#elizabeth stride

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By Parissa DJangi

August 18, 2023

Some say he was a surgeon. Others, a deranged madman — or perhaps a butcher, prince, artist, or specter.

The murderer known to history as Jack the Ripper terrorized London 135 years ago this fall.

In the subsequent century, he has been everything to everyone, a dark shadow on which we pin our fears and attitudes.

But to five women, Jack the Ripper was not a legendary phantom or a character from a detective novel — he was the person who horrifically ended their lives.

“Jack the Ripper was a real person who killed real people,” reiterates historian Hallie Rubenhold, whose book, The Five, chronicles the lives of his victims. “He wasn’t a legend.”

Who were these women? They had names: Mary Ann “Polly” Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly.

They also had hopes, loved ones, friends, and, in some cases, children.

Their lives, each one unique, tell the story of 19th-century London, a city that pushed them to its margins and paid more attention to them dead than alive.

Terror in Whitechapel

Their stories did not all begin in London, but they ended there, in and around the crowded corner of the metropolis known as Whitechapel, a district in London’s East End.

“Probably there is no such spectacle in the whole world as that of this immense, neglected, forgotten great city of East London,” Walter Bessant wrote in his novel All Sorts and Conditions of Men in 1882.

“It is even neglected by its own citizens, who had never yet perceived their abandoned condition.”

The “abandoned” citizens of Whitechapel included some of the city’s poorest residents.

Immigrants, transient laborers, families, single women, thieves — they all crushed together in overflowing tenements, slums, and workhouses.

According to historian Judith Walkowitz:

“By the 1880s, Whitechapel had come to epitomize the social ills of ‘Outcast London,’ a place where sin and poverty comingled in the Victorian imagination, shocking the middle classes."

Whitechapel transformed into a scene of horror when the lifeless, mutilated body of Polly Nichols was discovered on a dark street in the early morning hours of August 31, 1888.

She became the first of Jack the Ripper’s five canonical victims, the core group of women whose murders appeared to be related and occurred over a short span of time.

Over the next month, three more murdered women would be found on the streets of the East End.

They had been killed in a similar way: their throats slashed, and, in most cases, their abdomens disemboweled.

Some victims’ organs had been removed. The fifth murder occurred on November 9, when the Ripper butchered Mary Jane Kelly with such barbarity that she was nearly unrecognizable.

This so-called “Autumn of Terror” pushed Whitechapel and the entire city into a panic, and the serial killer’s mysterious identity only heightened the drama.

The press sensationalized the astonishingly grisly murders — and the lives of the murdered women.

Polly, Annie, Elizabeth, Catherine, and Mary Jane

Though forever linked by the manner of their death, the five women murdered by Jack the Ripper shared something else in common:

They were among London’s most vulnerable residents, living on the margins of Victorian society.

They eked out a life in the East End, drifting in and out of workhouses, piecing together casual jobs, and pawning their few possessions to afford a bed for a night in a lodging house.

If they could not scrape together the coins, they simply slept on the street.

“Nobody cared about who these women were at all,” Rubenhold says. “Their lives were incredibly precarious.”

Polly Nichols knew precarity well. Born in 1845, she fulfilled the Victorian ideal of proper womanhood when she became a wife at the age of 18.

But after bearing five children, she ultimately left her husband under suspicions of his infidelity.

Alcohol became both a crutch and curse for her in the final years of her life.

Alcohol also hastened Annie Chapman’s estrangement from what was considered a respectable life.

Annie Chapman was born in 1840 and spent most of her life in London and Berkshire.

With her marriage to John Chapman, a coachman, in 1869, Annie positioned herself in the top tier of the working class.

But her taste for alcohol and the loss of her children unraveled her family life, and Annie ended up in the East End.

Swedish-born Elizabeth Stride was an immigrant, like thousands of others who lived in the East End.

Born in 1843, she came to England when she was 22. In London, Stride reinvented herself time and time again, becoming a wife and coffeehouse owner.

Catherine Eddowes­­, who was born in Wolverhampton in 1842 and moved to London as a child, lost both of her parents by the time she was 15.

She spent most of her adulthood with one man, who fathered her children. Before her murder, she had just returned to London after picking hops in Kent, a popular summer ritual for working-class Londoners.

At 25, Mary Jane Kelly was the youngest, and most mysterious, of the Ripper’s victims.

Kelly reportedly claimed she came from Ireland and Wales before settling in London.

She had a small luxury that the others did not: She rented a room with a bed. It would become the scene of her murder.

Yet the longstanding belief that all of these women were sex workers is a myth, as Rubenhold demonstrates in The Five.

Only two of the women — Stride and Kelly — were known to have engaged in sex work during their lives.

The fact that all of them have been labeled sex workers highlights how Victorians saw poor, unhoused women.

“They have been systematically ‘othered’ from society,” Rubenhold says,"even though this is how the majority lived.”

These women were human beings with a strong sense of personhood. According to biographer Robert Hume, their friends and neighbors described them as “industrious,” “jolly,” and “very clean.”

They lived, they loved, they existed — until, very suddenly on a dark night in 1888, they did not.

A long shadow

The discovery of Annie Chapman’s body on September 8 heightened panic in London, since her wounds echoed the shocking brutality of Polly Nichols’ murder days earlier.

Investigators realized that the same killer had likely committed both crimes — and he was still on the loose. Who would he strike next?

In late September, London’s Central News Office received a red-inked letter that claimed to be from the murderer. It was signed “Jack the Ripper.”

Papers across the city took the name and ran with it. Press coverage of the Whitechapel Murders crescendoed to a fever pitch.

Newspapers danced the line between fact and fiction, breathlessly recounting every gruesome detail of the crimes and speculating with wild abandon about the killer’s identity.

Today, that impulse endures, and armchair detectives and professional investigators alike have proposed an endless parade of suspects, including artist Walter Sickert, writer Lewis Carroll, sailor Carl Feigenbaum, and Aaron Kosminski, an East End barber.

"The continued fascination with unmasking the murderer perpetuates this idea that Jack the Ripper is a game,” Rubenhold says.

She sees parallels between the gamification of the Whitechapel Murders and the modern-day obsession with true crime.

“When we approach true crime, most of the time we approach as if it was legend, as if it wasn’t real, as if it didn’t happen to real people.”

“These crimes still happen today, and we are still not interested in the victims,” Rubenhold laments.

The Whitechapel Murders remain unsolved after 135 years, and Rubenhold believes that will never change:

“We’re not going to find anything that categorically tells us who Jack the Ripper is.”

Instead, the murders tell us about the values of the 19th century — and the 21st.

[scholarofgloom]

[littlequeenies]

*Check out our blogspot for victorian Whitechapel here*

World Television Day

On the 21st of November is World Television Day. Obviously, on Victorian times the TV didn't exist yet, but there are some TV films, series and mini-series that portrayed the Whitechapel Murder Victims. As a way of tributing these women, we decided to celebrate World Television Day by posting TV shows that featured them.

Jack The Ripper (1988 mini series):

In this TV mini-series starring Michael Caine, Annie Chapman is played by Deirdre Costello:

Angela Crow plays Liz Stride:

Susan George plays Catherine Eddowes:

And Lysette Anthony plays the role of Mary Kelly:

The Ripper (1997 TV film):

In this TV movie, Josephine Keen plays the role of Elizabeth Stride:

Catherine Eddowes is played by an unknown actress (please, contact me if you can identify her!):

And Mary Kelly is played by Karen Davitt:

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World (2001 TV Series):

In this fantasy TV series, there is an episode about the Whitechapel murders, the 5th episode of the 3rd season called "The Knife".

In it, Jennifer O'Dell plays Catherine Eddowes:

And Rachel Blakely plays the role of Mary Kelly:

--

PS: As Tumblr only allows to post 10 photos in one post, I cannot post the shows posters.

[leonisandmurex]

Don't mess with Anne & her Mother!

↳ Don't mess with Anne & her Granddaughters!

Princess Anne with Queen Elizabeth ii & Princess Anne with Savannah Phillips, Isla Phillips & Mia Tindall || 1955 & 2019 

[mariocki]

A Ghost Story for Christmas: The Ice House (BBC, 1978)

"Who are these people, the people here?"

"Guests. They saw our advertisement and came to us, as you did."

"You take no care of them."

"You do not see the care we take of them."

"Comparatively. Your care is all for me. You have given me individual attention."

"Well, you are the most recent. They have all been here some time."

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Delicate part.1

Description: As a young knight, Ser Gwayne Hightower journeys to King's Landing to take part in his first tourney. Eager to see his beloved sister Alicent and prove himself to his distant father, Gwayne finds himself enamoured by Alicent's friend.

Part 2

Writer's note: Elizabeth here. I thought I would try my hand at writing a story for the icon that is Gwayne Hightower. The reader/Y/N of the story will be on the asexual spectrum.

Warnings: Female reader/Y/N, but I won't be going into details about their appearance. Team Green sentiments. Positive sentiments towards Alicent (I can't help it, I love her).

The sun shone over King’s Landing, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and spice from the port and markets of Fleabottom across the air, as a young knight rode towards the Red Keep. As the imposing structure of the Red Keep came into view, Ser Gwayne Hightower struggled to fully suppress the trepidation he felt as he approached the entrance and was hailed by two guards.

“Who goes there?”

Pushing his nervousness as a young knight of but ten and seven years aside, he schooled his expression into one conveying the confidence of a knight far beyond his years. Arriving at the King’s stronghold to compete in his first tournament against other knights, not just bannermen of the Hightowers from Oldtown, he attempted to conceal any signs of apprehension from his features.

“You may announce the arrival of Ser Gwayne Hightower, son of the Hand of the King, my good man, and do make haste about it. The journey has been long, and I would benefit from the illustrious hospitality of your King.” He addressed the guards before him, with not a small degree of arrogance, a smirk on his face.

Presenting his patent of nobility, illustrated with the green and black sigil of his House, with a flourish, he nodded respectfully towards the guards as they granted him admittance to the Red Keep. Riding forth with an air of confidence he did not fully feel, an illusion he was no stranger to assuming, he surveyed the vastness of the King’s stronghold. Meeting the gaze of any knight’s he encountered on his progress with a jaunty smirk and nod in their direction, he dismounted from his horse gracefully, before entrusting it to the care of a stable boy, ruffling the boy’s hair as he did so.

His first order of business was to locate his dear sister, who he had not seen for many months now, but who he sorely missed, living so far away from her as he did in his father’s seat in Oldtown.

Gwayne made his way through the Keep, familiar with the route to the courtyard where he expected to find his dear sister, knowing from her letters and his previous visits it to be the place she often sought repose from the pressures of Court. 

Striding along the balustrade overhanging the courtyard, he knew he was right when he heard the sweet sound of his sister's laughter, accompanied by that of another's. He promptly increased the pace of his strides in anticipation of their happy reunion after months apart. His Lord father's decision to take Alicent with him to King's Landing, leaving him to preside over their seat in Oldtown, had been a source of pain for them both. Two years her senior, Gwayne doted on his sister, even more so after the untimely death of their beloved mother when Alicent was but ten and twelve years old. Gwayne had always sought to compensate for the loss of their mother's loving presence with his attentive care and love towards his sister, something his own father was unwilling or unable to provide them with. Alicent had clung to him and wept when she was leaving High Tower and he was scarcely able to suppress his own emotions, as he tried to comfort her, promising to write to her everyday and to visit when he could.

Alicent had written to Gwayne immediately to inform him that the King was to hold a tourney, asking him to arrive at the Keep a few weeks before the event, so that they could extend their time together. Gwayne had sent his acquiescence to her request by raven the next day, rejoicing at the thought of reuniting with his beloved sister and escaping the suffocating halls of his ancestral home. In the absence of the warmth of his late mother's love and his sister's laugh, as he chased her through the halls, his home had the ominous feeling of being haunted by shadows of long past happiness. 

Hearing more laughter, he looked over the balustrade onto the courtyard below, expecting to call out in greeting to Alicent. He paused, however, when instead of Alicent, he saw another young lady standing in the middle of the courtyard by the white trunk of a tree. Her eyes were closed and she smiled as she counted down from ten, before opening them rapidly and looking about her.

"I'm coming to get you, Alicent!" 

He was arrested in his movements by the sight of her, struck by her pretty features. A smile grew on his own face as he watched their game continue. His heart was warmed to see that his sister had not been without friendship in King's Landing, and this warm feeling extended to the lady searching for his sister below. 

He quietly chuckled in amusement as he saw the girl search this way and that for Alicent, and he slowly made his descent to the courtyard, careful not to make too much noise, and alert her to his presence. 

Approaching the lady, who now searched for Alicent behind the trunk of the tree, with careful steps he bent his torso to lower his head next to hers and whisper conspiratorially near her ear.

"I do believe, my dear Lady, that my sister is to be found yonder, by that bushel." 

Surprised by his presence, the lady let out a high pitched shriek and stumbled back a step, tripping over a raised stump of the tree. 

His eyes widening in alarm, not having truly intended to frighten her, he swiftly reached his arm out to encircle her waist and prevent her from falling. Holding her hand in his free hand, he looked into her eyes with concern.

"Are you well, my Lady? I apologise for startling you."

A brief look of confusion passed over the lady's expression before she processed what had happened, and it was was replaced by a stern one. Holding onto his elbows to right herself, she responded with a chastising tone, promptly removing herself from his hold

"I don't know what you mean by sneaking up behind me, Ser."

Seeing that she was unharmed by his fumble, and seeking to restore himself to her good opinion, he rallied himself.

With a charming grin, he elegantly bowed before her, one hand on his heart and the other taking hers confidently in his to plant a gentle kiss on it. 

"Please accept this Knight's humble apologies, my dear Lady. I had only meant to aid you in your game." 

He frowned slightly as the lady quickly withdrew her hand from his, fearing he had really offended her.

"Spoil it, more likely" Alicent laughed, emerging from behind the bushel Gwayne had indicated a moment ago. 

Pulling his eyes away from those of the beautiful lady before him to meet his sister's sally, Gwayne opened his arms out to her, "sister!"

Alicent needed no further invitation before she ran into his arms and he lifted her up, spinning her half a turn, before returning her to the ground and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

Once again turning with what he hoped was a winning smile to the lady before them, Gwayne sought to invest as much charm as he could into his voice.

"I have yet to be introduced to your lovely friend, sister."

Looking up at him with her own stern look, Alicent playfully swiped at his shoulder.

"You have already made a mess of that, brother. You half frightened Lady Y/N to death when you rudely interrupted." 

With an exaggerated sigh, Gwayne responded to his sister's accusation.

"I know I am the basest of villains and I will put myself to the sword forthwith if the Lady Y/N will not forgive me my crime." He rejoined, solemnly, bending his head in mock dejection, even as he really did feel contrite to have frightend the young lady.

Slapping him on the back of the head, which had Gwayne holding his neck in mock pain, Alicent pressed her index finger to his chest and warned him.

"Y/N won't be charmed by your antics, Gwayne. I have warned her of them beforehand."

Smiling indulgently down at his sister before looking over at the lady Y/N once again, who he rejoiced to see smiling in amusement at the two siblings, he held his hand to his heart dramatically, as if her words were an arrow through it.

"You wound me sister. I was under the impression you had asked me here to be your champion at the upcoming tourney, precisely because I am the most charming of knights. I hadn't realised I needed to be good with the lance too. An unfortunate oversight. I had thought my charming smile would be enough to fend the other knights off."

The laughter of the ladies at his antics sounded like the delicate chime of bells to him, and he was elated to have entertained them both and, hopefully, returned himself to the good favour of the pretty lady before him. 

Meeting her gaze with his own, a softened expression on it, which communicated his contrition for having startled her, despite his jesting, his heart fluttered as she met his gaze with an amused smile.

"I'm afraid you are to meet a swift and brutal defeat, Ser, if your charm is the only weapon in your arsenal."

Laughing heartily at her wit, he winked in response.

"Fear not, sweet ladies, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, should my smile not be enough to blind the other knights. Although I am convinced that it will be."

As introductions were made, the three sat together underneath the russett foliage of the tree above them, exchanging recollections from their childhoods and talking excitedly of the plans they had to make the most of their time together before the tourney.

After an hour or so had passed of Gwayne delighting in amusing the ladies with his, admittedly, embellished tales of gallantry and heroism, his face fell slightly.

The sparkle in his eye diminishing, he turned to Alicent.

"With regret, my dear ladies, I have tarried too long in your sweet company and must present myself to my father."

Alicent looked commiseratingly at her brother, knowing as she did how little her Lord Father cared for his son's presence. 

"I'm sure father will be most pleased to see you. In any case, I certainly am." 

Looking up at his sister from his somewhat reclined position along the grass, in front of the two ladies, his expression softened and he squeezed her hand affectionately before jumping up. 

Bowing before the ladies respectfully, he wished them a good afternoon before turning on his heel in the direction of his father's apartments, little expecting a happy reunion. 

Otto Hightower's reception of his son was as cold as he had expected it to be but, mercifully, short. He had only expressed his expectation that his son would perform to the honour of their House at the upcoming tourney, and shown him his living quarters, which were along the hall from Alicent's.

At dinner, Gwayne and Alicent had only been able to exchange glances at one another in solidarity. He had sought her out in her own apartments afterwards to catch up on the events they had missed in each other's lives over the course of months of separation.

With a boyish timidity, Gwayne asked Alicent if he might join her in her activities the following day, outside of his own training schedule. Looking indulgently at her brother and taking his hand in hers, she responded in a light, jesting tone.

"Why on earth do you think I asked you here, if not to spend time with me, you fool?"

Smiling at her in earnest now, Gwayne playfully tapped his chin.

"As I said, sister, my charming smile and dashing manner will be your champions at the tourney." 

Gwayne allowed himself to fall backwards against the chaise he was sitting on as his sister playfully pushed him in the chest and rolled her eyes at him. 

Smirking at his sister, Gwayne posed his next question with a similarly jesting tone, which he hoped concealed his vested interest in her answer.

"And will your lovely friend be joining us?" He asked, a glint in his eye. 

Alicent swatted him on the shoulder.

"Y/N has been a good friend to me. The days have not been half so long or lonely since I met her. I do hope you two will be good friends. I’ve told her so much about you."

"Nothing good, I hope," he smirked. "I have a reputation as a shameless charmer to maintain."

"Be good, Gwayne. She won't fall for your charm."

Rising to bid Gwayne good night as she left the room, Alicent did not hear Gwayne murmur quietly, "we'll see about that."

Part 2 up

@liafiction @ambrosia-v-black @darknessinside11 @just-some-random-blogger

[aquitainequeen]

I've always liked the establishing character moments in the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice; e.g. Bingley is jolly and friendly but tends to be a little too reliant on Darcy's advice and approval; Darcy's rich and snobbish while also a good friend to Bingley; Elizabeth is cheerful and independent; Mr. Bennet is scholarly and clearly isn't that fond of his wife and younger daughters, but obviously loves Elizabeth, etc.

But I've only just now realised that Georgiana Darcy has three such moments.

The first is when Caroline is telling Jane via letter that the Bingleys are going to stay in London for a while, and that she's hoping that her brother will marry Georgiana. We've heard her mentioned before by Darcy, Caroline and Wickham; now we see her in person for the first time, standing arm in arm with her brother before confidently going to meet Bingley:

This is a really interesting moment, because it could be what happened in reality - but that's highly doubtful; Georgiana is far too confident here compared with what we see later in the story and it's very unlikely she'd be interested in a new suitor after what happened so recently with Wickham. Thus it's either Caroline playing up their meeting in her own mind, anticipating their courtship and marriage, or it's Elizabeth picturing what happened, fuelled by her own resentment of how Wickham was supposedly treated by the proud, selfish, unfeeling Darcys. So the first time we see Georgiana is deeply influenced by what two other very biased characters think they see.

The next moment is here:

This time around Georgiana doesn't say a word or take the initiative; it's Wickham who takes her hand to kiss it, flirts excessively with her without saying a word, and strides off while she looks after him longingly, the beginnings of her smile fading as Darcy's handwriting takes over the screen. This is a rather biased moment as well; it's Darcy's flashback and he wasn't here for this bit, so he'd inevitably picture Georgiana as a sweet innocent completely swept off her feet by the charming man he so despises - but Darcy also knows his sister far better than Caroline and Elizabeth do, and she confesses everything to him once he discovers them at Ramsgate, so this is very likely how it went down in real life. And thus we get that much closer to the real Georgiana.

Finally, at the beginning of the fifth episode, we meet Georgiana in the flesh,

waiting nervously to be introduced,

smiling as soon as Darcy steps aside,

so nervous but so very pleased to meet Elizabeth,

hesistant and selfconcious but very interested in learning more about Elizabeth, coming further out of her protective shell, full of love and praise for her brother, earnestly saying that she should have liked to have had a sister. And Elizabeth, like the audience, is charmed by the real Georgiana.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

I find it interesting how the ASOIAF fandom is so quick to demonize Alysanne for her treatment of Viserra and Saera. Now I'm not saying that Alysanne was right, nor am I trying to attack Viserra and Saera. However, I've seen many people in this fandom choose to use these as actions as excuses to dismiss Alysanne as misogynistic and a defender of the patriarchy.

GRRM, as we all know, loves gray characters. Alysanne Targaryen is a woman who fought for the betterment of women and the smallfolk. throughout Westeros. She also advocated for her firstborn, Daenerys, to be named heir over Aemon before little Daenerys tragically died. Alysanne facilitated massive progress in Westeros and had the most power as a consort after the Conquerors.

Despite these things, she is still a product of her time. Alysanne clearly believes in arranged marriages and wants her children, particularly her daughters to follow her wishes. These are bad things, obviously, and she shows hypocrisy considering how she herself fled arranged marriages and defied social norms.

HOWEVER, these do not negate the good things she did. Just like how Elizabeth I treated Mary Queen of Scots doesn't negate the progress she led. Alysanne is a complex character, who does bad things and good things. To fully understand her, all these things must be considered.

She isn't just a shitty mom and a hypocrite. She's a woman who made massive strides in women's rights in Westeros. It's totally fair to dislike Alysanne, just like it is to like her character. However, choosing to ignore or dismiss her good actions because of her bad ones is just wrong.

This fandom so often reduces female characters to their flaws and wrong actions. Alysanne is just as complex as the male characters of F&B, and deserves to be considered as a whole character like they are.

[halfagone]

Before The Wayne Came A Kane

Martha Wayne née Kane came from a very prestigious family even before she married her husband, the illustrious M.D. Thomas Wayne. Sadly, her family never supported her union with Thomas, so she largely cut them out of her life once she married and that certainly had not changed when she had a son.

Her strained relationship with the rest of her family is particularly apparent when it's revealed, at the release of her and Thomas' respective wills after their unexpected, tragic deaths, that she would not give her brothers or sisters-in-law custody of Bruce. They may be the last of his living relatives, but even in death she would never allow them to touch her baby boy. Hence, his care is left to the head butler, one Alfred Pennyworth.

She did have two sister, though. Two baby sisters, one who had been disowned and disavowed from the family long before her, named Alicia. And one who was far too young to take in her son, even if Martha had allowed it. Her name is Madeline Kane. As the only other acknowledged daughter left from Roderick and Elizabeth Kane, she is left to carry the burden of her older sister's legacy. And what a burden it was, to be constantly compared to a dead woman her family seemed to adore and loathe in strides.

It's really no wonder that the moment she gets the chance, she leaves her family in Gotham to attend a university in Wisconsin. There, she meets Jack Fenton. He can be a little clumsy sometimes, but he has an eye for engineering and doesn't like her for her family's name or wealth. He calls her "Maddie" when she says so, and he doesn't ask about the change.

She falls in love and the two are wedded in the blink of an eye, Maddie pregnant with their first child only a few years after graduation. In her family's eyes, it just further proves that any Kane daughter is cursed and doomed to failure. (Beth understands this. Bette learns this. Kate knows this.)

And all too similarly to her elder sister, when her son is just fourteen years old, she is killed: yet another unexpected, tragic death. Her husband and her daughter perish along with her. Just like her older sister, the only one left is her baby boy.

Only, Maddie wasn't nearly as forthcoming with her will, and there is no guardian marked for custody in his papers. The Kanes, who proclaim they are his rightful family, are more than happy to take advantage of this.

Bruce isn't close to his family, beyond perhaps Kate. But if there is one thing that he knows it's that his parents didn't give his estranged relatives custody of him for a reason. Alfred is stingy with the details, but he can confirm that much.

Bruce is left to fight an uphill battle, helping a mourning boy heal from his loss and fighting his extended family's attempts for custody at every turn.

More ramblings under the cut:

See this guy right here?

This is Jacob Kane, Kate's father, Martha's brother, and Bruce's uncle. He's got the distinct red hair and do you know who else has red hair? Maddie. Jacob is a respected military officer and Maddie, in general, has always given me strong former U.S. agent vibes. But regardless, it makes sense that Maddie would know things or learned how to fight at an early age if her older brother left for military service.

Also, I just love showing Bruce's extended family and how twisted, complicated his family was long before he adopted so many children. And this also helps explain why Maddie is so cagey with her background. She only has Alicia left really, all the rest she keeps out and away for good reason.

But she can't protect Danny from them forever.

Plus, there's this really cool possibility for Danny to stay with the Kanes for a while and explore that avenue before he's ultimately brought into the Wayne fold. Danny gets to see what the upper crust Gotham elites look like with his own two eyes, beyond Sam's stories.

[ladykailitha]

Around the World Part 7

I know I said that Nanny would be out this week, but I just finished this and am really wanting to get it out as soon as possible and that includes the epilogue.

But if I time it right, this series and Hellfire will end the same week and I'll be able to return to some kind of normal schedule instead of pumping these out on a fucking grinder.

That said, I probably won't do a Christmas story with the way things are right now. But we'll see the closer we get to the holiday.

In this we get the proper Jack the Ripper tour and the author has opinions, okay! Steve draws attention to himself at the Paris Opera house. Murray is a bit too knowing. And of course as @val-from-lawrence guessed, visited the Catacombs!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

~

They had done the Tower of London and St. Paul’s Cathedral during the day and got ready for the Bauman Experience as Murray called it. They all had a flashlight and went to go meet him where they had the night before.

They caught him dealing with some obnoxious tourists.

“Oh thank god!” the Karen cried. “An American. Could you please explain to this woman that we only have dollars to pay with. She has to take it!”

Murray blinked at her for a moment. “Well that is quite the cock up, you absolute muppet. Are you dead from the neck up? British pound sterling is the brass here, you silly cow!”

The woman’s head reared back in shock, clutching her chest. “I beg your pardon!”

“To make it perfectly clear,” Murray said leaning forward into her space. “You fucked up, you moron. Are you really that stupid? Dollars aren’t the currency here, the British pound is. Just like you can’t use the pound anywhere but here, you can’t use the dollar anywhere but America so why don’t you go to an ATM or bank and get it exchanged. Or and here’s the really neat part about living in the age of technology, use or credit or debit card and your bank does the conversion for you.”

When she started sputtering angrily, Murray waved her off. “Now, shoo! I’ve got actual paying customers waiting for me.”

Murray turned to the four of them with a smiled. “Well, hello! Welcome. Now that things are dark and therefore sufficiently spooky, let’s take you on a proper tour of Jack’s slaying grounds.”

He went through the different murders until he got to the double murders of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes.

“Now,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “Miss Stride is usually considered his third victim and that he was interrupted, moving on to Miss Eddowes. But I think Stride was a copycat. The person only knew the bodies were mutilated, but not how. So for me, I don’t count her in the confirmed kills.”

Robin nodded sagely. “I don’t either. There was far too little evidence to prove he had been frightened off, because otherwise Eddowes would have been more brutal than it was. He would have been angry he couldn’t finish with Stride. You would have expected her to look like what Mary Kelly’s body looked like, not cool and calm.”

Murray smiled up at her. He turned to Eddie. “I really like her. She’s clever.”

Robin blushed and ducked her head.

A short time later, just as they were wrapping up the Kelly murder, Murray stopped. He looked at a pair of older teenagers and then back at the group.

Chrissy picked up on it first. “You thinking what, I’m thinking, Mur?”

Murray turned to her and cocked his head to the side, considering. He nodded and Chrissy pursed her lips.

Steve caught on just as quick. “Eds, baby. I think those boys may have guessed who you are, love.”

Robin and Eddie shared a concerned glance.

“Fuck,” Eddie huffed. “I liked this jacket.”

Robin grabbed it from him and gave him her jacket. “Mine doesn’t look as fancy,” she explained pulling his jacket on. “Just like Boston, peeps!”

Murray tilted his head to the side and did a quick Google search. “Or... if you’d like, my car is literally around the corner.”

The four of them stopped swapping clothes and looked up at him.

“That’s easier,” Steve said. “Who’s all for easier?”

The other three raised their hands and they followed Murray to his car. Robin sat up front while Steve and Chrissy covered Eddie between them.

“Drop me off at the hotel,” Steve said, tapping on Murray’s shoulder. “I’ll check us out and then meet you at Shakespeare’s Head.”

Murray looked behind him and grinned. “Smart thinking.”

~

Eddie had changed into a trucker hat and a puffy hunting vest over sturdy blue jeans and thick work boots.

“Kids and their cameras these day,” Murray huffed, sliding a pint of beer over at Steve as he sat down between Robin and Chrissy. “So what’s the story with loverboy here?” he asked Eddie, cocking his head to indicate Steve.

“He’s not out,” Eddie said dryly. “His parents are complete assholes who could and would make things very difficult for him if he was.”

“Nothing says asshole parents,” Murray said with a nod, “quite like those that have the money to make you miserable.”

Steve snorted. “You’ve got that right. But I’m more than equipped to make it work.” He half shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for almost a year.”

Murray’s went wide and he gave an opened mouthed smile. “Have you really? I would have never guessed. Good job! ”

“How did you spot the kids, by the way?” Robin asked around her fruity cocktail.

“Oh,” Murray said, ducking his head a bit. “You’re walking around a small group of people at night in a bad area of London. Whitechapel isn’t as bad as it was in Jackie’s time, but it’s still not a good neighborhood. You have to keep an eye out for people, but especially older teens wishing to knock you over for a bit of loose change.”

Steve cleared his throat and ducked his head. “I am about to ask the most bougie question imaginable. And you can tell me to go to hell if I’m out of line here.”

Murray’s eyebrows went up and he leaned back in his chair. “Wha’cha got, kid?”

Steve licked his lower lip as he tried to word this in a way that wasn’t instantly offensive. “How entrenched are you in this job?”

“Not very,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m just moving through the world enjoying myself and taking jobs that would be fun. I’ve got more than enough money. Why?”

“We were talking in our group chat,” Chrissy explained taking over from a very embarrassed Steve, “and we thought we’d offer you a job as main look out and part time driver for when we’re in Europe. You really saved Eddie today and we could really use someone like you with us.”

Murray glared at her. “You sure I wouldn’t cramp your little foursome you’ve got going on here’s style?” He made a little circling motion with his hand to indicate all of them.

Robin shook her head. “It’ll make it harder for people to recognize a quartet if it suddenly became a quintet. Plus, we’d pay for your room and board. None of us are skint, believe you me.”

“We’ll be staying in haunted hotels, motels, and bed and breakfasts,” Eddie added. “But we won’t force you to join us. We can put you up in a nice place nearby and we join back up whenever we go out.”

Murray eyed them suspiciously until Steve slid over an envelope. He picked it up and pulled out a check. His eyes went wide. “That’s quite the pretty penny.”

“That’s half,” Robin huffed, crossing her arms and throwing herself against the back of the chair. “You’ll get the other half once we leave Europe for Asia.”

“All that for a month’s worth of driving you four around and making sure fans and paparazzi don’t find Eddie here?” Murray asked. “Have you gone crazy?”

Eddie shook his head. “We just want a romantic tour of the spooky places of Europe. I hate the thought Steve getting caught up in something just because I’m recognized everywhere I go and he isn’t.”

Murray licked his lips slowly as his eyes narrowed. “That’s not how that’s usually said.”

Steve frowned and tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean? How is what said?”

Robin put her hand on his elbow as he bristled slightly at his tone.

“Usually people will say ‘famous and they’re not’,” Murray said thoughtfully, “he said ‘recognized’. Meaning Stevie here is famous too, but not in a way people would recognize him on the street. What is a famous painter or some shit?”

She cocked her to the side and said dryly, “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

Murray laughed. Just full on cackled. “Have I mentioned how much I like her? Because I really like her.”

Eddie leaned forward to put his elbows on the table. “So what do you say, Murray?” he asked tilting his head to the side. “You want to work for me again?”

Murray slipped the check into his coat pocket and stuck out his hand. “I think you’ve got yourself a deal.”

~

Their first stop on the Continent was Paris and the catacombs. Eddie was still trying to figure out how Robin did that one. It had been closed to the public for years.

Robin just smirked and said, “Well we aren’t the public.”

Steve was also sure they didn’t open it up to anyone who opened their wallet, either, but wisely stayed silent. Plus he was having fun watching Chrissy and Robin run circles around Murray in terms of sheer knowledge.

“Um...Stevie?” Eddie murmured so the trio couldn’t hear him. “Can I hold your hand? It’s getting a little creepy in here.”

Steve held out his hand, the one that had the little guitar on the inner wrist. Eddie looked down at the offered hand with a fond smile. He took the offered hand and their tattoos matched up. Eddie felt braver with every step knowing that Steve would always be there to hold his hand through the darkness.

Chrissy looked back at them and grinned at their clasped hands. She sped up her walk just a little, forcing Murray and Robin to speed up to match her pace, leaving the two love birds the privacy they so richly deserved.

Once they were out in the sunlight and among the city once again, Eddie refused to let go of Steve’s hand.

Steve looked at their joined hands and then back at Eddie. Eddie gave him his brightest smile and Steve was smitten. Even more so than before. He just loved him so much.

They toured the Paris Opera house and Eddie pulled out a cape and mask.

“Sing for me my angel of music!” he said to Chrissy.

She burst out laughing. “My name may be Christine, but I really don’t think they’d want me shattering the glass.”

Eddie turned to Robin who waved her arms in front of her. “No way! I sing like a frog in heat!”

“No.” Was all Murray said.

Steve raised an eyebrow and Eddie grinned.

“Sing!” Eddie crowed.

Steve took a deep breath and belted out that high note, held it perfectly and then took a bow.

Murray blinked and slow smile spread over his features. “You’re in one of those bands with the masks aren’t you? Like Sleep Token or The Fallen, huh? That’s Eddie here said recognized and not famous. Good on you.”

They all shared looks of concern.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Murray huffed, holding up his hands in surrender. “And I’m certainly not even going to try and guess which band it is.” He pulled out his phone and messed around on it for a while.

During which they all watched with ever increasing dread. The silence seemed to stretch out on and on.

Then Chrissy’s phone pinged. Everyone jumped as she scrambled for her phone. She opened it up and blinked a moment.

“You signed a blanket statement NDA?” she asked handing her phone to Robin. “Why?”

Murray licked his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did it suck when Corroded Coffin pulled out of my management causing a shit ton of other people pulling out, too? Sure. But that’s the nature of the business. One that I had been in for over twenty years. I took it as a sign from the universe to retire and enjoy my life. Unlike the CC boys pulling out on Nancy Wheeler because she about to do some pretty shady shit. And I say that having been part of a business that used to be built on shady ass shit.”

Chrissy coughed and looked away to hide her smile.

“I’m guessing Steve’s band is why Corroded Coffin went nuclear on her in the first place?”

Steve looked over at Eddie and then nodded. “She was an ex-girlfriend and she tried to hold that over my head to get me to work with her.”

Murray let out a long and low whistle. “Shady doesn’t even begin to cover that shit. The void would be fucking closer. Shit.”

Robin handed back Chrissy her phone. “How did you get an NDA that fast anyway?”

“Oh that?” Murray asked with a huff of laughter. “I have a bunch of basic contracts and shit in my Google docs. Things can move fast in this business and it’s a good idea to keep a few on hand. Back in the old days we kept them in our briefcases that we carted around. This is sooo much easier.”

“Smart.”

Murray grinned back at her. He turned to Steve. “Come on, show us what that classical vocal training can really do.”

Steve blushed and began warming up his vocals as Robin grinned.

“You may think you’ve heard Steve sing,” she crowed, “but you’ve ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Then Steve really opened up and began to sing. There was a deepness to his voice that didn’t have anything to do with his range. He was clearly a tenor, but the rich quality to his voice just elevated it somehow.

“Rigoletto,” Murray said nodding appreciatively. “Well done.” He clapped slowly, but it wasn’t mocking. “Your parents must have been livid when you didn’t go into opera.”

Steve snorted. “About as angry as when they found out I was bisexual. They know what I am but if I go public with it...”

“They’ll make your life a nightmare?” he asked. Steve nodded. “I feel for you, kid.”

He looked around and grimaced. “I thick it’s time we make like Opera Ghost and scram. That performance of Steve’s here, is getting more attention than I thought it would.”

They looked around and sure enough there were people pointing at Steve.

“I’m not sure what the Venn diagram of opera and metal fans,” Chrissy said, “but I’m betting it’s not two separate circles.”

“Yeaahhh,” Eddie said with a wince.

He grabbed Steve’s hand and they ran for the doors. Murray and the girls hot on their heels.

~

Part 8 Part 9

Tag List: CLOSED

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[artyandink]

the art of heresy forged 1981

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, trauma, angst, smut, drinking, consumption of drugs, smoking, mentions of sex, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), Ben and Psyke being little shits, it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, literal crack

STW: unprotected sex (again, not advised, guys), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving)

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

Song Inspo: …Ready for It? - Taylor Swift

three - me, you, my mind

1981:

The hospital corridors smelled of antiseptic and despair, the kind that clung to your skin no matter how much you tried to shake it off. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed incessantly, casting a cold, sterile glow over everything. You hated hospitals. Always had. Too much death, too much pain, too much everything. But you were here for a reason, and not even the oppressive atmosphere could keep you away.

The receptionist at the front desk had given you a wary look when you strolled in, your usual swagger evident in every step. She knew who you were—everyone did. But she also knew the rules, and that made her think she had the power to stop you. Poor thing didn’t know what she was up against.

“I’m here to see Elizabeth, uh, Liz,” you said, leaning over the counter slightly, your voice gruff with impatience. “She’s just had a baby.”

The receptionist, a mousy woman in her early forties, blinked up at you with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but only the father is allowed to visit right now. Hospital policy.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to let loose a string of expletives. “Yeah, well, policy be damned. I’m not just anyone, sweetheart. I’m Psyke. Recognise the name, doll?”

The woman’s eyes widened further, recognition dawning as she realized just who she was dealing with. You weren’t exactly the friendly neighborhood superhero type, but your name carried a ton of weight, and that weight was enough to get you what you wanted eleven times out of ten. She stammered, trying to find the right words to appease you while also following the rules she was undoubtedly tired of enforcing.

“I—I’m sorry, but—”

You leaned in closer, dropping your voice to a menacing whisper. “Look, I don’t have time for this shit. My sister just gave birth, and I’m not leaving this place until I’ve seen her and my niece. So, either you can let me in, or we can make this a whole lot more difficult for everyone involved. Your choice.”

The receptionist swallowed hard, clearly torn between her duty and the fear you’d expertly instilled in her. She fumbled with the papers on her desk before finally giving a reluctant nod. “Room 312,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s in Room 312.”

“Good girl,” you muttered, already striding down the corridor without a backward glance. You could feel the eyes of the staff on you, their hushed whispers following in your wake, but you didn’t give a damn. Let them talk. You had more important things to worry about.

The walk to Liz’s room felt longer than it should have. You kept your eyes forward, ignoring the sterile white walls and the smell of bleach that permeated the air. Hospitals always had a way of making you feel like you were suffocating, like the weight of all the pain and suffering within those walls was pressing down on your chest. But this was different. This was family.

When you finally reached Room 312, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the door handle. You weren’t used to feeling nervous—hell, you weren’t used to feeling anything other than anger or disdain most of the time—but right now, with Liz on the other side of that door, you felt something close to apprehension. She’d just given birth, for fuck’s sake. What were you supposed to say?

You pushed the thought aside and shoved the door open, stepping into the room with a confidence you didn’t quite feel. The sight that greeted you was one that would stay with you forever.

Liz was lying in the hospital bed, her face pale but glowing with a kind of serenity you’d never seen in her before. Her blonde hair was tousled, sticking to her forehead with sweat, and she looked exhausted—but happy. In her arms, she cradled a tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket, her gaze fixed on the newborn with a tenderness that made something in your chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Liz,” you said, your voice uncharacteristically soft as you stepped closer to the bed. “How’re you holding up?”

Liz looked up at you, her tired eyes brightening as a smile spread across her face. “Well, look who finally decided to show up,” she teased, though there was no real bite to her words. “You missed all the fun.”

“Yeah, well, I had to wrestle a few assholes to get in here,” you replied, slipping back into your usual bravado. “But I wasn’t gonna let a bunch of rules keep me from meeting my niece.”

Liz chuckled softly, the sound warm and full of affection. “Meet Georgia,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she glanced down at the baby in her arms. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

You leaned in closer, your heart doing an odd little flip as you got your first real look at the tiny human cradled in your sister’s arms. Georgia was small—so small it made you feel like a fucking giant in comparison—with a tuft of dark hair peeking out from under the blanket and her eyes squeezed shut. Her little face was scrunched up like she was already fed up with the world, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

“Perfect?” you scoffed, though your voice lacked its usual bite. “She looks like a pissed-off potato.”

Liz laughed, a sound that was both tired and full of joy. “That’s one way to put it,” she said, looking down at Georgia with a mother’s love in her eyes. “But she’s my pissed-off potato.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease a bit. “You did good, Liz. Real good.”

“Thanks,” Liz said softly, her gaze still locked on Georgia. “You want to hold her?”

The question caught you off guard. You weren’t the maternal type—not by a long shot. Kids were loud, messy, and a pain in the ass most of the time. But as you looked down at Georgia, something in you shifted, just a little. Maybe it was the fact that she was family, or maybe it was the way Liz was looking at you, but for the first time in your life, you found yourself wanting to protect something—someone—more than anything else.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice rough as you reached out to take the tiny bundle from Liz. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Liz carefully handed Georgia over, and you cradled the newborn in your arms, feeling her warmth seep into your skin. She was so fucking small, her tiny fingers curling into fists as she squirmed slightly in your hold. For a moment, you felt completely out of your depth, unsure of how to hold something so delicate without breaking it.

But then Georgia let out a small, contented sigh, and you felt something inside you melt. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt something so…pure. So untainted by the shitstorm that was your life. It was almost enough to make you believe in something good.

“Hey, kiddo,” you whispered, your voice surprisingly gentle as you looked down at your niece. “I’m your auntie. Your life’s about to get a whole lot more interesting, cause I’m a fuckin’ supe. You’re gonna be well protected from nasty bullies, jellybean.”

Liz watched you with a soft smile, her eyes filled with a warmth you hadn’t seen in a long time. “She’s going to need someone like you in her life,” she said quietly. “Someone who won’t take shit from anyone.”

You snorted, but there was no real humor in it. “Yeah, well, that’s something I’m good at.”

Liz’s smile faltered slightly, and she reached out to place a hand on your arm. “Promise me you’ll be there for her. For me. You know how things are with Vince. He’s…”

Her voice trailed off, but you knew what she meant. Vince was an asshole, plain and simple. He wasn’t going to be winning any Father of the Year awards, that much was certain. You’d never liked him, but Liz had always been the one with the bleeding heart, always seeing the good in people even when there wasn’t any to be found.

“I’ll be there,” you said, your voice firm as you looked down at Georgia. “I promise.”

Liz let out a small sigh of relief, her grip on your arm tightening slightly. “Thank you.”

“I still don’t know why you married the guy.” You snorted, shaking your head. “Am I still not allowed to bash his face in?”

“That’s a stretch.”

“I have enough money from Payback to take care’a both of us. And Soldier Boy could help if I asked him.” You protested, but she shook her head.

Liz gave you a soft smile. “I’d be indebted to you. And I always have been, you’re my older sister and you’ve been all I know. But I’m gonna do this my way, as much as I’d like to meet the guy who’s fucking my older sister.”

“He’s a real good fuck too.”

“I bet he is.”

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound in the room the soft breathing of the newborn in your arms. It was a moment of calm, a rare reprieve from the chaos that usually filled your life. You found yourself reluctant to break the silence, content to just be there with Liz and Georgia.

But eventually, reality began to creep back in, and you knew you couldn’t stay in this little bubble forever. With a reluctant sigh, you carefully handed Georgia back to Liz, the weight of responsibility settling back onto your shoulders.

“Alright,” you said, your voice rough as you cleared your throat. “I should probably get going. Let you get some rest.”

Liz looked up at you, her eyes filled with gratitude. “You don’t have to go just yet.”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “Nah, you need your rest. I’ll be back soon.”

Liz nodded, though you could see the reluctance in her eyes. “Okay. But don’t be a stranger, alright?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said with a smirk, though there was an edge of seriousness to your tone. “Take care of yourself, Liz. And take care of Georgia.”

“I will,” Liz promised, her voice soft. “Thank you for being here.”

You nodded, giving her one last look before turning to leave the room. But just as you reached the door, Liz called out to you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Hey, sis?”

You turned back, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Liz hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “I just want you to know… you’re going to be a great aunt.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But then you felt a small, genuine smile tug at your lips, and you nodded.

“Thanks, Liz,” you said quietly. “I’ll do my best.”

And with that, you turned and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind you. As you made your way down the corridor, the reality of the situation began to sink in. You had a niece now—a tiny, pissed-off potato of a niece who was going to need you in her life. It was a strange feeling, knowing that you were responsible for someone other than yourself. But as you thought about Georgia’s tiny face and Liz’s hopeful smile, you found yourself determined to live up to the promise you’d made.

No matter what it took, you were going to be there for Georgia. You were going to be the aunt she needed, the one who wouldn’t take shit from anyone and who would always have her back. Because that’s what family was about.

Even for someone like you.

Ben’s hotel room smelled of smoke and something faintly sweet, a scent that clung to the silk robe he wore loosely over his broad frame. The black fabric shimmered under the dim light of the bedside lamp, emphasizing every movement he made as he lounged back in the chair by the window, a cigar between his fingers. You watched him take a long, slow drag, the end glowing bright red before he exhaled a thick plume of smoke into the room.

“Congrats on your sister,” he said, his voice a deep rumble, rough around the edges. “She popped out a kid, huh?”

You leaned back on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, and let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, she did. Little girl, Georgia. Cute as hell, too—though she looks like a potato right now.”

Ben chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through the room. “They all look like that at first. Wrinkled and pissed off, like they know what kind of shit they’ve been born into.”

You snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

He leaned back further in his chair, his robe falling open slightly, exposing more of his muscular chest. His green eyes were sharp as they flicked over to you, something unreadable in them as he took another drag from his cigar. “You ever think about it? Having kids?”

You shrugged, pretending to be more interested in the cigarette you were holding than the direction the conversation was taking. “Not really. Never thought I’d be the mom type. Too much of a hard-ass for all that soft shit.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, rolling the cigar between his fingers. “That’s what I thought about Marjorie too.”

The mention of Crimson Countess—Marjorie—hung in the air between you like a bad stench. You’d seen the two of them together often enough, the way they played up their public romance for the cameras, all smiles and perfect poses. It was all bullshit, and you both knew it. Ben and Marjorie weren’t a real couple—they were just a convenient PR package, wrapped up nice and neat to sell to the public.

“Marjorie and kids?” You scoffed at the thought, raising an eyebrow at him. “Can’t picture that.”

Ben let out a dry laugh, the sound devoid of any real humor. “Neither could I. Even back in the day, when we were…whatever the fuck we were, she never talked about kids. Hell, I didn’t either.”

You nodded, taking a slow drag from your cigarette. “Too much of a mess, all of it. The world’s gone to shit, and bringing a kid into it? That’s a special kind of hell.”

“Exactly.” Ben’s voice was rough, tinged with something bitter. He took another long pull from his cigar, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared out the window. “Can’t even imagine what kind of life they’d have. Constant danger, growing up with assholes like us around. Nah, better off without.”

The bitterness in his tone matched the cynical look in his eyes, and you found yourself nodding in agreement. “Yeah, no need to drag anyone else into this fucked-up world.”

Ben’s gaze flicked back to you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And you? Think your sister made a mistake?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, turning the cigarette between your fingers. “Nah, Liz is different. She’s…I don’t know, softer. She’s got a heart that isn’t covered in layers of steel and hate. Maybe she can make it work.”

Ben let out a huff, the smirk still in place as he shook his head. “That’s one hell of an optimistic view coming from you. Never thought I’d hear it.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a playful shove with your foot. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. Just because I think Liz can handle it doesn’t mean I’d ever want the same shit for myself. No way.”

Ben grinned at that, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he leaned forward, his cigar hanging lazily between his lips. “So, if not kids, what the hell do you want, then? What’s left for someone like you, huh?”

The question was loaded, and you knew it. What did you want? In this world of lies, violence, and constant manipulation, it was hard to even remember what you used to want, let alone what you wanted now. But there was something in the way Ben was looking at you, a challenge in his eyes that made you want to answer, to say something, anything that would push back against the darkness that threatened to swallow you both.

You flicked the ash from your cigarette, watching as it floated to the floor, and met his gaze head-on. “I want to keep living. Fighting. Whatever comes my way, I want to face it and make sure it doesn’t break me.”

Ben’s smirk widened into a full grin, a glint of approval in his eyes. “Now that, I can get behind. You’re a tough one, I’ll give you that.”

“Damn right I am,” you shot back, your tone dripping with confidence. “What about you, huh? What’s left for the great Soldier Boy?”

Ben’s grin faded slightly, his expression hardening as he took another drag from his cigar. “Same as you, I guess. Just keep going, keep fighting, and make sure the world doesn’t forget who the hell I am.”

There was something raw in his voice, something vulnerable that he quickly covered up with another puff of smoke. You didn’t push it—Ben wasn’t the type to open up easily, and you weren’t the type to pry. But there was a part of you that understood, that recognized the fear of being forgotten, of being rendered obsolete in a world that was constantly moving forward without you.

You took a final drag from your cigarette, then crushed it in the ashtray on the nightstand. “We’re both stubborn bastards, that’s for sure.”

Ben chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. “Damn right. And don’t you forget it.”

You met his gaze, feeling the tension in the room shift slightly, a different kind of heat sparking between you. There was something electric in the air, something that had been simmering beneath the surface since you’d walked into the room. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt it—hell, it wasn’t even the first time you’d acted on it—but tonight felt different. There was an edge to it, a kind of desperation that neither of you could ignore.

Ben’s eyes darkened as he looked at you, his gaze lingering on your lips before trailing down to the curve of your neck. “You know, you always did know how to push my buttons.”

You felt a smirk tug at your lips as you leaned back on the bed, your eyes locked on his. “Is that right? And here I thought I was just being my charming self.”

He let out a low growl, his grin widening as he pushed himself out of the chair and moved toward the bed. “Charming, my ass. You’re a goddamn menace.”

You didn’t bother to argue, your heart pounding in your chest as Ben closed the distance between you. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing as he reached out and pulled you toward him, his hands rough and insistent on your skin. The silk robe he wore brushed against your arm, the fabric cool and smooth compared to the heat of his touch.

“Ben,” you murmured, your voice a low whisper as his lips found your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin.

“Shut up,” he growled against your throat, his hands slipping beneath your shirt, the warmth of his palms sending shivers down your spine. “Just shut up.”

You couldn’t help the low moan that escaped your lips as his hands roamed over your body, the roughness of his touch contrasting with the softness of the silk robe. There was something intoxicating about the way he moved, the way he took control, like he needed this as much as you did.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as his lips found yours, the kiss hard and demanding. It was a battle for dominance, neither of you willing to back down, both of you determined to take what you wanted. His hands slid under your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, and you didn’t hesitate to do the same with his robe, the silk falling to the floor in a heap.

The cool air of the room hit your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of Ben’s body as he pressed against you, his hands roaming over every inch of exposed flesh. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the barely-contained need that matched your own.

“Fuck,” you muttered against his lips, your nails digging into his back as he pushed you down onto the bed. “You’re gonna leave marks.”

“Good,” he growled, his voice rough with desire as he trailed kisses down your neck, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “I want you to remember this.”

You arched into him, a low moan escaping your lips as his mouth found the sensitive spot on your collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. You didn’t care about the bruises, didn’t care about the pain—if anything, it only made you want him more.

“Ben,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he moved lower, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Shut up,” he growled, sucking on your skin as he threw your legs apart. Touch practiced. Rough.

You gasped, the sharp sensation of his mouth on your skin sending jolts of heat through your body. Ben’s lips were rough and eager as they explored the curve of your collarbone, trailing lower until he reached the edge of your bra. You shivered under his touch, a thrill racing through you as he sucked gently at the delicate skin there, his fingers gripping your waist with a possessiveness that made your heart race.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and teasing. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers curling into his hair as you pulled him closer. “It’s been a few hours since you fucked me.”

He looked up at you then, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “Few hours too long, sweet thing.”

With that, his hands slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, fingers brushing against the skin of your thighs. You felt the heat of his touch radiating through the thin fabric, and a low growl rumbled in his throat as he pushed your pants down, baring your legs to the cool air.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his fingers trailing up your thighs with agonizing slowness. “You’re fucking perfect.”

You could barely respond, too lost in the heat pooling in your core as his fingers finally found their way to the center of your desire. He paused, teasing you for a moment, before sliding a single finger between your folds, pushing against you with just the right amount of pressure.

“Ben,” you gasped, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shot through you. You felt raw, exposed, and completely at his mercy. He moved slowly at first, his finger gliding effortlessly as he worked you up, the pressure building with each tantalizing stroke.

“Easy there, sugar,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “We’ve got all night. I want to take my time with you.”

You opened your eyes to find him watching you intently, his green gaze dark with desire. There was something about the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, that sent another wave of heat crashing through you.

“Don’t tease me,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper as his finger curled inside you, the sensation pushing you closer to the edge. “I need more.”

“Need more?” He smirked, clearly enjoying the power he had over you. “You’ve got it, babe.”

With that, he slipped in another finger, stretching you open, and you moaned loudly, biting down on your lip to suppress any further sounds. He moved them in a slow, rhythmic motion, and you could feel every stroke, every curl of his fingers hitting all the right spots.

“Shit, that feels incredible,” you breathed, your body arching into him as you fought to maintain control. But the pleasure was building quickly, spiraling higher and higher until you were lost in it.

Ben seemed to revel in the way you responded to him, his fingers working you expertly as he leaned down to press kisses along your inner thigh, teasing you mercilessly. Each brush of his lips sent shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body, and you knew you were dangerously close to the edge.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxed, his breath warm against your skin. “Let go for me.”

With every movement of his fingers, every kiss he pressed against your skin, you felt the tension coil tighter and tighter within you. “Ben,” you gasped, your hands clutching the sheets as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, threatening to pull you under.

“Yeah?” he murmured, the devilish grin on his face betraying his eagerness.

You met his gaze, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m so close.”

“Good,” he growled, picking up the pace, fingers moving faster, deeper. “I want to feel you come on my fingers.”

You barely had time to register his words before the tension snapped, pleasure exploding through you as you cried out his name. Your back arched, your entire body tightening around him as you let go, waves of bliss crashing over you.

“Fucking hell,” Ben breathed, his fingers still moving as you came down from your high, riding out the aftershocks of pleasure. He leaned down, pressing his lips against your inner thigh, his eyes glimmering with satisfaction as he watched you come undone.

When you finally opened your eyes again, he was smirking at you, his fingers glistening with your arousal. “You’re a fucking sight to behold, you know that?”

You chuckled breathlessly, still feeling the lingering effects of your climax. “Yeah? And you’re a cocky bastard.”

“Only because I know how to push your buttons,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. He slid his fingers out of you, slowly, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips at the loss.

Ben’s smirk widened as he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied look on his face. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

Your heart raced at the sight, a heat flooding your cheeks as you watched him. There was something primal in the way he moved, something raw and unrestrained that set your entire body alight with need.

“Now,” he said, leaning over you, his green eyes dark with lust. “I think it’s my turn to taste you.”

Before you could respond, he was lowering himself down your body, settling between your thighs. You gasped as he pressed a kiss to your core, his lips brushing against you with feather-light pressure before he buried his face deeper, licking you with a fierce hunger.

“Ben!” you gasped, your back arching again as pleasure shot through you, the sensation overwhelming in the best way possible. He worked you with a skill that left you breathless, his tongue moving in expert strokes, teasing and tasting as he explored you.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he murmured against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down your spine. He was relentless, his mouth moving expertly as he pushed you back toward the edge, building you up higher and higher until you were gasping for breath.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he worked you, the heat of his mouth combined with the pressure of his tongue sending you spiraling toward another climax. The pleasure was building again, a familiar tightness coiling within you, and you knew you were close.

“Ben,” you gasped, feeling your body start to tremble. “I’m—”

“Let go,” he urged, his voice low and commanding, and the combination of his words and the feeling of his mouth on you pushed you right over the edge. You cried out, your back arching as pleasure flooded through you, crashing over you in wave after wave.

“Fuck!” you shouted, your body trembling as you rode the waves of your climax, feeling his tongue work you through it, keeping you on the edge, keeping the pleasure coming.

As you finally came down from your high, gasping for breath, you felt Ben pulling back, his lips glistening, a satisfied grin on his face. “Told you I’d make you forget.”

You chuckled breathlessly, the sound a mixture of disbelief and pure, unfiltered satisfaction. “You weren’t kidding. That was…something else.”

He leaned back, looking at you with a glimmer of pride. “You liked it, huh?”

“Yeah, I liked it,” you admitted, still feeling the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through your body. “You’ve got some serious skills there, Soldier Boy.”

“Only the best for you, Psyke.” He winked, his voice teasing as he shifted closer again, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against him. “But now that I’ve gotten my taste, I want more.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at your lips. “More? You think you can handle it?”

“Oh, I can handle it,” he growled, his eyes dark with desire as he leaned in to capture your lips with his. The kiss was heated, a promise of what was to come, and you could feel the heat building again, a fire igniting between you that promised a long night ahead.

You melted against him, feeling the weight of his body pressing against yours, the heat radiating from him as you lost yourself in the kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in a whirlwind of passion and desire.

As the kiss deepened, you felt the thrill of excitement course through you, and you knew that whatever came next, you were ready for it. You were ready to face the darkness together, to embrace the chaos and the heat, and to lose yourself in the wild, unrestrained moments that came with being together.

“Let’s see what else you’ve got,” you whispered against his lips, your voice filled with challenge.

Ben grinned, a wicked spark in his eyes as he pulled you closer. “Oh, I’ve got plenty in store for you, don’t you worry. M’gonna make sure you come at least five times before the night’s over.”

The morning light filtered into the lobby of the hotel through the large glass windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The place was quiet at this early hour, with only a few scattered guests enjoying breakfast or scrolling through their phones. You sat in one of the plush armchairs, nursing a coffee and trying to shake off the remnants of last night’s haze. Your clothes were disheveled, a stark contrast to the elegant setting, but you were past caring about appearances.

As you took another sip of your coffee, you felt a sharp, familiar presence approaching. You looked up to see Marjorie, also known as Crimson Countess, storming toward you. Her usual air of polished elegance was replaced by a fierce, almost frenzied expression. Her tight red dress clung to her curves, and her high heels clicked loudly against the marble floor as she made her way over.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” Marjorie snapped as she reached you, her voice dripping with irritation. “I need to talk to you.”

You raised an eyebrow, casually setting your coffee down on the table beside you. “Oh, really? And here I thought I’d be able to enjoy my morning without a drama fest.”

Marjorie’s eyes flashed with anger, but she took a deep breath before speaking. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing with Ben, but this has to stop. You’re making things complicated.”

You took a moment to let that sink in, a smirk playing at your lips. “Complicated? How so?”

Her expression tightened further. “You’re screwing him, and it’s messing with our arrangement. We have a deal, and I don’t appreciate you undermining it.”

You chuckled, a harsh, almost mocking sound that made Marjorie’s face redden. “Oh, honey, don’t get your panties in a twist. Ben and I are just having a bit of fun. It’s not like we’re plotting world domination.”

“Fun?” Marjorie spat, her tone dripping with disdain. “You’re not just having fun. You’re disrupting things that are important to both of us.”

“Important to both of you?” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “I’m pretty sure Ben’s deal with you is just a glorified PR stunt. You know it, I know it, and deep down, he knows it too.”

Marjorie’s eyes widened in fury. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Ben and I have—”

“—A business arrangement,” you cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m well aware. I’ve seen the way you cling to him every time there’s a camera around. Pathetic.”

Marjorie’s jaw clenched. “Cling? You think I’m pathetic?”

“Damn right I do,” you replied, your tone icy. “You’re like a stage five clinger, always hanging around, making sure everyone sees how ‘happy’ you are. It’s sickening. Ben’s never been into the whole lovey-dovey crap, and you’re just there to play a part.”

Her face twisted in anger, and she took a step closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. “You think you’re so much better? You’re just a temporary distraction. A little fling for Ben to amuse himself with.”

You stood up, meeting her gaze with a steely resolve. “And you’re a joke. You think you’re special because you’ve got a bit of fame and a PR relationship? Newsflash, Marjorie, you’re just another face in the crowd. Ben’s had enough of the fake crap, and he’s making that pretty damn clear.”

Before Marjorie could retort, Ben strolled into the lobby, looking every bit the part of a man who was used to getting his way. His black silk robe was slung casually over his shoulders, and he had that confident, almost arrogant swagger that you knew all too well. He looked between you and Marjorie with a knowing smirk.

“Everything alright here?” Ben’s voice was smooth, laced with a hint of amusement as he approached.

Marjorie’s eyes flashed with a mix of relief and annoyance as she turned to him. “Ben, you need to handle this. She’s—”

“—Handling it just fine,” you interrupted, your voice laced with a defiant edge. “Thanks for joining the party, Ben. Marjorie was just about to explain how she feels about our arrangement.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing at Marjorie with a curious expression. “Oh? And what’s the problem now?”

Marjorie’s frustration was palpable as she threw her hands up in exasperation. “She’s undermining our deal. I need you to make her stop.”

Ben’s grin widened, and he turned his full attention back to you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, sweetheart. But you know, I wouldn’t say no to a little more fun.”

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you close. His hands were rough, assertive, and there was no mistaking the predatory gleam in his eyes. You barely had time to react before his lips were on yours, kissing you with a raw, hungry passion that left you breathless.

Marjorie’s eyes widened in shock as she watched the scene unfold, her mouth hanging open. She clearly hadn’t anticipated Ben’s reaction, and you could see the mix of jealousy and anger in her expression.

Ben’s hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips and pulling you tighter against him. His touch was commanding, and there was no subtlety in the way he maneuvered you, as if claiming you for his own. He broke the kiss only long enough to look over at Marjorie with a smirk.

“Looks like you’ve got some competition,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I’m not about to let her go.”

Marjorie’s face turned a deep shade of red, and she opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she glared at you with an expression that could have burned a hole through steel.

“You know what?” you said, your voice loud and unapologetic as Ben’s hands slipped down to give your ass a playful smack. “We’re literally just fucking every chance we get. I see no problems here.”

Ben’s grin grew wider as he continued his assault on your body, his hands exploring every curve with a possessive eagerness. “Damn right. And if Marjorie’s got an issue with that, well, that’s her problem.”

Marjorie’s face was a storm of emotions—anger, humiliation, and something like betrayal. She looked between you and Ben, her eyes filled with frustration. “You’re unbelievable, Ben. And you,” she snapped at you, “you’re nothing but a—”

Ben cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Save it, Marjorie. I’m done with this conversation.”

Marjorie’s mouth snapped shut, and she glared at Ben one last time before turning on her heel and storming out of the lobby, her high heels clicking angrily as she went. The sound of the door slamming shut behind her was almost a relief, and you let out a sigh of relief, leaning into Ben’s touch.

Ben’s hands were still on your ass, giving it another playful slap before he pulled you back against him. His lips found yours again, and this time the kiss was even more heated, full of unrestrained desire. You melted into it, your hands gripping his shoulders as you lost yourself in the moment.

When he finally pulled back, his green eyes were filled with a mix of satisfaction and amusement. “That was fun,” he said, his voice low and filled with a smugness that was impossible to miss.

You chuckled, still feeling the remnants of the kiss on your lips. “Yeah, you sure know how to make a point.”

Ben smirked, his hands still resting possessively on your hips. “Glad I could help. Now, how about we take this somewhere more private?”

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “Lead the way.”

As you followed him toward the elevator, you couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. Whatever else the day held, you knew it would be anything but boring. Ben’s presence was a wild card, and you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

The night was crisp, and the city lights sparkled like a sea of diamonds below. The limo's interior was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the backseat reading lights and the flicker of the occasional street lamp as it sped along. You and Ben—Soldier Boy, as he was known—had taken full advantage of the privacy the car afforded.

Ben adjusted his black tuxedo, smoothing down the front while you fixed your dress, the deep crimson fabric clinging in all the right places. You cast a glance at Ben, who had a satisfied smirk on his face. His green eyes glinted with mischief as he adjusted his bow tie, the only hint of the evening’s earlier activities evident in the disheveled state of his usually pristine hair.

“You know,” you said, smoothing down the fabric of your dress, “I’ve got to hand it to you. You’re quite the multitasker.”

Ben chuckled, his grin widening. “Oh? And how’s that?”

“Managing to get us both worked up and still looking like a million bucks.” You winked at him. “Impressive.”

“Just a skill set I’ve developed over the years,” Ben replied, adjusting his cufflinks. “But you’re looking pretty damn incredible yourself.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the pleased smile that spread across your face. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Soldier Boy.”

The limo pulled up to the entrance of the gala, the flashing lights of photographers and the murmur of the crowd growing louder as the vehicle came to a stop. The driver opened the door, and you stepped out, your heels clicking on the marble steps as you took in the opulence of the event.

The gala was a high-profile affair, hosted by one of the city’s elite charities. The grand entrance was adorned with gold-trimmed decorations, and a red carpet led to the entrance, where a steady stream of well-dressed guests were being greeted with champagne and smiles. You took Ben’s arm as you approached, the two of you looking every bit the glamorous couple you were pretending to be.

As you entered the ballroom, the grandeur of the venue hit you. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the elegant tables set with fine china and polished silverware. The guests were mingling, their laughter and conversation creating a lively, sophisticated buzz.

You and Ben made quite the entrance, heads turning as the two of you walked in together. It wasn’t long before you noticed a few curious glances and whispered conversations. You had always been used to attracting attention, but tonight it felt particularly charged, thanks to the way you and Ben had spent the ride over.

You turned to Ben with a sly grin. “Ready to make this night interesting?”

Ben’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Oh, I’m more than ready.”

As you made your way to the bar, you could feel the weight of several gazes on you. Ben seemed to enjoy the attention, his confidence practically radiating off him. You could sense a playful competitiveness between you and him, each of you trying to outdo the other with quips and subtle touches.

At the bar, you ordered a champagne and turned to Ben. “I see you’re still sporting that smirk. You think you can keep it up all night?”

Ben chuckled, his voice low and teasing. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

A couple approached you—an elegantly dressed man and a woman in a stunning blue gown. They smiled politely, clearly eager to make your acquaintance.

“Good evening,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Richard, and this is my wife, Emily. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You shook Richard’s hand with a firm grip, then turned to Emily. “Nice to meet you. I’m Psyke, and this is Soldier Boy.”

Emily’s eyes widened slightly at the name, but she quickly recovered with a polite smile. “Oh, I’ve heard quite a bit about both of you. This must be quite the evening for you.”

Ben leaned in slightly, his voice smooth and confident. “Well, we do try to make things interesting.”

Emily chuckled, her gaze flicking between you and Ben. “I can see that. You both seem to be quite the pair.”

Richard nodded, clearly intrigued. “So, what brings you to the gala tonight?”

You raised an eyebrow, giving Ben a sidelong glance. “Well, let’s just say we’re here to enjoy ourselves and maybe shake things up a bit.”

Ben’s grin widened, and he wrapped an arm around your waist. “Psyke here likes to keep things lively. Keeps me on my toes.”

Emily laughed, clearly charmed by the banter. “Well, it sounds like you’re both having a good time.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you said, giving Ben a playful nudge. “We’ve been having a lot of fun lately.”

The conversation continued, but you and Ben kept finding ways to tease each other, exchanging smirks and subtle touches. It was clear to everyone watching that there was more to your relationship than just a shared evening at a gala.

At one point, you caught Ben’s hand sliding down to give your ass a quick squeeze as you chatted with another guest. You raised an eyebrow and shot him a look that promised retribution later.

“Careful,” you warned in a low voice. “Or I might just have to show you who’s really in charge.”

Ben’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Looking forward to it.”

As the night wore on, you and Ben continued to mingle with the other guests, your playful teasing never missing a beat. At one point, Ben even attempted to dance with you, though his moves were decidedly more suggestive than graceful. You found yourself laughing and trying to keep up, the entire scene feeling more like a private joke between the two of you than a formal event.

A particularly snooty woman approached, her eyes narrowing as she took in Ben’s casual demeanor and your playful interactions. “I’m surprised to see you here, Soldier Boy,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “And with Psyke, no less.”

Ben’s grin didn’t falter as he gave her a once-over. “Surprised? Well, I do like to keep people on their toes.”

The woman’s lips thinned, clearly unamused by Ben’s response. “I hope you’re not disrupting the event with your...antics.”

You stepped in, leaning close to the woman with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re just here to have a good time. If that’s too much for you, maybe you should have stayed home.”

The woman’s eyes widened in shock, and she quickly retreated, her face a mask of indignation. You and Ben exchanged a triumphant look, both of you clearly enjoying the minor scandal you’d caused.

As the evening continued, the two of you couldn’t resist finding more ways to push each other’s buttons. At one point, Ben leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “You know, I’ve been thinking about our little ‘discussion’ earlier.”

You turned to him, a playful smile on your lips. “Oh? And what are you thinking?”

“Maybe it’s time I showed you just how much I appreciate your company,” Ben said, his voice low and suggestive.

Before you could respond, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you close, his hands finding their way to your ass once again. You squealed in surprise as he gave you a quick, playful squeeze, earning a few curious glances from nearby guests.

“Oh, really?” you said, trying to sound shocked. “In the middle of a gala?”

Ben’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Why not? We’re here to make an impression.”

You laughed, unable to resist his playful demeanor. “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll just have to keep you on your toes, too.”

The rest of the night passed in a whirlwind of laughter, playful banter, and more than a few surprised looks from other guests. You and Ben continued to push each other’s buttons, reveling in the way you could make even the most formal of events feel like your own personal playground.

As the evening drew to a close, you found yourselves back in the limo, the car’s interior a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour of the gala. Ben leaned back, his eyes still gleaming with satisfaction.

“Not a bad night,” he said, stretching his legs out with a contented sigh.

“Not bad at all,” you agreed, leaning back against him with a relaxed smile. “You sure know how to keep things interesting.”

Ben’s hand found its way to your thigh, his touch warm and reassuring. “Well, I do try. But I think I’m ready for the next round of fun.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a sly smile. “Oh? And what do you have in mind?”

Ben’s grin was pure mischief. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

NOW:

You came to on the cold, hard floor of Hughie’s kitchen. The tile felt like ice against your cheek, and you tried to push yourself up but found your limbs unresponsive. A dull ache throbbed in your head, and the world spun around you in a dizzying blur. Your vision swam, and you could barely make out the shapes of the kitchen appliances and the scattered mess of Hughie’s apartment.

Through the haze, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. They grew louder, more distinct, and you could faintly make out Hughie’s concerned voice.

“Jesus, what the hell?” Hughie’s voice was tinged with panic. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You tried to speak, but the words came out as a mumbled mess, barely audible. Your mouth felt dry, and the effort to communicate left you feeling even more disoriented.

Hughie’s footsteps grew closer, and a moment later, you felt his hands gently lifting you from the floor. “Hang on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Before Hughie could do much more, another set of footsteps pounded into the kitchen. Ben burst through the door, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His face went from confusion to fury in an instant.

“What the fuck happened?” Ben’s voice roared through the room, filled with an edge of panic. “Why the hell is she on the goddamn floor?”

Hughie looked sheepish, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I—I found her like this. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed as he approached, his anger palpable. “You found her like this? How the fuck long ago?”

“Just a few minutes,” Hughie stammered. “I was in the other room and—”

“—Jesus Christ,” Ben cut him off, his voice low and dangerously sharp. “You had her on the floor for more than a few minutes? What the hell kind of shit show is this?”

Without waiting for an answer, Ben knelt beside you. His rough hands were surprisingly gentle as he helped you onto your back. You were barely aware of what was happening, your head spinning and your limbs feeling like lead.

“Hey, stay with me,” Ben said, his voice a harsh whisper but filled with concern. “Can you hear me?”

You tried to nod, but the motion made your head spin even more. You blinked slowly, trying to focus on his face, which hovered above you like a shadowy figure.

Ben’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression was still a mixture of anger and worry. “Jesus, you’re out of it. What the hell did you take?”

“I… don’t know,” you managed to croak out, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I… can’t remember.”

“Of course you can’t,” Ben muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Alright, we’re not calling the fucking hospital. Not yet. We’ll deal with this ourselves.”

He glanced over at Hughie. “Get some fucking pillows or something. We need to get her off the floor and make sure she’s okay.”

Hughie scrambled to follow Ben’s instructions, rushing to fetch a few cushions from the couch and placing them under your legs. Ben moved with a rough efficiency, lifting you and maneuvering you onto the sofa with surprising care. He propped your legs up with the pillows, making sure you were as comfortable as possible given the circumstances.

As you lay there, trying to steady your breathing, Ben hovered nearby, his face a mask of intense focus mixed with frustration. He looked at Hughie, who was standing awkwardly by the counter, clearly feeling out of his depth.

“Alright,” Ben said, his voice still sharp but less panicked. “What the fuck happened here, Hughie? Did she just fall or something?”

Hughie shook his head, clearly rattled. “I don’t know. I came in and found her like this. She was just lying there.”

Ben let out a frustrated sigh, turning back to you. “You’ve got to be kidding me. She’s high as balls and you didn’t even think to call for help?”

You tried to focus on Ben’s face, his green eyes piercing through your disorientation. “High?” you mumbled, confusion evident in your voice. “I don’t… remember.”

Ben’s gaze softened just a bit, though his tone remained gruff. “Yeah, well, whatever the hell you took, it’s fucking you up pretty good. You need to stay awake, alright? Don’t go drifting off on me.”

You tried to respond, but your head was swimming, and the effort only seemed to make things worse. Ben’s frustration was evident, but there was a thread of genuine concern in his voice.

“You’re going to be fine,” Ben said, his tone a mix of roughness and reassurance. “We just need to ride this out and figure out what the hell happened.”

He looked at Hughie again. “Make yourself useful. Get us some water and maybe something to eat. If she’s been out of it for a while, she’s going to need to rehydrate and get some energy back.”

Hughie nodded quickly, darting off to the kitchen. Ben’s attention turned back to you as he settled into a nearby chair, his gaze never leaving your face.

“So, this is how you decide to spend your day?” Ben said, his voice gruff but tinged with a wry edge. “Lying on the floor, all out of it. Fucking great way to spend an evening.”

You tried to muster a weak smile, but the effort left you feeling even dizzier. “Sorry… didn’t mean to…”

Ben cut you off, his expression softening slightly despite the rough edge in his voice. “Don’t apologize. Just focus on staying awake. We’ve got this covered.”

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to read what was left of your consciousness. “And for the record, if you’re going to get yourself fucked up, at least do it somewhere I don’t have to clean up after.”

You managed a feeble chuckle, which only made your head spin more. “Noted.”

Hughie returned with a glass of water and a small plate of crackers. He set them down on the coffee table in front of you, looking more than a little relieved to have something to do. “Here you go. Try to drink some of this.”

You struggled to sit up slightly, your hands trembling as you reached for the water. Ben moved closer, his hand steadying yours as you took a few sips.

“Slowly,” he instructed. “Don’t rush it.”

You nodded weakly, your throat feeling like sandpaper as you drank. The water helped a little, though it didn’t completely clear the fog in your head.

“Better?” Ben asked, his voice still gruff but with a hint of concern.

“Yeah,” you managed to say, though the word came out as more of a slur. “Just… dizzy.”

Ben sighed, his expression a mixture of frustration and empathy. “We’ll get you through this. Just hang tight.”

Hughie watched from the sidelines, clearly feeling out of his depth. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Ben shot him a look that was both appreciative and impatient. “Just keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t slip back out. I’ll figure out what the hell we’re dealing with.”

Hughie nodded and took a seat across the room, his gaze occasionally flicking toward you with concern. You tried to focus on the voices around you, the conversations blending into a background noise as you fought to keep yourself awake.

Ben stayed close, his presence a reassuring constant in the midst of the confusion. He occasionally checked your pulse, his movements deliberate and precise, and though his words were rough, there was an undeniable care in his actions.

As time passed, the disorientation began to fade slowly. You could feel the room starting to come back into focus, and the nausea receded somewhat. Ben’s gruff comments and occasional jokes about your state made the whole situation seem almost surreal, adding a touch of humor to the otherwise unsettling experience.

“So,” Ben said after a while, his tone more conversational, “what exactly did you get into, anyway? You got some sort of new drug or something?”

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog from your mind. “I… I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Ben gave a skeptical look but didn’t press the issue further. “Alright, well, let’s just get through this and figure it out. In the meantime, just try to relax and stay with us.”

You managed a faint smile, feeling a bit more lucid as the minutes went by. Ben’s rough demeanor had its own charm, and though his swearing and brusque attitude were far from comforting, there was a sense of reliability in his presence.

“Thanks,” you said softly, the words coming more easily now. “For… helping.”

Ben’s expression softened slightly, though his voice remained gruff. “Don’t mention it. Just try not to make a habit of this, alright?”

You nodded, feeling a bit better with each passing moment. Hughie continued to keep watch, his concern evident but his actions hesitant. Ben’s constant vigilance and occasional snide remarks kept you grounded, providing a steadying influence as you slowly regained your strength.

The night wore on, and as the initial haze of disorientation cleared, you felt yourself growing more coherent. Ben’s rough charm and Hughie’s well-meaning but somewhat awkward attempts to help created an oddly comforting atmosphere, despite the chaos.

Eventually, as you started to feel more like yourself, Ben leaned back in his chair, his expression a mixture of relief

and exasperation. “Well, you’re not exactly back to normal, but at least you’re not out cold on the floor anymore.”

You gave him a weak smile, appreciating the effort even if his methods were a bit unconventional. “I’ll take it.”

Ben nodded, his gaze shifting to Hughie. “Alright, I think we’re good here. Just keep an eye on her and let me know if anything changes.”

Hughie nodded, looking more relieved. “Will do. Thanks for—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben interrupted, standing up and stretching. “Just don’t fuck it up again.”

As Ben headed for the door, he threw a final glance back at you. “And for the record, if you’re going to get yourself fucked up, at least make sure it’s something worth the trouble.”

With that, he was gone, leaving you and Hughie in the quiet of the apartment. The disorientation was mostly gone now, and you felt more like yourself, though still a bit shaky.

Hughie moved closer, offering a reassuring smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you said, your voice stronger now. “Thanks for—”

“Don’t mention it,” Hughie said quickly, though there was genuine relief in his eyes. “Just glad you’re okay.”

You nodded, grateful for his concern even if his presence had felt a bit like a secondary player in the drama. Then you frowned. “Cocksucker.”

“Yeah?” Hughie instantly answered, perking up a little, making you inwardly laugh at the fact that he actually responded to that.

“I didn’t take anything that strong.” You frowned, rubbing your forehead. If so, what the fuck did that?”

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[diwatopia]

★ cruel ; neteyam

synopsis. as of recently, neteyam's been slipping away. attempting to get to the bottom of his negligence towards you, he spews harsh words that begin to form cracks within your relationship. will neteyam be able to fix this despite being the cause of your pain?

info. angst / no comfort, gn!na'vi!reader, 1135 words

warnings. arguing, yelling, outta pocket teyam (boo 🍅), one use of y/n, crying, grammatical errors, based off "queen elizabeth" fight scene :P

neteyam has been distant.

physically, he's there, but mentally — he's lightyears away from you.

it hasn't always been like this though. during the beginning of your courtship, neteyam was nothing short of attentive and caring. he was everything you wanted in a lover but as of recently, he slowly began drifting away from you. at this point, he's been more of an acquaintance than a mate.

and if you were being honest, you couldn't help but find the situation slightly comical. your mind fills itself to the brim with memories of falling so deeply in love with one another, but now — now, he's just gone.

"you never have to hide from me," he told you.

his words were doused in honey, every single insecurity that plague your mind began melting away. he wanted to know the real you. not the village's tskarem, not the "golden child" title that the elders bestowed upon you.

he wanted to know you.

he wanted to drown himself in your scent, burn the feeling of your body next to his, he wanted to know the ins and outs of your soul.

"i am just neteyam when we are together. not the clan's future olo'ekytan, not the successor of my father. i am simple and plain neteyam."

the memory brings the smallest of smiles to your lips, yet it does nothing to ease the surge of loneliness that consumes you, your heart. it keeps you up at night, eyes wide open as you replay everything that had let up to this point of your relationship. you were beyond tired having to play this game with him, so you decided to bite the bullet and ask him.

"neteyam are you here — oh, kiri!" you speak out, sending her a sweet smile her way. she returns the gesture, "hi, y/n! he's near the shooting range." she states simply, going back to her weaving.

you thank her before scurrying away. luckily, he wasn't too far and you were able to catch up with him. your hands nervously tremble, wringing themselves out in hopes to stop the shakiness. your strides are slow, but with a few encouraging words, you will yourself to walk up to him.

as if on cue, he turns around and catches you staring. his eyes catch you off guard, sunflower-hued orbs swirling with something you can't seem to put your finger on.

"hey..." you say, tone unsure. the sunlight sparkles, flashing through tiny openings of leaves as they sway in the wind. the mossy floor quiets your footsteps as you get closer, standing next to him wordlessly.

he parrots your greeting before going back to his previous task. he draws his bow, eyeing the target that stares back at him. "have you been well?" you ask hopefully. he shrugs, muttering something about being busy and that he's fine. your lips purse at the lack of communication on his end.

"okay, stop. what is wrong with you?" you ask sternly. your eyebrows scrunch in displeasure, subtly creating space between you and him by taking a step sideways. he looks back at you, surprised at the sudden fierceness to your voice.

he sends you a quizzical look as if he genuinely had no clue what you were hinting at, "i do not know what you are talking about." he states it as if it were a fact.

you roll your eyes at his deflection, crossing your arms irritably. "do not play this game with me," you scoff, sounding like a parent scolding their child. neteyam's eyes downcast shamefully towards the bow in his hands, the seriousness of the situation beginning to crash down on him.

"look, i know you have been having a hard time with your duties, but 'teyam, i'm here for you. there is no need to run away from me, from us —"

"there is no 'us'," he cuts you off, not sparing you a single glance. "there is nothing here. you have absolutely no knowledge of what it takes, what is thrust upon me as the next olo'ekytan. i am forced to love you, a simple clans person who does not contribute a single thing to this village," he grunts out, nostrils flaring in irritation.

"yes, i have my duties but i will not be forced to go through yet another day where you think we are true lovers. so back off." his voice grows angrier with each word. his words resemble a whip, every word that tumbles past his lips begins to hit you again, and again, and again. his breath gets caught in his throat as his face flushes a darker plum color.

your jaw drops slightly, an instant gasp leaving your lips. the tiny noise knocks neteyam out of his defensive state and with every passing second, regret begins to consume him whole.

both of you stay silent for second, just staring at each other in search of how to respond, to no avail. he watches your face morph into one that is more closed off, walls building themselves high as you straighten out your posture before responding.

"my mistake," you swallow thickly, voice almost mocking him in a sense. "i apologize for thinking there was an us. i thought i was speaking to just neteyam, not the chief's son. forgive me for thinking otherwise." your tone is monotonous, gaze meeting his in an intense staring match.

his brows drop, eyes widening as his frown begins to grow deeper. "y/n..." he tries to take a step closer to you, in return you take a step back. you cut off his advances before they can even start. "i am truly sorry for the fact that our entire relationship was a mere inconvenience for you."

neteyam hisses as if you had slapped him across his face, and after everything he had just spilt, he wouldn't be surprised if you actually did so. but there you stand, the sparkle in your eyes dimming. his mouth open and closes, trying to muster up enough words to form a proper sentence. and to rub salt into his freshly cut wound, "was there anything else the chief's son needed to say to me or am i free to leave?" you ask calmly, eyes never leaving his.

his hands twitch nervously, biting the inside of his cheek as he contemplates his next move. "there's nothing else to say on this matter," he mutters.

you nod affirmatively before turning your back towards him. as you begin walking away, neteyam's hands instinctively reach for you, calling your name desperately as the space between you and him grows bigger.

he knew he had messed up, big time.

"that's enough, neteyam." your voice stern, pointing an accusatory finger his way. he continues to watch your retreating form, heart willing him to run after you, yet his brain forces his body to remain deathly still.

⋆ ˚｡ ୨୧ reblogs / feedback are highly appreciated. thank you!

★ diwa's notes. i always write fluff n shit so i decided to change that LOL there might b a pt 2, not sure tho :P

© ilupearls 2023.

[littlequeenies]

Elizabeth “Long Liz” Stride

[Previous post]

Last days and murder

The night from Thursday, September 27 to Friday, September 28, Elizabeth Stride continued to lodge at 32 Flower and Dean Street, Whitechapel. On Saturday 29th Elizabeth spent the afternoon cleaning two rooms at the lodging house and for her services she was paid 6d by the lodging house deputy Elizabeth Tanner. Liz asked fellow lodger, barber Charles Preston to borrow his clothes brush but he had mislaid it. At 6:30 pm Tanner saw Liz again at the Queen’s Head Public House at 74 Commercial Street. They drank together and then walked back to the lodging house. 

Around 7:00-8:00pm Liz was seen leaving the lodging house by fellow lodger Catherine Lane. She gave Lane a large piece of green velvet and asked her to hold it for her until she returned. Liz then left passing by Thomas Bates, watchman at the lodging house who said she looked quite cheerful. Lane would later state that “I know the deceased had 6d when she left, she showed it to me, stating that the deputy had given it to her.” The weather that evening was showery and windy.

Liz was wearing a black jacket and skirt, with a posy of a red rose in a spray of maidenhair fern or asparagus leaves. Her outfit was complemented by a black crêpe bonnet. 

At 11:00pm two labourers, J. Best and John Gardner were going into the Bricklayer’s Arms Public House on Settles street, north of Commercial Road and almost opposite Berner Street (since renamed Henriques Street). As they went in Liz was leaving with a short man with a dark moustache and sandy eyelashes. The man was wearing a billycock hat, mourning suit and coat. Best said “They had been served in the public house and went out when me and my friends came in. It was raining very fast and they did not appear willing to go out. He was hugging and kissing her, and as he seemed a respectably dressed man, we were rather astonished at the way he was going on at the woman.” Liz and the man stood in the doorway for some time hugging and kissing. The workmen tried to get the man to come in for a drink but he refused. They then called to Liz. “That’s Leather Apron getting ‘round you.” The man and Liz moved off towards Commercial Road and Berner Street. “He and the woman went off like a shot soon after eleven.”

At 11:45pm William Marshall, a laborer, saw her on Berner Street. He was standing in the doorway of 64 Berner Street on the west side of the street between Fairclough and Boyd Streets. He noticed her talking to a man in a short black cutaway coat and sailor’s hat outside number 63. They were kissing and carrying on. He heard the man say “You would say anything but your prayers.” A quarter later, at 12:00am, Matthew Packer claimed to have sold Liz and a man grapes.

It was 12:35am when Police Constable William Smith saw Liz and a young man on Berner Street opposite the International Working Men’s Educational Club. The man was described as 28 years old, dark coat and hard deerstalker hat. He was carrying a parcel approximately 6 inches high and 18 inches (45cm) in length and the package was wrapped in newspaper. Between 12:30 and 12:50 a.m., departing club members, who had attended a debate on “The Necessity of Socialism amongst Jews” followed by community singing, had seen nothing amiss in the yard. Mrs. Mortimer, who lived two doors away from the club, had stood in Berner Street to listen to the singing at about the same time, and had not seen anyone enter the yard. Mortimer did report seeing a man with a shiny black bag race past, which was reported widely in the press, but one of the club’s members, Leon Goldstein, identified himself as the man Mortimer had seen and he was eliminated from the inquiry.

Approximately at 12:45am, and quoting Home Office File: “Israel Schwartz of 22 Helen Street, Backchurch Lane, stated that at this hour, turning into Berner Street from Commercial Road, and having gotten as far as the gateway where the murder was committed, he saw a man stop and speak to a woman, who was standing in the gateway. He tried to pull the woman into the street, but he turned her round and threw her down on the footway and the woman screamed three times, but not very loudly. On crossing to the opposite side of the street, he saw a second man lighting his pipe. The man who threw the woman down called out, apparently to the man on the opposite side of the road, “Lipski”, and then Schwartz walked away, but finding that he was followed by the second man, he ran as far as the railway arch, but the man did not follow so far.

Schwartz cannot say whether the two men were together or known to each other. Upon being taken to the mortuary Schwartz identified the body as that of the woman he had seen.“

Later in the deposition:

”It will be observed that allowing for differences of opinion between PC Smith and Schwartz as to the apparent age and height of the man each saw with the woman whose body they both identified, there are serious differences in the description of the dress…so at least it is rendered doubtful that they are describing the same man.

If Schwartz is to be believed, and the police report of his statement casts no doubt upon it, it follows that if they are describing different men that the man Schwartz saw is the more probable of the two to be the murderer…“

Schwartz described the man as about 30 years old, 5’ 5” tall with a fresh complexion, dark hair and small brown moustache. He was dressed in an overcoat and an old black felt hat with a wide brim.

At the same time (ca. 12:45am), James Brown said he saw Liz (or someone else matching her description) with a man as he was going home with his supper down Fairclough Street. She was leaning against the wall talking to a stoutish man about 5’ 7” tall in a long black coat that reached to his heels. He has his arm against the wall and she was saying “No, not tonight, some other night.” A note in the margin of the Home Office files on the case points out that there was time for Stride to meet another man between the latest sightings of her and her murder.

Discovery

Elizabeth’s body was discovered close to 1 a.m. on Sunday 30 September 1888 by Louis Diemschutz, a salesman of jewellery, entered Dutfield’s Yard driving his cart and pony. Immediately at the entrance, his pony shied and refused to proceed – Diemschutz suspected something was in the way but could not see since the yard was utterly pitch black. He probed forward with his whip and came into contact with a body, whom he initially believed to be either drunk or asleep. He entered the International Working Men’s Educational Club to get some help in rousing the woman, and upon returning to the yard with Isaac Kozebrodsky and Morris Eagle, the three discovered that she had been murdered, her throat cut. It was believed that Diemschutz’s arrival frightened the killer, causing him to flee before he performed the mutilations. Diemschutz himself stated that he believed the murderer was still in the yard when he had entered, due to the warm temperature of the body and the continuingly odd behaviour of his pony.

Dr. Frederick Blackwell of 100 Commercial Road was called; he arrived at 1.16am and pronounced Elizabeth dead at the scene. She was found clutching a packet of Cachous pills in her hand. Cachous was a pill used by smokers to sweeten their breath. Shortly after, Dr George Bagster Phillips, who had handled the case of a previous Whitechapel murder victim Annie Chapman and would also handle the later Mary Jane Kelly case, arrived. 

At the time of her murder she was 45 years old. She had a pale complexion, light grey eyes and had curly dark brown hair. All the teeth in her lower left jaw were missing and she stood five foot five inches tall.

Catherine Eddowes was murdered within walking distance less than an hour later (between 1:35 and 1:45 am), both had lived in Flower and Dean Street. Their murders sent London into a panic, as it was the first time that two murders ascribed to the Whitechapel murderer had occurred in one night (known as ”The Double Event”).

The police searched the remaining members of the club, and the adjacent properties, and interviewed the residents of the area. 

No money was found on Elizabeth’s body, so it is possible that her night’s takings were stolen from her, either in the attack seen by Schwartz, or by her murderer. Either way she seems to have gone into the yard with her murderer alive, presumably on the basis that he was a client.

Phillips’s official documents pertaining to his examination of the decedent, the crime scene, and subsequent post-mortem state:

“The body was lying on the near side, with the face turned toward the wall, the head up the yard and the feet toward the street. The left arm was extended and there was a packet of cachous in the left hand. … The right arm was over the belly; the back of the hand and wrist had on it clotted blood. The legs were drawn up with the feet close to the wall. The body and face were warm and the hand cold. The legs were quite warm. The deceased had a silk handkerchief round her neck, and it appeared to be slightly torn. I have since ascertained it was cut. This corresponded with the right angle of the jaw. The throat was deeply gashed, and there was an abrasion of the skin about one and a quarter inches in diameter, apparently stained with blood, under her right brow. At 3 p.m. on Monday [October 1] at St. George-in-the-East Mortuary, Dr Blackwell and I made a post-mortem examination. Rigor mortis was still thoroughly marked. There was mud on the left side of the face and it was matted in the head. … The body was fairly nourished. Over both shoulders, especially the right, and under the collarbone and in front of the chest there was a blueish discolouration, which I have watched and have seen on two occasions since. There was a clear-cut incision on the neck. It was six inches in length and commenced two and a half inches in a straight line below the angle of the jaw, three quarters of an inch over an undivided muscle, and then, becoming deeper, dividing the sheath. The cut was very clean and deviated a little downwards. The arteries and other vessels contained in the sheath were all cut through. The cut through the tissues on the right side was more superficial, and tailed off to about two inches below the right angle of the jaw. The deep vessels on that side were uninjured. From this it was evident that the haemorrhage was caused through the partial severance of the left carotid artery and a small bladed knife could have been used. Decomposition had commenced in the skin. Dark brown spots were on the anterior surface of the left chin. There was a deformity in the bones of the right leg, which was not straight, but bowed forwards. There was no recent external injury save to the neck. The body being washed more thoroughly, I could see some healing sores. The lobe of the left ear was torn as if from the removal or wearing through of an earring, but it was thoroughly healed. On removing the scalp there was no sign of bruising or extravasation of blood. … The heart was small, the left ventricle firmly contracted, and the right slightly so. There was no clot in the pulmonary artery, but the right ventricle was full of dark clot. The left was firmly contracted as to be absolutely empty. The stomach was large and the mucous membrane only congested. It contained partly digested food, apparently consisting of cheese, potato, and farinaceous powder [flour or milled grain]. All the teeth on the lower left jaw were absent.”

Blackwell opined his belief that Stride’s murderer may have pulled her backwards on to the ground by her neckerchief (the bow of which was observed to be markedly tight) before cutting her throat. Phillips concurred with this opinion, stating that Stride had most likely been lying supine upon the ground when she was killed by a single, swift slash wound inflicted left to right across her neck, strongly indicating her murderer had been right-handed. Bruising on her chest also supports the forensic deduction that Stride’s torso had been pinned to the ground prior to the wound to her neck being inflicted by her assailant.

That morning Mrs Mary Malcolm, believing the Berner St victim to be her sister, Mrs Elizabeth Watts, also nicknamed “Long Liz”, went to the mortuary. She was unable to identify the body. That evening: Schwartz voluntarily gave a statement at Leman Street Police Station. He was then taken to the mortuary. He identified Elizabeth’s body as that of the woman he had seen.

On 1 October, Michael Kidney had walked drunk into Leman Street police station and decried police incompetence. If he were the policeman on duty in Berner Street that night, he had said, he would have shot himself. The following year he appears in the records of Whitechapel Workhouse Infirmary three times: for syphilis in June, lumbago in August and dyspepsia in October. Kidney had come under suspicion for the murder, because of their turbulent relationship, and there is no record of his alibi. Police, however, appear to have eliminated him from the inquiry, and his decline in health and distress at the police station indicate that he took her passing badly.

The day after the murder, a citizen mob formed outside of Berner Street protesting the continuation of the murders and the seemingly slipshod work of the police to catch the killer. From here on in, the murderer is public enemy number one, and Home Office begins to consider offering awards for his capture and arrest.

Inquest

The inquest was opened on 1 October, at the Vestry Hall, Cable Street, St George’s in the East, by the Middlesex coroner, Wynne Edwin Baxter.  On viewing the body, Dr. Barnardo recognized Liz instantly as one of the women in the kitchen of 32 Flower and Dean Street lodging house. Priest Johannes Palmér wrote a letter written to the clerk Sven Olsson, asking him to go down to the mortuary at St George-in-the-East to view the body and give information to the police. Palmér was frequently in contact with Dr Barnardo, discussing the situation of poor and sick people in the East End. Marshall also identified Elizabeth’s body as that of the woman he had seen.  

The following day conflicting testimony as to Stride’s identity was heard. The police seemed certain that Stride was the Swede Elisabeth Gustafsdotter, but Mrs Mary Malcolm swore the body was that of her sister, Elizabeth Watts. Over the course of the inquest, other witnesses identified the dead woman as Elizabeth Stride, including the clerk of the Swedish Church in Prince’s Square, Sven Olsson. Malcolm’s story was only finally dismissed on 24 October when Elizabeth Watts disproved her sister’s story by appearing personally at the inquest as living proof that she was not dead and PC Walter Stride (Stride’s nephew-by-marriage) confirmed her identity.

Coroner Baxter believed that Stride had been attacked with a swift, sudden action. The murderer could have taken advantage of a checked scarf she was wearing to grab her from behind before slitting her throat, as was suggested by Blackwell. Baxter, however, thought the absence of a shout for assistance and the lack of obvious marks of a struggle indicated that she lay down willingly. She was still holding a packet of cachous (breath freshening sweets) in her left hand when she was discovered, indicating that she had not had time to defend herself. A grocer, Matthew Packer, implied to two private detectives employed by the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, Le Grand and Batchelor, that he had sold some grapes to Stride and the murderer; however, he had told police sergeant Stephen White that he had shut his shop without seeing anything suspicious. At the inquest, the pathologists stated emphatically that Elizabeth had not held, swallowed or consumed grapes. They described her stomach contents as “cheese, potatoes and farinaceous powder”. Nevertheless, Packer’s story appeared in the press, and private detectives did discover a grape stalk in the yard. When re-interviewed by the police, Packer described the man as aged between 25 and 30, slightly taller than her and wearing a soft felt hat, but he had told the private detectives that the man was middle-aged and heavy set. Neither of his descriptions matched the statements by other witnesses who may have seen her with men shortly before her murder, but all the descriptions differed.

Further doubt is cast on the story by the character of Le Grand, also known as Charles Grand, Charles Grandy, Charles Grant, Christian Neilson, and Christian Nelson, one of the men hired by the Vigilance Committee to investigate the crimes. He had an extensive criminal record, which included assault on a prostitute and conviction for theft. In 1889, he was convicted of conspiracy to defraud and served two years’ imprisonment. After his release, he was arrested in possession of a revolver and charged with demanding money with menace, a crime for which he was sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment. The overall commander of the Whitechapel murders investigation, Chief Inspector Donald Swanson, noted “any statement [made by Packer] would be rendered almost valueless as evidence”.

Israel Schwartz did not testify at the inquest on Stride, possibly because he was Hungarian and spoke very little if any English.

Funeral & aftermath

Elizabeth Stride was buried on Saturday 6 October 1888 in the East London Cemetery Plaistow, London, in grave #15509, square 37. The sparse funeral was provided at the expense of the parish by the undertaker, Mr Hawkes.

On 19 October, Chief Inspector Swanson wrote a report detailing that 80,000 leaflets requesting information had been distributed to the neighbourhood and 2000 lodgers had been examined, among other lines of inquiry.

Elizabeth’s brother, Carl Bernhard, died in 1908 and is buried together with his wife, Olena, b. 1837, who died in 1917. Elizabeth’s sister Anna Cristin died in 1916. Her grave, a pauper’s gave, no longer exists. Neither does that of Bernhard Olsson, Elizabeth’s brother in law, who died in 1907/1908. (He was buried 3rd Jan 1908.)

Stefan Rantzow, Swedish musician and historian, visited St George’s in 2008 with descendants of Elizabeth Stride. Articles about their visit appeared in the Swedish press. On July 2015 he arranged a meeting with the Jacobson brothers and Sally and John Edmonds – Sally is related to John Stride. Joined by local historians and representatives of the newspaper Torslanda Tidningen, they visited sites in Gothenburg, starting at the church where Elizabeth was baptized (and her parents Gustaf Ericsson and Beata Carlsdotter were buried: their graves are gone, but the grave of the priest who baptized her, Carl Gustaf Schoug, is still there). They visited the house nearby in Stora Tumlehed where she was born – currently vacant but they had access to the keys – and then the suburbs of Gothenburg where she worked before leaving to London.

Photos from: Escrito en Sangre blogspot, Crimenes de Whitechapel blogspot, Fanpop, Jack the Ripper Walk, Casebook, Retrocards, WhitechapelJack & Wikipedia

***

To know more:

Casebook website - Casebook wiki - Casebook timeline - Casebook message boards - Casebook Forums

Wikipedia

Find a Grave

JTR Forums

Elisabeth Gustafsdotters’ last Stride - Casebook

Jack the Ripper map

The Jack the ripper tour (.co.uk)

Jack the Ripper 1888 - The final Sighting - The murder of Elizabeth Stride

Elizabeth Stride - ripper vision

Ripper Tour

The Jack the Ripper tour (.com)

Whitechapel Society

Whitechapel Jack - Whitechapel Jack (Double Event)

Jack Ripper

Jack the Ripper time Blogspot

All things Crime Blog

Saucy Jacky

Kent Online

BEGG, Paul (2003): Jack the Ripper: The Definitive History.

BEGG, Paul (2013): Jack The Ripper. The Facts.

COOK, Andrew (2009): Jack the Ripper.

EVANS, Stewart P. & RUMBELOW, Donald (2006): Jack the Ripper: Scotland Yard Investigates.

EVANS, Stewart P. & SKINNER, Keith (2000): The Ultimate Jack the Ripper Sourcebook: An Illustrated Encyclopedia.

EVANS, Stewart P. & SKINNER, Keith (2001): Jack the Ripper: Letters from Hell.

FIDO, Martin (1987): The Crimes, Death and Detection of Jack the Ripper.

FROST, Rebecca (2018): The Ripper’s Victims in Print. The Rethoric Portrayals Since 1929.

HUME, Robert (2019): The hidden lives of Jack the Ripper’s victims.

LEUFSTADIUS, Birgitta (1994): Jack the Rippers tredje offer. (In Swedish)

MARRIOT, Trevor (2005): Jack the Ripper: The 21st Century Investigation.

OLSSON, Daniel (2004): Elisabeth’s Story: A Documentary Narrative of Long Liz Stride’s Early Life in Sweden in Ripperologist, No. 52, March 2004.

PRIESTLEY, Mick P. (2018): One Autumn in Whitechapel. 

RANDALL, Anthony J. (2013): Jack the Ripper. Blood lines.

RUBENHOLD, Hallie (2019): The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women killed by Jack the Ripper / The Five: The Lives of Jack the Ripper’s Women.

RUMBELOW, Donald (2004): The Complete Jack the Ripper: Fully Revised and Updated.

SHELDEN, Neal E. (2013): Mary Jane Kelly and the Victims of Jack the Ripper: The 125th Anniversary.

SHELDEN STUBBINGS, Neal (2007): The Victims of Jack the Ripper.

SUDGEN, Philip (2002): The Complete History of Jack the Ripper.

TROW, M. J. (2009): Jack The Ripper: Quest for a Killer.

WHITE, Jerry (2007): London in the Nineteenth Century.

WOODS, Paul; & BADDELEY, Gavin (2009): Saucy Jack: The Elusive Ripper.

YOST, Dave (2008): Elizabeth Stride and Jack The Ripper.

[knithacker]

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[chaifootsteps]

i don't think i like the implication of that pentious was able to redeem himself by doing something that stopped six people from dying forever in hell as a bandaid to failing to stop six women from being murdered in life. like their lives are interchangeable just because the numbers add up even. are those six women in heaven? is he ever going to actually come face to face with them and apologize for not speaking up for them? that seems like it would be more healing and redeeming for him than what was in the clip imo

Can you imagine how much more impactful it would have been if the Speaker had said that it wasn't up to her, then asked, "What do you think, ladies?" And then Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly all step forward?

At that point, if you don't want the hornet's nest of potentially mischaracterizing five brutally murdered women, you reveal that Pentious was allowed to stay but leave their actual words on the subject to the imagination.

[heartfullofleeches]

Since you mentioned the Frankenhounds (one of my favs of yours)

I always remember those videos of Queen Elizabeth where she enters a room with her running corgis entourage, and I just imagine scientist reader with the Frankenhounds, but instead of cute corgis it's terrifying, stitched up murder machines.

Still cuties tho!

A new face in town always called for celebration. Don't see many of those too often, and with the gradually declining population for mysterious and unknown causes they were a blessing.

A corporate hot-shot decided they had enough of the city life and shipped themselves and their earthly possessions off to the closest town that allowed them to work remotely from their high paying job. To the surprise of neighbors who arrived with baked goods and freshly picked fruits, they had already started the process of planning a get together to meet everyone they'd see on the daily. The townspeople were so thrilled they forgot the tiny detail that there was one person who wasn't as welcoming as the rest. The party began without a hitch, but something felt out of place for the new face. The one person they were more excited to meet had yet to make their presence known as as their absence persisted they began to worry they might not show at all.

"Excuse me? Do you happen to have a number I can use to all the scientist?"

Though the tap on their shoulder was enough to alert the neighbor still wearing their carrier uniform, their eyes pop out of their sockets like billiard balls as they choke down a mouthful of food. "You... invited them?"

Puzzled by their sudden change, the new neighbor flashes a concerned smile. "Yes? Some articles of their work came up when I was doing research of your town, though most were slightly vague about what they do. They replied to my email saying they'd be around as soon as they could, and they'd bring their dogs if I allowed."

The mail carrier's eyes are just about ready to shoot out their skull. They make a grab for their bag - discarding their fallen cap as they gather their things. "Great party, but something's come up. Be seeing you, if you survive. Where are my keys... where are my..."

A sharp whistle pierces the air. All color, and hope, drains from the carrier's face as the yard's back entrance is pawed opened by a clawed hand - stitches running down the length of its furred limb. It retreats into the darkness as a lone figure steps out into view. Eyes follow them from all corners as they stride meticulously towards the larger group of party-goers, face void of greater expression than tight lips and a passive gaze. They scan the crowd, locating the newcomer with ease. A small smile forms - never meeting your eyes.

"Mx. Wilson. So good to finally meet you. Since this is our first meeting I must inform you I am not one to mingle with... others. I allow this an exception as you were unaware of this fact, and seemed so excited to meet my sweet pups - and I have to say they are quite eager to meet you as well."

The braver of the crowd regain function of their limbs, and take their attempt to flee as you bring two fingers to your limbs - but it's too late. Heavy panting and soft howls join the piercing shriek of your call in a sympathy of the chaos soon to follow. One by one, your howls spill into the yard - the newcomers eyes wide with newfound terror as the years long terror resurfaces in your existing neighbors.

The hounds knock over tables and chairs, barking and hissing at all who infer with their path. They corner those more expressive of their fear in tight shapes - bursting into maniacal laughter as they attempt to fling their bodies over the walls. The smallest of the group volts over to the snack table, scooping as many appetizers as they possibly could on one plate and balances the heavy weight in their claws - gifting their gracious offering to you as they kneel at your feet. You pick through the treats, patting their head as you pop one into your mouth. The others sniff out the outsider as they run for their house, dragging them back over to you and pinning them to the earth as you tower over them. You kneel, offerings a single fruit which they refuse. You chuckle.

"Oh, come now - don't be like that. We're only welcoming you to the neighborhood. My pups even when through the trouble of getting you a gift."

The fourth and most unpredictable of your hounds begins to convulse violently. They wheeze and sputter on the grass - jaws lax as they choke up something white and thin. You stroke their back, aiding them through their expulsion of whatever was lodged in their throat. Clinging to your leg, they spit out an entire human hand striped of its bone and still intact at the joints. With Halloween right around the corner, you'd say it was more a thoughtful gift than warning.

"And if I haven't said it all ready, welcome to the neighborhood."