#familiar moriarty

[ryuusea]

Framed / Catch him if you can…

[thirteenis-myluckynumber]

EADA Ben Stone - outfits every episode 3/88

+bonus

@thatsjustdandy @mikelogan @adventurouswallflower @romula96

[edwardallenpoe]

hey who was gonna tell me that House is a Sherlock Holmes adaption. Huh. Who was gonna bc the epiphany i had this morning while watching a hilson edit was not Okay. You guys KNOW i'm autistic about Sherlock Holmes.

[cantsayidont]

November 1980. Bob Hoskins channels the spirit of Edward G. Robinson in this engrossing British crime drama about an ambitious Cockney gangster who's preparing to take his business international with the help of his savvy mistress (Helen Mirren), only to have his organization start to crumble beneath him at the worst possible moment, for reasons he doesn't understand until it's far too late.

Flavorful, tough, and dynamic, anchored by the charismatic performances of Hoskins and Mirren. Among the cast of familiar British character players, watch for a young Pierce Brosnan in a small but very significant supporting role. (The American gangster with whom Harold and Victoria are trying to do a deal is played by Eddie Constantine, a one-time crooner who became famous for starring as Peter Cheyney's hardboiled detective Lemmy Caution in a series of French films of the fifties and sixties, and in Godard's ALPHAVILLE.) CONTAINS LESBIANS? No, although Harold is surprisingly open-minded about his gay associates. VERDICT: Satisfyingly solid, and one of Hoskins' best.

[iicraft505]

scrolling the house tag waiting for the daily person realizing it's partially inspired by sherlock and there are a lot of nods to sherlock in the show. i dont mean anything by this i just think it's funny. their names are literally house and wilson.

[kazukiquartz]

Does anyone remember them

They’re not really popular but the fanfics are good

[hergan416]

Hey, you know how when William crashes from overexerting his mind, that he doesn't wake up for anything? Do you think that includes Nature's Call™️? 🤔

Like -- he pees and gets so relieved he passes out?

I had not considered this before but anon your mind

I now REQUIRE William omo in which he falls asleep immediately afterwards and his partner has to clean everything up. This specifically works best if he's been holding it a long time, right?

[hungnitan]

Summary HSR main story version 1.2

How breedable cool Danheng IL there !

His JP VA even toned down IL VA two three octave than normal Danheng just to show his coolness !

His window shoulder bareback chest !

The seen through horn ! The water dragon, lotus everything scream old chinese culture !

What's more his light cone ! Ohh I can't say anymore 🤣👍

EVERYTHING ABOUT HIM IS SO PERFECT !

Let's see if I can break my f2p for his banner + lightcone, my ticket only guarantee him for now ! Well, I already prepare good *3 lightcone for him (the one enchanted basic atk, that one really good on him) but~ I want his so breedable lightcone 🤣

PS : so many memorable scene but the funny scene for me is when Blade Danheng IL basically bullying a kid for 2 vs 1 (or maybe it's 3 vs 1 since Kafka do support them 🤣), and they just don't know that kid still sting after lose to Jingliu

[admiringlove]

growing pains. hello everybody. welcome to the second rendition of @angstober 2024! i hope you enjoy <3

kageyama tobio was a cute kid.

he moved in when you were just three. back then, your days were filled with learning big words, your mother patiently guiding you through children's books, when suddenly, a boy with an oversized, odd-looking ball came into your world. his hair was parted right down the middle, and every day, he’d be out in the yard, chasing after that strange ball with his grandfather, completely obsessed.

you were six when he first said hello. it took him two and a half years to work up the courage, and all because that ridiculous ball of his ended up in your front yard. without asking, he came through the gate, eyes wide with panic, just as you were about to head to the park.

“who are you?” you’d asked, head tilted with curiosity, and he’d stammered out his name like he’d been caught red-handed in a burglary. then, of course, you had to ask about the ball—bigger than his head. what was the deal with that? “it’s a volleyball,” he’d mumbled, and from that moment on, the two of you were intertwined, like a mystery waiting to unfold.

for the next ten years, kageyama tobio became your favorite puzzle. you chased after him like someone chasing a wild animal, half playfully, half determined. at first, it was a game—like you were sherlock and he, your elusive moriarty. your mother had always read you detective stories before bed, so solving the enigma that was kageyama seemed only natural.

when he turned seven, he found you in his front yard, peering through a magnifying glass, completely absorbed in your detective work. for an entire week, the two of you played with that thing, examining ants at the park, squinting at the pen strokes his father made in his books. eventually, he got bored. but you didn’t. no, you kept staring—sometimes at the world, but often at him.

you never tired of anything, especially not of him. you wanted to know more, to know everything. curiosity overflowed within you, spilling out like an unsolvable riddle. and you know what they say—curiosity killed the cat.

because it wasn’t just the world you wanted to uncover, not really. it was kageyama tobio. he was the one who truly fascinated you. when you learned in fifth grade that he had a soft spot for flavored milk, that was it. it became your little tradition. every so often, you’d head to the vending machine, and without fail, you’d grab him a drink—banana or strawberry, depending on the day. in return, he’d hand you the chips his mother packed in his lunch, like an unspoken exchange, as familiar as breathing. if it were up to him, it would always be strawberry.

and that’s how it was, the two of you orbiting each other like planets—his world of volleyball, your world of endless curiosity. playful, magnetic, bound together by rituals only you two understood.

you turned eleven and discovered that liking boys was a real thing. at first, the thought repulsed you; all you wanted was to bury yourself in the pages of sherlock holmes and pretend to play volleyball with kageyama. he was a prodigy, after all, dazzling everyone with his skills. kids from other districts flocked to watch him, enchanted by his talent. thankfully, he hadn’t yet transformed into an absolute twat; his ego was still catching up with him, lingering just out of reach.

“tobio,” you said one day, scrutinizing him as he carelessly set the ball near the riverbank. your gaze was fixed on the tips of his fingers, studying them as if they were an intricate puzzle waiting to be solved. he paused, turning to face you with a look of curiosity. “don’t your fingers hurt?”

“eh?” he replied, shuffling closer. with a flick of his wrist, he held out his hand toward you. “you mean this?”

the eleven-year-old boy displayed a myriad of calluses on his hands, more than you could count. you gasped in dramatic shock, a hand flying to your mouth, and couldn’t resist teasing him about his mother not noticing how rough and unsightly they had become. his eyes narrowed in mock indignation as he yelled at you for talking trash about his mother. you quickly apologized, laughter bubbling up as you declared you would simply have to complain about his “disgusting” hands instead.

that was the essence of your friendship—something sacred, woven from playful banter and shared secrets. the two of you were inseparable, bound by the threads of childhood innocence and mischief.

now, when you think back, it’s often to those moments—him proudly displaying his calluses as you played near the bridge by the river, the sun casting golden hues across the water. you remember walking home alongside him at sunset, a flutter of fear in your stomach about the kidnappers your father had warned you about just the other day. tobio had simply chuckled, telling you that you weren’t an actual genius like sherlock, so you couldn’t possibly be a target for any kidnapper anyway.

life was so simple, so beautifully uncomplicated, until you turned fourteen.

because that’s when you realized you had indeed grown up. you were on the winding road to adulthood, and suddenly, you found yourself hopelessly in love with your next-door neighbor, kageyama tobio—your best friend of eight years. he had sprouted taller, like a young tree reaching for the sky, and his voice had deepened into a rich timbre that sent butterflies flitting through your stomach. everything felt like it was shifting beneath your feet, especially as he found new friends who flocked to him like birds of a feather, while you remained nestled in your closely knit circle, distanced from him.

how were you supposed to navigate these newfound feelings? the conditions were far from ideal. how could you possibly have a crush on him while trying to maintain the friendship you cherished so much, especially when your social circles had diverged at school? being a teenager had suddenly morphed into a tangled web of complexities, each strand pulling you in different directions.

you still managed to walk home with him every day after your club activities, a routine that felt like a comforting ritual. you were quickly on your way to becoming the head of your literature club at junior high, while kageyama had been consumed by his passion for volleyball since he was just a kid. being next-door neighbors with the love of your life was undeniably convenient; it meant he had no choice but to stroll alongside you.

thankfully, the dynamic remained blissfully unchanged. the playful teasing, the exchange of strawberry and banana milk, and the shared bags of cheese puffs, or sometimes other chips, were the threads that wove your friendship together. it didn’t matter what snack you had; all you really wanted was to watch him sip through a thin plastic straw, the golden glow of the setting sun casting a warm halo around him as you walked the quiet streets together.

you cherished these moments, especially since he never hurried you along. instead, he walked slowly, savoring the time spent together, as if he genuinely enjoyed your company. this new pace allowed you both to appreciate the little things—the laughter of children playing in the distance, the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze, and the gentle warmth of the sun dipping below the horizon. it felt like a breath of fresh air, invigorating and sweet, a reminder that these small moments were treasures to be cherished.

but then you turned fifteen, and tobio transformed into someone unrecognizable. the boy who had once sparked your curiosity now seemed bitter and hardened, his heart cloaked in ego that swelled within him like a balloon about to burst. his tone had sharpened, cutting through the air like a knife, and he often wore a mask of rudeness that left you reeling. yet, despite it all, your heart still weakly fluttered whenever he was near, an instinctive reaction you couldn’t quite shake.

then it happened. one fateful day, as you walked past the gym to pick up tobio, you overheard a conversation that pierced through you like an arrow.

"aren't they your childhood friend? don't you think they're attractive, even if it's just a little?"

the words lingered in the air, but before you could savor the thought, his response shattered your heart.

"what? no! i could never see them like that. this is grossing me out. stop talking nonsense and focus on volleyball. you didn't spike this set on time!"

his words struck like a hammer, relentless and unforgiving, stomping on your heart a million times without him even realizing the damage he’d done. it was as if the boy you had cherished for so long had vanished, leaving behind only a shadow of the friendship you once held dear.

that day, you walked home alone for the first time ever, the silence of the empty streets echoing the ache in your chest. when the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, you felt a weight pressing down on you. the next day, he didn’t question your absence, didn’t seem to care at all. and in that moment, you understood: you were no longer the person he had once found intriguing. you were just a ghost of a past friendship, lost in the void that had replaced your bond. he was not moriarty anymore, and neither were you sherlock.

you wondered if you ever were.

slowly, you created a chasm between him and you. it was a drift you instigated, unaware of the full weight of your decision. one by one, he lost the people he once held close, and you stood on the sidelines, a silent witness, hoping desperately that he would grasp the hint you were trying to send.

then, one afternoon, while walking home with a small paper bag of eggs cradled in your arms, you collided with him. curses swirled through your mind as you attempted to sidestep him, but his voice cut through the air, halting your escape.

"aren't you cold?"

you raised an eyebrow, turning to meet his gaze, your heart racing with an unexpected mix of hope and apprehension. you hummed softly in response, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. he repeated his question, and you shook your head, summoning a casualness you didn’t truly feel. "just a small walk. i didn't think i'd need a jacket."

"right," he mumbled under his breath, and the silence that followed felt thick with unspoken words. a part of you longed to mention his recent benching during the last match, but the fear of misinterpretation held you back, like a weight pressing on your tongue.

"are you doing okay nowadays?" the question slipped from your lips before you could stop it. you still cared, a part of you reluctant to sever the last thread binding you to him. it felt like that age-old adage—"curiosity killed the cat"—echoing in your mind, a reminder of your unfulfilled longing.

he opened his mouth, perhaps to share something profound, but then hesitated. you knew his expressions as well as the lines of your own heart; he seemed to weigh his words carefully. "i'm okay. i'm going to a high school called karasuno. you?"

the answer came too quickly, and the disappointment surged within you. "i'm going to seijoh, like oikawa and iwa-senpai," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i enrolled there because i thought you'd be going there too. so, you know, we could walk together-"

he cut you off, the sharpness of his words slicing through the fragile moment. "we haven't done that in months, who are you kidding?"

you blinked, surprise washing over you like cold water. he was right. in the span of what felt like an eternity, the simple companionship you had once shared had faded into memory. perhaps your wishful thinking had blinded you to the reality; you were no longer the two kids wandering home together.

"i'm... sorry," you tilt your head, "have i done something to make you mad?"

you thought this was what he wanted—that he didn’t care for your tetra packs of strawberry or banana milk, that he was indifferent to your presence beside him as you walked home from school. the realization stung like a bee’s bite, leaving you with the unsettling notion that your companionship was as easily replaceable as the snacks you offered. but then he clicked his tongue, shaking his head with that familiar exasperation, his voice laced with sarcasm that dripped like spicy honey, sweet yet sharp.

“no. you can never do anything wrong, am i right?”

with that, he turned and walked into his house, leaving you standing there, the air heavy with unsaid words.

months passed without a glimpse of him. it was only when you were returning home from literature club, the sun dipping below the clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement, that you spotted him. there he was, in a black uniform, juggling a volleyball under one arm while the other struggled to pry a few papers from between his teeth as he rummaged through his bag.

“do you need any help?” your voice sliced through the crisp evening air, a tentative offering. he blinked, momentarily surprised, before handing you the scattered papers and the ball.

“y-yeah. i’m looking for my keys. ever since miwa went off to college, there’s no one to open the door when i get home.”

“right,” you nodded, trying to maintain the semblance of normalcy. you didn’t need to fill the silence anymore; you were both ghosts of the friendship that once thrived in easy conversation. “i can walk in with these if you want. help you put them wherever, since it’s hard to carry everything together-”

“it’s okay,” he interrupted, his tone clipped, a habit you had grown all too familiar with. “i can take care of myself.”

your lips pressed together, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “alright then,” you replied, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth.

but as you turned toward your front yard, the moment shattered into a sharp breath. “why did you stop walking home with me?” his voice rang out into the twilight, a challenge hanging between you like a fragile thread.

the world around you fell silent, the air thick with unspoken words. the confrontation hung in the space between you, an echo of the past colliding with the reality of the present. you hesitated, heart racing, caught in the tension of a friendship unravelling, desperately wanting to answer but unsure of how to put the fragments of your feelings into words. "you weren't yourself, i guess. that, and i heard you say something about me to someone. but never mind that. it doesn't matter anymore."

“what?” he furrows his brows, confusion etching deep lines on his forehead. “what do you mean you heard me say something about you to someone? what the hell did i even say for this to happen to us?”

“didn’t you want this to happen?” you retort, your words tumbling out like a well-rehearsed line from a play. “i thought you found me gross.”

he blinks, taken aback, his surprise evident in the widening of his eyes. “when did i ever say i found you gross? what is wrong with you?”

“what is wrong with me?” you echo, the fire in your chest igniting into a full blaze. you’re not quite sure where this rage is coming from, but it feels exhilarating and terrifying all at once. “what’s wrong with me is that it was my fault for ever loving you and thinking you could feel the same because you’re a selfish prick! you’re oblivious and dense and you don’t feel the same way about me, so i left because i didn’t want to be in a place where i wasn’t needed-”

realization crashes over you like a tidal wave in mid-sentence, the weight of your words suffocating. a hand flies to cover your mouth, the confession hanging in the air like an uninvited guest. his expression morphs into one of shock, the volleyball slipping from his grasp and hitting the pavement with a dull thud.

you can’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, the way his world seems to tilt on its axis, so you turn and flee, heart racing as you dart into your house, slamming the door behind you. the echo of your confession reverberates in your mind, each heartbeat reminding you of what you just unleashed—a truth that feels like it could shatter everything.

you avoided him for months after that moment, but still, you found yourself at every game, an invisible presence in the crowd. you watched as karasuno faced off against kamomedai, your heart aching with every spike and serve, each point a reminder of the distance that had grown between you. tobio had transformed into someone new, shedding his egotistical shell like a snake sloughing off its skin, and finding camaraderie with teammates who genuinely cared for him.

it filled you with anger. why couldn’t he have made this change years ago? if only he had, maybe letting go of your feelings would have been easier. instead, you felt trapped on the sidelines of his life, a spectator to a story that once intertwined your paths.

“w-what are you doing here?” a shaky voice pulls you from your thoughts as you exit the gym. you turn, startled, to find kageyama tobio standing before you. his chest heaves with exertion, droplets of sweat glistening on his skin, and he gazes at you as if you were a relic he had lost long ago.

“i... came to watch the game,” you reply, shrugging, trying to sound casual. “you did good. i hope your friend isn’t injured, by the way.”

“yeah... he’s uh- hinata’s fine,” he nods, his words a soft echo in the tense air. “thank you for coming. it means a lot.”

you press your lips into a straight line, nodding, the weight of the moment heavy between you. it feels like the right time to leave, to escape the growing tension, but he continues.

“i felt the same way about you back then,” he says, and your heart drops, your feet seemingly glued to the ground. his melancholic gaze pierces through you, and the heartbreak looms overhead like a storm cloud ready to burst. “i’m sorry if i hurt you.”

“y-you what?” you whisper, tilting your head as disbelief washes over you. “tobio, you-”

“i can’t say i feel that way now. all i can focus on from now on is volleyball,” he sighs, his gaze falling to the floor, the weight of his words suffocating. “but it really was great being friends with you. i hope we can... try that again sometime.”

in that moment, something within you shatters, the pieces scattering like autumn leaves in a gust of wind. you realize how deeply you had clung to him, how he had become the center of your universe; an object of desire you could never grasp. slowly, painfully, he had outgrown you, moving forward as you remained rooted in the past, a decision you made to push him away when he needed you the most.

perhaps this was what you deserved. perhaps this was how it was meant to be—him, chasing his dreams like icarus, and you, watching from the side lines, heart heavy with the weight of unfulfilled wishes and lost chances.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[ryuusea]

sherliam week 2023 - day 1: time-loop; continuation of this au where they started as friends

thanks to sherliamweek for finally making me draw part 2 of this idea FOUR months later.

[married-to-google-translater]

yandere william moriarty with a female darling who escaped and she disguised as à man to not to be found

(But we all know the answer)

Yandere William James Moriarty

William couldn't figure out how you got away.

He should have taken into account even all the little details.

However, when he returned home you were gone.

You were gone and he felt nothing but emptiness inside.

William was afraid for a moment that you had been taken.

The world really wouldn't be pure enough for you.

However, when he investigated the matter more closely, it turned out that you had disappeared voluntarily.

William would try to find you.

It shouldn't be difficult in theory.

He would be intelligent and have a lot of resources.

However, you have lived with William and somehow know how his brain works.

William would find you after a while almost by accident.

He wouldn't really recognize you at first.

You would look so... different.

However, there was something familiar about you.

You had settled in a small village far away from his house.

William would never let you go again.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Kafkaesque

Summary: On the flight back home, Spencer and Reader exchange books to read, and Spencer is surprised by your selection.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Funny, fluff-ish

Content warnings: Franz Kafka (i like him but whatever)

Word count: 1k

The team is on the jet heading back to Quantico after yet another successful case was solved. The tensions of a stressful arrest started to quell as only clusters of city light started to become their only view for the rest of the flight. Morgan has already passed out listening to music, taking up two seats for himself, while Hotch, Emily, Rossi, and J.J. stay occupied by playing poker. Their banter filled the cabin along with the sound of shuffling cards, and actual chips were exchanged instead of poker chips.

You and Spencer, on the other hand, decided this was the perfect time for reading. You had been discussing the idea of exchanging books to get each other’s opinion, since you two are the only consistent readers among your colleagues (and also because Spencer’s banned from playing poker for cheating (again)).

You only briefly got to start each other’s selection before landing, but now there was plenty of time to cross some of the short stories of Sherlock Holmes off your TBR. Considering you were reading in the same space, you expected this to be more of a challenge. Because Spencer is a fast reader. A notoriously fast reader. To the point where Hotch has prevented him from reading while questioning witnesses. The speed at which he combs through books knocks off their focus. You’ve seen it yourself, so much that it’s not as funny as it was when you started here.

Nevertheless, you explore the world of Sherlock Holmes. As you turned the pages, you marveled at the intricacies of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s storytelling. The deductive prowess of Holmes and the vivid depiction of Victorian London transport you to another time and place. Andrew Scott’s charismatic portrayal of Moriarty in the TV adaptation flickered through your mind, though you wisely kept that observation to yourself. Last time, Spencer gave a passionate lecture on the discrepancies between books and television adaptations, citing difference in attention spans, and you had no desire to open that can of worms again.

Amid the familiar hushed ambiance of the cabin, you felt a familiar sensation—the piercing gaze of someone fixated on you. It was a feeling you had grown accustomed to, whether it was the malevolent eyes of criminals from afar of the intense scrutiny across an interrogation table. You tore your attention away from the pages of your book to meet Spencer’s eyes. His expression was contemplative, yet he was less than a third through the book.

“Wanna trade already?” You asked, breaking the silence.

“No, no,” Spencer replied, his lips pursed as he continued to study you.

You raised a brow. “Any questions I could answer?”

“How did you come across him?” He held up your book, “The Complete Short Stories” by Franz Kafka.

“Oh,” you shrugged, “just those angsty high school years, you know?”

Spencer’s nose wrinkled at that. No, he, in fact, did not know what you meant. Because he wasn’t old enough to have angsty high school years. And if he did have any at all, they would have been during college—neither period of his life he cared to recall.

“You’ve seriously never picked up Franz Kafka?” You asked him. “You? Spencer Reid? The equivalent of a human encyclopedia?”

“Only some of his short stories were used for college lectures.”

“Okay.” You feigned a laugh. “So what’s the problem?”

“What was your childhood like, Y/N?”

Your face widened in shock before a sly smirk emerged. “Are you seriously profiling me because of my favorite author? That’s absurd!” The urge to playfully smack him surfaced, but the goodness of your heart made you resist (also because this isn’t your book you’re holding). “Kafka enthusiasts come in all forms, you know. Like everybody else.”

“He’s your favorite author?” Spencer chuckled, still very surprised.

You nodded. “And what about it?”

“You’re just so… happy all the time.”

You cocked your head to the side. A small laugh slipped out as you said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Dr. Reid. Should I have brought ‘The Adventures of Strawberry Shortcake’ to help maintain your image of me?”

“No! I mean…” Your shared laughter briefly interrupted his train of thought. “It’s just not what I expected from you.”

“Hm.” You settled back in your seat, opening the book to where your thumb rested between the pages. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” You’re ready to get back to reading, but you still look at Spencer.

His eyes sparkled, and the curiosity of something becoming more complex than intended makes his brain run for miles. “Perhaps I don’t.”

As the jet continued its steady course back to Quantico, you and Spencer settled into cozy companionship, growing more familiar with each trip. The ambiance remained peaceful, with the faint hum of the engines serving as soothing background noise for your literary exploration.

You find yourself engrossed in the world of Sherlock Holmes once more, relishing in the intricate puzzles and razor-sharp deductions. Andrew Scott continued to dance in your mind from time to time, a testament to the power of well-crafted adaptations (excluding season four. You never told Spencer there was a fourth season).

You were also increasingly aware of Spencer’s presence beside you. Instead of the prickling sensation of having eyes on you, his knee brushed lightly against yours, sending tingles through your body, along with zero doubt it was accidental, considering this guy hesitates to shake hands. He still took the time to look at you after some moments of reading, as if he were deducing what certain Kafka works in that book could mean to you exactly. He flipped through the pages—actually reading—like he would find the answers.

You heard him swallow. “So, uh, why is he a roach in this one?”

“Because that’s how he feels.” You knocked your knee against him this time. “Just keep reading, Spencer. We’ll discuss it after.”

You watched him bite his lips closed as he tried to suppress a smile.

[fairy-writes]

Would it be too much to ask for a William James Moriarty x Holmes sister reader? Like she's a travelling archaeologist/anthropologist who's a genius in the field and has found many artifacts and lost cities and can be a bit of an eccentric looney like her older brother Sherly but she's also incredibly kind to those in need and often donates her treasures to the less fortunate and even helps Sherly from time to time which is how he meets her and is impressed by her smarts and sarcastic wits. Also, a bit of a parkour junky likes to wear mens clothes tailored for her measurements and often wears her hair in loose buns or ponytails and loves riding horseback much to Mycroft's displeasure🤭

A BUSINESS PROPOSAL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Holmes!Reader, Mildly sexist behavior from Mycroft? It is the 1800s after all.

Notes: So this was super fun to write! 

Fun fact! I took an archaeology class for my associate’s degree in criminal justice and highly recommend taking one to anyone in college! 

I actually took several anthropology classes (intro to anthro, bio anthro, and archaeology). I even considered switching my major to anthropology at some point! (I switched it to English lol)

PART TWO HERE

PART THREE HERE

__________________________________________________________________________

Otis whinnies, and you reach forward from your place in the saddle to pat his neck.

“Easy, Otie, almost there.” You whisper to him and gently nudge him to turn down the familiar road of Baker Street. You could spot your brother’s flat from where you were at, an unfamiliar carriage parked in front. You frown briefly and then shrug. Sherlock could have whoever he liked over. 

But… he did promise to take you out on the town in celebration of your latest discovery. Did he forget?

No… He wasn’t the type to forget something like that. You had been exchanging letters for weeks about your coming home. 

A tall man was at the front of the carriage, tending to the horses. He had spiked black hair and a glove on one hand. He looks at you with skeptical eyes as you draw near and dismount your horse. The Cleveland Bay snorts, ruffling your hair as you smooth your hand up his snout and between his eyes. Then, you promptly tied his reins to the post outside 221B Baker Street and went up to the front door. 

The door knocker was more worn than you last remembered, with the shiny brass turning a glimmering gold color from all the hands touching it. You rap the door once, twice, then a third time, and wait, stuffing your hands in your trouser pockets. 

A young man opens the door, sandy blond hair combed neatly and brown eyes alight with curiosity. A grin breaks your face, and you step forward into his arms as he realizes just who is at the door.

“My dear John!” You shriek, and he chuckles, lifting you off your feet and spinning once in a circle before setting you down. 

“I thought you weren’t due back for another two weeks!” He replies excitedly, and you laugh gleefully. 

“We finished early! Anyhow, how’s Mary? Sherlock said you two were expecting!” You say and slap his shoulder good-naturedly. He ducks his head, a pink flush on his cheeks as he nods.

“She’s home at the mo. But yes, we’re expecting. The midwife thinks it’ll be a girl based on how she’s carrying.” He said, and before you could say any more, there was a noise at the top of the stairs. 

You turn, and your grin widens even more until your cheeks hurt. 

“Sherly!” You crow, and he bounds down the stairs to sweep you up in a bear hug. His boisterous laugh made your heart sing, and you buried your nose in his hair. He smelled like cigarette smoke and whiskey. He must have been on a case. He squeezes you tight and sets you down. 

“I thought you were coming back in two weeks!” He exclaims, and you roll your eyes,

“So John said, I told you we finished early!” You tease, and it is then that you notice that there is someone else in the flat. 

He was tall, probably around your brother’s height. He had blond hair and deep scarlet eyes that studied you with interest. He was dressed in a brown suit with a crimson tie. A lord. That much is obvious.

Sherlock notices that you notice his friend and gestures to the man at the top of the stairs. 

“This is Liam! A mathematics professor at Durham University and a friend of mine who helps me on my cases.” He says proudly as “Liam” descends the stairs and approaches you. 

You stick out a hand and introduce yourself. His hand is smooth like you expected, as opposed to your calloused one. You had bandages littering your fingertips from blisters from shovels and tools. 

“William James Moriarty. I’ve heard stories about you.” His British lilt is proper and endearing. You feel your heart flutter and your ears burn. But you smile warmly nonetheless and give his hand a firm shake.

“As much as I’d like to say the same, Sherly has yet to tell me about you in his letters.” You direct the last sentence to your older brother in the same teasing tone as before. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes and punches your shoulder lightly while William watches on in amusement. 

“I got distracted!” Sherlock complains, and you break out into giggles. 

“I would love to hear some stories if you’re up to it.” William cut in gently before you, and Sherlock could start bickering. You brighten. A chance to tell stories of your work and not have someone get bored? It sounded like heaven!

That was how you got to where you were at the current moment. 

You were seated next to Sherlock at the Moriarty dining table, regaling them with a story of the most current dig you had been on.

“—and Egypt was absolutely smashing! It was so beautiful!” You say, waving your hands excitedly as you describe the tomb that had been uncovered. It had taken weeks to uncover everything, almost months. But oh so worth it. 

“Might I ask what you did with all the artifacts you found?” William inquires, and you hum as you sip at your wine. 

“Donated it all back to the locals. It’s the least I can do. Plenty of archaeologists steal their finds and bring them back to England to show in museums. I try and do the opposite.” You say and were pleased to see William nod in approval. 

At least someone shared your sentiment. 

You got a letter to your very old and very dusty flat a week after your return to England, summoning you to your eldest brother’s estate. You had been dusting and cleaning your furniture when the postman knocked on your door. You frown, brushing your pants on the seat of your trousers, and answer the door. 

The letter was short. 

Dearest sister, 

I have received news of your return to Egypt. I would like to have your company at the family estate for dinner to discuss business and your adventures. 

With best regards, 

Mycroft Holmes

A summons to the Holmes family estate that your oldest brother had inherited after your parents retired to the country. You look at the ceiling and groan, eliciting a funny look from the postman. 

This was going to be fun.

As soon as Otis realizes where you are, he tosses his head and tries to turn around. You tug the reins so he faces the right direction and nudge him into a walk down the road.

“Otie, I don’t want to do this either. But I’d rather not have Mikey send special forces after us or something.” You say to Otis, and when you reach the stables, Mycroft’s hired stable hand takes your beloved horse’s reins. “Take good care of him!” You nearly reprimand the stable hand who agrees and welcomes you back with ease. 

The maids welcome you in excitedly when you rap on the massive double doors, and you are ushered upstairs into the dining room. 

Mycroft was seated at the head of the table, where your father would be if he were here, and he stood to greet you. He offers a handshake, but you simply smile warmly and hug him tightly. He may have grated on your nerves, but he was still your brother. Mycroft stiffens and pats your shoulders awkwardly when you step back.

“As awkward as always, I see Mikey.” You said and took a seat at the table next to him like you did when you were kids. He clears his throat and calls for the kitchen staff to bring in the food. 

It wasn’t much, considering there were only two of you. But it was as extravagant as Mycroft always demanded it to be. 

“Would you like to change into dinner attire before we eat, sister dearest?” Mycroft says suddenly, just as you are about to dig into the delicious roast prepared by the staff of the household. You put your fork down and scowl.

“Don’t start with this, Mikey. You know I hate dresses.” You snap, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push the issue. 

At least… he doesn’t until you are done with your meal and in his study, talking about your travels to Egypt. 

You down the rest of your whiskey and set the glass whiskey tumbler on the table between you two. 

“More whiskey?” He offers, and you shake your head.

“I want to be able to ride home after this.” You say and hold in a yawn. The excellent food combined with the fireplace blazing with a crackling fire is lulling you to sleep. 

Suddenly, Mycroft stands and walks in front of the fire, setting his own glass down on the mantle and turning to face you. 

“Might we talk some business?” He inquires, and immediately, your mood sours. 

So this was his end goal? Get you sleepy and drunk so you couldn’t ride home and were subject to his pleadings?

“I don’t want to hear it, Mikey.” You say and stand, holding onto the back of the wingback chair for a moment as the dizziness sets in. 

He scowls, 

“You are of perfect age. The season is just starting. You could still join in and find a potential suitor!” He tries, and you scrub at your face.

“I already told you I wasn’t interested in courting! I’m interested in—”

“Your work, I know. But what happens when the digs dry up and there’s nothing else for you to do? What will you do when you get too old for this?!” He snaps, and you whirl, steadying yourself with the chair as your anger flares. 

“It won’t dry up! There are thousands of years of history still to be discovered! Hundreds of thousands of cities and archaeological finds!” Your voice rises to a shout, and you hear distant footsteps as maids scurry away from you and your brother’s anger. 

This goes on for several minutes until Mycroft a bomb on you. 

“Mother and Father have decided. If you don’t find someone to court, they will no longer fund your excavations, and you’ll be stuck here with me.” 

You freeze, hands wound tightly in your hair, and argument dying on your tongue. 

“B—But that would mean—” Mycroft cuts you off gently and approaches, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’d be stuck here until you find a husband—no more digs. No more artifacts. Not until you do as they and I ask.” Tears well up in your eyes, and you shrug off his hands violently and flee. 

Your boots pound against the hardwood floors, and you run outside where it has started pouring rain. Instantly, your clothes are soaked as you make it to the stables, dress Otis in his saddle and bridle, and swiftly mount his back. He tears out of the stables at a thundering gallop, and the stable hand barely dives out of the way to save himself from being trampled. 

Otis’s hooves dash against the cobblestone roads. You cling to his reins and hunch over his back as tears stream down your face and sobs wrack your body. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Taking away your funding? 

No one wanted to fund a woman on an archaeological dig! 

Much less one as young as yourself! 

You were screwed! Doomed to live as a housewife because that was society’s and your parent’s expectations of you!

Otis eventually comes to a halt, and you dismount, collapsing onto a bench, breathing hard as rain pours down your body. Your shirt sticks to your skin, and your trousers swim in water as you sit in a puddle on the bench. But you can’t bring it in you to care. 

A carriage rumbles to a stop before you, and you look up as the door opens. 

“Might I interest you in some shelter?” Comes a proper and endearing accent that you recognize. 

“William?” You sniffle, and he smiles, extending a hand. 

“If you’ll let him, Fred will handle your horse. How about you step inside the carriage, and we’ll take you back to the Moriarty estate.” He says over the rain. A young man with a blue scarf wrapped around his head gets off the front of the carriage and approaches. You hiccup and nod, handing Otis’s reins to the young man and accepting William’s hand into the carriage. He sheds his overcoat and offers it. 

It’s warm and heavy as you wrap it around your shoulders and sit down. Your boots squelch against the floor, and William knocks twice against the carriage's wall, and it starts moving once again. 

The Morairty estate is even grander than you remember, looming over you as the carriage stops by the front doors. You nearly slip in your haste to get inside and are taken up the stairs to one of the many bedrooms. 

“Draw a bath and get warm. I’ll have some clothes brought by. We can have a talk after you’ve collected yourself.” William says gently, and you nod, taking off his overcoat so he can have it back. He excuses himself, and you are left alone in the suite. 

The bath is nice and hot, and you let out a sigh as you shed your clothes into a pile on the floor and sink into the warm water. Your tears are drying, but your emotions are still raging like a rabid dog inside you.

How could they? 

Didn’t your family know archaeology was your passion? Your dream?! Of course, they did! You never shut up about it when you were but a little girl learning to play the piano! You babbled on and on about fossils and artifacts in between lessons until you were blue in the face!

It wasn’t long until you were done in the bath and dried off. As William had promised, some clothes were left on the bed. A button-down that looked like it might fit you, a pair of trousers that might be a bit too long, and a pair of undergarments. You tugged on the underwear and then the trousers, having to cuff them at the bottom so you didn’t trip. The shirt fit better than you thought so you pinned your hair out of your face and left the bedroom and down the hall. Hadn’t there been a sitting room just down the stairs? 

William was inside, stoking a fire with a poker, his back to you. He stood and turned when you rapped lightly on the entryway. His lips curled in a welcoming smile, and he gestured for you to take a seat. 

“Would you like some tea? I had Louis put the kettle on.” He said, and you nodded, sitting on the couch beside the fire.

“Thank you. For the clothes and… everything else.” You mumble, and he shakes his head,

“Don’t mention it. Sherlock mentioned you hated dresses.” He says and pours you a cup of tea.

It’s delicious. It warms you from the tips of your ears to the ends of your bare toes. You scuff them on the plush carpet as William sits across from you. His scarlet eyes are illuminated like glittering rubies in the oranges and yellows of the fire. They’re alive like a torch resides inside. 

“Now, might I ask why you were out in the rain?” William asks as soon as you’ve settled into your spot. You bite your lip and wonder if you can trust him with your problems. 

Sherlock trusted him well enough… 

Perhaps…

“I got into an argument with Mycroft. He said my parents will cut off my funding for excavations if I don’t find a proper husband.” You blurt, and he hums as he takes a sip from his cup. 

“I assume they’ve been funding your past archaeological escapades?” He says, and you nod.

“Correct. But that is going to change unless I get married.” You grumble, and he cocks his head to the side, setting his cup down on the tea table next to him and seemingly mulling something over. 

“This may be a bit forward, but I have a proposal. A business proposal, if you will.” He starts, and you narrow your eyes. A business proposal? You set your own cup down and cross one leg over the other. 

“Go on…” You say hesitantly, and he clasps his hands together as if working out a problem in his head. Sherlock did say he was a mathematics professor.

“I could marry you.” You inhale sharply and proceed to choke on your saliva. William half gets out of his chair to come to your aid when you finally get your coughing under control. 

“Why?!” You demand, and he shrugs, 

“I’ve done some research into you. You are spearheading the way in new archaeological techniques. You donate your finds back to the locals in need. And frankly, I find you fascinating. If we go ahead with this, you’ll have access to my brother Albert’s influence as well as the Moriarty name and fortune.” He says, and you sit back, stunned. 

“I could continue my work?” You say skeptically, and he nods. 

“Indeed. There’s no reason to stop you. I might ask for a lecture or two from you at Durham University. But that’s it. So…” He extends a hand for you to shake. “Have we reached an accord?”

You are speechless as possibilities run rampant through your brain. You’d be free from your parent’s influence as well as pleasing them. Though pleasing them was the last thing on your mind. Yes, you’d be married. But like William said… it was more of a business proposal…

You reach forward and shake his hand. His smile widens marginally as you speak,

“I accept your proposal.”

[heavenly-kazee]

As for that basic math question, of course it's five-

11 year old mycroft: If you have ten apples and I ask for five, how many will be left with you?

4 year old Sherlock: Zero

Mycroft: It's basic math Sherly-

Sherlock: I'd give everything to you cuz I love you!

Mycroft: ....

Mycroft: You're disgusting

Later that night-

Mycroft, in tears: Why is he so cute? How will he survive in this world?

[ranposbabe]

Spillage

pairing: Albert James Moriarty x Fem!Reader

summary: Albert’s favourite wine is spilled and now he has to clean it up :(

warnings: smut, erotic content, unprotected sex!!!

The hour was late and Albert was still yet to return to your shared bedroom.

Everyone in the Moriarty manor decided to celebrate a recent victory taking down a nobleman that had been troublesome for quite some time.

However you couldn’t find it in yourself to join the celebration as you remained tired throughout the day and had returned to your room rather early. William did the same to correct some students test and Herder…

well he’s Herder, putting something together you assumed.

When it comes to celebrations of course there is all sorts of alcohol.

Of course it was Moran who didn’t hesitate to start the drinking early.

How could Albert refuse ?

You found yourself laying just in your undergarments along with one of Alberts white dress shirts that practically engulfed you. The buttons all open exposing your body underneath as the room had a tendency to become quiet warm with the heavy sheets even with the window slightly opened. A book.

Of course the calmness couldn’t last long.

The door practically swung open as the head of the manor walked in causing you to practically throw your book away in such sudden fright.

“Are you tipsy, Albert ?” You sigh, watching his every move as he walked in confident yet a slight trip to his step. His blazer out of sight he always looked fine in his suits.

Tightly gripped in his hand was a new bottle of his favourite wine half empty of course.

“Of course not, y/n.” He smirks. A familiar glow in his emerald eyes. He runs his hand through his typically combed back hair and a few loose strands fall over his forehead making him appear messy and desirable.

“Come to bed, beloved.” You pat the spot beside as if you were trying to convince a child that it was bedtime.

“You’re more so the lord of wine rather than lord of crime.” You roll your eyes, rubbing your hand up and down his back in a comforting manner.

“What’s this ?” He simply asks.

His eyes practically glowed at the sight of you his darling Wearing nothing but your undergarments along with one of his dress shirts. Overcome with tiredness you failed to even button the shirt, your stomach on view. Just like how he liked it.

“I didn’t think you’d notice.” You simply state.

“I’d be a fool not to notice.”

For a small intimate moment he presses his lips against yours before going back to taking a swig from the bottle.

Such a gentleman.

“”We’ll I’m sorry my lips don’t taste like wine, Albert !” You scoff at the sight an amused glow in his emerald eyes.

With a smirk on his wet lips Albert turns towards you and in an instant cages you in one arm

Suddenly Albert tips the expensive bottle and the warm red liquid splashed your belly and rolls down your side, staining the silk sheets.

“Albert !” You jump, your attempts to sit up fail as his arm keeps you still. He towers over you, quite the intimidating sight.

“Louis helped me change these sheets just this morning !”

His tongue pressed flat against your stomach licking up whatever was left of the wine like a starved man.

You gasp at the feeling of Albert licking the scarlet liquid from your belly and suddenly that familiar tingle starts riling up inside of you.

“Albert-

“I’ve missed this.” He whispers to himself.

It was only then did you realise he wasn’t as drunk as you originally thought he was.

He always had that certain smirk on his lips.

His tounge invades your mouth, wine spilling and running down your chin

“It seems you need cleaning kissing down from your lips to your neck.

“I don’t recall having wine splashed on my neck ?” You groan, Albert’s wet lips pressing against under your jaw all the while his fingers effortlessly grasp at your underwear. He playfully slaps at your hips silently telling you to raise them. You comply shimmying slightly while whines escape past your lips due to the lack of contact. But as soon as Albert removed your clothing he was quick to return the warmth of his touch.

He licks a long stripe of your cunt taking his time like he would sipping his wine.

His emerald eyes roll to the back of his head as you grind your cunt against his scarlet stained tongue. His brown locks feel so soft as they slip through your fingers as you grip at Albert hair holding him in place as he satisfys himself by enjoying his meal.

You learned quite early on to never interrupt Albert while he was in pure bliss.

But the cravings that rise inside of you make you suddenly wanting more. You practically have to pull Albert off of you to gain back his attention.

He always had his priorities straight.

“I’m here, my love. I’ll have your legs shaking in no time.”

You don’t hesitate in helping Albert remove his clothing while typically you would admire Albert in his nicely fitted suit, in this moment of time you’d rather see it be removed…more often.

The lamp by your bedside leaves the room in an orange glow makes Albert’s skin glow as his dress shirt is finally remover. A wave of greediness washes over you as you run you hand up and down his glistening body from his nice shoulders till just above his suit pants.

It doesn’t take long before his pants are removed and you’re suddenly too shy to look despite knowing not only the captivating appearance of his aching cock but also the sensation that it caused inside of you.

“I’m taking you now, y/n.” He assures, his hand massaging your waist. His eyes flickered down to the sight of your wet cunt, eagerly wanting to dive into his desert. You’ve both enjoyed the pleasure of love making to eacherother for a long time and yet on every occasion you’re both suddenly filled with giddiness and relaxation which come from the complete trust you both hold deeply for one another.

“Then take me, Albert.” You smile, no longer being able to hold back.

You’re connected not only physically but emotionally too. The pleasure not only feels good but Albert’s smile as he stares deeply into your eyes make you more than content.

He takes you just as good as he always has. Albert practically does all the work and yet with the pace of his thrusts you understand that he prefers it this way.

You don’t mind. The only sounds evident in the dimly lit room was your gasps of pleasure and Albert’s groans that sounded like music to your ears. Though the sound was of skin slapping was becoming much more louder.

“Don’t be shy now. You know how to use that voice of yours.”

If they hadn’t already, your ears had blushed red at his constant teasing. Yet really you couldn’t get enough of it despite how embarrassed you may of seemed.

His thrusts were deep as one of his hands rested by your hand holding himself up as his other was stained with scarlet, groping your left breast, clear determination evident on his soft yet toned features.

He soon presses soft little kisses between your breasts. He always shows the same affection with both of your breasts. You had to laugh at how considerate Albert was towards them. Your highs come when Albert leans up and presses a considerably slow kiss against your lips, purposely avoiding tongue making you wanting more. He couldn’t whether your lips were bruised or simply stained by the wine. Either way he liked the sight.

His eyes glow with not only lust but also with admiration as he brushes strands of hair away from your forehead, his touch being so gentle compared to his thrusts.

He doesn’t pull out he remains inside of you. He doesn’t hesitate to move on with the constant kissing onto your neck.

Albert was practically addicted to the sight of your newly bruised neck being mixed with the staining shade of red wine.

“I think the celebration is over.” You breathlessly sigh, running your hand through his dark hair.

“On the contrary.” He doesn’t hesitate to continue his attack on your neck.

“I think it’s just starting.”

[joanquill]

Truck-kun Did It

Now coming to terms that you were no longer in the world you knew, you now have to face your saviors, the Lord of Crime. Continuation of "How I Got Sent to Another World"

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I had writer's block, so I can't guarantee this is good 🙃 It's also my first time doing a taglist so I hope this is correct, I also only added the ones who explicitly said they wanted to be added just in case 😅 Tag/s: Fem!Modern!Asian!Reader Warning/s: Profanity

"Ugh..." you groaned as you turned to your side, moving your hands to feel silk sheets covering you.

Bewildered, you shot up and found yourself in a luxurious room lying in bed, creating more questions.

You removed the sheets, seeing your hands and ankles covered in bandages.

You were still in your clothes last night, but your body didn't feel as sticky or dirty as before.

"What is going on...?" you muttered, trying to recall what happened last night.

"Right... The newspaper, and those three men... But wh-" the sound of knocking snapped you out of your thoughts, making you turn to the door.

Before you could react, a blond man with glasses opened the door, pushing a trolley with a cloche.

"Ah, you're awake, Good." he greeted as he saw you sitting in bed, pushing the trolley to your side.

"Miss (Y/N), I believe?"

"Oh-Yes! I'm (Y/N) (L/N)... And you are...?"

"Louis James Moriarty,"

"Lou-" you stopped yourself as you recalled the character of the same name, bearing a striking resemblance to the man before you.

'There's no way... right...?'

"I hope this meal fits your palette," he opened the cloche and revealed a plate of omelet rice, bacon, and beans.

You gulped at the sight, feeling your stomach grumble as you gripped your hands.

"Here, you likely haven't-" you snatched the spoon and fork from Louis' hands and ate heartily. Each bite tasted better than the last.

"So good..." you muttered, ecstatic to finally have something to eat and finish the meal instantly.

"Ah-! Thank you so much for the meal! I haven't eaten anything since lunch..." you awkwardly laughed, making Louis widen his eyes.

"...I'm glad you enjoyed your breakfast," he replied, surprising you.

"Breakfast?" you repeated, looking outside the window to see the sun shining brightly.

"Ah, right..." you mumbled, feeling the same dread and unease as last night as you looked down on your clothes.

"Ah, an associate of ours cleaned you up last night. I believe she put it inside your nightstand," Louis reassured as you nodded, looking at the bandages.

"She also treated your hands, knees, and feet. If you are feeling better, please stop by at the parlor downstairs,"

"O-Okay, thank you again, Mister Louis..." you blurted, earning a nod as he pushed the trolley out and closed the door behind him.

You took a deep breath and sighed--almost a whine-- as you leaned back on the bed.

"So all of this is real..." you muttered, looking around the room again, now noticing the familiarities in the series.

"There's no way... right? Then again, there's no way I could have gone back to freaking Victorian Era England-- And yet, here we are!" you grumbled as you raised your hands in defeat, pacing in the room.

"That reminds me..." you patted your clothes, feeling nothing but your body.

"Right... No pockets. It's all in my bag... Which I probably lost back when I-" you stopped as your blood turned cold, "...When I got hit by that truck..." you sighed, dropping down to your knees.

You took another deep breath as you stood up, going over to the nightstand and seeing the cloak washed and your shoes on the side of the bed.

"If this world really is from Moriarty the Patriot..." you grumbled as you put on your shoes and grabbed the cloak, "Then that means this place is..."

"Miss (L/N), good morning," William greeted you with a courteous smile from his seat.

Albert sitting on the chair beside him, Sebastian, Bonde, and Fred were on the couch, while Louis, Jack, and Moneypenny stood in the room.

'Oh God... They really are...' you gulped as you put on a smile, nervously walking up to the room.

"Good morning...! Um... thank you again for your help," you greeted back, making William smile as the others kept their wary eyes on you.

'Please don't kill me... I'm broke- I mean, not rich...' you prayed in your head as you stayed in your spot, holding your hands tightly.

"Well then, shall we get going?" he asked as he stood up, grabbing his cane as you blinked at him.

"...Excuse me?"

"Your home, miss," he clarified, making you hum in understanding.

"Right...! Of course...." you nodded, following him out of the manor.

'...What the fuck do I do now?'

You kept quiet as you restlessly looked out of the window of the carriage while William sat across from you, observing your every move.

"We should be far enough by now," he spoke up as he looked outside, catching you by surprise as he gave you a calculating smile.

"Now then, would you mind clearing some confusion of mine?"

"...Okay," 'I'm pretty sure I'm dead if I don't, anyway,'

"Judging by your appearance and conduct, I assume you're well-off enough to not be living in the streets, such as how we found you last night,"

You took a breath you didn't know you were holding and exhaled.

"Right..."

"You seem to be in the working class. However, I do not recall any occupation a woman can have that will lead to bloodshot eyes, fatigue, numbness and pain in the wrist, and poor posture-- which explains the neck and back pain," he continued, making you touch the back of your neck.

"It's as if your work asks you to sit down for a prolonged period of time... Perhaps with a typewriter?" you held on your wrist, and sure enough, the pain from working in front of the computer is still there.

"...I'm an office worker-err uhm...! A clerk, I guess...? As you say here? Sorry, English isn't my mother tongue," you nervously chuckled, but William kept his serious gaze.

"Now, for your clothes..." he continued, making you feel conscious as you covered yourself.

"Ah, I apologize. It was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable,"

"N-No, it's fine... They're my work clothes," you explained, knowing lying or trying to trick him would be a mistake.

"I see... And where do you work?" he asked, making you gulp.

"...It's not exactly easy to explain..."

"Take your time. This carriage is only circling the block, after all," he reassured with a smile, shocking you as you looked outside, seeing it was Fred in disguise driving the carriage.

"...Of course..."

"Now then," William smiled as he pulled out a traveling tea set, setting it up as he poured you a cup.

"Shall we continue our discussion?"

Extra:

The reader after realizing most of the food/convenient items they know are either inaccessible or haven't been invented yet AND learning the hygiene practices of the Victorian Era:

Taglist: @stayblinkarmyatinymoafearnot, @tinkerleaf, @muqingswife, @jungpuss, @rekisgay, @ih3artpjo, @sparklysoullover