body…

Especially a murder based on one of your books.

Stay safe, that is what Evelyn told you before you left, well you do not feel safe anymore.

—————————

It has been months since that incident and you find yourself back in your study back at your townhouse in London. Since then there has been an increase in the incidents based on your books, the last one that happened three days ago was the seventh, and honestly all of this was driving you a bit mad. You had shut yourself in your house most days, your maid running out to the market on your behalf and your assistant running errands to you and dropping chapters off at your editor’s office, the only time you really went out was when you went to the writer’s club, those four walls were a sanctuary for your troubled mind where you pull hear about the stories your friends wrote up or listen to the poetry readings from the other club members.

Your home on the other hand felt as if it grew a frightening aura, the place where you thought up of the tales and deaths in your stories that were an escape from reality became the source of actual deaths and mass murders. Your stories and tales became reality, not the fiction you intended to be.

As for the identity of the killer, no one has even a clue of who the Lord of Crime may be, not even any of your friends or yourself whose job was to write about mysteries and secrets. You all used to get your hands on old unsolved cases from Scotland Yard that were open to the public and solve them for fun as to get inspiration for your books, they were old and the culprit was long dead by the time you got your hands on the file, but this was something else entirely, this was an actual live and real threat.

It was late in the evening and you sat in an armchair in your drawing room, the evening’s newspaper in your lap and a cigarette in between the middle and index fingers of your right hand while a glass of red wine sat on the table next to you, it was an expensive vintage that Réne had gifted to you for your birthday. Across from you sat your friends, Lady Charlotte Basset in the other arm chair with a glass of wine herself along with Alex Pendel laying down your velvet sofa, her head propped up on the arm rest and a cigarette between her lips. Charlotte was a richly dressed woman, dark brown hair and green eyes that were only complemented by the emerald green dress she wore with her white fur shawl that you believed was mink fur. The two of them were going out to a music hall, a cabaret, later tonight but stopped here on the way to check up on you.

“You think this Lord of Crime likes the theater? Cause’ his crimes feel like one big act.” Alex said as she pulled the cigarette from her lips to speak and blow out a large puff of smoke into the air. “Think about it, it is suspected that he is behind the deaths on the Noahtic, and Réne was on it and he told me it literally ended up with them on the stage of the ballet, nearly scared some of the performers half to death apparently.”

“That is certainly one way to make a spectacle of your victims.” Charlotte added as she twirled the glass of red wine in her hand, but her eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, just gazing off as she loses herself in thought. “But you would need other people to assist with all of his little shows, as if the victim and killer are the cast then you would need the crew, the question is who are these allies to this so-called Lord of Crime?”

“Dunno, want me to write to my pop to ask him what he thinks.” Alex’s lips turned up in a teasing grin as she spoke those words. “Eh, but he’ll probably get pissed at the mention of what is happening to your books, I think my parents like you better than me.”

“As much as I love your family, I am not sure I want another crime lord to deal with in London.” You finally chimed in as you set your paper aside on the table next to you where your half finished glass of wine sat. “But honestly moving to America just sounds lovely right about now, do you think your parents will adopt me?”

“Probably.” Alex’s one word answer was responded with laughs from you and Charlotte. Then as silence settled in the drawing room there was a knock from the front door, your maid called out telling you that shade would get it, which allowed you all to continue your conversation. “But I am working on another rough draft for a book, but I am just stuck on the killer’s motive.”

“Oh, and what is your general idea?” Charlotte asked as you heard the sound of distant talking from the maid and your home’s visitor. “Are you going to write another novel with the notes from New York?”

“No actually, it is going to be about ten strangers who are invited to an isolated island by a mysterious host. And then they start to die one by one, leaving the remaining guests to realize that the killer is among them-“

“The problem with that is that the killer would unintentionally out themselves as such when they would be one of the people surviving.” An unfamiliar voice called out, butting in on your conversation. You all looked up to the doorway that led from the front entry into the drawing room and there stood next to your maid a young man, with messy dark hair that was pulled back into a short ponytail and eyes to match, he wore a simple button up and a black suit jacket and pants to match. “It’s just like how in that mass murder case six years back one of the survivors was the killer and they only found out years later when her son found her journal after she died.”

“Do… Do I know you?” You asked the stranger who had been let into your house and both Charlotte’s and Alex’s heads turned to look at him, Alex swung her legs over the edge of the couch so that she was sitting up straight in the presence of a stranger. The man walked up to you, walking past your friends present as if they did not exist and extended his hand to you to shake.

“The name is Holmes, Sherlock Holmes.” You noticed the glances of shock exchanged between Charlotte and Alex from where they sat. This was the famous detective of London, the best detective in the nation if not the world as a whole, and some of his cases did serve as inspiration for your novels. “You are the famous mystery author, Miss (Name), and if I had to guess your two friends are Alex Pendel, the American thriller novelist, based on her appearance on how she sits and the suit she is wearing was made and custom tailored by Catherine Donovan, I recognized it because my brother has suits made by her as well. Then your other friend is Charlotte Basset, another horror author, and she was by far the easiest to identify due to her father’s signet ring she wears on her thumb because it is too big for her ring finger.”

You watched as Alex began looking over her suit and the small brand initials that were embroidered on the cuff of her suit jacket and Charlotte looked down at the ring on her thumb which was indeed her father’s ring that he gave to her when she was a child because she kept on fidgeting with her hair and picking at her nails. You reached out to shake his hand, his rough calloused hands gripping your smaller gloved hands with a firm hold.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of having the best detective in London in my home?” You asked as he released your hand, letting you sit back on your chair’s armrest. “Let me guess, it is because you found a scene in my book unrealistic like those detectives down at Scotland Yard.”

“Unrealistic, your work? Never, they just have never seen a murder scene like the ones in your books, like about a month ago I murder scene that reminded me a lot of one from one of your short stories, it was not linked to the Lord of Crime incidents as the culprit was of of the staff members but that is besides the point.” He grabbed the paper you had sat on the side table by your wine and pointed at the headline, it was about the murder of a duchess who had been abusing her staff and the crime was believed to be done by the Lord of Crime. “I would like you as my partner in solving this case.”

“Excuse me?” The words escaped your mouth in your state of surprise and you could see similar expressions on the faces of Alex and Charlotte. You pushed the hand that held the paper aside and the detective as a whole as you stood up from your seat. You walked across the room to where you fireplace stood, a small fire crackling in the hearth, above which on the mantle sat a collection of your books, custom hard back books that were bound by a book binder in your hometown who knew you as a child, a gift from the people who inspired you to write in the first place. “Mr. Holmes, I am a writer not a detective and I do not want to get more involved with this Lord of Crime mystery than I already am, it could destroy me.”

“But what if it doesn’t, you truly have nothing left to lose at this point.” You snapped your head around at him when he said that, sending him a sharp glare and you watched him stiff up for a moment before shaking it off, you heard him clear his throat and mention something about you reminding him of a Miss Hudson, whoever she is. “What I mean is you have not made a single public appearance since you returned to London from your time in the states and that is presumably about you finding about the related incidents to your work, then not to mention your physical appearance is a clear reflection of that previous observation, bags under your eyes and the redness around them presumably from you rubbing them shows you haven’t been sleeping. That’s not to mention the thin layer of dust I saw on the shoes and umbrella by the door, which shoes you have not been going out much-“

“I think she said she wasn’t interested and had no desire to be like you, Mr. Detective.” You watched as Alex stood up, walking up to where the detective stood, staring him down, and if there was one thing Alex was good at, it was being intimidating. “So please you can see yourself to the door.”

“But she is already like me, I have heard about you all at your club solving unsolved cases that Scotland Yard could never solve that are twenty, thirty, forty, even fifty years old. I think it is pretty obvious that you all are detectives in your own right.” Sherlock looks down at her as he speaks before snagging the cigarette from between her fingers and taking a smoke himself and you could just watch Alex grow more irritated by the second and was about to blow. “Now another thing I remember about my brother is the last time he stopped by he mentioned something about a certain crime family moving into England.”

You could just see Alex’s eyes grow wide while the rest of her face remained still. She stood there a moment before grabbing her cigarette from her detective and turning towards the entryway. “Cmon’ Charlotte, the show is at nine.”

You and Charlotte shot each other looks of disbelief as Alex made her way to the front door, but you just watched as she signed and downed the rest of her wine before setting her glass down on the end table near her seat before following after Alex, wrapping her mink fur tighter around her. You heard the front door open and close in your state of disbelief, leaving you and the detective alone. You both stood in silence for a long moment before he spoke up, breaking the lingering silence.

“So?”

“…What exactly do you need my help with?” Your question was begrudgingly asked and you just saw his expression light up like a child’s on Christmas when you finally gave in. “I cannot promise any help like I am an actual detective since I tend to approach situations how I would write them, I am an author first and foremost.”

“That’s fine, where is your study?” He was quick and straight to the point and you watched him walk out of your drawing room presumably to look for your study and home library. You watched as he walked to the doorway across from the doorway of your drawing room that was also connected to your entryway and he pushed open the doors to your study. You quickly followed him like you were a parent watching their excited child, trying to keep him wrong from wrecking anything. You cringed as he went behind your desk, looking at your manuscripts and journals that sat on top of it. “So this is where the great mystery author writes her stories. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to see where you work or your work before it’s finished.”

“Um… yes, just please do not mess with anything, this is my life’s work after all.”

—————————

You have been working with the detective in your free time to try to solve this case, even then he would be showing up in your home while you were in your office writing or even when you were at the club, it got to the point where you maid had to tell him to stop showing up during your working hours since you needed to write in order to have a job and stay in business since you still had deadlines to meet. Your drawing room had been turned into a mess of Sherlock’s and your own clues, pieced and puzzled together, trying to find connections, though the difference between the two of your work was very clear, your clues were tucked in a series of folders, notebooks, and journals, meanwhile the detective’s were in the form of loose and sometimes torn up papers and notes that were now laid out throughout the carpet of your drawing room, you slightly feared that the carpet would stain with ink since it was a housewarming gift from your late father.

Despite all this, everything single clue you came across came to a dead end and led to no clear culprit. Your investigation made you truly realize what Alex meant when she told you one time how crime was truly a game, an act, to make it a spectacle for others to watch while the performers fight for control.

“How is your novel coming along?” Réne asked as you two sat in one of the lounges at the club. He sat on the couch across from your, his back pressed against the armrest so that his legs extended out on the cushions, he had his glasses resting atop his head so that they pushed back his hair as he worked on a sketch in his sketchbook that he had propped up on the thigh of his leg that was on the outside end of the couch that was bent into a V-shape. “Still struggling with that villain of yours?”

“I am afraid so, I have all the events laid out, the deaths and what not and how the killer did it, but I still have no motive for them.” You explained as you watched the maid of the club pour you a cup of an earl gray tea that Charlotte got for you all from a new tea shop a few blocks away from the writer’s club. You sat on an identical couch to Réne, though much more ladylike as you were about to have tea and not to mention the morning’s newspaper, that you had yet to read, resting on your lap. “Every time that it mentions the killer’s motive I just skip it over and leave it blank-“

“Sugar ma’am?”

“Two please, a dash of cream as well.” You answered the maid’s question as she prepared your tea for you before continuing on. “It is by far the worse writer’s block I have experienced to date, it has been weeks since I started writing and it would be practically finished if I could figure out my villains just give him life.”

“It is a him?”

“Yes… I think so anyway- oh thank you.” You cut yourself off as the maid handed you your cup of tea. You held the saucer in your left hand while you brought the teacup up to your lips, taking a sip to wet your throat. “But honestly this case with Mr. Holmes, trying to uncover this Lord of Crime has left me all sorts of frazzled that I cannot tell up from down when I return home at the end of the day, so I honestly think that I have my novel’s villain as some version of this Lord of Crime, a figure who cannot place, so close yet so far, just out of reach… I probably sound like a raving mad woman right now, don’t I?”

“A bit, yes.” Réne answered which grew a small giggle from you. His eyes never lifted from his paper as he spoke, his fingers still twirling around the pencil as he drew. “Speaking of our Lord of Crime problem, how many of your books are left in his little… hm….”

“Recreations?”

“Yes, that is the word I am looking for!” He said with a slight enthusiasm creeping into his voice as he flicked his pencil in the air at your answer. “But yes, how many are left? He has probably covered all your famous works by now.”

“Yes… well let me think….” Your voice faded for a moment as you went over your books in your head, the number of incidents has increased since your partnership with the famous, though not by choice, Sherlock Holmes had begun, but surely there had to be at least three or so books left, right? Well there was- no that was the first incident that happened while you were abroad in America. What about- no not that one either, you remember seeing that in the morning paper when Sherlock came running into your townhouse about it when you first started working. Then there was a moment of realization as you sat there, staring down at your tea, reflecting your face that has grown and probably aged a few years due to these cases. “…no.”

“No? That’s not a number- oh… that… I… I’m sorry.” Réne stopped his sketching in his realization, you could just practically see his expression when the silence was practically yelling at you.

“…Réne, since there are no books left, what if I am next?” Your question was just followed by more silence then you heard Réne’s pencil quickly scribble something on his paper before you heard the ripping of paper and the shifting of limbs as the fabric of his pants rubbed against the velvet couch cushions. He slammed his drawing down on the table between the two of you, where the tea set sat. You looked down at it and it was presumably of a man in a black coat and hat, but his face was covered by a smiling mask, the Lord of Crime, but across his neck was a thick and scribbled line as if he was beheaded. You looked up at Réne and he had a comforting smile across his face.

“Then I will do everything in my power to unmask him and protect you.” He fell back onto his couch, throwing his arms across the back rest, crossing his legs. “You are one of my best friends and he would be fool to think that I would not risk my own neck to protect you, and I know for a fact that Evelyn, Charlotte, and Alex would do the same… hell honestly Alex would be the worse enemy to have, she could make one call to her father and… well it would not be pretty and that is for certain.”

“Thank you, a friend like you is truly a rare thing, let alone four friends like you all.”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

The terrible silence had faded into a more pleasant and comfortable silence, but you looked down at the drawing and into those black hole of the mask where the eyes would be, faceless and unsettling that gave you a creeping feeling up your spine.

God it was unsettling…

It made you feel like you were being watched…

Just please make it stop…

Stop…

STOP!

As if by reflex, you sprung up out of your chair and snatched up the drawing from the table, and this drew Réne’s attention to you again as a concerned expression set in on his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Alright… alr- Yes! I am perfectly fine, I… I just remembered I… I meant to send a letter to my mother and I left it in my study back home, I-I just really needed to do that!” A lie, that honestly you did not know why you told it, not even the slightest clue as to why. You grabbed your messenger bag from the ground, throwing it over your shoulder. “I-I should go do that, before I forget to and the post office closes.”

“O-oh, alright?” Réne seemed unsure of your sudden shift in behavior. “Do you need me to walk you home-“

“No!- I… I mean I’ll be alright….” You two once again stood in a tense silence as you looked back at each other with equally confused expressions. “…bye.”

You could only say that as you turned on your heel as you walked to the door of the club, the maid giving you your hand and coat as you were about to leave which you put on in a rush as you tried to get out the door to get out of the gazes of your friends and colleagues.

You stumbled out onto the streets of Mayfair, you did not bother trying to get a hackney, you needed the fresh air that is what you needed, you think. You nervously fidgeted with the strap of your messenger bag as you walked down the street, your eyes darting around at the brick pavement beneath your feet, not bothering to watch where you are going since the way back home was practically muscle memory-

Suddenly you were knocked over as a gentleman walked past you, the heel of your shoe getting caught in between the bricks that formed the pavement below you, an all too familiar scene for you, but you suppose that is what you get for not watching where you are going.

“I am so sorry- Miss (Name), we have met like this before have we not?” That voice was familiar to you, you looked up to see the smiling face of Professor William James Moriarty looking down at you, his gloved hand outstretched to you like that day at the docks on your return home. He cocked his head to the side slightly as he looked over your form as you took his hand and he pulled you up from the ground. “Are you alright? You look rather pale?”

“Y-yes… I-I am… No?…. Maybe- I really don’t know right now, I-I… I can’t think- god what is wrong with me?” You could not get your mind straight, your hands felt clammy and tingly… your entire arms at that… god was it always this hard to breathe? You can’t think, oh god why can’t you think? “I fear I am going mad, Profe- William.”

“You are trembling- oh dear, you are having a panic attack.” You could not process him coming to stand by your side, taking your messenger bag from you and his other hand coming to rest between your shoulder blades. “My family’s estate is only a few buildings down, let’s get you inside and sit down and Louis can make you a cup of tea, does that sound okay?”

“Y-yes, I think.”

“Okay, just take deep breaths.”

Your vision and memory came in flashes between sight and darkness… walking down the road, turning into a Mayfair estate with an iron fence with a red brick base beneath it… William pushing open the door and calling out to someone as he guided you into the drawing room… Him guiding you to lay down on the sofa in the room while someone else came into the room.

You could feel William’s hand held onto yours, letting you have something to ground yourself on, and you could hear William’s voice telling you…

“Take deep breaths, in and out.”

In and out…

In and out.

His voice served as your thoughts, allowing you to calm down from the height of your panic attack. You could finally process what was before you, a white ceiling. You could process what you felt, the fabric of your dress, the velvet of the Moriarty drawing room couch, the warmth and leather from William’s gloved hand that held onto your own.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything?” You heard William ask you as you pushed yourself up with your free hand that was not squeezing the life out of William’s hand. “Louis is making you some tea, he nearly got a fright at seeing you in a panic, ran off to the kitchen in a rush- oh just lay down! You are probably light headed or dizzy, just wait to sit up until your tea is ready.”

“O-okay… thank you William.”

“It is the least I can do.”

A few minutes passed before the scent of citrus and spice hit your nose as Louis stepped into the room, setting the tea tray on the low table between all the pieces of lounge furniture in the room. William set a hand on your lower back, helping you sit as Louis poured a cup of tea for you. Louis gave William the cup of tea to hold with his free hand while his other hand rubbed comforting circles on your back, which was wiser than letting you hold it since your hands were shaking violently still.

“I am s-sorry… I-I…”

“There is nothing to be sorry about, my dear.” William replied as your voice trailed off into your scrambled thoughts. “It is natural to experience such fits under stress… which reminds me, if I may ask, what is on your mind?”

“Um… a lot….” You laughed after those two words, laughing at your madness as you ran your fingers through your hair and tugging slightly, your hat had fallen to the ground when William laid you down and Louis had picked it up and set it on the table. “My novel still has no antagonist, at least not one with a motive to kill nine other people- t-then not to mention I have to worry about a detective, who may or not be the love of my life of the bane of my existence but I may just be thinking that because I am going mad, and him appearing in my house at any hour of the day because he think he found a lead with the blasted Lord of Crime case- AND! That’s the other thing, this Lord of Crime, all of my books have been made a horrible reality by him and now there are not any books left and I have an aching fear in the back of my mind that I am next… I… I really am going mad, aren’t I?”

“You are not mad, you are in distress which is only natural, dear.” He said as he guided the tea cup into your hands, his hand coming to rest on the back of your own to keep you from dropping the cup as you brought it up to your lips and taking a sip. “Perhaps the Lord of Crime is just a fan of your work, I doubt he would dare to lay a finger on you.”

“Well he is certainly a fan I do not wish to have.” You said as the cup of tea parted from your lips and William set it back down on the table with a soft clinck. “This all has been driving me mad… honestly working with him has only made it worse, he is like an eager puppy.”

“By he, you mean the detective you are working with who I am guessing to be a Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” William stated but it sounded more like a question so you hummed softly in response. “I have met him a number of times before, brilliant mind, just a bit childish under certain circumstances. Also if I may suggest perhaps a small break is needed, for the sake of your mental health.”

“Ya… huh, maybe I should just quit this author thing.” You felt William stiff up at the mention of that, his hand that was running circles on your back freezing in place, but you honestly did not pay much mind since there was so much going on in your mind. “Or maybe I should just disappear entirely… that is something I thought about before, faking my disappearance, I know how I would do it too. Maybe take a ferry to France, go off and start a new life in Paris- or maybe America, I do have friends there who would probably adopt me into their family since they like me better than their own daughter, Miss Alex Pendel, you probably have heard of her-“

“You are rambling, breathe.” William cut you off, but you did not feel like you were rambling. “I am just suggesting a break, not to disappear, isn’t writing your life blood after all?”

“Yes… b-but I never wanted it to become this… I have created a monster.” You closed your eyes at that thought. You loved writing, it was why you lived, you thrived from it, but people were suffering from your stories… well they were, you have no more stories for the Lord of Crime to work with, if you did not publish another it would all stop, right? It had to. Your hands fell to your lap, clutching your skirt in your hands, as if you were trying to get your body to agree with your mind who has already made its decision. “…I am done.”

“Done? Whatever do you mean?”

“I… I cannot finish my next book, maybe my unfinished antagonist was a sign to stop while I am ahead.” You were facing forward, towards the table, so you could not see the sorrow and pain come across William’s face. “If I stop writing, then the Lord of Crime has nothing else to work with and no one else gets hurt because of me.”

“I… please think about this-“

“I have to go… I need to visit my publisher.” You stood up from the couch with your unsteady legs, grabbing your hat from the table. You did not spare William a glance as you made your way to the door, only words. “I am sorry William, I know you enjoyed my books, but I can’t live with myself if this happens again.”

The estate grew silent as you let, the front door closing being the last bit of sound within the house. Tears fell from William’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks, but his face remained emotionless. There was a few minutes of silence before his eyes fell on your messenger bag you had left behind. He tried telling himself it was wrong to go through your belongings, but what harm could it do now?

He grabbed the messenger bag from the ground, setting it on his lap as he opened it. He pulled out the contents one by one, makeup, pens, pencils, loose notes with plot thoughts of character ideas, but the two that caught his eyes more than anything else was a drawing, the drawing of the faces Lord of Crime from Réne, and a stack of papers that were bound in a leather portfolio, your unfinished masterpiece.

—————————

You stood in your study, tucking old papers and notes away into boxes to put in your cellar. You could not find your unfinished manuscript, you just assumed you must have left it at the Moriarty estate but it really did not matter since that book would never be seeing its conclusion. You had already written to your editor and met with your publisher, ending your partnership with both of them. As for work for the time being you made a enough money from your book sales still that you would be comfortable for a while, but maybe once things have settled in a few months or a year’s time you would accept one of those teaching jobs as a professor that had been offered to you at women's colleges in Oxford or Cambridge. Or your other thought was moving back up to your hometown in Northern England and help your mother with her shop, disappearing into the shadows forever.

You heard a knock at your front door which was followed by the footsteps of your maid as she went to answer it. You closed the lip on the last of the boxes, setting it on top of the stack of the others that had been packed by you earlier, when the doors to your office burst open to reveal the overly eager detective.

“Miss (Name), I think I found-“ Sherlock cut himself off as he stepped inside your emptied study, looking around only to see your life’s work in boxes, ready to be hidden away forever. He was clearly taken aback by all this, looking around the room with an uncertain eye. “What’s all this then?”

“I am quitting, Mr. Holmes.” That was all you needed to say for the detective’s expression to turn to disbelief at hearing your words. “Every single one of my worlds has been tarnished by this Lord of Crime and honestly I do not want to write another book just to give more fuel to the fire.”

“So you are just giving up?” The detective snapped back at you, taking you by surprise now. He was clearly angry and annoyed at your choice, that was certainly clear. “You are just laying down and choosing to die, is that it?!”

“Sherlock, I cannot continue to write when it will sentence people to death!” You yelled at him, gesturing back into the drawing room across the hall where stacks of clues and evidence sat on any flat surface, waiting to be cleaned up next after you packed everything up in the cellar. “Do you know how many people were going to die in my next book if I finished and published it?”

“No-“

“Nine! Nine people and their blood would be on my hands!” You cut him off with a shout, you could feel tears building up in your eyes as you yelled at him. “I can hardly live with myself knowing that my twisted works of fiction have become reality and taken so many lives, the least I can do is spare nine more.”

“We could catch him and you could continue your books-“

“Enough!” You shouted at the top of your lungs, and you watched as the detective grew red in the face as he became more and more angry and irritated at your actions. “I am not doing this anymore, I… I can’t… you are a detective, your job revolves around reality, I am… I was an author, I wrote fiction and I never wanted it to become reality.”

“Damn it all! It is all his fault! God damn this Lord of Crime” He shouted at you before rolling his eyes with the shake of his head and a heavy scoff. He turned on his heel, waving you off as he walked towards the front door of your townhouse. “Find me if you change your mind, but I won’t give up unlike you.”

You stood alone in your office as the front door opened and slammed shut which drew a squeak in surprise from your maid who was brewing tea in the kitchen for you. You leaned back on your desk, a sandalwood desk, a gift you got for yourself when your sales blew up after your first book which secured your position in England’s high society with your new money. The desk cost you what your childhood home cost when your mother and father bought it a few months before they had you. You worked to where you are today, living in an expensive townhouse in Mayfair, an area famous for its affluent residents, upscale shopping streets like Bond Street, world-class art galleries, exclusive members-only clubs, and its reputation as a luxurious and high-end area of London. You grew up in a small town, making flower crowns with your friends and jumping in the nearby creek that was by your childhood home, now you drink wine and champagne at parties held at manors of Dukes and Duchesses and wearing dresses that costed more money than your parents ever had when you were a child. You went on trips to Paris to study the catacombs and watch the Opera and went to New York to experience the nightlife and parties on Long Island and overhear what happened in the back rooms of the mansions of these new money families that controlled the country, divided among these families.

Your books let people indulge themselves into their dark thoughts without it being considered scandalous but rather a new trend, a competition to be exact, and in the words of Evelyn when she first met you…

“Everyone in London wants to know what is going on in that twisted little mind of yours to come up with the things you do.” It was at a high society party when she told you that, pulling you aside into the drawing room of the manor you were in, giving you a joint to smoke that you found out was from Alex’s family that may or may not have had the tobacco mixed with some form of cannabis, giving you both a small high, which definitely made clear where Evelyn’s moments of inspiration for her books came from that were full of pure body horror. “But then again, they all are obsessed with what they cannot fathom and what they are horrified by, it gives them a thrill, like a drug.”

There was a reason why the most popular authors of the age were of the macabre and gruesome, and Evelyn could not have phrased it any better, they were fascinated by what they could not or did not wish to fathom…

Alex’s stories let people see into the world of the mafia of the new world, romanticized in many ways, but the moods they elicit, giving their audiences heightened feelings of suspense, excitement, surprise, anticipation and anxiety, giving them a thrill. Fear of getting caught in a sex scandal or perhaps trying to hide a body before someone finds out that you were the one who rammed a knife into their skull.

Charlotte's novels touch on fundamental issues of human existence: the nature of the soul, the weighty fact of mortality, and the burden of ancestry and history. Spirits represent heavy-handed instruments of supernatural justice, plunging those responsible for their deaths into a living hell where they suffer for their sins. This world and what comes after.

Réne’s books are all about the terror within, not without. His work shatters the illusion of humanity in a poignant wayby holding a mirror up to society and saying: look at what we truly are, and look at what we pretend to be. Under that mask of civility, there is depravity. Under that thin veneer of society, there is wickedness. Under all the trappings of sophistication, are we not all predators or prey?

Little Evelyn had a wicked little mind, her genre examines a universal fear: our own failing anatomies. You rarely think about what goes on beneath your skin. You understand that the organs operate in harmony: the heart beats, the lungs pump air, and the gastrointestinal system labors to supply us with nutrients. But you don't ponder like she does the minutiae. Like whether embryonic parasites encyst in our brains, or what stage of cirrhosis we might be facing, or if tumors bloom deep in parts of ourselves we hope never to see. You have seen a grown man, an inspector at Scotland Yard at that, vomit after reading an excerpt from one of her books.

Your works on the other hand gave the people a taste of psychological suspense and atmosphere, developed as all the characters' innermost secrets are revealed, there is usually also a gradual build-up of tension before the murders actually occur, as if everything could slip at any moment and everyone’s secrets would be revealed and the world would all but crash and burn all around them, and the people along with it. The key factor, though, is that there is usually some ingenious piece of deception involved, just like how the Lord of Crime has been deceiving London with his mask and his show, drawing them all in all along, and now you were about to crash and burn with it all…

You shared Sherlock’s thoughts when he said damn it all…

Your maid was cleaning up the drawing room from all the papers and clues from your useless investigation with the detective when you finally came out of your study, your face stained red and swollen with your tears and six envelopes in your hands. Your maid looked up at you with a worried expression in her eyes as she saw the state of your face.

“My lady, are you alright-“

“Yes….” You took a nervous breath as you approached her, your heeled boots clicking on the hardwood at first which made your heart skip a beat, which was enough in your scared state of mind. You reached out to your maid with the envelopes in that hand, forcing a smile to come across your face as you did. “Could you drop these off at the post? They are to a number of my friends along with my mother and Mr. Holmes. You can head home after that, I think I shall turn in early tonight and I can handle this mess, after all I did make it with Mr. Holmes.”

“O-oh, very well my lady.” She responded as she took the envelopes from your hand, tucking them into her apron pocket. You stood there in the drawing room, swallowing the lump in your throat as you listened to the footsteps of your maid as she grabbed her coat and hat from the coat closet. You heard the front door open and then her voice called out to you. “Do you wish for me to pick up anything for you when I come back in the morning, My Lady? I remember seeing the bakery two blocks away selling a new sampler box of macarons, apparently their new patissier is from Florence in Italy.”

“Thank you, but I shall be alright.”

“Alright, goodnight then my lady.”

“Goodbye.”

—————————

It was a lovely spring day in London, a rare day without a cloud in the sky. William was walking down the street, his eyes fixed on a letter in his gloved hand that he received this morning, it was penned in your handwriting and the messenger boy said it was dropped off at the post office along with five other letters by a woman who matched the description of your maid, who he had met along with Louis when they ran into her by chance at the local bookstore when he was picking up a copy of your latest book, she and your assistant, a young lady who was hoping to be a journalist one day and you had taken her under your wing, were dropping of signed copies that you were donating to the shop, your maid told the brothers that you would have dropped them off yourself but you were leaving for a six month long trip to the Americas, New York City specifically, so you could research something you were curious on with the night life of that side of the world and who ran it.

He spotted the house with the address on the envelope, 600 North Audley Street, which was, as the street name suggested, just north of Grosvenor Square in Mayfair. The house has a number of barricades around it and a number of officers of Scotland Yard along with four other figures, all of them he recognized, Sherlock Holmes with no sight of Dr. John H. Watson, there were also the famous authors Réne Drew, Lady Charlotte Basset of York, and the little miss Evelyn Jay, and all of them, including the detective, held a letter similar to the one William held, but all of their faces were riddled with worry, except Sherlock Holmes, but William knew he would crack in private.

“I see you all have received letters like myself.” William called out to the bunch who awaiting outside of the door of your townhouse, looking around he also spotted your house’s maid and your own personal assistant sitting on the brick stairs that led up to your front door, surrounded by Scotland Yard officers asking them questions which explains why he could not see them from afar, but they were in such a state of shock that neither of them could hardly answer a single question and even if they could, they did not know the answer. William held up the piece of paper he received with a smile. “I see we all know the author.”

“And who you might be?” Lady Charlotte snapped at him, her eyes narrowing. William knew a bit about her and her family, her brother had been suspected of murder a number of years ago, the summer before their writing club was founded to be exact, which while the heir of the family was found innocent this fact about the club led William to believe she had something to do with it especially since the victim was the man she was arranged to be married to. Her face was as rigid as her clothing looked, a scarlet red gown that probably costs more than most dresses women of the town could even afford and her signature white mink shawl. “I do not recall (Name) ever mentioning you before-“

“Well I certainly did not expect to see you here, Liam.” Sherlock cut the lady author off as he laid eyes upon the mathematics professor. “This is Professor William James Moriarty, a friend of mine, but I am surprised you knew Miss (Name). Now I truly wished we all could have met that day on the train back from York, a competition with one worthy opponent is one thing but with two is another entirely! I thought for a time she might be the Lord of Crime if her behavior did not show otherwise and the evidence proved her innocence under every instance-“

“Would you shut up!? Do not mention this whole Lord of Crime bullshit now!” Réne snapped at the detective, seizing him by the collar and bringing his face close to his own as the French author was filled with a rage that was clear as day. William had heard that the famous Réne Drew was normally a calm and composed man, maybe a bit too relaxed due to his occasional indulgence in wine and the arts, but this was a different man entirely based on their behavior. “My best friend is missing and you thought she was was the fucking Lord of Crime?! Was that the only reason you wanted to work with her?! Answer me, damn it!”

“She is what?” William was shocked by this statement by the Frenchman, he must have looked like a surprised cat when he heard his, eyes wide but the rest of his face remaining still, because all faces turned to him, but the young Evelyn Jay was the one who approached him, and she was the one who appeared most unbothered by the situation if bothered at all.

“It did not mention it in your letter, telling you that she is not to be looked for and that no one would find her even if they tried.” She handed William her letter and it indeed had written what she claimed it did, but it was far different than his own which he handed to the young lady to read, which she did do so. He had only really heard rumors about the morbid young author, that she watches illegal awake surgeries as inspiration for her books or that she had been in the habit of paying people to steal dead bodies for her so she could see how the human body would react to various situations that would be highly traumatic on the body so she could use that for her books. Evelyn calmly read his letter silently before handing it back to him. “It would seem that Professor Moriarty received a different letter than the rest of us seeing as he was not informed of her disappearance. But it is indeed true, she went missing sometime last night, her house is an absolute disaster, but Mr. Holmes found that was done by her due to nothing highly valuable or sentimental being damaged, proving there was not a real struggle, but a set up but the reason why is still unknown. Her maid and assistant were the ones to find the staged scene this morning when they arrived together this morning after having breakfast at a nearby bakery, scared them half to death, then the rest of us arrived not long after, rushing here after we received the letters-“

“Sorry I’m late!” A feminine voice with a thick New York accent called out from down the road, the same direction William arrived in. Everyone looked to see Miss Alex Pendel, dressed in her favorite red suit which drew stares from anyone who did not know her. William had heard about her family, a crime family who practically has all of the state of New York in the palm of their hand; the city that shared the name was the heart of their organization. She waved in her hand a slip of paper that did not look remotely similar to the ones the other held, her own was a telegram, so someone had sent for her when they found out she was missing the three other authors present were the most obvious suspects. But the American author was a part of your inner circle like the other three, so why did she not receive a letter? “Seems like everything that I was told is true, she really is missing.”

“Yes, it is good to see you received my telegram, Alex.” Evelyn chimed in, glancing past William to her closest friend. So Evelyn was the one to send the telegram, but the question was how did she know Alex was the only one not to receive one. Evelyn glanced around at the others who must have been coming to a similar conclusion as the professor. “I figured that (Name) may not write to Alex since she had just returned home from a trip from the Netherlands last night, I only knew she was back because I was the one who fetched her from the docks.”

“I see.” William responded to the young lady’s gleeful tone. She twirled around the center of the circle of the geniuses to face William once again with that ever so innocent smile on her face which was almost unsettling in these circumstances which made William think perhaps to look back into those rumors he heard about her before. “If she is missing then what shall we do since she does not wish to be found?”

“A competition! Let us see who can find her first!” The smile on her face grew even wider when she said those words, this was a game to her, just like the aristocrat who perished on the Noahtic for hunting humans for sport, the difference being that she has a good heart beneath all the gore and horror. “I do not know about you professor, but the rest of us are all forms of crime related geniuses both fictional and reality.”

There was a stunned silence among the other authors, and a smile coming across Sherlock’s face in glee at the idea. William heard a scoff from the American author next to him and he glanced over to her to see her with an expression he could not quite place. “Pass, I’m afraid I will be returning to America in a few weeks.”

“So soon? You went on that trip with (Name) a few months ago?” Evelyn’s smile falters into an expression of curiosity as Alex makes that comment. “I remember you telling us how much your family enjoyed (Name’s) company.”

“There is no need to remind me about their favoritism.” Alex snapped back at her friend before quickly calming back down with a sigh. “But yes, I am afraid so, I need to get some papers settled with my father and brothers about some changes to our family’s mansion.”

That day of your panic attack…

“Also if I may suggest perhaps a small break is needed, for the sake of your mental health.”

“You are rambling, breathe.” William cut you off, but you did not feel like you were rambling. “I am just suggesting a break, not to disappear, isn’t writing your life blood after all?”

A small smile came across William’s face as he recalled this and looked at Miss Alex Pendel…

So that is why you did not write to her.

—————————

The heat of the summer day had faded away with sunset, leaving the countryside of England to grow quite a chill as you walked through the dark country paths on your way to the train station, if it could be called that since it was more of a platform as there was no building beside the ticket office from where you bought your ticket the day prior, that as a short walk from the small town you were staying in in a house provided by Alex’s family who aided you in stage it your disappearance a few months prior, three months to be exact. Alex had visited you a few day ago upon her return from her brief trip to her hometown to let you know that everything was ready for your arrival, she gave you a boat ticket, and told you that her mother and father would pick you up upon your arrival and then your new life would begin and this life would be eased into nothing but history, a small price to pay to rid yourself from your old life that had been absolutely tarnished. Your time in America had inspired you for another story, it was not a crime, but a romance influenced by the environment you have seen in both England with the old and new money, and then America with the lively atmosphere there. You had not thought much about it besides the name of one of the characters, the flowers outside your cottage door in this small town you had been staying in these last few months were daisies, you always liked those flowers and that name, Daisy.

You walked up the stairs of the train platform and it was very dark, you could hardly see without the lamp posts that guided your way. Now as you stood at the edge of the train platform you could see a distant figure sitting on one of the benches. There was only one lamp that was posted over the ticket office door, so you could not see the details of the figure who sat on the bench. You could hear the distant whistles of the train, it was a few miles away but you could hear it clearly due to the dead silence of the countryside at night. Your boots clicked against the ground as you approached the bench next to the figure who you assumed was waiting for the train. You sat down on the other bench, setting your hard back suitcase on the ground next to you before reaching into your pocket and pulling out your pack of cigarettes and a match, you lit your cigarette that you places between your lips to hold it along with your other hand that did not hold your match and right as you were about to shake out the flame from the match you heard footsteps of the person on the other bench get up and approach you, making you stop and pause. The fire illuminated the person’s features in a flickering light as you looked up at him, and your expression was taken by shock as he smiled down at you with those red eyes.

“Professor Moriarty… What in god’s name are you doing here?” You pulled away the cigarette from your lips as you spoke to him, looking up at his smiling expression with a confused gaze as your eyes were locked with his which reminded you of blood. Something was not right, you had no doubt in your mind that William went to your house after receiving your letter which told him he could keep the unfinished work you left at his home as a gift to him for his kindness to you, but was he looking for you like the others were in their little competition?

“I finished reading the work you left me on the train ride here and I have to say it is by far your best work.” He spoke, completely ignoring the question you asked which gave you a pounding worry and anxiety in your chest.

“Thank you… but I must ask you to answer my questi-“

“Your killer, the method in which they did it truly fooled me, I never expected them to fake their own death.” You could feel the pounding in your chest as you looked up at the professor who still did not answer your question. You could feel the anxiety and worry in your chest turn into dread as you looked in his red eyes, just like blood.

“William-“

“They do lack a motive still, I remember you mentioning that you were struggling with that detail.” You saw him raise his right hand in your peripheral vision, but you could not quite see what he was holding as your eyes were still locked with his own. “But perhaps I can help?”

You were almost afraid to break eye contact with him and look at what he was holding, god you felt sick, but why?! You felt William’s gloved hand turn your head slightly but gently, forcing you to look at what he was holding, it was Réne’s drawing of the Lord of Crime, or as he titled it at least.

Wait-

That was it!

Your eyes widened in shock and horror at your realization…

That question you asked to Réne the day of your panic attack…

“Since there are no books left, what if I am next?”

You turned your head to look at William once again and when his scarlet red eyes narrowed at you in the darkness, only lit by the fire of your match for your cigarette, it sent shivers down your spine.

“You are the Lord of Crime.”

“Correct, I have to say I have been wondering if you or Mr. Holmes would figure it out first, but it seems you beat him to it even if I had to spell it out for him.” The smoke was building up between the two of you as your cigarette was just burning up, and the smoke was almost making it hard to breathe. Your palms were growing sweaty in your terror, correction, your entire body was burning up like your cigarette and the flame on your match and his smile certainly did not help with that. “I first found out about one of your books when an associate of mine was reading one of your novels on the way back from the mission site. While Louis did not fancy it that much, he did recommend it to me and I will say I was skeptical at first but then I have to say I was proven wrong when I opened up one of your books. People read your books to be taken into the mind and the world of someone they cannot fathom or do not wish to, but honestly when reading your works it is finally a world I can understand, a world created by someone who can understand my mind and keep up with me. I wondered if your fictional crimes could survive in the real world so I took a risk and tested my theory and followed your books like a script and I have to tell you my dear that you fooled everyone.”

“You realize I could report you now, do you not? You have not only revealed yourself but the identity of one of your associates with the mention of your brother.”

“Yes, but I doubt that you will have the chance.” Before you could ask what that meant he spoke up again, drowning out the sound of footsteps approaching you from behind between his voice and your loud heartbeat that roared in your ears already. “Question, if I gave you back your unfinished work, would you finish your villain?”

“Not a chance.”

“Shame.”

Your match went out and everything went black.

—————————

You did not like the new weight on your left hand ring finger, it made it far too difficult to hold paper down when you wrote and it made your fingers feel swollen not to mention how it smears the ink, but William insisted you wear it now since you are to be married in a month's time. You cringed at the thought of being married, especially to him, you two had already met with your publisher earlier this week to have your pen name changed to switch to your future last name for any future printings of your novels.

Then there was also the gossip of these entitled little rich girls who romanticize your engagement to him and you heard the gossip as you walked through the streets on William’s arm saying how they wished to be in your place and you just wanted to tell them they could be, it would be a good reality check for them. Then there were your friends, you have not seen any of them in months, Réne, Evelyn, and Charlotte not since before your disappearance, and then Alex you have not seen some you were engaged. You could not make yourself face any of them now, it would make you sick-

“Dear, are you alright? You look rather pale.” William’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you were back in the drawing room of the Moriarty brother’s estate in Durham, William thought it would be good for you not to be England when your newest book releases so you could avoid the press and fans, all who wanted their questions about you answered, and needless to say William did not want those questions answered.

“Yes… I just find myself out of it nowadays.” You answered as your eyes were still fixed on the cup of tea Louis had poured for you a few minutes prior. You heard William sigh and close the book he was reading and setting it down where he was sitting to move over to where you were sitting on the sofa.

“You have not touched a single cup of tea since you started writing again-“

“Since you kidnapped me.”

“I did what was best for you, it was eating you alive not to pick up a pen again.” He snapped back to your correction of his statement. William sighed as he places a hand over one of your own that was resting on your thigh and he spoke to you with a tone that almost trickled you into believing he cared about you. “I only want what is best for you and you will only strain yourself if you continue to push everyone away like you are.”

You just rolled your eyes and let your mind drift off again as you thought back on these last few cruel months that started all the way back upon your return to England, you should have just stayed in New York…

Ten little Soldier Boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine…

Nine little Soldier Boys sat up very late; One overslept himself and then there were eight…

Eight little Soldier Boys travelling in Devon; One said he'd stay there and then there were seven…

Seven little Soldier Boys chopping up sticks; One chopped himself in halves and then there were six…

Six little Soldier Boys playing with a hive; A bumblebee stung one and then there were five…

Five little Soldier Boys going in for law; One got in Chancery and then there were four…

Four little Soldier Boys going out to sea; A red herring swallowed one and then there were three…

Three little Soldier Boys walking in the zoo; A big bear hugged one and then there were two…

Two little Soldier Boys sitting in the sun; One got frizzled up and then there was one…

One little Soldier Boy left all alone; He went out and hanged himself…

and then there were none….

…you have to live with the fact that your book took nine more lives and had to hope that one day the tenth would join the others sooner than later.

#william moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #yandere william james moriarty #yandere moriarty the patriot #yandere yuukoku no moriarty

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sweetestlamb · 4 months

Text

The Boy is Mine

Summary: Sol deals with the struggles of dating a kpop idol. It goes very well for all parties involved. (Rated Filth again)

She knows that you can't be too clingy especially when the relationship is fresh, you're supposed to be aloof, pleasant and agreeable. That's what all the magazines say that men want, a cool mysterious woman. Someone that always keeps you guessing what they'll do next.

Someone nothing like her.

But how exactly is she supposed to be any of that with a boyfriend like this? How many people on the planet get to date someone who was their idol who then turned out to be an even better person?

There cannot be many living this dream and she cannot ruin this and ultimately drive Sun Jae away. So she tries to be cool and agreeable.

But it's hard when you're with someone that everyone wants. And she can't even blame the starry eyed admirers, she was just like them. Is just like them. Sun Jae is objectively gorgeous, with a face that could be carved from marble and lips as luscious as the softest petals. Not to mention his body is a work of pure art-hard and cut, and she's seen more of it than any rabid fan girl. To put it simply he's unbelievably hot and it's hard not to cling to him like a desperate koala.

Most days she wants to climb him like a tree.

And honestly she's been short most of her life so others towering over her isn't new but nothing to his calibre. She feels infinitely fragile when she's with him.

Like now, his hands are so huge that they completely dwarf her own. If it were anyone else there would be an element of fear but she knows that he would never hurt her, would rather hurt himself first. It's the same for her, they are each other's biggest weaknesses. And strengths.

"What are you thinking about so diligently that you're ignoring your boyfriend?" His deep voice rips her out of her thoughts and she smiles as he swings their hands as they walk. The only reason they haven't been discovered is because of his face mask and sunglasses. But she doubts that would stop a diehard stan from recognizing the massive idol. Thankfully they haven't encountered any, yet.

"Nothing. Just thinking about how nice the weather is. I'm glad we came out."

And then she adds a smile to go alongside the huge lie she just told.

She doesn't know if he believes her but she's saved by the bell when his phone rings and it's his manager demanding to know where he is and why he isn't at the meet and greet.

So just like that their impromptu date comes to an end and he's whisked away with sweet promises of seeing her soon and she nods agreeably.

Shoving her insecurities deep, deep down.

It's all over the internet.

Pictures of their kiss plastered across her phone screen from every angle and it makes her jaw lock.

Sun Jae's wide eyes meet her from the still shot, his newly hired bodyguard had intervened before things could go any further but the overzealous fan had already gotten what she wanted, a kiss far too close to his lips. Lips that only she should be privy to.

It's not his fault. He's the victim here and she had immediately texted him to see if he was okay because this couldn't be about her. Her jealousy was juvenile and she needed to keep it under lock so she wouldn't scare him away.

And later that week when they're on the couch, shoulder to shoulder and he's stumbling over his words trying to explain what happened she plasters her patented 'cool' smile and brushes him away.

"It's okay. You didn't do anything. It wasn't your fault."

And she truly believes this. In her heart. But that doesn't impede the green eyed creature lurking there too.

She goes to work and tries her best to focus, listen to her boss, pretend to care about office drama, clicking away at her computer in a daze. Nobody knows what they are to each other so her worries are her own to shoulder and carry.

It's only when she takes a break in the staff lounge that she hears what has the whole office in such a buzz since this morning.

"......think it's true. He's never dated anyone before even though he's sooooo hot. I'm so jealous, he's the hottest one in the group."

"You saw the pictures, they look amazing together! Celebrities like them just make sense."

And she timidly takes a look on her phone opening up her Goople browser and it's the first thing she sees.

"Ryu Sun Jae and Kim Syeon spotted getting cozy on the Red Carpet, could this mean a total eclipse of idol's heart?"

Paparazzi shots from every angle flood her timeline, the young actress looked gorgeous in all of them with her ink black hair and smooth pale skin. And the worst part was how sickenly good they really did look together.

With her they either looked like an odd couple or siblings according to some strangers but that wasn't the case now, the other woman was tall with a slim statuesque figure.

What were they talking about? Why did they have to look so damn good together? Why was this making her so upset? She wanted to cry.

The ache in her chest is unbearable.

She's outside this door before can she talk herself out of it.

Fist lifted to knock but the door opens before she can touch the rich thick wood and then she's looking at that gorgeous face that she has been missing.

"Sol? I was just coming to talk to you!"

Probably to explain. But she can't hear him because all she can see is replaying in her mind is the video of a stranger kissing her boyfriend or the actress staring up in awe at her boyfriend and it's driving her crazy.

So she pushes him back through his opened door, ignoring his questions and confusion.

"I already know. I know you have a perfectly good explanation for what happened and I know it isn't your fault again but....you said you were mine. You said everything of yours belonged to me so why?"

He stares at her with a gaping mouth, looking like a fish out of water. If she wasn't so angry she would think about how cute he was. But now is not the time for that.

After a moments pause he finally finds his voice back.

"Why what? I really can explain, it's all Dong Seok's fault he told her that--"

"Why are you letting others touch what's mine? Why does everything think that you are with somebody else? Why do I have to hear everyone talk about how hot my boyfriend is and how much they want to fu......"

She slaps her hand over her mouth before the expletive can escape. But his wide eyes make it clear that he knows exactly what she wanted to say.

His mouth only drops lower. And the silence is deafening until he breaks it with a laugh, one singular booming laugh.

"You're jealous."

"Of course I am! How could I not be?"

She almost stomps her feet in frustration as he smiles at her, infuriating with how gorgeous he looks with a smile on his face.

"Are you happy?" She demands and he grins even wider, shameless in his glee.

"I already told you. I belong to you. If you hate others touching what's yours so much, you touch me instead." He challenges her leaning that exquisite body against the wall and opening his arms as if begging her to come and get him.

She's thought about this too many times, staking her claim. But she doesn't know where to start, this was never supposed to be her reality. Even in her dreams it was too much for her to handle.

He watches her with a penetrating stare before raising his hand and slowly opening one button on his dark green button down. Then another and another and another. Until she can see his abs peeking beneath the open shirt and her tongue feels too heavy in her mouth.

He's too hot for her to function.

And still she remains frozen in front of him unable to move a muscle as he strips for her right in the foyer.

"What? Cat got your tongue? And what do I have to do to get it instead?"

No way. This can't be her Sun Jae but at the same time this is how he speaks to her now ever since they stumbled into a relationship. Always teasing and hinting at something.... she's not sure they're ready for.

But his admittance that he's hers helps her figure out her next move.

My Sun Jae.

That gets her moving. The blood rushing through her body again. He is hers. She is not only allowed to touch him but he wants her too, and that's more than anyone else can say.

She has to kiss him, there is nothing else to do but get her lips on him.

He's delicious, a taste that is distinctly his own that she will never get enough of. Mint with an undercurrent of citrus and spice, she presses close for a better taste and it's only then that she remembers his current state of undress.

Nobody but her had ever touched his stomach and so she does so, lavishly raking her nails over the hard plane and then he wraps his arms around her and spins them until she's smashed into the wall.

"What are you doing to me Sol?"

His voice is husky now, wrecked in a way that she wants to bottle up and play at nights when she needs that extra bit to fall over the edge with his name on her tongue.

"Whatever I want."

And then she's on her knees in the foyer. And she knows this is bad, so so bad and she's a good girl. She's never done this before, there was no time to think about anything like this when she was bitterly watching life go by in a wheelchair. But everything has changed and so in this universe she's bending down boldly and staring up at the slack face of her boyfriend.

"Wha- are you serious?"

She can feel his tension like electricity in the air. And she's never been more serious about anything in her life.

"Does this belong to me too?" She strokes up the leg of his pants before curling her hand around the bulge that seems to be begging for her attention.

She almost cringes at her own question feeling like an amateur porn star and she half expects him to laugh at her cheesy lines but instead he grows harder, longer, thicker in her hand and she's terrified she might have bitten off more than she can chew....or swallow.

"Yes. Fuck. It belongs to you, only you. I've only ever thought about you while....." He trails off but she's not that innocent not to be able to fill in the blanks.

He thought about her when he did that.

Touched himself.

She did the same so it shouldn't be surprising but she was shocked all the same.

"What do you think about?" She inquiries as she begins to stroke him, up and down, getting a feel for him through the only barrier between his... And her hand.

"How much I want to make you......scream. The ways that I could drive you crazy. How much I want to.....taste you and feel you."

And she can feel the effects his words are having on her, can feel the heat between her legs, slicking them up. But she can also hear the effect she is having on him, he's struggling to string sentences together panting above her and she can feel the biggest sign of his arousal growing in her palms.

She grips the metal zipper looking up at him and he nods so quickly she worries about his neck momentarily. But that thought fades away just as quickly and she opens up her gift.

"It's so big." She whispers aloud.

Much like the rest of him, his hands, his feet, his height. And now his....

"You're killing me here." He groans with a sudden buck into her hands which results in his head slamming back into the wall.

"Sun Jae! Are you okay?"

She almost stops her ministrations to check on him but he's practically vibrating in her hands as he shouts, "I'm fine! Don't stop, please."

She didn't know men could get wet too but she can see his fluids start to darken the elastic material of his boxers.

What would it taste like? Bitter? Salty?

And oh god, what are earth is she thinking? Was she some kind of pervert?

But despite her internal reprimands her hands never stop moving until she tugs at the band of his boxers and pulls them down with shaking hands.

He's naked. Oh my god.

She's so nervous she could die but she lets instinct carry her along since her experience is lacking.

It juts out impatiently as soon as it's released and she cries out as it nearly hits her in the face. Thankfully Sun Jae had enough foresight to anticipate that and she watches as he takes himself in hand cupping his erection carefully away from her face.

"Careful."

Even in a time like this he's worrying about her, unbelievable.

"Can I...?"

His jaw clenches as her incomplete question, his handsome face contorted in something that looks like pained pleasure.

"Do you not want me to-" her heart aches at the implications but his heated glare is enough to shut down any insecurity or doubt she might have left.

He shakes his head rapidly before answering.

"I'm scared I'm going to.....come too fast if you touch me."

She has no idea how exactly to make a man come, especially a man like him who is so sexy he can probably accomplish that with just a look. But underneath her nerves lay her possessive desires and she wants to be the only one to see him like that, shaking in pleasure because of her touch. So she marches onward.

"How do I.......do that?" She whispers with her head down.

"Well first don't do that." He instantly tilts her head back up with a firm touch of his finger to her chin.

"Look at me. I want to see your face and every expression that you make."

She blushes but obeys his order mostly because she couldn't look away even if she wanted to. She's stuck in his web and has no desire to escape.

"Okay. Look at you. What else?"

"Are you ser- do you really want me to tell you what to do?"

And for a minute she worries that this might be turning him off, her blatant inexperience and need for directions. This is definitely the least sexy way to seduce someone but it's the only way she knows, she's eager to learn what makes him tick.

"Whatever you're thinking right now is wrong. I've wanted you for as long as I can remember, there is nothing you can do that I won't like. Nothing."

Her heart swells at his reassurance but at the same time her eyes meet his hard length and his words are mumbled beneath the rushing of blood to her head.

There is a bead of thick white substance at the very tip and that tingling feeling surges inside her once more.

What would it taste like....

There's only one way to find out.

He's still talking above her but his words are inaudible as she shifts forward with a sudden burst of confidence, opening her mouth just enough to let her tongue peek out and licking the fluid right off him.

Bitter.

That's her first impression but that gives way to salty, then earthy and warm. She takes another taste, more certain now after facing the unknown. Leaning forward she pops the entire tip into her mouth, making sure to cover her teeth lest she hurt him.

As she shifts her hands to his hips she can feel how tightly coiled his muscles are.

He's holding back for her sake and she's truly grateful.

Remembering his words from earlier she looks up at him with his cock dripping in her mouth, slowly licking away the liquid as it pools.

So this is what he looks like.

Fucking glorious. His eyes are screwed shut as he bites down onto his lush bottom lip and she can see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Sometimes it's intimidating how handsome he is, she wonders what she did in her past life to deserve him.

"Please..... move."

And she perks up at his directions, eager to learn how to make him think about nothing but her.

She doesn't know that this isn't necessary because she's already taken over his heart and mind.

"Like this?" She mumbles around the flesh in her mouth, slowly drawing her mouth back and then pushing it forward trying to swallow a little bit more of him.

"Ah! Yeah...yeah. Just like that. Slower and keep looking at me."

It's a bit difficult because instinctively she wants to look down to make sure she's doing it right but she wants to give him everything he wants. So she stares up at him, flushing at his hard penetrating gaze.

He looks wild, like he's barely wrangling in his true desires.

It's a bit awkward at first but she's grateful when he sudden holds her face, the question clear in his dark eyes.

She nods.

And it's hot beyond her imagination, feeling him grip her face and shove himself into her mouth. He's too gentle as if he thinks she'll break but she accepts the treatment, opening herself up wider.

He thrusts into her once, twice, a shuttering third time before he speaks again, "I need more. Can you take more?" He pleads and his husky tone makes her center twist into knots.

His voice has alway made her feel things but never to this capacity. Never in a way that was so hot blooded.

And she doesn't know what more really entails in this instance but she's so horny right now there isn't much he can ask for that she would deny.

"Mmhmm." She moans around him and oh, he must like that because she can feel him jump in her mouth.

She takes a mental note.

Sunjae likes vibration.

And then there's more, he pushes in deeper and she's forced to open wider to give him space and she blinks away the moisture in her eyes. It's a strain but she refuses to stop now she's made it this far.

A tear falls down her cheek.

He's watching her intently and her breath hitches as he wipes the tear away with his thumb. She worries that he's going to stop and check on her again but this Sun Jae in front of her now is different than what she's used to.

He doesn't slow down, not even a little bit instead thrusting at a tempered pace now until she feels like she might choke on him and more tears spill out and he grunts above her, saying filthy things to her.

Telling her how good she looks. How much he loves her mouth. How badly he wants to taste her too.

She nods passively at his dirty ramblings, giving up all control as he thrusts into her mouth over and over and over again.

The pace is almost explosive and she hangs on for dear life as he uses her roughly, no longer concerned with her comfort too lost chasing his own pleasure and although she's crying full of dick on a floor she's never left more powerful. More desirable.

She wants him to be selfish.

And she wants to be selfish in return.

"Look at me. Look at me." He pleads bucking wildly now and this feels familiar, she's seen x-rated videos before and she knows what comes next. And he must too because he starts to pull away, giving her an out.

But she doesn't want one.

He had said it himself, everything about him belonged to her.

So she grabs onto his hips and refuses to let go, and his resistance only lasts for a second before he's plowing into her and filling up her, so badly that it spills from the sides of her lips and she is powerless to do anything but wait and keep sucking.

"Fuck!"

He shouts before collapsing, finally freeing his length from its home.

They stare at each other in awe, her in disbelief that she just gave Sun Jae a blowjob in the foyer and him that any of this is reality and not his mind tormenting him.

"You don't have to swa-"

She gulps and licks her lips defiantly.

"Ugh you're going to get me hard again!" He cries, covering his eyes.

That would be impressive, she did not think that was a feat possible for the average man but her Sun Jae has never been average in any sense.

She opens her mouth to speak but feels the strain in her throat and coughs a little before trying again.

"Was that okay?"

He moves his hands and looks as if she just asked the world's dumbest question.

"I'm pretty sure my soul left my body."

She giggles and then covers her mouth still unsure of how to behave after doing that.

It was so unexpected. She practically jumped him but from the look on his face it was no hardship to bare. So she won't apologize.

"What made you suddenly want to...?" He trails off while starting to tuck himself away, she sneaks a peek before he's covered again.

So big. How was that meant to go inside her?

She blushes at the thought.

She really was a pervert huh?

It's not until he lifts a perfectly pucked brow that she remembers that he asked a question. Oops.

"I.... Just.....I guess I have been a little bit jealous. I tried not to be because I know it's stupid but I still couldn't help it." She admits shamefaced but willing to be honest with him now.

"Why is it stupid? I get jealous about you all the time, it's natural. I want you all to myself and I want all your attention. You're allowed to be jealous too."

But he's a pop icon and idol. Surely she needs to tamper her jealousy if they're going to be together. Right?

He holds her face, dragging her closer easily .

" They can't have me the way you have me. Nobody can. I want to belong to you."

Her heart pounds at the declaration and she lets him tug her in and kiss her ever so sweetly, so different from his treatment of her mouth just minutes ago.

She thinks that he might find it weird to taste himself on her tongue but he kisses and suckles at her mouth as if it's of no concern. They make out until she's lightheaded and dizzy, somehow by the end she's wounded up in his lap.

She's too distracted by his teasing tongue to notice his fingers sneaking under her skirt to tease at her slit through her panties, lost in all these new sensations.

She wants him badly but....it's too fast. She's too nervous about being bad at it.

So she tenses up and immediately he stops and pulls away.

"Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

And she hates how guilty he looks like he thinks she will be disappointed or upset and that's the furthest thing from the truth.

"I liked it. I always like when you touch me but...I don't think I'm ready for that yet. You don't have to.... return the favor I just wanted to make you feel good."

He blinks slowly at her and then pulls her fingers up to his lips and kisses each digit one by one.

"Okay. We can stop. We only do what you're comfortable with."

"You too. You have to be comfortable too, it's not just about me." She amends instantly and he smiles charmingly that dimple creasing his perfect face.

"Trust me I'm comfortable with everything as long as it's with you."

She smiles at his admission, confidence surging at his words.

"And to be clear I wasn't trying to return any favors, I don't think you know how badly I want to taste you."

"What are you even saying? Let's get off the floor." She swats at his bicep and tries to crawl away but he grabs her leg and holds on tight, she swallows as she feels his hot breath on her ear as he crowds into her space from behind. His spicy scent wrapping her up in a cocoon.

"I bet you taste sweet. I'd lick you until you screamed and even then I wouldn't stop. Not even if you cried again even though you looked so damn pretty crying. I'd put my fingers in you and watch them sink deep down imagining that it was my-"

"Sun Jae, please" she whimpers in his hold, clutching her legs lest she roll over and let him do everything he's promising right here and now.

"Please what Sol? What do you want baby?" He whispers back, nibbling at her lobe now.

He's called her baby before and it never fails to get her hot and bothered.

This time is no different.

"I need you..."

He moans at that grinding his revived erection into her ass and she jumps at the immediate pleasure.

"I need you to let me go."

"Okay I'll let you go. But when you go home I want you to think about me and make yourself feel good. Can you do that for me baby?"

"I can do it."

"Good girl." He pats her head and with that lets her go before offering her a hand up. She tries not to blush at how easily he can lift her but it's a losing battle.

He gives her a look but says nothing thankfully.

"You didn't give me a chance to speak earlier but I wanted to clear some things up. That fan didn't kiss me, I turned my head and I won't be doing any more fan meets for a while."

She starts to argue but he silences her with a finger on her lips.

"Shhhh. I'm not finish yet."

She nods, snapping her mouth closed.

"I did that for myself. I need break from.... everything. I feel like a piece of meat sometimes and I just need some time without being constantly objectified by strangers."

She understands. She could never handle so many people wanting her attention and doing anything to have it even if it might invading her privacy and personal space.

"And I already told my management team to put out an article denying any affiliation with that actress, I don't even know her or know why anyone would think we're dating. She's not my type."

And she wasn't aware that he had a type.

"What's your type?" She can't help but ask. Trying and failing to look nonchalant.

"A girl so short I have to break my neck to kiss her who gets so jealous of me that she jumps me in the hallway and sucks my--"

"Oh my god shut up!" She cries, punching him twice before scurrying away.

"I was going to say 'my soul out'. What did you think I was going to say! Sol! Sol, why are you running away? Answer the question."

And she races to the bathroom shutting herself inside with a giggle as he begs her to open up and promises to be good. And eventually she's weak enough to do just that and he tickles her until she's out of breath from laughter.

And even later that night, she makes good on her promise. Finger deep inside herself with nothing but Sun Jae on her mind and on her tongue.

#lovely runner #im sol #ryu sun jae #SunSol couple #sunny couple #soljae #more filth #I'll edit later

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craftytomato · 3 months

Note

I really liked your sonic AU from "phantom Rider" could you talk more about the AU if it's not a problem?

Sure thing! As long as you don't mind that I'm leaning into the Pretending to be Mind Controlled Idea instead of Actually Mind Controlled. Most of my ideas can work either way anyway.

(I wanna see how most of the actual arc plays out first in full before I go hard into my ideas but here's what I have so far based on the Phantom Rider's debut.)

The Idea:

Everything pretty much stays the same up until Surge uses her powers on Phantom Ryder, but instead she fully destabilizes his helmet and exposes Sonic to the world.

Everyone is shocked, scrambling to come up with an answer. Just before anyone can truly react, Eggman, who was watching from his base, gives a tired sigh because he had a feeling that something would go wrong. Now it was up to him to swoop in and keep their plan on track. He hacks into the jumbotron, scaring and/or confusing everyone.

"I see that my little present to this charity event has finally been unwrapped!"

He goes into a spiel about how he was interested in the event, 'hurt' that he didn't get an invite, and how he didn't appreciate the mockery to his likeness. So he decided to enter with a racer of his own with a little help from the dearly departed Starline.

Surge and Kit's blood runs cold. Eggman boasts that he had captured and mind controlled Sonic to be his champion racer. And now he was going to give this event some real challenge and excitement.

All eyes are now back on Sonic and he's torn right in half. He can't go along with this! He couldn't let Eggman scare everyone like this! But Tails and Amy needed the distraction. He had to stick to the plan, however derailed it was becoming. But-

"Some of you may be in disbelief that I was able to accomplish such a dastardly feat in such a short time. If you have any doubts, consider the alternative: my longtime nemesis willingly used my gear to disrupt a charity event? Doesn't sound like the blue rodent you've all come to sickeningly adore, now does it? No, of course not! Meaning that the only explanation is that Sonic is now my loyal minion whether he likes it or not!

Isn't that right, my Phantom Rider?"

Begrudgingly, Sonic makes his choice.

And he laughs. A hauntingly evil laugh that even impresses Eggman as it sends chills throughout the crowd.

"Glory to the Eggman Empire!"

Eggman cackles. "Enjoy your little race! I know I will!"

At that point, Sonic takes the chance to flee for the time being while everyone's distracted by Eggman.

Now the game has changed for everyone. The Diamond Cutters are torn. Lanolin and Duo want to stop the Phantom Rider at all costs while Tangle and Whisper are insisting on saving Sonic.

This also causes Clutch and Jewel to start to butt heads. Jewel wants to cancel the event for everyone's safety, but Clutch wants to carry it on. He gives reasons about how they'll have more security on standby for when the 'Phantom Ryder' makes another appearance and if they cancel the event then they're showing the world that they're scared of Eggman (in reality he just wants to use it to his advantage). Jewel pretends to buy it, but in her mind she's having other thoughts.

Surge and Kit are at a loss. Surge tries to play it off like Sonic deserves to know what it feels like to be in their place, but both her and Kit are being eaten up inside for multiple reasons. Surge wants to laugh and make fun of Sonic. This should be the perfect poetic justice for him in her eyes. But she can't and she hates that she can't!

Meanwhile Sonic is pretty sure that things can't get worse. Sure, Eggman saved the plan but now Sonic's essentially being blackmailed into following the mind controlled narrative.

Now what was supposed to be a simple plan gets more complicated by the minute as circumstances keep changing and more and more people are dragged into this mess.

And that's all I got so far

#sonic the hedgehog #idw sonic #phantom rider #sonic au #surge the tenrec #kitsumani the fennec #idw sonic spoilers

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nekropsii · 4 months

Text

Atomic Ask Bomb... 2!!

Hello, all! We are back in the mines immediately, because you all love me and my inbox so much. I still have 200+ more asks to sort through after this and that is not hyperbole!! Oops!!

Content Warning: Long, and Cronus is There.

You can be both. I am both. I think Terezi's easily in the Top 3 of Best Written Homestuck Characters, no competition. AND she compels me.

Mituna Fans and Terezi Fans flocking together like how Gays and Lesbians are supposed to.

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He doesn't have a Recuperacoon. He doesn't NEED a Recuperacoon. Who needs a Recuperacoon when you have a bathtub? You pile a bunch of slime in there, and then you can pop the drain open in the morning and take a shower right there where you just got up. It's convenient. And not at all sad. It's not sad guys.

Let's pretend for a moment that either Vantas would have regular bathing habits for the sake of this joke.

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Even if that's the case, it really doesn't change anything. Insecurity doesn't justify literal actual sexual harassment and sexual assault. What?

People will do anything to excuse random shitty men for being shitty. Sympathy is the favorite weapon in Fandom Misogyny's arsenal. So often will fans pull some random bullshit out of their ass just to say that it's fine that a male character is abusive, especially if it's to women, because "He's Sad", so he should never face criticism or punishment for his actions.

We should all start putting people in blenders. We've let these arguments go on long enough. People are far too bold in their abuse apologia. We need to kill them.

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Yeah. Like, he interests me a lot, he's one of the characters I take the most interest in out of all of the Alpha Trolls. I literally write sov!Cronus. I hate his guts, though. It really is just that easy to be a fan of a character and also fucking hate them. Not once have I ever made an excuse for him. The goal Hussie set out for when writing him was making him inexcusable and irredeemable, down to Cronus literally knowing what he's doing is bad and hurts people, and simply just not caring.

Cronus is genuinely fucking evil. That's the whole point. If you make him misunderstood, if you make him mean well, if you make him lack self awareness, if you make him sympathetic, if you give him any redeeming qualities at all... You are missing the point completely. If you want a sympathetic asshole character, you want Vriska. The point of Cronus is that he's The Worst Character In Homestuck, and that he has zero redeeming qualities and trying to fix him or redeem him is a Hopeless venture. He is beyond saving. Don't you dare even think about trying - to try to make him palatable is to erase Violent Bigotry, Incest, and Child Sexual Abuse. Just don't. Enjoy him as he is, do NOT defang him.

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He truly is the worst! I think we should explode all depictions of fanon!Cronus. Forever.

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Yeah, there's a huge reason why I do not say I'm a fan of Cronus or call him a favorite character of mine or anything. It projects a certain... Image. The wrong one. There's just such a strong precedent for anyone saying they're a Cronus Fan or calling him their Favorite Character being a person who just completely fucking ignores everything about him, or even pardons it, saying it's fine, actually, because He's Sad, or that it's Not That Bad, actually. I can't stand it.

I'm aware there are Cronus Fans who are totally normal, but I cannot help but immediately be wary of them, or flinch for a moment even when they offer the reassurance that they know better. It's a natural response, having been here for around a decade and having been a Mituna Fan the whole time.

Liking characters who are terrible people is fine. Based, even, in some cases. But... It's truly difficult with Cronus, because so much of that fanbase relies on excusing/minimizing/condoning abuse and bigotry. I don't have any qualms with people liking characters that suck, but when a fanbase for a character is so heavily focused on pretending that character isn't a horrible, terrible, awful person who abuses people - even children, even people they're related to, even children that they're related to - for nothing but their own sexual gain... I start having issues. That sets a pretty dangerous precedent, to me.

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It's crazy to me how so much of the apologism is because he's hot. Because he literally isn't. You all have terrible taste.

Let's all appreciate for a moment just how fucking ugly he is. The fan art is lying so bad. He needs a haircut. His shirt doesn't fit him, and honestly looks like women's clothes - you know those women's shirts that have the sleeves that stop halfway down the damn shoulder? He looks like a 16 year old. He's so skinny, and his shoulders are so... rounded and small - which are fine traits to have, but literally every piece of fanart portrays him as broad-shouldered and ripped when the literal opposite is true. You just know he has too much product in his hair. His actual sprite is even worse.

The way his fly doesn't even go all the way up. The way his hair clips into his face. The way he's slightly yellow for literally no reason. The shitty belt. This fucking sucks. He's so ugly. He isn't even hot.

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Mituna having Memory Loss as a result of his TBI is literally a myth invented by Cronus to emotionally manipulate Mituna and perpetuated by Cronus Fans. I think if they were friends in the past, Cronus's actions would be worse, actually.

Could you imagine getting sad that your friend doesn't remember you because of a Traumatic Brain Injury, and your response to this sadness is to abuse and sexually assault them on the regular? What, is that Just Bro Things now? Cronus literally says he targets Mituna because he thinks he can get away with it due to his struggles with communication. The thing about them being buddies in the past was one of his trademark Lies. Because he is known to do that, specifically to manipulate people. Because he is known to manipulate people. Emotionally. Because he is abusive. And terrible. And not redeemable. This isn't rocket science! It isn't rocket science to say that pushing the fault of Mituna's abuse onto Mituna is Victim-Blaming!

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Positively fucking ridiculous that so many people did not recognize their romance within the comic. If they were boys, there'd be no god damn question about it. It'd be up there in everyone's OTP list alongside DaveKat.

I think they're adorable. They're one of my favorite pairings.

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It's great in the source comic, especially during earlier phases of its existence, but the quality deprecates drastically the further you get from that point. I hate it in Fanon and in Dub/Post-Canon.

It's a great off-screen pairing for a lot of lore reasons - namely it being great to let Dave slowly allow himself to love and be loved in private, with no fear of eyes on him. He's never really been able to have privacy before, with all the cameras and eyes on him all the time, and he's never been able to really let his guard down and be vulnerable. He's never been able to love and be loved, safely. I ultimately think they should've kept their relationship mostly private, even after Dave's recovered quite a bit, because sometimes having something just for yourself without that need to perform it is healing in itself. Mental health maintenance.

In Fanon, it seems like pretty standard yaoi, though. Boring. Tired. Literally everywhere. Voyeuristic as always.

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Thank you! My Inbox generally really isn't that bad at all, honestly! Most people are pretty cordial! Anon Hate for me is pretty rare. Thankfully, the Delete Ask button exists, so I don't have to worry about those Anons for very long, lol.

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I hate to say this, but back in my day, plenty of people actually did do that. In fact, people only knowing Homestuck through fan material and then still calling themselves a fan is a big reason why old Homestuck fanon was so bad and so far off the mark!

I have a name for those kinds of fans, because it was such a frequent occurrence it begged for a title. I call them Secondaries. Like "Secondary Source"!

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World's most based triad, I think. Should be real. It's real to me.

7H15 15 MY 91RLFR13NF, L47UL4. 4DN 7H51 15 7UL45 9R1LFR13ND, P0RR1M.

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I think everyone should start watching actual horror movies. I think these people should watch Re-Animator and Bride of Re-Animator. I think this would fix the fandom, because a lot of people are just posting about horror movies without realizing they're posting about horror movies. Go watch a horror movie. They even have more and, frankly, more interesting gay representation than... Whatever Dirk and Jake have going on. Sorry.

If you're a gay man, get some hair on your chest and watch a bunch of horror movies. There's more in this life than anime twinks and skinny white pixel men. There's BlackRom Old Man Pet Play (The Lighthouse, 2019), there's Tormented Huge Dirty Bear (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, 2006), there's The Bisexual Psychological Torture + Betrayal Chamber (Saw, 2004), there's Dysfunctional Gay Marriage Disputes (Re-Animator, 1985, Bride of Re-Animator, 1990). And way more other ones than I can really list. Expand your horizons.

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Not much. It's a bit mysterious. Here's what Aranea had to say about Mituna in general, which gives us most of the crumbs we have:

The Heir of Doom was once a powerful psionic. He had much to say when it came to warning us a8out the path of doom and destruction we were all headed for, 8ut no one took him very seriously. 8ut one day he lost all those abilities when he 8adly overexerted himself. It's hard to get any specifics from him, 8ut indications are that he applied every last 8it of energy he had toward some great act of heroism, saving us all from some looming threat. Not only did his exertion permanently 8urn out his psychic a8ilities, 8ut it left him somewhat... er. Incoherent. The entire incident is shrouded in mystery. From his limited and scattered accounts of what happened, it seems very likely that Kurloz was with him at the time, as the only eye witness. And of course it's impossi8le to get any relia8le information out of him. I guess we may never know, sadly.

This does say quite a lot, but not really anything specific. We've got some stuff about how he's the session's Cassandra, the fact that the GAoH was NOT an accident (this is the misconception that pisses me off the most, I think - I hate when people call it an accident), the fact that he was protecting everyone from something... The fact that he DOES remember it, the fact that Kurloz was there, as the only eye witness, and refuses to talk about it.

It leaves plenty of room for speculation. A little too much room for me, honestly, but that's fine, I'm not really pressed about it.

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geekgirles · 5 months

Text

Since all I ask for now is that Amalia gets to call the Osamodas out on their hypocrisy and betrayal, I think it's important to point out Armand never wanted Aurora to rule.

I say this in light of her father claiming she is the rightful heir to the throne when we all know she's actually not.

And I don't just mean her claim on the throne isn't legitimate because a) she's not even a Sadida, or b) she was Armand's Osamodas wife, not even his daughter, which would give her claim some credibility, but because it's clear to see she was never meant to truly be the Sadidas' queen, not even their regent.

I know this all sounds contradictory with the fact that, by virtue of marrying Armand, the Crown Prince, she eventually became his queen, but the thing is, it's plain to see not even Armand wanted her to rule the kingdom on her own, which is what her family is trying to accomplish—although there's also a very high chance they intend to rule through her, rather than let her make her own decisions.

As @vinillain and I have discussed through reblogs, it seems to be implied Aurora was never really meant to rule: not only wasn't she a candidate for becoming her own people's queen, but it is clear to see she was only meant to be given an important position in court but with none of the responsibilities expected from such duty.

This can be seen in her role in seasons 3 and 4; despite being Armand's wife and loving him, she never really acted like a true queen. In season 3 she acted conniving and pretended to have Amalia and the kingdom's best interests in mind when, deep down, all she cared about was strengthening her and her family's power over Sadida politics. And in season 4 she remained passive, aloof, and emotionless throughout. At no point was she shown to feel genuine concern for her husband's people even in the face of an imminent threat.

The most active role she's taken ever since she debuted was playing matchmaker for an unwilling Amalia and trying to find more about the Eliaculus.

From what we've seen so far it's easy to conclude she was always meant to be Armand's consort, but never his actual partner. She was essentially sent to the Sadidas to act as their king's arm candy. Whatever power gap was between them, she never made any efforts to breach it and show her worth.

For all she and her family look down on Amalia, Aurora herself never matured enough to become a suitable ruler, whereas Amalia eventually grew into her mother's mantle; even when his father was still alive, she had already become Queen of the Sadidas.

And I think despite his love for her, Armand knew this. He knew she could never rule the kingdom without him; knew she never should rule his kingdom without him.

Despite his many flaws and not-so-stellar moments, Armand was raised to be king. He was never stupid. He knew the inner workings of politics in and out and how to navigate them.

This is apparent in his interactions with the Osamodas King.

While he maintained a cool head throughout, it was clear to see Armand saw right through his father-in-law's ill-veiled condescension towards his people and his desire to control his kingdom. Which is why I wouldn't be surprised if he had never truly trusted Aurora despite coming to love her.

Because of everything his people had gone through, Armand was perfectly aware his kingdom was practically of no importance to the other races, for they never sent their support when they needed it most. So it wouldn't be far-fetched to assume Armand knew all along the Osamodas' intentions behind marrying him to Aurora went beyond simply providing him with a queen.

Which is why I believe he never intended to let Aurora become regent if he was no longer around.

But my greatest evidence are his last words to Amalia as he was about to sacrifice himself and he put her to safety. I don't have the screenshots for it (so I'd appreciate if anyone could provide them), but he essentially told Amalia she would be their next queen.

That's it. That's all he said. He never said, "Please, help Aurora out", or "You two are co-rulers now", or even "You have my permission to fuck Yugo senseless". He told his sister it was up to her to rule their people, not his wife.

Meaning, between her being the last remaining Sheran Sharm, the second in line when her brother was still alive, and Armand's words, Amalia is the kingdom's rightful ruler, not Aurora. It was never Aurora.

#wakfu #wakfu season 4 #wakfu webtoon #wakfu spoilers #wakfu analysis #wakfu the great wave #wakfu la grande vague #armand sheran sharm #amalia sheran sharm #yugo the eliatrope #aurora

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igotanidea · 11 months

Text

Crawl back to you: Jason Todd x reader

Summary: Mexican!reader celebrating dia de los muertos, going throught the process of grieving after Jason's dead and her process of getting better through the years with a little plot twist at the end.

Thank you @thefandomdiaries07 - I played with the idea somewhat, hope you'll like it.

Disclaimer: this is not, in any way, a hate on religious belief, the reader's attitude just fit in the plot. (no offence to anyone meant here, truly)

***

Dia de los muertos.

Day of the Dead.

Despite her origin and upbringing Y/N never really felt connected to this celebration.

Remembering people who died and who she was too young to remember in the first place felt just … weird.

Of course, her mother, aunts and grandmothers got her involved in preparing the ofrenda and preached her about the importance of preparation for the souls’ arrivals but she always did it only half-heartedly, putting on a fake smile and pretending to enjoy the festivities.

But deep down she felt like a freaking hypocrite, while in fact not feeling anything.

And when her family moved to Gotham, out of all places, it got even worse. Poor girl felt conflicted, unaccepted, unsure of who she was and dealing with identity crisis, going as far as renouncing her ancestry to fit in the crowd. She was a teenager what else could you have expected.

Anyhow.

A few months passed and she got used to that god forsaken, lawless hole, keeping herself a bit away from her family, even if technically she was still living the same house. But with her struggles with ethnicity and traditions, she was a bit of a black sheep of the family, having not many true friends and spending most of the time alone,

recklessly wondering alongside the streets, pretending to be a freaking globetrotter.

And that was how one day she got involved with the batfamily, starting from being saved from an assault, by the Batman sidekick, Robin.

Jason Todd.

Whose name she learnt a few weeks later, having lost all the hope to see that red, green and yellow bird boy ever again.

However, surprisingly, those two clicked fast enough and even though they were technically still young teenagers something bigger than friendship started creeping in.

He kissed her for the first time when they were 15.

And it was magical, romantic and send her into a spiral of love and dreams and worries and thoughts about future.

It was pretty much prefect for a whole year, as they somehow managed to make it work despite being forced to keep their relationship a secret from both families.

Imagine the panic that would spread in her family if they knew she was in love with a vigilante.

Imagine the panic that would spread in his family if they knew he told his identity to a girl he fell for.

That was obviously a no go.

So they kept on meeting in secret.

Almost every night she sneaked out of the house to check out on him after patrol and he was escaping Batman’s watchful gaze to have at least a few hours together alone with .

But one night changed everything.

He went to search for his biological mother.

And she should have stopped him or tell him how reckless he was being or do anything to dissuade him from this idea. Instead she laid her head on his shoulder, holding onto him tighter, kissing his lips briefly and making him promise he’d report to her the second he gets back.

A promise he never kept.

***

“Hello? Who’s this?” she picked up her phone, blissfully unaware of the news that was about to fall upon her.

“Hey… um… is this Y/N?” an unrecognisable male voice reverberated on the other side

“Yes” she frowned “Who is this?” the girl asked again.

“My name’s Dick Grayson. I’m Jason’s older adoptive brother. We’ve never met but… I know you two were close…”

Wait. Did he just say were close?

“What – what happened…?”

The receiver fell from her hand, tears flooded her face and her heart broke in half.

***

His funeral was probably the worst day of her life, even though she couldn’t remember much more than the see of blackness, plenty of people she knew from Jason’s stories but saw for the first time and some meaningless words of consolations.

***

YEAR ONE

It had been eight months since his death and she was still grieving, unsure if the pain in her chest would ever subside or the tears would ever dry.

In that short time, she had become very close to Jason's brother, Dick, who was the perfect definition of an eldest child and had sort of taken her under his wing (pun intended). After everything with Jason and everything in between, she couldn't and didn't want to stay in Gotham, a place that was a painful reminder of the past.

Y/N took a different route every time she came across the places where they hung out or where they first kissed and where they secretly met at night and considering the fact that Gotham wasn't that big, it was slowly becoming impossible to move. And going to school and seeing couples and happy people was like a shot to the heart, making her a walking fountain almost every school break.

She felt a sudden need to get away from everything and moved to Bludhaven, where she started a new school and where Dick made sure she was safe and (as much as possible, meaning not much at all) happy.

It was October and dia de los muertos was right around the corner, of which her family was kind enough to inform her, inviting the girl to the family celebrations, and mentioning the resulting obligations of the living.

Making her angry at first.

Angry and with the sense of unfairness and stupidity of life. You’re there one second, enjoying the presence of the loved ones, and then, in another second you are just gone and it’s like you never really existed.

What was the point of life, apart from constant suffering and uncertainty of tomorrow?

This whole celebration freaking sucked, and she was not going to celebrate the death, having loved and lost the most important person in her young life!

But…

Once she got herself into that spiral of thinking, Y/N slowly started feeling something more than annoyance at her nation’s cultural habits, overwhelming depression and lack of any motivation to move on. Maybe…

It was the first time she had someone she knew to remember. And to hope that maybe, on this special day, his soul were walking amongst the living and watching her from the other side even if she could not do the same.

Maybe…

And if he was, maybe it was her only chance to somehow communicate with him, tell him all the words she kept hidden in her soul, that never found a way out. Perhaps from the silent beating of her heart he would feel the love that was still there, the longing, the needing and the fact that despite being gone, he wasn’t and would never be forgotten by her.

Her eyes grew wide and she jumped off the bed, gathering all the necessities and beginning her work.

***

“Y/N?” Punctual as always Dick entered the apartment, carrying the box with her favourite takeout. It was their Thursday tradition to have some good food and hang out together and he was not going to be a breaker. But he definitely did not expect to see his friend kneeling on the floor in front of something that looked like a tiny stairs, painted in red, green and yellow ending with an arch. It was decorated with something he recognised as salt, candles, water and marigold flowers. And the whole apartment smelled like lavender for some reason. “Y/N? What are you doing?” he put the food on the table, seriously concerned by her mental state.

“Oh!” she almost jumped at the sound of his voice, turning around to face him. “Hey, Dick. It’s just a little celebration.”

“Of what?” he frowned, not understanding a thing. “What is this?”

“ofrenda” she explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but his confused gaze made her realise that maybe not everyone were familiar with the festivity. “an offering.”

“An offering? Of what? To who? And why?”

Y/N almost rolled her eyes.

“I thought Bruce made you go the private school. Don’t you know anything about dia de los muertos?”

“I thought you were done with your national customs?”

“I was…” she sighed deeply reaching for the picture she was about to hang in her little altar. Jason, smiling, happy at some point back in time, that was never supposed to go back. She took the photo at one of their walks in the park in the autumn, with the sun shining and colourful leaves falling down from the trees. “but things have changed…” Y/N whispered, caressing Jason’s cheek on the photo, her eyes still shining with love and affection, but also tinged with sadness. “I miss him…”

“I know, Y/N. I miss that little prick too.”

“Yeah, he was a prick, wasn’t he? And an asshole, sometimes.” She chuckles as Dick sat on the floor next to her. “I bet if he’s around he’s annoyed at us bad-mouthing him.”

“If he’s around?”

“Yeah, the whole point of this day is that the souls come back to earth to visit us.”

“so it’s basically something like Halloween.”

“ more or less so. But cut the haunting part.” She smiled a little “We can’t see the deceased but we can feel them…”

“do you?”

“do I what?” Y/N frowned at his question. “Do I feel him?”

“Yeah. Sorry if it’s too soon or too bold thing to say, Y/N…”

“It’s not. It’s okay. I can’t exactly feel him, but it doesn’t mean he’s not here. We both agreed he was a prick sometimes, maybe he’s just hiding from me. Just to tease me. But that won’t stop me from calling upon him even from beyond the grave.”

She stood up and put the picture at the top stairs.

“Hey Todd, if you’re somewhere there, I’m not gonna go easy on you. See you next year, you little asshole.”

YEAR TWO

“Hey, Y/N, I dropped by decorating store and bought some things for your ofrenda this year, wanna take a look at them?”

YEAR THREE

You know, Dick, I’m not sure if Jason would appreciate us using the cape here….

“Your limiting my imagination….”

“I don’t care. I’m in charge. Remove it, now”

YEAR FOUR

Did you make the ofrenda without me, Grayson!?

YEAR FIVE

No way in hell she was going to let Dick take charge this year. For the past four of them he was growing more and more fond of the day of the dead, starting from assisting and doing shopping ending on going behind her back in finalising his own crazy concept. And finally, the tide had changed and Y/N had to put her foot down.

“What do you mean you want me to leave?!” Dick cried out the second she told him what punishment she chose for him “Y/N! Why?! It’s so unfair, I – “

“You hijacked my preparations last year. And two years ago. And to tell the truth, three years ago as well!”

“I didn’t – ok, fine…” he raised his hands in surrender “but you can’t blame me for that! It’s really fu-“ he stopped in the middle of the sentence.

“You wanted to say funny, didn’t you?” Y/N raised an eyebrow and Dick blushed a little. Maybe it was a bit inappropriate and unfortunate word to use.

“NO! No I wanted to say… um…” Dick was desperately searching for more accurate wording, also starting with fu, but obviously the alternatives were even worse.

“See that’s the whole point. You kind of missing the message of the day. Yes, sure, it’s supposed to be fun way to honour the dead and tame death in some way, but still it’s also supposed to be at least a little bit of an opportunity to stop for a second and think about things and people. I really appreciate your positive attitude and it’s not like I’m kicking you out, but...”

“but you do.” Dick smirked and nodded with understanding.

“I just feel like I need to be alone for a while, ok? It’s been five years and at his point I feel like I sometimes need to focus to even remember his face without a photo. It’s all becoming a blur, lost in the joy and amusement. And I don’t want that. I want to remember.”

“Is that why you never gave any boy any chance to –“ he cut out again without really thinking what he was saying.

“Grayson… “ she trailed warningly.

“I’m out! I’m out! Don’t hit me!” he rushed towards the exit. “Just call me when it will be safe to come back, ok?”

“Got it. Now get out!” she chuckled, closing and locking the door behind her friend.

Every little word she said was true.

She wanted to remember.

She had to remember.

It was the only way to fill that little dent in her heart, that Jason left when he died. She couldn’t just let go of him, even though Dick was probably right, and after so many years she should have moved on. But both her heart and her soul refused to do so.

Maybe you only get one chance to meet your soulmate and Y/N was close to sure that Jason has been hers.

”It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" she whispered the quote to herself while reaching for Jason’s photo she chose for this year’s decoration, turning them over in her hands for a while, looking at the face of a 15 year old she used to know “I wonder what you would look like now. Bet you’d be even more handsome and all the girls would be jealous I got such a catch.” She laughed a little “Hope you don’t hear me now, cause god damn, that would be such an ego booster for you.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” The sudden male voice coming from behind her made her jump (almost the mirror situation to the one that occurred five years ago when Dick found her preparing the ofrenda). But this time it was not Dick standing in her apartment.

“What the actual fuck!?” she yelled taking a fighting stance she learned from Grayson, knowing it would not help her at all due to the shaking of her body at the view in front of her.

“Handsome, huh?” Jason Todd in the flesh, absolutely not dead, brushed some unruly hair from his forehead, looking at her with a playful expression

“¡Estas muerto! ¡Eres un fantasma! ¡¿Qué está pasando?! Cómo –?“ as usual when she got nervous she started using Spanish. (you’re dead! You’re a ghost! What’s going on?! How-?)

“Baby…” Jason took a step forward, hesitantly. “Baby…” he opened his arms “I;m not dead, I swear to you. I-“

She cut him off by diving into his embrace, holding him tightly, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t just a friction of her imagination and needing to feel his warmth, the beating of his heart and his breathing.

“You’re really here!” she cried out, tears falling down her cheeks like a waterfall when she nuzzled into his chest. Honestly, she didn’t need any explanation, at least not at this point. She only wanted him close, afraid that if she let go for as much as a second he would disappear again. “Swear to me this is not a dream…” she muttered, against his shirt. “Swear to me.” Her entire body shook from the shock, she felt so small in his arms, but also safe as never before. It was like after five long years she got home again, that this missing part of her heart was found, and immediately jumped into the place reserved solely for him, unrepleacable. She was whole again and that was what count.

“Baby…. Oh, my sweet girl…” Jason wrapped his arms around her, caressing her back and hair, pulling her even closer, wanting to comfort her, to give her all that love and peace she was deprived of for what felt like ages. “I’m really here. I’m here. My baby… I’m back to you.” He whispered, closing his eyes, feeling equally, if not more emotional than her. He’s been through hell but the only though that made him keep on going was her. His angel. His joy. His only source of light in the eternal darkness that seemed to surround and swallow him. His grip on her tightened and he hoped to convey all these unspoken words to her through hugs and caresses and the gentle brushing of his lips against her temples.

“I love you…” she sobbed desperately, blurting out the only thing that was on her mind at the moment. “I missed you and I love you and –“

“I know baby. I love you too. And I promise you, you’ll never have to worry about hanging my picture in your altar ever again. Ever. I’ll crawl back to you every time and not even death can stop me from being with you. ”

And they just stood there, next to something that was supposed be an tribute to not-so-dead Jason Todd, holding and hugging each other tightly, creating the little bubble only for them two and being so very happy cutting out the entire world and reality, lost in daydream that happened to be the upcoming future for two people that have loved, have lost, and luckily, have found a way back to each other.

Talking could wait.

Silence, in the company of the only person that mattered, came first.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd angst #jason todd fluff #red hood angst #red hood fluff #dick grayson x reader

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lsleofthelost · 3 months

Text

shades of being lovable

[read on AO3]

T | 5.2k | Chapter 1/3 | Mal/Evie | angst, AU - they don’t leave the Isle, introspection, aged-up characters

Content warning for implied/reference child abuse, off-screen animal death

Summary: It’s the most open secret on the Isle: Evil Queen’s brat is in love with Maleficent’s spawn.

It is whispered behind her back when Grimhilde leaves the salon, it is laughed about roaringly in pubs, and it is scribbled on the desks in the back of Dragon Hall classrooms. Grimhilde loves to pretend that the whole Isle doesn’t know because Genevieve’s … thing is more humiliating than any of her other failures. More humiliating than being caught, more humiliating than failing to kill Snow White, more humiliating even than not being as beautiful anymore. But everyone knows it, everyone knows Genevieve is in this gooey, soft, crippling kind of love.

Including Mal.

Mal swears that knowing doesn’t affect her. She is still the leader of the most powerful gang on the whole Isle. She takes what she wants and breaks what she can’t take. She knows how to keep distance between herself and her underlings. Mal is civil and talks to Evie with enough courtesy that makes it clear that they are not friends and that Mal’s words are orders to be followed, not friendly suggestions.

Sometimes, when Mal barks a command with too much force, too much venom, she notices that Jay and Carlos share a glance. It’s probably worry, it may even be sadness, Mal can never truly tell. The glances weigh on her, make her feel something a villain never should because guilt has never gotten anyone far. She shakes these emotions out of her head, what kind of poisoner wouldn’t be able to take some venom?

(She lies. It affects her. Some days she can not bear to look at Evie. She tells herself it’s disgust. In more vulnerable moments, she tells herself it’s not knowing what to do with these misplaced feelings Evie has.

In the past, whenever some poor unfortunate soul would try to make things romantic between them, it was either a weak attempt at manipulation or inappropriate worship. First never worked because Mal doesn’t need love, never has and never will, so the promise of it was unappealing. The second was more pitiful. These people had an image of Maleficent the Second, the new Mistress of Darkness in their heads that would shatter if they got too close. She knows that once they discover who she really is, once they look into her heart, they would find nothing to love there. By her mother’s design, Mal is impossible to love.)

Feelings aren’t a thing they talk about on the Isle. Any feelings, but especially those. There are few moments for tender-heartedness, deep under the velvet cover of night, where no one can overhear, but Mal is above that. She is the destruction of the free world, there are more important things she can focus on.

So, Mal knows, but she never does anything about it. She doesn’t say anything and neither does Evie and it allows things to feel almost normal. Up until Evie gets too flustered or too greedy or tries to be too close to her and Mal gets images of blood-red smiles and yearning eyes burned into her eyelids.

***

Now that her gang is indisputably on top, Mal has a lot of free time. It’s confusing. She has spent her entire life fighting, nineteen long years a constant battle. It would be a disgusting lie to say that her life is peaceful now (Mal will never know peace, it’s preordained, she is revenge personified) but she finds herself with nothing to do for a few hours every two weeks or so.

‘Fight or die’ is the law of the Isle but what is she to do when there is no fight?

All the borders are checked, pirates are staying within their own territory for once, even the Huns are pacified under a new agreement, her own are fed and fine. Mal gets too wired to sleep and too burnt out to draw, so she turns her eyes up.

She likes getting as close to the barrier as she can, without being stuck wrestling the crowd near the bridge. Or trying the sharp teeth of the sea. She scales the side of the only church on the Isle (it’s always empty, save for the old priest and his quiet daughter) and climbs to the very top of the central spire. Perched there, she can reach up and touch the shimmering air of the barrier. Being this close to active magic is calming in a way she can’t describe.

Sometimes, Mal notices the priest’s daughter peeking up through an open window. She’s tempted, then, to wave at her, to invite someone else to bathe in the warmth of magic. But every time she’s about to open her mouth, a gravelly voice yells to do some chore or the other and the girl disappears inside with a squeak.

***

Evie fell in love hard and fast.

Her very first day out of banishment, the day after her sixteenth birthday, she caught Mal’s attention. She didn’t know yet that it was a bad thing, fascinated still with life in relative freedom.

Mal had been cruel then, she knows. She’d never hide it, there was nothing to be ashamed of. Fight or die is the only law of the Isle. Genevieve was highly possible competition, bright and dazzling, so Mal did the pragmatic thing and enacted a scheme.

The plan was simple, she’d even thought it elegant at the time: play nice with Evie, invite her to the full moon howler at de Vil’s place and when Blueberry makes herself the centre of attention, as she certainly will, drop a bucket of animal blood on her. She toyed with the idea of locking her in that bear trap of a closet Cruella has, but it would be too quiet, too easy to miss over the chaos of the howler. She needed a signal, something that let not only Evie but the rest of them remember who the top dog around here was.

Something to knock her down before she could attempt to stand up.

At least that’s what it was supposed to go like. In no world did Mal imagine that instead of running out covered in tears and blood, Evie would activate her magic. The shield was weak and peppered with holes, but still, the majority of the blood ended up on the floor around Blueberry.

Mal grabbed her arm then and dragged her outside past the crowd. People made way for the pair, sure that she was going to beat Evie up. Hell, even Mal was sure of it.

Yet, when they got to the rickety porch and Mal finally turned face to face with Evie, for some reason, she couldn’t find it in herself to scream and call her names. Looking at her bright eyes, the colour of them indescribably red in the fiery light of Hell Hall, at the drops of blood dotting her face and hair, slowly running down, at the hopeful smile stretching her violet lips, Mal could not bring herself to say what she intended to.

Magic, or the sad grains of it that could be accessed under the barrier, was for the strong. Like Mal herself with her fire.

So instead, she found herself asking how reliable Evie’s hold on magic was. She told Mal about how this was the first time her magic got a physical form, about how she brews potions and poisons, about how even the most potent ones never made her sick.

Mal ordered her to join her gang. Evie’s eyes snapped up then, trembling and wet, so full of unfiltered hope and affection and stared at her. Her whole body leaned in and slackened when she accepted. Something about the brightness of her eyes or the happiness of her voice in that moment terrified Mal into almost taking a step back.

***

It is baffling, sometimes, how much love Genevieve has in her heart.

The fountain of it seems endless, she doesn’t need to ration it into little portions to be consumed. Evie loves sewing and designing, she loves the kids under their protection, and especially that giggly Tremaine girl, she loves how giddy with fear everyone gets when she brings her apple pie (that she made because she loves their crew). She loves and loves and loves.

She even loves this stupid little rabbit.

Mal and she were in the Dark Forest, foraging for ingredients and Evie kneeled by a big oak tree to cut off some mushrooms when she found it. It’s a pitiful thing, small and weak, two more from its litter lying on either side of it with their throats ripped out.

“It’s going to die.” Mal’s voice is cold and too loud in the darkness of the forest. Evie’s eyes are still on the carcasses and all she does is give a tiny nod.

In retrospect, it was probably a twitch at Mal’s tone.

When Mal unsheathes her dagger light must catch on it because, in a second, Evie turns around to face her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to kill it.” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Because it is the most obvious thing in the world. The weak can not fight. They do not survive.

Immediately, Evie scoops up the tiny thing and brings it close to her chest. She’s shielding it.

“What? No!”

“It’s going to die anyways!” Mal angles her dagger toward where the rabbit must be. “Give it to me!”

It makes Evie turn her body away from her, shielding the animal even more.

“No!” Her eyes are scorching when they meet Mal’s.

This defiance makes her recoil physically. How dare she? Over some stupid animal? Mal’s free hand shoots out to grab Evie’s shoulder and shake her. “Let me kill it!”

“No! You can’t!” Her eyes stay as steely as before, even as they begin to water. “You can't!” Even as her voice begins to shake.

Mal brings her dagger even closer. So close, that she can see her own reflection in the cold metal of the blade.

“Why the hell not, Blueberry?”

“I love it, you can’t kill it! You can’t! It’s alive! I love it!”

***

Usually, Mal bites her tongue when Maleficent pushes lessons on her, letting her mother rant, and it’s no different today, even though she is so frustrated, so tired. She doesn’t even know what set her mother off this time, but she doesn’t bother to speak up. Mal can feel her inner temperature go underworld low and dragon fire high, back and forth, all day, she can feel her skull splitting where her horns should be, she can feel her back muscles moving to accommodate for wings that can’t be sprouted, magic produced in her body without an exit, stuck inside her. She feels like half a corpse and half a god.

“Furthermore, Mal, you must not dismiss my advice. I am not saying this out of ill will, I only do this due to your promising nature. I see you have the capability to own this world, to lead the conquering, and to take over after I rule. You are Maleficent Morgana the Second, do you understand?”

It’s funny. She doesn't even have her own name, her mother never gave her one. She made her fight for each letter tooth and nail but the prize is becoming her mother. All she sees when she looks at her daughter is a twisted reflection of herself, a second chance at achieving promised greatness.

Maleficent takes a sip of her coffee, and though Mal knows it is horribly bitter, she does it calmly. A mirthless smile stretches her thin lips.

“I was like you when I was your age. Ignored my mother’s wisdom, thinking I was oh so mature. But the world is cruel and we must be too. We fight or we die. It forced me to cast my heart aside, practically ripped it out of me, and when I started using my head, I finally started yielding results. I only wish to protect you, like I now realise my mother was trying to protect me way back then. You are my daughter, be better than me, cast emotions aside now, and don’t let them cloud your judgement. I truly believe you will be the deliverance of our preordained fate.”

She takes another sip of her coffee and lowers it on the table in a harsh movement. Ceramic hits wood with a boom.

It’s only the training that stops Mal from flinching at the resonance. Her hearing fluctuates between true faery abilities and the constricting human level, and all the sounds are grating her ears. Not that she hasn’t heard this speech many times before. Mal has been a promising child since she was born. She didn’t do anything to deserve it, she didn’t make any vows, her lips did not form words binding her to divine wickedness. No, her mother, and her mother, and hers, they gave the old prophecy of owning the world to her like an inheritance.

“Yes, yes, you will be our deliverance.”

With a content sigh, Maleficent nods once more and leans back into her armchair.

It is as clear a dismissal as she will get, so Mal pulls herself up, feels her bones ready to snap under the weight, and with a small bow turns away from the coffee table. It takes all her willpower to keep her composure. Near the doors, she chances a pause to gather herself once again, and glances at her mother.

She looks frightening. Not like when she would stand over Mal’s barely conscious body after leaving a pattern of black and blue all over, no. Not like when she would suggest plans that would put Jay in grave danger just to watch Mal’s reaction either. No, this is an ultimately frightening sight.

She looks pathetic. Imprisonment has not been kind to any of them but the inaccessibility of magic has hit the inherently magical beings the harshest. To Mal, her mother looks like she might collapse, fade out on here, never get out of that armchair.

That is the fundamental reason she lets her mother lecture her. She fears her, of course, but she patronises her more now. Mal is already a shining example of never letting her emotions cloud her judgement in battle. She stopped herself before she could grow attached. Built walls even between herself and her General, retreated away from his warmth when he got too close.

So she shrinks, hides more and more of herself in order to not appear threatening to Maleficent. It only makes Mal despise her more and in turn, despise herself.

One day, she promises herself as the flash of pain fades and she closes the doors behind herself. One day she will take a butcher’s knife and cut this umbilical cord.

***

Next Thursday, Mal finds Evie crying in one of the smaller rooms of their lair.

It’s obvious she’s crying, even if she’s turned away from the door, cooped up in a dark corner. Her whole body is shaking silently, tiny little movements arrhythmic, like she’s fighting the tears.

Mal turns away. She will ignore this moment of foolish vulnerability, maybe send Carlos or Dizzy this way instead. They can be gentle. Mal appreciates kindness only because it shows that their evil has intent, that they inflict hurt on purpose. Gentleness is inside their bones. Hers are hollow.

It is at that moment, when Mal has made up her mind, that Evie notices her.

She always seems to notice Mal.

Their eyes lock. Mal feels glued to the spot. Evie’s eyes sparkle softly in the dim light, her mascara is running down her face in black and blue streaks, and her lipstick is smudged and half bitten off in the middle. She looks magnetic. Evie is beautiful, not despite her harried state, not because of it, just beautiful. Always so beautiful.

“I’m sorry, I-” Evie’s breath stutters as she gulps more air in, “I thought no one would be here.” She looks somewhere behind Mal, not like she’s trying to gauge if there are people behind her, but like she can’t bear to look at her any longer. “You ca- should go. I’m- I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t say sorry.” Mal comes in and closes the door behind her. It plunges the tiny room into more solid darkness. “It’s weak.” She steps a little closer to Evie.

Evie hastily wipes her face and shakes her head a little. “Yes, of course.” She sniffles. It is such a pitiful sound, brittle and barely controlled, Mal wants it to stop. “Really, Mal, you, you don’t need to stay, can, you can go.”

It is the most erratic Evie’s speech has ever been. Usually, her words are so measured, it’s weird to hear her stutter. Mal kneels beside her on the dusty floor. There is not much space in the room, it feels stifling, being so close to Evie. She wants to move back, to come closer, to storm out, to crush her in a hug. She settles for leaning back on the balls of her feet and digging her nails into the palms of her hands.

“Well, I’m here.” What would Carlos do? Shit, what would one of those soft as shit Auradon kids say? Because even though Genevieve is one of the most feared people on the Isle, even though she can dig her nails in wounds just to listen to the screams, she requires this tenderness.

“So tell me what bullshit made you… uh-”

“Cry like a baby?” Evie says with a bitter smile.

Mal just hums. That is exactly what she was thinking but it seemed too harsh to say right then. Mal wouldn’t kick one of her own while they are lying down.

Another stuttering breath. Genevieve keeps shaking, all those emotions too much for her tiny body. She is taller than Mal, but like this, she looks so small and bursting at the seams with everything.

“Remember last week? We found that baby rabbit?” Her voice is still so soft. “I had to kill it.” More tears gather in the corners of her eyes. They twinkle in the darkness like stars in the sky. “I- My mother, she, ah- I guess she wanted a new fur collar.” With a put upon shrug, she continues: “It’s not even the worst part.” Mal watches her swallow heavily, like it pains her to do so, like she is swallowing glass. “We, ah, we can’t afford to be wasteful here. And, you know, that’s fine... Well, it’s not fine, Auradon makes us do this and we haven’t even done anything but be born! And they can definitely afford to get normal food and clothing and water for us. I mean, have you seen the new castle the Beast’s family is building? ‘Secondary summer palace’, what bullshit!”

“Princess, I appreciate anger for those Auradon fuckers as much as the next person but get to the fucking point.” Her tone is always too cold, fuck. Now Evie will think she’s angry at her. Maybe she is, a little. For making her feel so responsible for her sadness.

“Sorry,” she catches herself too late, “Mother made me cook him.”

Mal is silent at that, and Evie tries to fill the silence.

“And, I knew he was going to die. You were right. He was too weak to survive, he couldn’t fight, but, gods above, I never- I didn’t think she’d make me butcher him.” Her voice dissolves into nothingness at the end.

“You really were in love with that thing, huh?”

Evie freezes up at that, so still, she might be made of marble. She shakes her head after a moment. “I loved it, I was not- I was not in love with it.” Her gaze is trained on the toes of her boots, on the tiny stubborn dot of blood that hasn't washed out. “That’s different.”

And that, that is the final nail in her coffin. Fuck! Mal already doesn’t know what to say, what do you say to a person who is crying? There are no memories in her head to use as an example. The last time she cried, her mother had dangled her light body out of a balcony, telling her not to shame the legacy with something as weak and as human as tears. That did make her stop crying but that is not what Mal is going for with Evie. And she was so stupid to bring up love.

“You should’ve let me kill it that day.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t mean it. Evie would not have let her do it.

“You shouldn’t cry so much over it.”

“I’ll be fine. You- you don’t need to worry about me so much.” She smiles a little, the waterworks finally coming to a stop. It makes Mal feel disgustingly soft, like a rotten apple.

“I wasn’t worried. But you’re on my team so it’s my responsibility or whatever.”

“Still.” There’s a tiny smile on Evie’s ruined face.

And in that darkness, surrounded by specks of dust and looking at black and blue tear tracks and smudged lipstick, Mal thinks that maybe it’s not such a horrible thing to be loved by Evie. She loves so much so easily, it can’t be a terribly huge deal to be a part of the long list.

***

No matter how much her mother snarls in distaste, Mal prefers that her gang is less rigid and the atmosphere is more companionable when they are together. Sometimes, though, when they are being particularly annoying, Mal wonders if her mother is right.

Diego de Vil and his band of musical misfits really don’t work hard enough to afford all the distraction and halfway-manic laughter they cause. Fucking freeloaders. Honestly, and she has told them this more than once, they are only here as Carlos’s kin and because their music sets really bring the howlers to the next level.

They’re always jamming or giggling in “their” nook of the lair. That, or harassing the other occupiers of the loft.

They make fun of Dizzy for following Evie around everywhere, like a loyal duckling. When Evie furrows her brows and tells them to cut it out, they snicker behind their hands and Ivy starts singing the silly song they wrote just for Dizzy. They “are just kidding, really, Dizzy, you are our dark magician girl”, after all.

They make fun of Freddie, whenever she decides to come around. Yell something about how matted her hair is, and the twins pop out their perfect clouds of signature de Vil ashen hair to mock her. She just flips them off because they all know that right after she finishes her dealings with Mal, she’s going to be slithering in the nook and plopping herself on a pillow between Maria de Vil’s feet, letting her work her own kind of magic.

Even Mal is not immune. They make fun of her “brooding face”. They make fun of her short stature. They find a lot to laugh about, but they never push too much, and Mal can’t help but think that it’s nice. To be in on a joke.

(She remembers running with Maddy. It’s silly now but then it felt like a sign that they both had purple hair. It seemed so concrete when she was ten-eleven. And Maddy would run around to make fun of her behind her back, would sabotage Mal on purpose, feed her wrong information just to watch her trip up. She’d punch her in the shoulder and say: “Come on, it was just a joke!” and cackle mean-spiritedly.

Maddy never knew the limit. Maddy bleaches her hair obsessively.)

The band joke about a lot of things, and notice every embarrassing reaction, which is why Mal half-expects howling laughter when Evie turns beet red after Mal off-handedly says “Attagirl” during a sparring session. They don’t laugh when Evie rushes to bring Mal some kind of special electro-something water after training. They don’t laugh when Evie asks if she can “move up from her regular loft room? Somewhere closer to you? Not- not in that way, just that rooms get bigger closer to the top and I need space for my brewing!”

They don’t laugh when Evie blanches at the sight of Mal’s mangled fingers after a nasty fight. They don’t laugh when she pulls out some salve and bandages from her thigh holster when she tapes them together ever so carefully and something close to tears shines in her eyes.

They never laugh at her. Mal wishes she didn't know why.

***

Mal’s gang may be far less rigid than Maleficent’s armies used to be but if anyone dared to think that Mal was not a demanding leader or, gods forbid, that Mal was soft, they would be proven wrong fairly quickly.

Perfection is expected, achieving more than asked for is expected, and falling short is punished. The closer you are to Mal, the harsher you get burned by her hellfire rage.

She’s yelling about the botched chloroform, asking Evie how she can be so stupid and incompetent, how dare she not perform her role in the gang, and give her one valid reason she shouldn’t send Evie back into banishment right this moment! And maybe Mal is being harsher than usual but then Evie’s lip stops trembling and her poisonous blood is boiling with anger and she is screaming right back at Mal. Saying that she is “cold-blooded, cruel, a fucking tyrant!”

Mal doesn’t stop herself when she swings a punch.

It doesn’t land properly. Evie moves away and Mal ends up hitting her shoulder, Evie’s hands on her wrist and elbow, and a moment later Mal is on the cement floor, her breath knocked out, with Evie hovering over her. She’s crying. Her mascara is running and her eyes shine brightly and Mal’s heart stops.

It’s like a dam has been broken. Evie tries to calm herself but all her inhales are shaky and all her exhales are ragged, she can’t stop the hot tears from rolling down her cheeks and landing on Mal’s face and neck. She’s still uselessly pounding her fists on Mal’s chest, so she catches the witch’s wrists and brings them down.

Mal doesn’t want to dislodge her even if her instincts tell her that this is how you get your throat slit. Evie is still shaking on top of her. Mal doesn’t know what to say and she can’t bear to look at her. She turns her head to the side. Evie’s wrists are burning against her underworld cold hands.

They stay like that for however long it takes for Evie to calm herself. Far too fast for how hard she was sobbing earlier, probably.

“Why do you do that?” Evie’s voice is hoarse and small but still full of fury.

She feels like she’s about to fall through the floor.

But Mal is still on the floor and she looks at the place where the wall meets the floor and she realises it wasn’t painted very well. “I-” her throat is swollen, “I have to. I need perfection.”

“Don’t be so cruel to me,” Evie exhales unsteadily, “you know, you know that I, you know I-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I wish it counted for something.”

Mal finally turns to look at her. The blue mascara stains on her face look like bruises.

***

Mal climbs the church tower that night.

Her bones creak, weary and tired on the ascent. For a few seconds, she hears the way storm clouds gather under the barrier. The stone is warm under her infernally cold hands.

There are kids on the streets nearby but none of them are hers so she doesn’t care. If they are staying the night at the church square, neither do their parents.

The dim lights of the Isle don’t reach her here, she is illuminated only by the shimmering of the barrier. If she tries, she can probably even find a star or two through the gaps between the stormy clouds that are anchored on top of the barrier.

She wonders, can he see the barrier down there? Is her father reaching out to touch it too? Is he digging through the dirt, like she is? Does he think of her?

Mal does not think of her father often. Sometimes, she forgets she has a father at all. She is her mother’s daughter so thoroughly, she wouldn’t be surprised to find out if even her very bones had “Property of Maleficent” carved into them.

But tonight, she wonders about Hades. She knows so little of the man, of the god. She knows that he sits in his catacombs, that he makes that little Facilier runt run his errands, that he’s merciful with her. Mal has only one memory, though it is spotty like the radio transmissions they get on the Isle, inviting imagination to fill in the blanks.

And, like everything about her, Mal’s imagination is cruel.

She remembers the day her father left. The cold grey light, the dust particles that floated in the air, the back and forth screaming, and the smell of sulphur that filled their house. She was hiding under the staircase, ready to dart into the closet if her mother decided to take out her frustrations on her.

Then, a vase… or a sugar bowl? Something porcelain, anyway, was thrown down and broke into a million tiny sharp pieces at the bottom of the stairs. She remembers having to clean it up later and getting cuts on her chubby fingers.

Her mother screamed something along the lines of “You are not a god anymore! Go back to hell!” and slammed their bedroom door shut. Mal peeked out from under the staircase, just as the thunderous steps made more dust fall out and float in the air.

This is where it gets fuzzy.

Sometimes, she can only remember him opening the front door, daylight outside too bright for Mal’s eyes that were used to the semi-darkness of their house. Hades turned to look at her for a moment, face unreadable, and walked out with a resounding slam of the door.

Sometimes, she remembers more. She remembers that her father noticed her peeking out from under the stairs. He walked up to her, and he doesn’t have a face in these memories but she knows he was looking her in the eyes. He asked her if she wanted to come with him, but before she could answer, he sighed and said: “No, that won’t work. I’d be tired of you. I’d be able to bear that if I loved you but you are too much like your mother already. It’s too late, she taught you well.” And then he turned around and left her life forever.

Sometimes, she entertains the idea of finding him. Marching into the catacombs where he has made a home, holding a knife to his throat, seeing if he bleeds red or golden. The problem is, she will never be able to make him feel her own pain.

And what would that accomplish? He was right.

Mal was an unlovable child and she is an unlovable adult. At least she is rational enough to know it.

Here, in this dark place where no one can hear her, she tips her face to the sky. There is no hope to find the stars but the rain finds her somehow. The droplets are sweet on her lips.

No one sees her cry.

#descendants #descendants fic #mal #evie #malvie #mal x evie #mal daughter of maleficent #evie daughter of the evil queen #mine*#mine*fic

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nessjo · 3 months

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Team Black: Maegor with Teats

Not that long ago a made a post that talked about how I see myself as neither Team Black or Team Green since both sides have their pros and cons, but today I saw a video from 'Valaritas' titled "Why Rhaenyra Targaryen Would Never Make A Good Queen" and it not only strengthened some of my points but it also showed me new ones.

The basic point that it proves is, that the show is very Team Black coded and that for the show, the actions from Fire and Blood were town down. So in this talking about Book Rhaenyra and NOT Show Rhaenyra.

So let's summan up the video (more like quoting it, but hey!):

What makes a good ruler? Wisdom, Courage or something else and which one of these qualities did she possess and would she truly be a good queen?

Rhaenyra was a spiteful, jealous and lustful woman and her only basis for succession was her father's words, she lacked a strong sense of duty and her personal desires led her to make a lot of poor choices.

Yes, she was in a disadvantaged position in Westeros because she was the chosen Heir and a Woman, however despite this circumstances she struggled to embrace her role and fulfill her responsibilities.

Being King or Queen is a grave responsibility and requires them to possess a developed sense of Duty so that they can act in the best interests of the realm.

The problem with Rhaenyra is that she has no sense of Duty and often flouts her responsibilities. She wants power, unfettered power without realising that such a thing doesn't exist. She never tried to make herself more suitable for the throne, instead she just expected everyone to obey her as their Queen.

Firstly the books make it clear, that Rhaenyra became the chosen Heir, just so that the throne doesn't get passed down to Daemon, she was the last chance after the death of her brother for her father to make sure that the throne doesn't goes to his brother. Up until the Rhaenyra was treated simply as a princess and hadn't learned much about being a Queen. Despite knowing her father only became the King because he was a man, she didn't learn anything from history and didn't take any action to demonstrate that she was fit to be a Queen.

One of the most significant criticism of Rhaenyra's irresponsibility is undoubtedly her having three Bastard Sons. The Fact that the future Queen gave birth to illegitimate children is scandalous enough but what makes it worse is that she tried to pretend the were legitimate (which worked in the book better than in the show) and threatened everyone who questioned her and her sons.

In many respects her actions bear a striking resemblance to those of Cersei. Much like Cersei she consistently sought to suppress the truth by silencing those against her, for example she ordered Daemon to behead Vaemond and then to fed his corpse to her dragon, before that she wanted Aemond to be harshly questioned when he made similar claims. She went as far as to endorse murder and torture to perpetuate the lie and failed to recognize that illegitimate children on the iron throne would inevitably lead to a war.

At this point we should also criticise Viserys, because similar to Rhaenyra he failed in his responsibilities as the King. He made her path to the iron throne more difficult rather than easier. He did not educate her in a manner befitting an heir and furthermore he sowed the seeds of Civil War by having three legitimate sons.

In a world like Westeros you can't just throw away centuries old laws of agnetic primogeniture, you can't declare that your daughter will me the next Queen and you can't expect it to happen peacefully. He thought by just saying it, the people would expect it but no matter what anyone says, history is written by the victors and if Rhaenyra would have one the war, it would have paved the way for a woman to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. That wasn't the case, you can't convince anyone by saying that your father wanted you to be Queen, when the eldest son has been on the throne for years.

It actually shows their inability to understand the world around them. They both failed to make tough but essential decisions. When Alicent gradually took over the small council, Rhaenyra should have thought about taking decisive action to protect her claim, instead she decided to stay in Dragonstone (a major mistake by her). While there is nothing wrong for the rightful Heir to reside there, she wasn't a typical Heir. She should have been by her father's side from the beginning, engaging in political maneuvers but instead she allowed the Greens to gain more influence in the council and the capital.

She was either naive or some might say foolish and to some extent overly self-absorbed for thinking that the realm would accept and love her just because she was the chosen Heir of King Viserys Targaryen.

Some might argue that if the Greens would have done nothing and had Rhaenyra become Queen that there wouldn't have been a War, which might be true in some extent, as King, Viserys and Rhaenyra had a responsibility to prevent succession crises that could tarnish the heir's claim.

Many of Rhaenyra's problems stemmed from her assumption that she wouldn't encounter resistance for the throne or her disregard for how her actions could be used against her. If she had been more strategic she could have consolidate her power, but she created problems for herself by believing she had an unquestionable right to the throne.

If the event of the Dance of the Dragons didn't happen or didn't play as they did, she would have been at least a mediocre Queen, but it's important to note that it's easy to be a good ruler when your playing on easy mode in a peaceful and prosperous realm with no opposition and all you have to do is not screw it up (this goes for both Rhaenyra and Aegon).

When we look at Rhaenyra we can she an entitled woman who often prioritizes her own desires and interests over the wellbeing of the realm. She had three obvious bastards, displayed unnecessary cruelty to her enemies and married Daemon during a politically tumultuous time without regard of her recently deceased husband (in the book he really was killed).

Above all else she consistently avoids putting herself in harms way to advance her cause, leading to disastrous consequences such as Rhaenys's (and may more) death. Moreover she doesn't know how to please and get along with those around her, often appearing stubborn and spiteful. She lacks skills in navigating political situations, she's not adept at fighting or commanding and she fails to effectively utilise people who could support her.

She doesn't seem to have a clear plan in her mind and when her carelessness combined with her growing paranoia following the loss of her children, it became evident that she no longer could be a good Queen. In her short time in King's Landing she began to see enemies all around her and couldn't handle the pressures of being a Queen.

Her attempt to imprison Addam Velaryon solely based on insanity and paranoia is a clear example of her unsuitability for the throne. She is a woman that sought power for its own sake, believing it was her rightful claim, a similar sensebof entitlement can be seen in Daenerys as well (Valaritas has another whole video about that, so feel free to check that one out).

At the end of the day the books may have a bunch of rumours that sometimes exaggerated a lot but still there is a reason why she's called MAEGOR WITH TEATS.

While King's Landing was suffering from starvation, she hosted an extravagant part for her son Joffrey's birthday. She increased taxes and earned the nickname "Maegor with Teats", reflecting her all harsh actions without remorse. She never cared enough about the realm and it's people and she always prioritised her own desires.

This is why Valaritas and I think that (Book) Rhaenyra could never be a good Queen.

P.S.: I wrote this not the minor the work of Valaritas, especially because I basically wrote word for word what he said. His summary is just to perfect to phrase it any different and I for myself am a person that overall enjoys reading something like this more that just clicking on a YouTube link in a post. Non the less I'm putting the video down here for those that rather watch the video then read my text version (with slightly different words here and there)

youtube

#hotd #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #vaemond velaryon #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #maegor with teats #maegor the cruel #maegor targaryen #video to text #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #Youtube

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the12thnightproject · 29 days

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Chapter 20: The Ewok Operation - Okatsu tries to alert Nobunaga about the approaching danger; Mitsunari devises a plan to stall the invaders; and Mitsuhide makes a sacrifice.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

Allocation – a good commander knows when to allocate his resources and personnel in order to achieve their objectives.

Personal comments – Okatsu has been trained as a courier and in reconnaissance. She may be one of the best archers I know. However, while sending her out on a mission makes good strategic sense, I am terrified that she will not return.

This may be the first time I have truly understood the personal costs of the tactics written of in texts. “Resources and personnel” are not simply words and concepts … they are people.

I’d been fast… but not fast enough.

I was close… but not close enough.

Iekane’s men were indeed preparing for a nighttime raid on Genba. Could I still find a way into the castle to warn Nobunaga? The only obvious entry was through the gate, but Iekane showed no sign of abandoning his post. Perhaps I could these-are-not-the-droids-you’re-looking-for my way past him and simply stroll in... no... not wearing these clothes. He'd wonder why I wasn't dressed as Okatsu.

Still, I refused to give up without trying. Maybe there was a hidden way in. If I crept along the outer wall toward Genba’s tenshu, maybe I could find another route. I would have to avoid the wall sentries, of cou-

Where were the sentries?

They ought to have been posted along the walls, but no one was visible. Had they joined Iekane’s troops? Or were they being held prisoner somewhere? Overall, the situation appeared increasingly dire for anyone in Genba, although at least the missing sentries should make it easier for me to get to the tenshu unnoticed.

I found a tree that hung close enough to the wall to allow me to swing over, then ducked out of sight. Keeping my body low, I flattened myself against the stone, crawling slowly toward the tenshu, staying alert to any sound that would indicate an approaching guard.

It was eerily quiet.

Not until I reached the first guard tower did I understand why – the sentries were sprawled out under the tower, bodies stiff and cold, faces frozen in agony, a broken tea pot at their feet. Lady Yone’s calling card. Apparently she had found a use for the torikabuto after all.

I had been too late for these men, too.

Picking up the pace, I hurried toward the tenshu, looking for a door, window, any way in. There was nothing. The window slits were far off the ground, and too small for any human to climb through.

The most frustrating thing? I could even see Nobunaga’s quarters from where I stood. The window slits revealed flashes of green where Hideyoshi paced back and forth, his posture a picture of frustration. Probably he was upset because Mitsunari and I hadn’t come back yet. Nobunaga was sitting calmly, and though I was too far to see the look on his face, I expected that it was reflecting his amusement at Hideyoshi’s agitation. If only I could get one of them to look out - really look - out the window.

In the midst of my churning thoughts, one thing came to mind: "what would Mitsunari do?”

First, he would take stock of his inventory. What did I have with me? My bow and arrows - both my old arrows and the heavier tipped arrows I had purchased in Azuchi. My sword. The war fan Mitsunari had given me. Two daggers. A few acorns. The note the mysterious Kunoichi had slapped into my hand – had that been just yesterday?

Second, he would determine whether the inventory would be useful. Potentially ... could I shoot an arrow into Nobunaga’s room and get his and Hideyoshi’s attention?

Yes of course I could. I’d already tested the blunt tipped arrows and they could easily travel the distance I needed.

Could I manage not to hit Hideyoshi… or anyone else in there? Hideyoshi paced like a dervish, but Nobunaga was holding still. I also caught the flash of Mai’s light purple kimono, but she was sitting down, so she too would be easy to miss.

I would have to time things perfectly to ensure no one got hit. But, if Hideyoshi saw an arrow fly into the room, he was most likely to think it was meant to kill Nobunaga (he already saw assassins under every rock). It was possible he would alert Mouzi and Iekane that Genba was under attack. That was the last thing I wanted.

If I had a brush and ink (my country for an actual pen) I could use the paper from the kunoichi’s note and write a new one... or…

I reread the note: “Hikosane is in danger. Protect him at all costs.”

I tore the note into strips. Now I had a piece that said "In danger." Using my dagger, I cut off a length of material from my kimono. I wrapped the paper around the shaft of the blunt tip arrow, then secured it by tying the fabric around that. It would have to do.

Hideyoshi should recognize the arrow as one from Azuchi, Mai would recognize my kimono fabric.

“In danger" ought to speak for itself.

Plan in place, “all” I had to do was get the arrow through the narrow window slit.

I braced myself against the wall and took careful aim, trying to account for the slight weight of the fabric, waiting for Hideyoshi to clear the window. I would not get a practice shot – I had to get it right the first time.

I was a still as a mountain.

I listened for the wind, but it was a calm, still day.

I pulled back on the string…

Focused, picturing in my mind the arrow zipping easily through the slits…

Breathing into my belly…

And…

Now!

I loosed the arrow.

The shot was true and zipped through the tiny space (ha! The next time someone needs a shot to go through an air duct in a Death Star, they should call me). From my vantage, I could see Hideyoshi immediately throw himself in front of Nobunaga and Mai. He pulled them both below the sightlines of the window.

After a long moment, he cautiously peered through the window. I could tell from his posture the exact second he spotted the dead sentries, and beyond that, the warriors creeping through the trees.

Before I could wave to get his attention, I heard a single set of footsteps and the rattle of the lacquered armor Mozumi’s sentries wore. Was this someone simply investigating why the call to change the guard hadn’t gone out? Or did they already know? At this point, it was impossible to tell who was with Iekane, and who was not. Either way, I did not want to stick around to explain. Hopefully I had given Nobunaga and Hideyoshi enough warning to either escape or to barricade themselves inside and hold out until rescue.

Three days.

Three days for Masamune and Ieyasu to arrive with reinforcements. Until then, our small group would need to find a way to slow down Iekane’s forces and try to assist Nobunaga from the outside.

I retraced my steps along the wall to return to the cover of the trees, but the tree branch I had used to swing to the top of the wall, had, without my weight, sprung back out of reach. Climbing down the wall was my only option. I found a portion of the wall that was in deep shadow thanks to the mountain and the angle of the courtyard, and descended as carefully as I could, before letting go about halfway down to drop quietly to the soft grass.

It was about twenty meters to the cover of the forest. If I was going to be seen or caught, it would be while I was running through the patch of open land. I could cover that distance in less than five seconds. As long as no one was looking in my direction… I could manage that.

If I was lucky.

Anxious that at any moment I would hear the shout of a guard or the crack of a musket, I sprinted for the forest, my breath in my ears, and the pounding of my feet seeming loud enough to echo through the mountains.

When I was safely above ground again, clinging to the upper branches of a friendly cedar tree, it was all I could do to not wrap myself around the trunk and never let go. But… I’d made it this far. I could make it back to Mitsunari.

As quietly as I could, I crept over the men who were hunkered down throughout the forest around Genba. Although they weren’t especially loud, they weren't trying to be quiet either. Their ambient noise was enough that I was able to pass above without attracting any attention.

Once I passed the initial ring of camps, there were fewer soldiers to avoid, which made it all the more shocking when I heard the words, "--have no interest in you. I was tryin' to retrieve a runaway horse."

It was a peasant’s dialect.

It was Mitsuhide’s voice.

I froze where I was, as the voices grew louder, clearer.

"A runaway horse? Yours?" Unfamiliar voice, faint coastal accent-which would make sense for one of Iekane's vassals from Tsuruga.

In another moment Mitsuhide appeared, acting unconcerned by the fact that he was surrounded by several armed men, one of whom I recognized as one of Iekane's personal guards.

Should I try to rescue him? I knew how Mitsuhide would answer that. He would say no. I wasn’t certain he even needed rescuing. Mitsuhide was wily. Maybe he could get out of this on his own.

"Not my horse. It belongs to my master, and if I want to keep my head attached to my body, I need to get her back before he notices she's gone.” Mitsuhide made a move to leave, but the men had their swords out before he could take a step.

"Your master ... that would be Oda Nobunaga, would it not?" Iekane’s guard was neither unobservant, now stupid. "I've seen you talking with him in the stables."

Well. Hell. He might need an assist after all. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t had to assist from a tree bef--? … a wave of dizziness passed through me while in my head, there was a vision, as clear as memory of sitting in a tree, my arrow trained on a group of ronin who were menacing hapless travelers. But. Though it was clear as memory… this had never happened.

Why was it in my head?

In my distraction, I shifted forward, and the sudden change in balance rustled the tree at just the wrong moment.

At the sound, Mitsuhide’s eyes flicked upward. Though I had immediately pressed myself backward, nearly out of sight, I know he saw me. He tromped loudly on a piece of dead wood near his feet.

“Oda pays my salary, yes. A man’s got to eat.” Mitsuhide spit on the ground. "Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Or him. Wouldn’t care if I threw my lot in with you, if the pay ain’t bad.”

What?

Was Mitsuhide actually the traitor history had made him out to be?

No, that couldn’t be right. He’d seen me. If he were a traitor, he would have revealed my hiding place. Without looking again at where I was hiding, Mitsuhide made an obvious show of scratching his his nose. Was he signalling me? The nose scratch was a signal that Aki and I often used – it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch of the imagination that Mitsuhide was aware of Aki’s signals.

Message received. I didn’t like it, but Mitsuhide, for whatever reason, wanted to stay with these men. Maybe he was playing along to learn more details about Iekane’s plans and assets.

I stayed motionless on my perch, hardly taking a breath, until they moved on in the direction of the castle.

It was only after the woods were quiet again, that I realized I didn’t know if Mitsuhide had managed to contact Kyubei before he encountered Iekane’s men.

“We've got problems,” had been my blunt way to announce my return. “More problems.” Probably I should have built up to that, but my entire trek back to the camp had been a mental recitation of everything that had already gone wrong or that could go wrong.

Despite my announcement, the look that I received from Mitsunari was one of relief. “It’s been a long time since you left.”

“Mitsunari was pacing!” Hikosane looked up from where he had apparently taken over the cooking. Well. He couldn’t do any worse than Shohime who had cajun-cooked the rabbit, or Mitsunari who thought that his tea leaf stew was drinkable.

“Oh. I’m sorry … it didn’t really feel that long on my end. I was too busy with… stuff.” I explained about Mitsuhide, repeating everything I had overheard. “He knew I was in the tree, listening, so for whatever reason, he intends to stay with Iekane’s army for a while.”

"If he was with them, then he will do his best to learn as much about their assets, then destroy them from the inside until he can find a way to escape.” Mitsunari glanced down at his notebook which he had already filled with various plans. “I trust he knows what he is doing. However, I wish he had told me what he intended.”

Generally, I was less trusting than that, but there wasn't a lot we could do about Mitsuhide at this point anyway, "I don’t know if he made it to Takayama to get a message to Kyubei. Iekane's men are creeping all over the woods. He could have run into them anywhere.”

Mitsunari was silent for a long moment. “We will proceed as if he made it. Because the alternative is too bleak to consider. What is the situation at Genba?”

Otherwise known as: Okatsu delivers bad news part three. “Iekane was at the castle gates. I couldn't get near enough to personally warn Nobunaga either.”

"But... you did something didn’t you." Mitsunari stated it calmly, confident that I had figured out a plan. I wanted to bathe in that confidence.

Before I could respond to him though Hikosane asked, "Do you think that he will attack my father?"

"He might, if he thinks your father is in the way of what he wants." Honestly, I wasn’t sure if Mozumi was still alive. The fact that the sentries had been poisoned suggested that he wasn’t aware of Iekane and Yone’s plans, although I didn’t have any solid evidence of that either. I didn’t want to upset his children any more than they were already. Instead, to Mitsunari, I said, "I was able to shoot an arrow into the room where Hideyoshi, Nobunaga and Mai were. I stuck half of the ninja's note on it; the part that said 'in danger! Hopefully that will be enough of a warning."

Mitsunari’s confidence extended to Hideyoshi and Nobunaga. "They will understand. Hideyoshi will try to get Nobunaga out, or if he cannot, he will protect him with his life." I wished I had his certainty. Mitsunari must have read my expression, for he added, "I acknowledge the situation is not good, but I am hopeful we can devise a strategy to help them until Masamune and Ieyasu arrive with reinforcements.”

"Then. Let's get to work. We will be... like..." I could think of no example that he would relate to.

"Like?" He prompted me with a gentle smile.

With a sigh, I finished with the word, "Ewoks." Before he, or anyone else could ask, I hurried on to say, "they are in a story from my village. Their fighters were outnumbered. But they were in their home forest and they knew the land. They were able to use small, directly focused attacks to delay the enemy until the main force was able to destroy the enemy’s base."

"Ah, so this strategy can be titled 'the Ewok Operation.’ " Mitsunari wrote the words down in his notebook.

Sure. Why not?

"We must acquire more fighters, weapons, and tools." Mitsunari said. "The armies generally keep supplies in their rear guard. If we can capture one... or more of those, we'd be in a better position." He turned to Shohime. "Will any of your father’s vassals fight against Lady Yone, or will they assume that any instructions she gives them come from Mozumi?

Shohime frowned. "Yone is not popular. Many of my father’s vassals do not live in Genba Castle, but in manors and a garrison further down the mountain. They may not be aware of the current situation."

"I'll alert them!" Hikosane jumped to his feet and was halfway out of the clearing before Shohime grabbed the back of his haori and pulled him back. "I can do this. They'll know me."

The warning note about Hikosane’s danger was still fresh in my mind. I didn’t know where it came from or if he was still under threat, but there was no way I would be letting him go off on his own. In fact, I wouldn’t send any ten year old out into the forest, especially not at night. The sun was already setting, and it would be fully dark before he got very far. "Then I'm going with you."

“No.” Mitsunari’s prior gentleness was replace by a firm order. “We will all go.” His tone said, ‘don’t argue.’

I argued. “Hikosane and I will be faster if it’s just the two of us.”

“We split up before and lost Mitsuhide. Okatsu, I know you are strong. Capable. I do not doubt your skills. But… waiting for you to return.” He tapped his chest. “It hurts in a way that nothing ever has before.”

It’s impossible to win an argument of logic against someone’s feelings.

Hikosane led us along a narrow trail down the mountain until we reached the manor of Susumu, who Shohime assured us was loyal to the Kanamori. “He is my mother’s cousin and has no reason to follow Lady Yone’s orders.

While we waited for the gates to open to us, I looked around. The manor was small, but neatly kept up. Someone here appreciated order and, if the statues of Raijin and Fujin were any indication, had a healthy respect for the weather. But what I didn’t see, was evidence of a personal guard or a lot of vassals. Maybe Susumu would be willing to aid us… but how much aid could he afford?

Though it had gotten late, Susumu was still awake, and he was in his receiving room writing letters by the light of two lanterns. When he saw Hikosane and Shohime, he immediately bowed low. "Lord Hikosane, Princess Shohime, this is unexpected." He turned a questioning look at Mitsunari and I.

Hikosane hastily introduced me as, "This is one of Oda Nobunaga’s trusted vassals, Ishida Mitsunari, and his fiancée, Oda Okatsu. Not only is she a Princess, she’s one of Nobunaga's kunoichi."

Field promotion! (Though Nobunaga, not to mention Hideyoshi would be shocked to learned he employed a kunoichi). Hikosane knew the Mozumi vassals better than I and if they were wont to be impressed by titles and female ninjas, I was not going to argue.

Before we could get trapped in a polite small talk rabbit hole, Shohime jumped in. “Lord Susumu, we need your help. Genba is under attack.” Interestingly, I noticed she had abandoned her helpless princess act. There were no tears, no handwringing – this Shohime was all warrior.

“What?” Susumu looked from Hikosane to Shohime with confusion. “How?”

Hikosane gestured to Mitsunari, who expertly relayed the situation as only a military commander could. Susumu, nodded along, his knuckles tightening on the edge of his desk as the import of the crisis sunk in.

"How quickly can you gather my father's vassals?” Hikosane asked, once Mitsunari had finished.

Susumu frowned. "By sunrise, however the problem is few of them are left to be summoned. Your father ordered General Makino and over one hundred men to accompany the latest shipment of silver to the coast. He said he’d received credible information that the shipment had been targeted by robbers."

Damn it. The orders must have come from Iekane. Lady Yone, or maybe they had convinced Mozumi that that had been necessary. But now was not the moment to worry about that. If we couldn’t convince Susumu to help us, then we had lost before we began. "How many are left? It's unfortunate that your general has gone with the shipment although Mitsunari is an expert strategist.”

A quick smile bloomed across Mitsunari’s face at my praise before he put his ‘serious strategist’ expression back on. “If I know our resources, I can deploy them where they will be most effective. Mozumi’s vassals know the territory. Iekane’s mercenaries do not. This is to our advantage.”

"I believe there may be up to twenty vassals and an additional dozen support staff." Susumu strode into the corridor and requested a waiting page to round up every man in his household. "I'll send out messages to the others.”

As the page departed, a young woman entered the room. She bowed low to us. “Susumu, why did you not alert me that we had visitors? Lord Hikosane, Princess Shohime, I must apologize for my husband’s lack of manners.” Susumu’s wife appeared to be much younger than her spouse, but she looked at him with affection and trust.

“Lady Hana. Do not trouble yourself on our account.” Shohime again blew past the small talk. “We are not able to stay.”

After pressing a kiss on Hana’s cheek, Susumu relayed a series of household orders that Hana nodded at with enough familiarity to suggest this was not the first time he’d needed to go off to war in the middle of the night. She headed directly to a wall, where several swords were displayed, removed one, and handed it to him with the competence of a soldier.

And… I had a thought. “Lady Hana, are you much of an archer?”

Without prompting, the much-smarter-than-anyone-knew Shohime picked up where I was going. “She’s very good. As are many of the wives and daughters in the Kanamori clan.”

“How many of these wives and daughters would be willing to,” I paused, because willing wasn’t going to be enough in this era. “And, um, permitted to join us?” I glanced at Mitsunari, hoping he wasn’t upset that I had just usurped his authority.

“Trained archers would be very useful,” he agreed. “On a voluntary basis, of course.”

Susumu and his wife looked at each other, in one of those long, silent marital conversations. One that Hana apparently won, for he sighed and nodded. “If the situation is as you said, we will need them. I would trust her to defend the house, and therefore, I will trust her to help defend Genba.”

That decided, Mitsunari began to herd us out. “Thank you, Lord Susumu. We’ll leave you to make your preparations.” He turned to Hikosane, who appeared to be on the verge of pouting at being left out the recent discussions. “Do you know of an adequate location for everyone to meet?”

"Iekane’s men have the castle surrounded," I reminded Hikosane.

“I am not likely to have forgotten that.” Alright, someone has apparently taught this child sarcasm.

Hm. That someone may have been myself.

"Thirty men plus an unknown number of female archers." If he was disappointed, Mitsunari didn’t show it. "If we can capture some of their supplies, that will make their siege more difficult. We can then send out smaller groups on hit and run missions to harass Iekane's army."

We had returned to our old campsite, as Mitsunari had determined that most efficient place to meet with the Kanamori vassals was at the crossroads. Eventually, though, our base of operations would be moving to an old Takeda signal tower. Though the Takeda no longer held any territory around here, the towers still stood. Mitsunari had determined that both would be useful for our purposes. “We can use one as a line of defense for our small forces and the more hidden one as a place to keep the wounded."

My initial relief at getting the vassals dwindled. Wounded. Yes of course there would be wounded. Hopefully we'd be able to get some medical supplies when we attacked their rear guard. "We have a little while until sunrise, what would you like me to do?" It had become second nature to defer to Mitsunari in matters of military.

"Sleep. You must be exhausted by this time." He patted the ground next to him. He'd built up a small bed of leaves and spread his cloak on it. "If you won't listen to me as your fiancé, then consider it an order."

Well... I didn't like it, but I knew better than to break the chain of command. Still, technically it was Mitsuhide who was my boss and… "What are we going to do about Mitsuhide?"

"I have to trust that he knows what he is doing." Again, he patted the ground. "I need you alert later, so sleep now."

That argument made enough sense to me that I lay down as directed and closed my eyes. I didn't know if I could manage to sleep, but what Mitsunari didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. I felt him scoot closer to me, then his fingers combed through my hair the way he had that first night we were in Genba castle, when all we'd had to worry about was keeping up the act. But his hands were as strong and sure as before and I found myself relaxing under the gentle rhythm of his touch, until I drifted off...

When I woke up some time later the first thing that my conscious mind registered was the low tones of Mitsunari discussing strategy with...

Was that Sasuke's voice?

I sat up quickly, trying to shake off the specter of sleep; but the first person I saw wasn't Sasuke. Sitting just a meter away, his hands on his knees as he watched me was-

"Toshiie?!"

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