#the case of the disappearing immigrants

[mondoreb]

End Times Prophecy Headlines: December 5, 2022

End Times Prophecy Headlines: December 5, 2022

End Times Prophecy Report.com HEADLINES MONDAY December 5, 2022 And OPINION “And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you.” —Matthew 24:4 ===INTERNATIONAL UKRAINE:  War in Ukraine: $60 per barrel price cap agreed on Russian crude oil (VIDEO) UKRAINE: Ukraine war: Russia demands annexations recognised before talks RUSSIA: US, Russia Trade Jabs Over Ukraine RUSSIA:…

[diangelosarmy]

The Di-Angelo cold case becomes something of a true crime phenomenon. A well to do Italian family suddenly moves to the US, not odd in itself considering the times but only the two children and the mother have passports and immigration records despite photos that include a mysterious father figure who is never named, not even on the childrens birth certificates or the estates records.

The mother is struck by lightning in DC and her funeral and headstone are paid for by an anonymous donor. The kids are sent to a private school in DC, also paid for by an anonymous donor, but then they just disappear a few months in and there’s no further record of what happened to them. Missing posters circulated for a while but people forget about two missing orphans in the midst of World War II.

Some theories the mysterious father was in the Italian mafia or a high member of Mussolini’s inner circle and reclaimed the children secretly, some think the kids were kidnapped for ransom money, and some crazy theories swear the kids were spotted decades later, still children somehow, in Maine.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Ooh, have any of the Decepticons done anything with their holoforms, if they have any? Have they lead fake lives? Is that why they disappeared for a few years? :0

Anyways, I'd imagine Megatron would use his to either become a poet writer, or the most badass wrestler you've ever seen. Maybe even both.

Oh boy have the Cons goofted off with their holoforms.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

In light of Optimus teaching in his holoform, some of the Decepticons got the grand idea to use holoforms as well. It started small, usually with the Con in question just going to watch a film or wander around. But with time, they grew more and more bold.

Knockout took to joining up with the racing leagues. At first, he was just an observer. But after mocking the drivers for their poor form a few too many times, he was pushed into joining the race where he promptly dominated all his competitors through his expert understanding of his frame. Sure a sports car in rather unconventional, but none of his fellow racers felt the need to get on his case about it when Knockout was almost always the victor. The best part about the whole thing is that not a soul can figure out who Knockout is. He comes once a week to the race, joins or watches, and then seems to vanish into thin air afterwards.

He has gained the lovely title of "Ghost Racer" due to his habit of appearing everywhere and anywhere without warning. There are rumors that he was perhaps a racer who died in an accident and now haunts the track to get his rightful medal. Others say that he is a retired racer just looking to stir the pot a bit. And there are some who murmur that perhaps Knockout really is just some guy with luck that really shouldn't be plausible. Knockout is aware of all the rumors and goes out of his way to foster each of them. He enjoys the respect they get him.

Breakdown didn't mean to use his holoform at all. But during a quick scouting mission, he decided to use his holoform to get a better look around a small town and see if the energon readings were real or not. As he wandered, he did not at all expect to find an old man working on his car out back. Curious, Breakdown watched from a distance until the elderly man invited him over to have a beer. Then being interested, Breakdown accepted the offer and ended up spending all afternoon with the man he came to know as Mr. Carpenter. From that point on, he was in deep. The cover story he gave was that he was an immigrant without any living relatives involved in some shady under the table business to stay afloat. In light of his story, Breakdown found himself adopted without meaning to.

Now he comes by a few times a month to help around the farm. He assists in fixing cars, usually by holding the light and passing Mr. Carpenter tools. He puts down fence posts when he can and overall does whatever he is able to in order to assist his elderly companion. He is always invited in for dinner and has since become an adopted son of sorts. Mr. Carpenter's children adore him and he has since become the fun uncle to the grandkids. Unbeknownst to Breakdown, Mr. Carpenter and his family are fully aware that he is not human. However they have never been ones to judge a book by its cover, so they treat him as if he were just a young man a little lost in life. He is a full member of their household, and Breakdown adores the feeling of family.

Soundwave uses his holoform very rarely. But when he does use it, he does so to go buy cat food for his favorite felines. He goes to the same Walmart every. single. time. And Primus, the employees fear him. His holoform is unnerving in the oddest of ways. He looks totally normal, too normal. His eyes are too bright, his skin too glossy. Everything about him is perfectly average, but without fault. The employees have dubbed him "The Skinwalker" and have since allowed him to come in, buy what he wants, and leave in absolute silence. Not a soul speaks to him, and for good reason.

Starscream and Shockwave do not use holoforms. Both see it as beneath them. However against all the odds, Dreadwing has used his holoform a handful of times in order to do some private investigation work. He is fond of true crime, and off and on, he will wander around to inspect cold cases. Cybertronian tech is more advanced than human tools. As such, he has had the satisfaction of cleaning up a few old cases through leaving anonymous tips. Police across the world have given him the name "The tipper".

Megatron, once he got back from his little escapade in space, used his holoform for more recreational reasons. Once in a blue moon, he will turn up at underground fighting rings just to beat the snot out of the rookies who try to make it big. He finds joy in reliving his days as Champion of Kaon. He has even gone so far as the made his underground fighting name "Kaon" Just so that when he wins, he can be dubbed the Champion of the place he once called home. He knows its a waste of time, especially since his holoform can't really be beaten. Despite that, he has a grand time putting criminals in their place and giving a few tips to the upstarts who have potential.

[beloved-blaiddyd]

Case File: Missing Person Investigation

Victim:  (Y/n) (L/n)  

Date reported missing: 04/20/2024  

Reported by: Jelena "Topaz" ███████, close friend.  

Circumstances: Suddenly went missing before reaching the airport, hasn't left the country. Missing for more than 72 hours when authorities were notified.

Possible Motive/s:  

- Unknown.

Victim's Background:  

- An overseas immigrant worker from ██████, registered Penacony citizen for 3 years.  

- Full fledged human, no remarkable hybrid bloodline.  

- Moved near Clockie Memorial, Penacony City to start the Dreamjolt Cafe. The cafe is heavily supported and funded by retired famous actress, Siobhan.

Possible Suspects:

1. Gallagher  

   - Description: Victim's flatmate, canine hybrid, possibly a former bloodhound detective.  

   - Relationship: Lives in the same apartment with the victim. Home is located besides the cafe.  

   - Circumstances: Unlikely to leave shared home to kidnap or attack (Y/n) due to surveillance footage.  

   - Suspicions: Suspicions were raised by Jelena but her accounts are shaky and not conclusive.

2. Sunday  

   - Description: Penacony senator.  

   - Relationship: Alleged arguments with the victim regarding cafe spot.  

   - Motive: Possibly interested in victim's cafe spot for the capital's town hall extension.  

   - Denial: Claims cordial and friendly relationship with (Y/n).

Relevant Information from Witness: Ms. Robin:  

- Sunday's Visits: Contradictory statements regarding visits to the cafe near closing time. Sunday often happily remarks prior to (Y/n)’s disappearance that he fondly enjoys listening to them talk. Close friends and regulars corroborate the opposite as he had “never visited the cafe at night.”

- Gallagher's Popularity: Adored by customers, the victim often jokes about him replacing them as owner/barista when they retire. Gallagher declines all their proposals. 

- Relationship Status via Prof. Ratio: Victim is “not dating anyone, not looking to date”. Prof. Ratio was very adamant that they were not lovers with Gallagher or Sunday.

- Sunday's Opinion On The Victim: [Audio file attached]

“I'm not sure why you're suspecting me, Robin. Even though (Y/n) thinks little of me, I enjoy their company very much. I have never met someone who has passionately disliked me as much as they do. I wouldn't want to start missing that voice.”

- Family Bond via Kakavasha: Victim has strong bond with family, unlikely to elope. As the family's “breadwinner”, there is pressure for them to send financial assistance.

- Digital Disappearance: All of the victim’s accounts are offline, unreachable by phone.  The Cyber Investigations Division has yet to find their cell's last known location. Investigator “SW” is assigned to this case.

- Rumors of human trafficking: Word is spreading that there has been a series of other missing people in the area. Some claim a mafia is involved.

- Rumors of rigged election: Mr. McCoy has been implicated in the ████ elections for his role of (allegedly) manipulating the vote count in Penacony City to favor Senator Sunday.

My personal notes:  

04/20/2024: The investigation is ongoing with focus on Gallagher and Sunday as potential suspects. Further inquiries and evidence collection required to determine the whereabouts of (Y/n) (L/n).

They removed me from the fudging case and now I can't do any flipping poop about it. Hecking suspicious that they're so tight-lipped  about some cafe owner's disappearance. Ain't no way something political ain't involved here. They won't let just anyone in. They even have the audacity to get Agents Kafka and Yingxing to look for em. Robin thinks Sunday has something to do with it and now the little bird thinks about partnering up with me. I can't shake her off. Annoying, but I don't want to just do paperwork. Gotta do some legwork for fun.

04/21/24: Gallagher looks like he's genuinely confused by what's happenin. But as an ex-cop (?), he's doing a darn commendable Watchmaker Award worthy job of hiding it. Ya'd think he'd be very aggressive, but the old dog's warming up. Slightly. Dunno. He's being kind of a son of a nice lady about this and I have a stinkin' feeling he's going to try and investigate this matter on his own.

04/21/24: Robin isn't feeling well. I wonder why?

Chapters

1) The First Meeting

[avaelangel]

I am sad.

For unrelated reasons, but I am also concerned about what The Boys universe has in store for us. So here you go some random LiMoreou headcanons, because I want to feel something.

Warnings: cheese and no real time restraints.

They for sure do that couple hand-over-the-shoulders thing. Jordan does it while in male form, and Marie sort of adopts it when they're in the girl form. Jordan might be a bit startled about it at first, maybe even will change back just to be annoying. Marie will do one better and try to tackle them into bending down.

Jordan will probably try and teach Marie combat. She would be reluctant about it, but will come to a conclusion (maybe with Emma's help) that it's just a way for them to spend time together. It would be hard not to get distracted, though.

Marie at some point will try and get in between Jordan and something that threatens them in any way, regardless of what form they are in or who is the threat. This might happen when Jordan's parents come again.

They both would adopt each other's behaviors which would include being protective over Emma. Emma would be weirded out that Jordan cares, but will find it funny how them and Marie glare at any guy or girl that looks at her wrong.

Oh, there's no spooning rules for Marie and Jordan. Every night is different. Sometimes one of them can't really breath from the intensity of an embrace.

Jordan and Marie didn't have a shoulder to cry on growing up. After some time they both will realise that they have each other. I think, in both cases they will be good in soothing a crying love, but Jordan will think about solving the problem first and will need a moment to reaccess.

For sure would try to be the clingiest of couples if someone calls them gross.

Totally would have video game nights. Marie never had a console! Jordan has soooo much to show her.

First date in an arcade. Junk food, photobooth pictures and the most cursed plushies they could win for each other.

Jordan wears a lot of staples (t-shirts, tanks, turtlenecks of one color) which will find their way into Marie's closet. Maybe fun pants will immigrate too. Jordan will come stomping to raid Marie's closet then when that black sweatshirt with a skull disappears.

They are for sure going thrifting together. A million percent.

(this is a weird one, but) Jordan knows an abysmal amount of poetry from the days of chasing wrong people. When they start randomly reciting some Shakespear sonnet to Marie, she's so scared. But when Jordan does it to startle her again, Marie actually enjoys it. Jordan isn't bummed for long, because it starts a long conversation about literature.

Marie does indulge in Property Brothes marathons. She didn't get it first, but didn't say anything. Around season 6 she would actually understand the appeal.

That would spawn an idea to just hang out in paint stores and hardware stores.

Jordan for sure can put up a shelf and stuff. Once, they pulled out a fancy drill with a battery and Marie almost swoons for real.

[bendysinitiation]

(A timeline of events from an outsider’s perspective, based on @bendyredrawn ‘s very own timeline! In this world, JDS’s growth is much like Fleischer Studios, with some things from Disney.)

1919 - Drew-Stein Studios is created by Joey Drew and Henry Stein. They also release their first short, “Little Devil Darlin'“. It stars a misunderstood little imp that tries to keep a job in turning people to sin. It becomes a hit with minority groups, such as immigrants, as escapism from the riots of the time, and conservative whites of New York find it blasphemous.

1920 - “Imp from the Inkwell“ Is released. In this story, the imp, now named Bendy, gets into antics with a live action Henry Stein. The production of short comics also start, introducing an unnamed hellhound into the picture.

1922 - More cartoons and comics are made. Notably, Boris makes his entrance in “Boorish Beasts”. He is Bendy’s acquaintance and foil, being quiet and calculative, but warm-hearted.

1925 - The Bendy film “Tombstone Picnic” makes a breakthrough by becoming the first ever animated “talkie” through vitaphone. The titular character is voiced by none other than Joey himself. Drew-Stein Studios hits the top of the charts for animation in America.

1926 - Another series, Telltale Trio, is introduced into the catalogue. It is not focused on the well-known imp from hell, but instead a trio of ghastly animals haunting a small town. Drew-Stein Studios changes its name to Joey Drew Studios.

1927-1930 - Countless other comics and talkies are released. The idea of angels are also introduced to the Bendy series. JDS grows exponentially in young employees during the start of the Great Depression.

1932-1933 - One year of mostly comics. Rumors go around that JDS is buying out a new studio in the Brooklyn area to house all its new departments. Joey Drew mentions big things are coming, but keeps it a surprise.

1933 - Construction finishes on the new studio and production moves in. Several female singers, musicians, and foley artists are also hired around this time. Alice Angel is introduced: a trigger-happy messenger that’s ended up in Hell. This also marks the year of JDS’s first color film.

1934 - With the addition of the Hays code, JDS holds back on all the violence, and produces less Bendy cartoons. Strangely enough, its reputation and income is barely effected. Alice Angel becomes the darling of the show around this time.

1936 - JDS releases a feature-length on the return of Bendy. It becomes extremely popular. But at the same time an endemic of sickness spreads throughout New York for a few days. There are also reports of some theatres receiving completely corrupted canisters that have whole minutes blacked out, melting, or incomprehensible.

1937- Henry Stein leaves the company because of “creative differences”. The studio’s growth comes to a halt.

1937-1940 - Production slows on more Bendy cartoons, instead focusing on other series again. Employees start protesting for better treatment outside the studio.

1940-1943 - Employees of the studio start to go missing, along with other employees leaving in droves. All report sickness.

1944-1945 - The studio, again, advertises a new breakthrough. A few more cartoons come out, all focusing on Bendy. People near the studio report cold chills and auditory hallucinations for months upon end.

1946 - After a mass plunge into hysteria from people in the near vicinity of JDS for 3 hours, The studio goes completely silent. All people employed go missing. Many investigations are taken out under these disappearances, but all become cold cases. People that go in don’t come out. Eventually, the studio is demolished.

1963 - New animation released. Henry is told by Joey to record the old studio. Game events.

[mrbensonmum]

TV Show - Dr. House | House M.D. XIII

THAT'S A WRAP!

We did it! Last night, the final episode of Dr. House flickered across the screen, and I must say, this rewatch was extremely enjoyable for me, partly because of writing about it. But from start to finish, there wasn't a single part that felt like a struggle, because the series is consistently good.

Cuddy is gone, Foreman is the new head of the hospital, and House is in jail. If that's not a spectacular start to a season, then I don't know what is.

But before that happens—since we still had a few episodes left from the seventh season—we see House completely out of control. First, injecting himself with experimental substances and then surgically removing the resulting tumors from his leg. After that, he tries, in his own way, to make things right with Cuddy, but it's increasingly failing. Even though I can understand some of his accusations toward her to a certain extent, what happens toward the end of the season is anything but justified.

In the eighth season, we see a very bizarre side of House, but one action hints at why he keeps resorting to such strange means. When he makes the immigration office document disappear, forcing Dominika to stay with him, he reveals something that has been subtly apparent all along—that he's incredibly lonely. Not everything can be attributed to this theme, but it does explain a lot! Especially what will happen with Wilson becomes increasingly clear.

Otherwise, Season 8 is another wild rollercoaster ride, not just in terms of the cases but also in terms of character development. During his time in prison, House meets the young doctor, Dr. Jessica Adams, whom he immediately adds to the team when he returns to Princeton-Plainsboro. There's also the suspended doctor, Dr. Chi Park, and after some initial difficulties, Taub and Chase make it back onto the team. From then on, everyone on the team faces some really tough challenges, and the worst one, towards the end of the season, comes to House himself. His best friend, what irony, is diagnosed with cancer. House has to confront many inner demons from then on and realizes that soon there will be no one left who truly understands his character and is also somewhat friendly towards him.

House tries everything to prevent Wilson's death because he doesn't want to lose this important person and also knows that his future would be uncertain without this support. But he's fighting windmills because Wilson has seen and experienced too much already to want to undergo treatment. He wants to enjoy the remaining time he has left.

I particularly liked Wilson's development because at the beginning, he's quite a thin, rather boring oncologist, and in the end, he's the tough, three-day-beard biker with a leather jacket. Especially when he's on the bike and puts on the glasses, he looks incredibly good, even though tragically plagued by cancer, just good!

What I find unfortunate, but can understand from an actress's perspective, is that we didn't see Lisa Cuddy (Lisa Edelstein) again. In the end, when House gets another beating in the burning house, he hallucinates quite a few people, and even Kutner and Stacy are there. On the other hand, Cuddy might have simply taken up too much space, especially after what happened in the last episode of the seventh season. Maybe it's for the best that she didn't show up again because otherwise, it might have felt like the focus was only on their relationship. Instead, it felt more like it was about each person and House, as well as the processing of different periods in his life or his drug addiction.

Whether there's such a thing as a perfect ending for a series, I don't know, but the ending of House comes pretty close. Of course, you're initially a bit disappointed because even though eight seasons are long and an ending can be a good thing, you don't want to let go just like that, and the inner series junkie demands more. But objectively speaking, this ending is really good because we've seen so many facets of House that it might feel forced now if there were more. We see how Adams and Park are firmly established in a team, Chase has finally found his place (I think his development is very good and how much more stable he is compared to the early seasons), and Taub embraces his role as a father. Cameron is also happy, which makes us all happy. And we also get another wonderful look at a still relatively healthy Thirteen, wonderful. Plus, there's that little nod with Foreman finding House's ID under a side table. Judging by his expression, you might think he knows House is still alive but is content that he has found his peace.

As often, I only picked out the really prominent parts from the season! The eighth season is full of interesting cases, exciting interactions with patients and the team, and a lot of new things, compared to the old seasons.

The thing between Park and Chase.

Chase being attacked and seriously injured by a patient (which is used to give him the necessary distance and make his team takeover make more sense)

Taub, who has a pretty established presence but still hasn't quite found his place in life

Foreman, who doesn't know whether he should be like House, like Cuddy, or just like Foreman as the head

What happens next? I honestly don't know yet. Yesterday, I looked around a bit and then decided on Bullet Train (2022). I still have to continue with Halo, but maybe I'll wait until the season is finished and then binge-watch everything in one evening, we'll see. But one thing I know is that I feel like watching something in the crime genre again!

[southwest-pottery-bracket]

Round 1, Match 1: Northern Polychromes

I call these the "Northern Polychromes" because they are only (in Fourmile's case) or predominantly (in Salado types' case) found in Arizona and New Mexico.

Salado Polychrome

Left, Gila Polychrome oval bowl (AD 1300-1450); Right, Tonto Polychrome olla (AD 1340-1450). Arizona and New Mexico.

vs.

Fourmile Polychrome

Fourmile Polychrome bowls, AD 1325-1400. Arizona.

More information about each type below the cut:

Salado Polychrome

Cliff Polychrome bowl, southeastern Arizona, AD 1350-1450.

Am I biased because this is what I'm writing my dissertation about so I've been thinking about Salado polys nonstop for about 3 years straight? MAYBE. But that's because they're interesting!

Salado polychrome is a collective name for various black, white, and red types of Roosevelt Red Ware. Pinto, Gila, and Tonto polychrome are the three main types, but there are a lot of described type variants.

Around AD 1275, there was a huge drought that lasted 20 years and impacted the whole Southwest. People moved out of the northern Southwest (Mesa Verde, the Four Corners area, southern Utah, northern Arizona) en masse. If you've ever heard of the "mystery" of the "disappearance" of the Anasazi - it's not a mystery, and they didn't disappear. There was a drought, crop failure, social/political instability, and they moved south to where there were population centers and perennial rivers. Some of these immigrants integrated into pre-existing towns; others formed their own enclave settlements.

And right around this time, a new style of pottery became popular in central/southern Arizona and western New Mexico. Like, really popular. Rapidly widespread, all but replacing the previous black-on-white and red-on-buff painted pottery. Gila polychrome (the most common type of Salado polychrome) is notable for being the most widespread decorated ware in the archaeological Southwest. Why?

Archaeologists debated this for decades upon decades. Were the Salado an immigrant group who brought this ware from the Tonto Basin, from the Sinagua, from the Colorado Plateau, from Mexico? Was it a Hohokam development? Was it Mesoamerican influence? You can read the debates back and forth in the 60s-80s and FEEL the palpable frustration!

Modern scholars basically agree that there's no "Salado" culture, that rather Ancestral Pueblo immigrants from the Kayenta and Tusayan regions of northeastern Arizona developed it after they moved to the south. These Salado polychrome pots weren't centrally made and traded widely, they were predominantly made locally to where they were found. But does it represent a retention/renewal of a Kayenta immigrant diaspora identity, or an integrative ideology that brought together immigrants and locals? And where do the Mesoamerican motifs come from?

I'm arguing more from a Kayenta immigrant diaspora identity marker cohesion-after-migration perspective, but it's a super interesting time of upheaval, reorganization, and social dynamism in the Southwest that really set the stage for the modern Pueblos and tribal groups we know today.

Salado polychromes themselves are defined by a red-slipped exterior, a white field, and black designs on white. The black does not touch the red. The exteriors of bowls are usually left plain red, with all the elaborate decoration on the inside. Sometimes there's so much white you can barely see the red. Two- and four-fold rotational symmetry is common; twinned elements are common, but each twin is usually slightly different from the other, not perfect mirrors. Abstracted representations of feathers and feathered serpents are really common too (the Mesoamerican connection). The black paint is organic, relying on a pigment called beeweed - which may have been sourced from back up in the north, a long way to go but clearly important to the people making these pots!

Fourmile Polychrome

Fourmile Polychrome bowl, AD 1325-1400, central Arizona.

Fourmile Polychrome is a type within White Mountain Red Ware. It's basically contemporaneous with Salado Polychrome, but was made in a different, more northern distribution, by Ancestral Pueblo people who didn't move so far south and congregated around Zuni and east-central Arizona.

Dynamic and bold and more likely to be asymmetrical, Fourmile polychrome is defined by designs in black glaze paint (manganese-based mineral paint with lead in the mix, to make it glossy when it fires and melts) outlined in white.

Both of these types were made by the coil-and-scrape method common to Ancestral (and modern) Pueblo potters (though a small percentage of Salado Polychromes were made by paddle-and-anvil, an argument for the type as an integrative practice...)

[sarah-yyy]

drive-by rec post for warm on a cold night which just finished airing last night!!

super quick “no time to listen to sarah yell over cdramas now” overview and links first before we get into it as usual:

what: period cdrama // 36 eps, roughly 45 mins each where: iqiyi // viki (usual disclaimer that i do not use eng subs so i don’t speak to the quality of subs) why: fun period cdrama werewolf romance with a sprinkle of crime-solving and uh hand-holding for Plot Reasons

my sweet girl su jiu’er of the qian kingdom! she is the only female constable in the city, but mostly does chores that none of the constables do because she’s had this condition since she was young where her body temperature drops rapidly out of nowhere and she faints randomly so no-one really lets her out to investigate cases even though she’s got the brains for it :(

this loser (affectionate) is han zheng, prince of the qi kingdom - the people of qi are all shapeshifters (think werewolves, though the actual shifting is never really explored too much so idk if they all shift into wolves or if this is specific to han zheng and his branch) who have superior physical abilities. han zheng starts out aloof, arrogant, and low-key anti-qian, but goes through a whole series of character growth because of jiu’er.

these two meet when han zheng sneaks into the qian kingdom to investigate the disappearance of his old friend (who has been branded a traitor of the qi kingdom; hz does not believe this). 

jiu’er finds out that touching han zheng alleviates her condition, like he literally warms her up whenever she touches him, so she keeps trying to do that (sometimes with adorable please save me i’m dying begging, sometimes with buddy you are literally an illegal immigrant here i call the shots blackmail, my girl has range) to han zheng’s initial distaste :))) the two of them team up to first solve recent mysteries in the city targeting the qi people, and then later investigate han zheng’s bff’s disappearance and jiu’er father’s death.

this show is so funny!! jiu’er persistently tries to get han zheng to try new things and make friends (even with his love rival!!!!!), and the banter between them at the start is so funny! their rivals to friends to lovers transition is also so smooth, and there is A LOT of gratuitous hand-holding scenes thank you scriptwriter for feeding me so well

ANYWAY the setting is fun, the cases move really quickly and most of them are quite interesting. i think it’s meant to be more a romcom than it is a crime-solving drama, so i went in with lower expectations re: the cases etc which helped! most of them are not that complicated, but still fun to watch unfold! the fight scenes are done really well

the side characters are also a+++

sleepy boy in the middle is wen jun (prince of the qian kingdom), who has had a crush on jiu’er since they were little and she took care of him when he was banished to this temple with his sickly mother by the emperor. they lost contact with each other when he was taken back to the palace after his mother passed. he is THE SWEETEST BOY!!! he doesn’t really have a mind for politics (that’s all left to his elder brother), so his fam just lets him enjoy life writing plays and spending money. he helps out with their investigation and follows han zheng and jiu’er around like a puppy :’) major ot3 vibes but ALAS

HELLO DA-DIANXIA MY LOVE :’) i am a sucker for a smart, well put together man, so can y’all really blame me for imprinting upon wen ying like this??? he is SUSPICIOUS af from the get-go, but also he’s so good and so kind to wen jun that i keep thinking the show is just trying to bait me into thinking he’s the bad guy :( ANYWAY in the later eps, he’s got this Thing going on with chi lan (badass general of the yi kingdom who is also han zheng’s other bff) that just makes me go !!! because of the potential

moustache man is jiu’er’s godfather! also one of my favourite characters with a+++ comedic timing tbh!!! can’t say more about him because spoilers but I LOVE HIM OKAY

if y’all are looking for a nice, low-stakes watch, this is probably the show for you! it’s mostly light-hearted, nothing too complex that requires full attention, and really easy to binge - i probably could’ve done this whole show in one weekend if i weren’t also battling jetlag :D

[thegoatsongs]

I'm having thoughts on Mina's background due to her Gaelic surname (just like Lucy's is) (I may be headcanoning that it's one reason why they bonded as kids, and both surnames are about the sea)

I've been thinking that she may be Irish (still my main theory) due to Murray being prevalent in Ireland, and Stoker being Irish, (and I've read a couple of novels in which she's from Ireland, so it's not unheard of), but I also have a theory that she may be at least partially Scottish.

When in Whitby, Mina references Marmion, a Scottish poem by Walter Scott (which ends with the Battle of Flodden).

When Mina hides herself and Lucy from the drunk man she says: "we hid in a door till he had disappeared up an opening such as there are here, steep little closes, or “wynds,” as they call them in Scotland".

Looking at the origins of Murray, "Murray's strong base in Ireland is partially due to an influx of Scottish immigrants into Ulster", and "Murray was a particularly popular name in Scotland due to the seaside area of Moray Firth" (notheastern Scotland).

Now those individually or together don't really mean much but you could make a case if you want your Mina to be Scottish that it's not coming out of nowhere.

Also fun fact, Stoker was inspired to write about Castle Dracula while vacationing (for several summers) in Aberdeenshire, Scotland.

[peashooter85]

The Thompson Submachine Gun and Irish Independence

In the final month of World War I a US Army officer named Brig. Gen. John T. Thompson began development of a submachine gun which he called the "trench broom". Spitting out 800 rounds a minute of .45 caliber lead the trench broom was to be used to clear World War I trenches of German soldiers, however the war ended before work on the Thompson could be finished. Development continued after the war until in April of 1921 production of the Model 1921 Thompson began.

Among the first buyers of the Thompson were secret agents of the Irish Republican Army who were looking to buy weapons for Irish forces fighting for independence against the British. At the time there were no laws in the US restricting the sale of fully automatic firearms and thus any civilian could buy one as long as the had the cash ($200 or around $3000 in today's money). Some of the earliest produced Thompsons were purchased, serial numbers 46, 50, and 51, and smuggled to Ireland. There they were tested in a soundproofed basement Dublin. IRA leader Michael Collins, who attended the test firing was like, bruh we need more of these! So a call went out to buy and ship as many Tommy guns as possible.

Most Thompsons were purchased by immigrant Irish fraternal groups and patriotic groups who organized fundraisers and pooled their money together to cover the steep cost of buying the submachine guns. In some cases they disappeared from government armories. An Irish immigrant who was sheriff of San Mateo, California donated two Thompsons for the cause. Many of the weapons as well as magazines and ammunition made their way to New York City, where 495 of them were loaded onto one ship. Unfortunately for the IRA local police and Federal authorities seized the weapons in a raid after a captain grew suspicious of the cargo that was being loaded onto his ship.

While 495 Thompsons were seized, another 158 were smuggled out of the US to Ireland by other means. Most only arrived in the final months of the Irish War for Independence as a truce was agreed upon on the 11th of July and the Anglo-Irish Treaty was signed in December guaranteeing Irish independence. The Thompson did see plenty of action in the Irish Civil War of 1922-1923 when factions of the IRA began fighting among each other due to disagreements over the terms of the treaty. In 1925 the 495 Thompsons that were seized by the US Government were returned as there were no neutrality laws at the time and it was not illegal to send weapons to foreign powers overseas. Most of those Thompsons went into government armories without ever being fired in anger until they were decommissioned in the 1960's-1970's. Some remained in private hands, even being used by IRA fighters as late as the 1970's and 1980's

[scribbleseas]

Straight Laced, Chapter III: To Be A False Escort…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: Hi! Thank you so much for your support for Chapter 2. It was so, so motivating to see it and use it as inspiration to get this chapter together for you in a timely manner. I even surprised myself, lol. Don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts about this one! And any theories you may have about the main mystery! You guys mean to world to me :)

Happy Reading!

- Dan

MASTERLIST

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

October 13, 1895

The Phantomhive Estate’s Drawing Room

Receiving an offer to play billiards at the Earl of Phantomhive’s manor was the premiere invite. It was more coveted than an invitation to one of his balls or banquets, or even a request to meet in his office since it was the only way to know that you were a part of his inner circle. Phantomhive’s drawing room competition was only made up of his band of closest and most powerful allies.

Ciel preferred to keep this circle limited to the evil number five, including himself. After all, there was no use in quantity over the quality of service one might offer him. There was no use in saving face for some obsequious crowd when a smaller group could achieve the same and more.

At the established age of 20, Ciel hand-picked his own company, officially doing away with the former Earl’s out of self-preservation— most of those vultures were driven by their interest to unseat him, believing that they could outsmart his developing strategic mind. He had been 13 at the beginning of his reign.

Naturally, their gross assumptions led to the creation of the Phantomhive standard of care, which tended to mean: his staff taking creative license to maim or kill in extreme cases. He preferred to allow his staff to take care of the intricacies and portray while he reveled in his guests’ screams. Ciel imagined they would think better of crossing him, in the future.

Now, he sat in his long wingback chair, overseeing the game before him, half listening to his company, half planning his next turn in his mind. There were no good shots— he’d have to skip again. It was Ciel’s policy to never shoot unless he was certain he’d score. Taking useless turns that achieved little more than nothing was not in his nature.

“…Just can’t believe that ballerinas are dropping like flies and the Yard has all of us on a gag order,” Adam Blackwell, the Oxford Gazette editor-in-chief, grumbled. Originally from the States, it took time for Ciel to adjust to his blunt way of speaking. Although Blackwell seemed as though his blunt exterior made him unqualified for Ciel’s entourage, it was his influence on widespread media that made him a valuable partner. Blackwell cultivated Ciel’s publicity and in return, Ciel provided him with breaking stories, invaluable insight, and his endorsement. Now, the journalist’s words caught Ciel’s full attention.

Ballerinas ‘dropping like flies,’ the Yard’s ‘gag order.’

Ciel wasn’t aware that Her Majesty wished to keep these deaths quiet — nor why that would be. It wasn’t as if there would be a public outcry as a result; most perceived ballerinas as crass, vain, and promiscuous. Hardly a half step better than average prostitutes. They were every noble wife’s worst nightmare, given that their husbands were willing to empty their fortune to tousle their bedsheets with them, rather than remain faithful as their wedding vows outlined.

Now that he personally knew the Royal Opera House’s prima ballerina, Ciel understood where the stereotype emerged from. He’d never met a woman who smoked cigars or disrespected him with such insistence. He wrinkled his nose in remembrance of the permanent cloud of smoke that Y/n was so attached to and the tantalizing way she presented herself.

Of course, the worst of it was that Y/n was almost attractive enough for it to work if Ciel weren’t a gentleman.

Almost, he felt he needed to emphasize.

“Phantomhive,” the Viscount of Tiverton, Gabriel Giffard said his name impatiently. He chalked the tip of his cue stick, slightly wary of meeting Ciel’s eye. “Blackwell reminds me; I needed to tell you that there has been talk,” he ran the cue chalk over the stick’s end until there was a thick blue film over it. “Amongst the barons.”

“Talk?” Ciel asked, his back straightening in the chair. Giffard, like him, inherited his viscounty much too young as a result of a tragic accident. Only the carriage crash that killed his parents was likely a genuine accident as opposed to the purposeful Phantomhive estate inferno that killed Ciel’s parents and left him a sacrifice for a deranged cult.

Now, Giffard was known for secrets, pulling them from all ranks within British society: royalty, nobility, and the low class. How he came across them, Ciel was unsure, but he knew better than to dismiss his words. “Of what sort?”

“Lord Chancellor spotted you in the foyer de la danse at the Opera House. Socializing, bidding…winning said bid,” Giffard said facetiously, already knowing that it was true because his informants would never dare lie. The Viscount’s magnetic attitude was what tended to draw people in so close— it was what made strangers turn to friends after mere moments into an exchange. Ciel wasn’t quite convinced by the facade, but Giffard was plenty helpful.

Of course, it was Lord Chancellor. The man had nothing better to do than gamble his limited fortune away and cover his shame with undignified, craven, sexual acts with any ensemble member he could afford.

“Bidding? Excuse me?” Samantha Marias Delgaudio asked her lightly freckled features twisted into a look of animated surprise. “Phantomhive? Bidding? What?” She repeated the words as if the English made no sense to her, taking a soothing drink from her wine glass. Per the norm, it was filled with her favorite rosé, a brand that Ciel had shipped in for her. He didn’t have much of a taste for wine, but she visited often enough to warrant the special shipment. Moreso, Carlo Gancia was a longtime family friend to the Phantomhive family.

“Explain, Phantomhive.” Her hazel eyes squinted at Ciel, zeroing in on him the same way a sharpshooter would.

“Samantha—” Ciel started. She reminded him of a younger Madame Red, his late aunt, Angelina Dalles. Samantha had the same red hair, a dimpled smile, and easy humor.

“Sam,” she rolled her eyes, tired of the correction. She was the second-youngest daughter of Police Lieutenant Peter Delgaudio, close right hand to the Scotland Yard’s Police Commissioner, Arthur Randall. Randall, the supercilious bastard, was not fit for retirement quite yet. In another five years, hopefully. Sam wasn’t one for formalities, but so long as she refrained from using Ciel’s first name, he’d tolerate it. Besides, she tended to let a few facts about the Yard’s current cases slip, updating him on their progress, incoming cases, and loyalties within the force. Fred Abberline was too subservient for such a service, but Sam enjoyed the dramatics of being Ciel’s insight.

“No, Sam. You need to tell us why the Police Commissioner refuses to let me report these murders!” Blackwell interjected. “I could care less about where Phantomhive decides to—”

“Oh, be quiet, we can talk about that later,” Sam snapped, always one to get to the point. She turned her attention back to Ciel. “Why were you in the dance foyer?”

“The rest of the word is that you won the right to be Y/n Y/l/n’s only subscriber,” Viscount Tiverton added, adding to Sam’s outrage. He sent bitter looks to Sam and Blackwell, irritated that they interrupted his gossip.

“Who? The lead dancer?” Sam demanded.

“Prima ballerina,” Blackwell corrected, pedantic when it came to using the correct terms.

“That means the same thing!”

Ciel sighed, resigned. He should have paid more attention to the rest of the dance foyer’s guests and disguised himself better— one of the bidding noblemen recognized him. It was a risk to so much as admit that he was pretending to be Y/n Y/l/n’s patron to this tightly-knit group. The more people knew the more likely Natasha Gusev-Wood could realize that her company was under official investigation. She and her husband were still people of interest.

Besides, it was harmful for Ciel’s reputation to be a subscriber to a ballerina. He was the Head of Phantomhive; someone of his stature needed to be courting a proper lady, not soiling sheets with a coquettish, sultry dancer. He needed to change the narrative. Soften it. Make it slightly less scandalous.

“I am courting her,” Ciel replied simply, lying through his teeth. “My bidding serves to pay her rent and keep other men away at the same time.”

“No, you must be investigating her,” Richard Clerkenwell interjected, finishing his shot. He was always one to choose the worst time to enter the topic at hand.

Clerkenwell knocked the blue striped ball — the 10 — into a hole, the cue ball stopping on the edge before the pocket. The hit cleared the way for Ciel to knock solids one and six in. He handed the cue stick off to Sam for her to take her turn, but she merely held it in her hand, unwilling to let the subject drop while she played.

Clerkenwell was an Underworld arms dealer, running a minor branch within his family crime syndicate. The group dealt in weapons manufacturing and minor drug dealing, harmless enough to remain under Her Majesty’s radar with Ciel’s aid, but prominent enough for Richard to be a strong ally for the favor. Richard provided Ciel’s house staff (his undercover guards) with the latest in arms and weapons for a strong discount.

Unfortunately, that meant Clerkenwell had the finest criminal instinct out of the four of Ciel’s close acquaintances. Although he hadn’t seen through Ciel’s lie entirely, he didn’t miss the mark. Enlisting Y/n as his eyes and ears within the dance company kept her close. Ciel would be remiss to assume she was entirely innocent. After all, no crime can be committed with a motive.

There was no better motive than forcibly removing the competition— Ciel would know. Still…Sebastian’s words still held strong truth within them, “Miss Y/l/n does not seem to have the constitution of a killer.” The demon seemed comfortable with dismissing the prima ballerina as a suspect, but Ciel was not quite convinced.

“If she were the killer, there would have been no need for her to kill anyone besides Janet Fischer,” Sebastian had said. He had a point. Bloody demon.

“Investigating Y/n? So the Queen put you on this already,” Blackwell assumed. By watching his face, Ciel could see the journalist piecing the headline, the lede, and the rest of the story together in his head.

“No, Her Majesty did not.” Ciel scowled, wishing he could send the arms dealer to an early grave. But unfortunately, that would do more harm than good. If he was going to convince the rest of polite society that he was in love with Y/n, he needed to successfully convince this room first. “The case is in its infant stages. She wouldn’t enlist me without giving the Yard a fair chance,” he glanced at Sam meaningfully.

“That’s a nasty coincidence then,” Blackwell replied.

“I merely attended the ballet and took a vested interest in her,” Ciel struggled to coax his lips into a slight half-smile, a smug look that he imagined he’d give upon sharing vague details about his personal life. It was Earl’s grin, not his own, but that was the look they were accustomed to. The poisonous look of joy on his face normally insinuated that someone was about to take an unfortunate loss. “I am her patron. Becoming so was the only way to ensure the vermin stayed away from her.”

Fine. They will perceive the utter lack of adoration in his face as protective hostility.

Besides, there wasn’t a lot Ciel liked about Y/n to put the expected lovestruck look on his face. Overt frustration and protectiveness were better alternatives, given that he could hardly muster a smile when she crossed his mind. She was everything he disliked about commoners: promiscuous, rude, outspoken. Now he would need to fool his social circle into believing that he was steps away from wedding her.

It wouldn’t be his worst endeavor for the sake of Her Majesty.

“You intend to make her your Countess? Were you not having tea with Lady Howard?” Viscount Tiverton asked.

Tiverton would tell Ciel everything he needed to know at the expense of informing his circles about Ciel to avoid unwanted scrutiny. No one knew who the Earl invited to his billiards games— that information was as confidential as Funtom stocks. Thus, Tiverton would share sanitized versions of the truth, based on Ciel’s strategic allowances. Even still, carelessly allowing this information to ripple throughout the aristocracy was far from ideal. There needed to be a plan. Ciel would need to come to a supplementary understanding with him to control who got hold of the news and when.

Perhaps, that would be a follow-up meeting between himself, Tiverton, and Blackwell.

Caroline Howard was the daughter of the Duke of Norfolk. Becoming a Duke was perhaps the only social upgrade Ciel was willing to make, given that the only title higher than a Duke was a royal, and with such an opportunity, there was no need to explore any lower matches, which would be an available Marquis or another Earldom.

Becoming the next Duke of Norfolk was well within his grasp, given the Howard family’s desire to progress their slow-moving relationship. Or it would have been within his grasp if he wasn’t sacrificing his personal life for the sake of the investigation. Ciel thought bitterly, silently cursing Y/n for her promiscuous reputation, cursing the Yard for being incapable of doing its job without his interference.

“I’ve promised nothing to her,” Ciel stood from his chair, taking the Viscount’s freshly chalked cue stick to take his turn. He lined the cue stick with the ball, taking ample time to ensure that the angle would strike both balls into position. When Ciel was careless, he missed as a result of his eyepatch misaligning his depth perception.

Though if he could kill two birds with one stone— two balls with one turn — he’d be that much closer to winning. Clerkenwell put up a decent fight; he always did. These individuals knew how Ciel detested an easy victory, but in the end, he was the champion.

“You’ve been after a Dukedom for the past two years, Phantomhive,” Blackwell shook his head, scoffing at Ciel’s flawless hit. American businessmen never seemed to understand the importance of the drawing room. Too many waged important decisions and bets on childish games such as these were made here to overlook.

“Such matters can wait. There is no crime in enjoying Y/n’s presence now that she’s caught my interest,” Ciel allowed them to draw their conclusions from those words. He righted himself and handed off the cue stick to Sam. She cursed under her breath, unhappy with where Ciel left the cue ball.

He understood why Blackwell, Giffard, Sam, and Clerkenwell doubted him. No matter how Ciel fabricated the truth, it was still inconsistent. Improbable. They knew he was after a duchy, a noble wife to round out his chessboard. Y/n was a firebrand. She was not a Countess, much less a citizen of Her Majesty, coming from France. Ballerinas existed on stage to all, and backstage to those who could afford it. A prima ballerina did not have what was necessary to fulfill the Queen’s role on his board.

“Regardless, she will accompany me to your upcoming ball, Lord Tiverton,” Ciel sent a chilling smile towards the group, daring them to commentate further. “Now. Let’s finish our game, shall we?”

No one protested.

October 14, 1895

The Royal Opera House, Outside Y/n’s Dressing Room

Y/n was due to update Ciel on the information she uncovered since their discussion at the breakfast table. In an effort to keep their partnership inconspicuous, he offered to meet her backstage and escort her to the hovel that she called her townhouse. Prior to meeting her, he explored it with Sebastian, searching for clues of her being their killer, but most of her drawers contained pointe shoes of various quality, assorted sewing tools, clothing, packs of cigars, and wine. The only items that she seemed to make an effort to hide were expensive gifts from subscribers, and given that none of the victims’ fortunes were touched, there was no reason to assume the killer worked for a financial agenda.

Ideally, Ciel would have waited for Y/n inside her dressing room and allowed her director to presume they were having relations while they were truly going over information Y/n gleaned.

Though now that Ciel was claiming to be courting her, his plans needed to chasten and publicize. What was supposed to insinuate a sordid backstage affair, now needed to become the Earl of Phantomhive bringing his romantic interest roses after her flawless role in the show and escorting her home. Keeping her safe and well-provided for was the job of a false escort, he reckoned, despite having little to no romantic experience.

More to the point: their interactions needed to become much more inconvenient. Having to bring himself to the Opera House every other evening was already quite a burden but now, he needed to spend public, perceivable time with Y/n to make his story plausible. And rake his reputation through the mud while he was at it.

Blackwell and Tiverton’s words could only help so much. At the very least, Ciel’s blatant power was enough to keep any opposition or vitriol from his enemies private.

“Lord Phantomhive!” Natasha Gusev-Wood stopped in her tracks upon noticing him standing outside her star’s dressing room. He’d purposely paid an excess amount of money to avoid the dance foyer because the scene was too grotesque to subject himself to every other evening. (Watching sexual exploitation felt abhorrently close to participating in it.) When Ciel wrote a check for three times the amount he did to become Y/n’s sole patron, Natasha seemed to understand what he was conveying.

She briefly dipped her head as a gesture of respect. Her eyes were grey-ish blue. They were catlike as they surveyed him, pausing the bouquet of roses in his hands. Half of Natasha’s weight seemed to depend on the long cane at her side, the leather handle perfectly molded to her grip. The customization suggested that she needed walking assistance for quite a while.

“Mrs. Wood,” Ciel replied, making minimal effort to match her enthusiastic greeting. He returned her singular nod.

“Y/n should let you in a moment, I’ve only just helped her out of her costume,” she gestured to her single handful of tulle, her free hand grappling with what seemed to be an ensemble member’s outfit: a simple white number with the swan headpiece. Her Russian accent hardened her English. Uncomfortable with Ciel’s continued silence, she spoke again: “Our costume director has her hands full with preparations for The Nutcracker.” He assumed she was attempting to explain why she, the director and choreographer, was dealing with tasks as mundane as dressing and undressing her company.

“I understand,” Ciel opted to use the time to ask her about her husband, William, while he had the chance. Supposedly, the man was in France, scouting new ensemble members from the dance school Y/n grew up in. The timing was ironic to Ciel: about ten dancers are found dead, and the Opera House’s owner decides to search for a replacement, ignoring the issue altogether.

It was more than ironic. It was suspicious.

“How is William, these days?” As irritating as small talk was, it was often quite insightful.

Natasha answered as he expected her to. Her full lips pulled into a smile, her laugh was bashful. “He is set to return from Paris quite soon; he was looking for an understudy for Mother Ginger, given that the role is rather precarious,” she said, not expecting him to understand the reference. “But he is well!” Ciel couldn’t sense any half-truths or hesitation in her words— either she was a trained liar, or she was being honest.

“Do send him my regards,” Ciel requested, looking to build the foundation needed to have a meeting with the man. He needed to gauge him and decide whether or not the rumors surrounding William were true…

“Come in, Lord Phantomhive!” Y/n’s falsely cheerful voice called from the other side of the door, but Ciel didn’t move. This exchange was too pivotal to the investigation for two reasons: one, Natasha was the key to a meeting with William, and two, this would be the first time Ciel admitted to courting Y/n to anyone besides his allies. Natasha would spread the word, and her inevitable recount of the interaction would need to have the warmth necessary to be believable.

“Y/n will adore those flowers. Have a lovely night,” Natasha smiled. She picked up her cane, readying herself to step away, but the fabricated vulnerability on Ciel’s face must have stopped her. It was the same look Sebastian used when he needed someone to let their guard down— Ciel had plenty of time to learn to replicate it, over the years. Beyond that, he was a rather gifted liar.

“Do you truly think so?” Ciel asked breathlessly, sparing a look at the door to suggest that he was worried about Y/n listening in and another to his flowers to insinuate that he was rethinking them. “I…wish to begin courting her.” It was a flawless construction of a well-guarded man showing a crack in his armor for the sake of love. It was storybook. Ciel fought the feeling of bile rising in his throat.

Natasha’s mouth fell open, unsure of how to reply. “I-…they are beautiful. A man can never go wrong with classic red roses,” she managed through her surprise.

“I appreciate it. Thank you, Mrs. Wood,” he surrendered a smile.

“Of course, Lord Phantomhive,” Natasha nodded stiffly, her own knowing smile reflecting his. “I wish you the best of luck,” and with that, she continued walking to her original destination, newly armed with the freshest gossip to occupy the streets of London.

Once she was out of earshot, Ciel replied to Y/n. “Ready yourself to leave. I am escorting you to your home for the evening,” he raised his voice so she could hear him.

To his surprise, Y/n didn’t argue with him. Instead, she emerged from her dressing room after several moments, a small bag slung over her shoulder. As Natasha did, her gaze locked on his flowers before she looked at him with uncertainty. “Ciel…” she questioned, her eyebrows knitting.

“We should take our leave,” Ciel suggested, before lowering his voice, leaning downwards to address her more privately. There was a relative bustle backstage, but luckily, the ensemble and stage crew kept away from the prima ballerina’s dressing room, for the most part. “You will have your explanation in the carriage. Take this bouquet and hold onto my arm,” he muttered, righting himself and offering her the bouquet. It was a small cluster of red roses bound together by a thick brown ribbon, a touch of baby’s breath and greenery accented the sea of crimson petals.

Y/n held the bouquet in one hand and her other hand laced around Ciel’s arm hesitantly. She wiped away every hint of confusion from her face and replaced it with a satisfied half-smile, her back straightening with confidence, a sureness at his side. Bringing the flowers to her nose, she smelled them and sighed with gratitude. She was a better actress than Ciel originally thought.

“I adore them. Thank you, Lord Phantomhive,” he had to look away from her smile, avoiding it, in the same way, someone might avoid staring into the sun’s rays. He made a distinct effort to focus on her choice of addressing him.

“Sebastian is outside with the carriage,” he explained, leading the prima ballerina towards the exit near the dance foyer, allowing assorted ensemble members and their patrons to catch a glance at himself and his supposed courtship partner. If Natasha served the purpose he hoped, they all would have known to keep a particular eye out for them.

The moment they settled into the carriage, their respective placid expressions dropped like masquerade masks.

“Ciel, what happened?” Y/n demanded. “What happened to, ‘we are not courting, Y/n. We are not friends, Y/n,’ hm?” she impersonated him, lowering her voice to create a husky caricature of his. Her British accent was horrifying— she butchered the language enough in the first place, but this was a step further.

He certainly expected her to react this way, given that she was the personification of the theater itself. She was all drama, all theatrics. That was part of what made her so insufferable to him, a logical being.

To you, I am Lord Phantomhive! He wanted to demand, but at this point, he was growing weary of the correction. Briefly, he wondered if this was how Sam felt, constantly correcting people’s forms of address.

“Explain!” Y/n ordered just as the carriage began moving.

Ciel released the inhale he was holding. He shouldered off his black overcoat and folded it across his lap, suddenly uncomfortably warm without the chilly autumn air to keep him cold. The desire to explain himself was nowhere to be found. He rarely needed to do so! He was the Earl of Phantomhive!

She was no one in comparison; the bastard child of a maid and her employer, raised in a dance school out of convenience for her parents. A means for them to hide their shame.

Even so, Ciel found himself looking for the best way to inform her of what had happened in the past day.

“A Baron recognized me in the foyer de la danse. Acquaintances of mine questioned me about the matter, and I needed to keep my cover intact to ensure that no one heard word of my investigation.”

“Our investigation,” Y/n interrupted, causing a flare of annoyance to set Ciel’s lips in a pursed line. He took a sharp inhale, willing the argument to die on his tongue.

“Fine. They now need to believe that we are courting— for the good of our investigation,” Ciel said dryly, tilting his chin in a show of silent defiance, daring her to raze him further.

Y/n laughed, the outburst erupting out of her like a firework, bright and full of color. Her smile was lopsided and more genuine than he’d ever seen it, even if she was laughing at him. Her knees pulled together as she doubled over, acting as if the magnitude of her amusement may as well kill her.

He rolled his eyes and put his frustration towards squeezing his jacket.

“You told your friends that you have taken a liking to me?” Her shoulders shook with the effort that it took to reign herself in.

Ciel found a new reason to dislike her: her captivating smile, the way it made the corner of his mouth twitch because he confronted the hilarity of the situation.

Only, Ciel disliked that reason. Instead, he decided to focus on his existing ones: her selfishness, the sultry attitude of hers, her stubbornness. The fact that she originally deemed her ‘too busy’ to bother talking to her co-workers. She considered herself busy? Ciel ran an Earldom, multi-million corporation, and worked as a private investigator for Her Majesty.

That was why he had little to no interest in finding a wife, after Elizabeth. To this day, he struggled to take that utter embarrassment in stride.

“I had no choice. Admitting that my intended goal was to be your patron would have dealt near-irreparable damage to the Phantomhive name,” Ciel continued, finally sobering her riotous grin. “Telling them that I was acting as your patron would have—”

“Made them realize you were investigating my company, yes,” Y/n rubbed at the bridge of her nose, kneading the amusement off of her face. “I understand. But the thought of us in courtship is…” inconceivable? impossible? inane? “…Unbelievable,” she settled on. “Me and you? We could never hope to…” she thought out loud, trying to piece the logic together.

“—I’ve already set it up,” Ciel cut in. They were always interrupting one another. “All that is necessary is your consent, and I would be willing to compensate you for the additional time, as well.”

“Additional time?” She repeated.

“Noble courtship is a full schedule. You would be accompanying me to social events and public outings…” Ciel explained, expecting her to decline. He sounded like Sebastian, the careful way he debriefed potential wives for Ciel’s purposes.

As she puzzled over his words, the carriage came to a stop. Her head jerked towards the window, peering out of the glass as if she considered the possibility of Ciel holding her hostage at his estate until she consented. He could never. She was too irritating for anyone to hold hostage— even the most committed crime syndicate would surrender her. Ciel imagined Clerkenwell putting a bullet between her eyebrows for nothing more than to make her stop talking.

“Come up with me,” Y/n ordered, opening the carriage door and letting herself out before Sebastian could.

She didn’t give Ciel the opportunity to decline the offer. Instead, he followed her to her front step and watched her unlock the rusted doorknob. He shared a nod with his butler before stepping through the threshold and following the ballerina up the old stairway, since she rented out the first floor of the townhouse to a single mother and her daughter. He forced himself to take in her living space with interest to avoid suggesting that he’d been there before her inviting him inside.

The second floor was made up of two main rooms: Y/n’s bedroom and her common room, a multi-purpose space that housed a small kitchenette and an apothecary cabinet pulled against one side of the room with two couches and a coffee table pulled towards the side. Several large mirrors and a barre occupied the free side. Every surface was filled with assorted clutter and a thin sheen of uneven dust— Y/n cleaned some areas more than others.

She told him to take a seat and wait while she showed herself to her room to change out of her leotard, tights, flats, and the ratty sweater that she used to cover herself against the cool night. Reluctantly, he obeyed, ignoring the vague scent of smoke and her floral perfume. A variety of wine bottles lined a section of the shelves, but there were only two wine glasses next to them. The only visible food seemed to be a half loaf of bread, unopened jam, and crackers.

Even Ciel’s servants ate more and lived in better conditions than Y/n did— three well-rounded meals and quarters in his guest house, respectively. She had to have relied on her income from suitors and the ballet to maintain even this standard of living.

Minutes later, Y/n re-emerged from her bedroom. She scrubbed her face clear of any makeup and changed into an oversized night shirt and short drawers, leaving her legs exposed to her upper thigh. Her shirt was practically see-through— it was white and it fell an inch past her hips, resembling a night shirt he would wear to sleep.

Not only was Y/n all smoke and drama; she was also the very personification of scandal.

Yet, Ciel’s objection to her clothing died on his tongue. Instead, he cleared his throat and adjusted his trousers, since he had yet to sit on one of her dilapidated couches. The throw rug covering the wooden floor didn’t seem any better, nor did the wooden chair hastily pulled next to the kitchenette counter. Everything in the room seemed crowded towards one side to make room for the mirrors and the barre on the far wall.

“I need to darn my new shoes,” Y/n started sifting through one of the drawers in the apothecary cabinet. “We can discuss our courtship while I do,” she picked out a curved needle, thread, a thimble, and scissors, effortlessly sitting herself onto the rug. She crossed her legs in front of her, causing her shirt to hike up and expose the short drawers.

“So you intend to follow my plan, then?” Ciel said the question like a statement.

“I wish to avenge my friends. I will do what I must,” Y/n expectant eyes watched him blankly before turning playful, understanding why he had yet to touch any of the furniture in her home. A class difference. A world’s worth of differences between the conditions they believed were livable.

Being in this townhouse made Ciel’s skin crawl. He almost expected to catch a disease from being there. And yet, he didn’t show himself out.

Y/n’s smile was lopsided, hiding a sting of hurt smoothed over by immense self confidence. Ciel knew that look rather well. “Sit…unless the Earl of Phantomhive is only able to sit on fabric created by the best of silks and threads, sewn together by the best of—” the expression Ciel gave her was frustrated to make her laugh, cutting off her own sardonic words. After giving the area across from her a long look, Ciel sat himself down, cringing at the thought of the grime beneath him. The dirt. He was nearly certain these trousers were new, and now he’d need to tell Sebastian to burn them along with the rest of the evening’s ensemble when this was all over with.

“Has anyone told you how insufferable you are?” Ciel asked, watching her pull thread through the eye of her needle. She tied off the thread and cut the excess, paying his insult little to no mind. In fact, she almost seemed amused by his comment.

“I know no one has told you how insufferable you are,” she snorted derisively. “If they did, you would not be so…you.” Her threaded needle flew in and out of the satin shoe and she seemed to be stitching around the perimeter of the flat bit on the tip. The area the ballerinas balanced on. Y/n worked the needle precisely, almost as rapidly as Ciel’s mother used to embroider.

“I happen to do rather well for myself,” Ciel thought of the ever-prosperous Funtom Corporation, his extensive list of solved cases for Her Majesty, and his winning streak in chess. He did more than well for himself; so much so that there was hardly room to grow. The only way for him to improve his status would be to marry into a dukedom or a marquis, but that was so far into the future, he could hardly imagine it. Instead, Ciel decided to focus on more pressing matters: “what have you heard over the past two days?”

“Well,” Y/n paused to think. “No one else has missed rehearsal…but I learned some more of the patron’s names. For a dancer who…passed, and current company members,” she listed out names she remembered. For the most part, she caught wind of the most long standing subscribers, but only found the name of one patron of a murdered ballerina.

“Eliza O’Malley and Lord Alexander Huntington— Mr. Wood said she quit the company shortly before Janet died,” those particular names were the next step in the investigation, surely. Lords Tiverton and Huntington were throwing a joint ball at the end of the week to commemorate their corporation’s grand opening. It was some sort of soap manufacturer, amongst other luxury items for the washroom. There was nothing particularly special about the company’s product, but Ciel imagined it would do well because the Viscounts advertised it as luxury.

“I know Lord Huntington,” Ciel told Y/n about his and Lord Tiverton’s company and upcoming event. “We should make an appearance together. See if he knows anything of what happened to O’Malley,” the Yard found the ensemble dancer in pieces, her body partially pecked apart by vultures two blocks away from her home. The Undertaker suggested she died of a heart attack due to hard drug use. If she weren’t the eighth ballerina to die over the past month, the Yard would have ruled it an accident.

“If it is one killer, they are certainly well read and dedicated, my Lord. This is a wide variety of means to kill a human,” Sebastian had mused, likely amused at the thought of how fragile the human body is.

Ciel could tell Y/n wanted to ask what happened to Eliza, but she hesitated, leaving the question on her pursed lips. It was one of the more gruesome ends involved in this case. Ciel opted to spare her— there was little he detested more than crying. It was a waste of time and energy.

Not all of the bodies have been recovered yet, either. Ten merely commemorated how many ballerinas have been reported as missing. But the six of them found have all been dead.

“For one person to have the ability to kill these dancers in so many ways insinuates that they can directly manipulate their victim’s schedules,” Sebastian continued. They were looking for an authority figure. Someone with power— like a common patron, or William Wood himself. The man needed to return to London, and soon.

“We would need to attend after my performance,” Y/n tied off her stitch and repeated the process for her other pointe shoe.

“Fine. Have you attended a noble ball before?” Ciel asked, unsure if commoners held such events. Though, one glance at Y/n’s home suggested they did not.

“Yes, I have,” she didn’t need to explain, because Ciel had an idea as to why she would attend one. Subscribers with twisted morals were more than eager to show off their beautiful belongings, even if a living human qualified as such a thing. “Rather boring affairs, are they not?” Y/n asked rhetorically.

He reminded himself to write Y/n a larger check. No one deserved to sell their body to live— even if Y/n was, by far, the most frustrating person Ciel had come across in his life. That foyer saw to years long of demeaning abuse, no matter how content she pretended to be.

The insignia on Ciel’s torso burned as a reminder. The Mark of the Beast. He forced himself to swallow down the forming lump in his throat.

At least they shared a mutual disdain for the events, though he suspected for different reasons.

“You nobles are extremely rude,” Y/n claimed, wrinkling her nose as if she’d consumed something bitter. “You all grow up in such…lavishness; I would think your personalities would be slightly more pleasant for it.”

“And what exactly makes you believe you are so much more amicable?”

“Should you not know, Ciel?” She feigned innocence, batting her long eyelashes at him before her expression shifted to be more serious. Her pivoting needle paused; she was nearly halfway around the perimeter of the outer sole. “But truly: I may not be the kindest; but I am honest. I will never lie to you.” She expected him to reciprocate the sentiment, but he was reluctant to.

Ciel was a liar. A manipulator. Someone whose lies almost exclusively served his self-interest. Promising the truth to Y/n would be the equivalent of a wasp promising not to sting. Ciel could, of course, try. But if the situation demanded him to protect himself, he would. Repeatedly.

“Then I will do most everything in my power to do the same,” Ciel said cautiously, choosing the assemblage of words strategically. He didn’t promise— Y/n wouldn’t appreciate it, if she understood him the way she clearly thought she did.

Y/n’s smile was small. It held a note of melancholia, but there was a new appreciation in her eyes when he met them. She straightened her back and extended a hand, allowing her free one to hold her darning needle. “Then I look forward to our courtship,” she said, referring to their partnership and the particular way it needed to manifest. An extremely public relationship.

Still wearing his gloves, Ciel took her hand and gave it his business shake. He could feel her palm’s warmth through the leather. Her grip was firm like a nobleman’s.

“As do I.”

[gautierprotectionsquad]

All of my Favorite fanfics

Fandoms: DCU, Ace Attorney, ORV, AFTG, FE3H, TMA, Junoverse, SOC

Ace Attorney

A Boy at the Airport : AU where Phoenix runs into a tiny Apollo Justice who just immigrated from Khura'in and takes him in.

The Phoenix, and Other Early Birds: AU where Apollo watches the Enigmar v state trial and insists on helping Phoenix get his badge back

A Crack in the Marble : AU where Miles Edgeworth is the prosecutor for State v Wright (with Dahlia)

And If My Wishes All Come True : Apollo adopts a cat, Klavier pines, and they make a lot of divorce jokes

The Complete Turnabout: Phoenix sent to an AU where he's a prosecutor

Burning on in my heart: Klapollo sickfic that explores their insecurities and internal struggles.

Exorcism: AA4 rewrite. Serial Killer known as the Devil has killed every innocent defendant from Klavier’s cases.

Dirty Paws: Crack taken seriously: Larry Butz writes Warrior Cats fanfiction to cope.

Sharing A Dream: Klapollo bodyswap highschool au

Gonna Make this Place Your home: Klapollo fic. Apollo and friends and love and home

His Highness the Second: AU where the Revolution happens early and Apollo gets to grow up in Khura’in. Apollo has a loving family.

In lipstick on the mirror are the lyrics to my obituary: Klapollo bodyguard AU.

Man of Mist: AU where Kristoph adopts Apollo. A dark story about a toxic familial relationship between a serial killer and the boy he loves.

Miles von Karma: Gregory Edgeworth Lives AU and Gregory Edgeworth POV where Miles is sent back in time and to an alternate universe. Miles has lost his memories and works as a detective.

The Legacy of Gregory Edgeworth: AU where Raymond Shields adopts Miles

The Infernal Prosecutor vs The Defense Heir: Narumitsu Role swap AU

Revival: Dual Destinies rewrite

Alt (better) ending for AA5

Soleil and the Demons: Apollo finds his bio family but when the family falls apart after his step father's disappearance, Apollo embraces his performer side and joins a band

It Never Rains but it pours: Apollo joins Wright and Co early

DCU

Gotham by Messier_47: Superbat Identity porn. Clark hates Gotham but meets a man who IS Gotham and learns to see the city in a new light

Jason Todd's terrible, horrible, no-good very bad Week: Jason gets captured by the Justice League and his brothers sneak into the Watchtower to save him

Loading and Aspect Ratio: Batfam wings au (kinda) with Superbat

Plagiarism is Not a Joke, Batman: Batman reveals his identity to the Justice League. He is far younger than they thought.

Smoking in the Boys Room: Superbat identity porn. Clark finds Bruce injured in a bathroom stall

Space Cellmates: Identity porn Superman and Bruce Wayne are kidnapped by aliens

The Man Behind the Curtain: Superbat identity reveal. Superman slowly learns more about batman.

The Mask Behind the Mask: Justice League learns about Brucie's reputation

The Waynes, Damsels in Distress: Batfam lets themselves get kidnapped bc they think it's funny (it is)

thirteen: Clark/Bruce. Clark Kent is hired as Bruce Wayne's nanny. All the batkids are close in age and Clark is not Superman.

The Longer You Stay: Domestic Selina/Bruce. Selina pov. A retired vigilante and retired thief live a quiet life and adopt three children.

Trust through the ages: De-aged Bruce Wayne. The Bats and the Flashes are close friends.

In Love with Justice: The Justice League think Batman and Nightwing are dating. they are hilariously wrong.

a heart just can't contain all of this empty space: Young Justice Team are tired of Bat secrets

Sneaking out for superhero teenagers: Tim needs to go to Central City without the rest of the family knowing so he comes up with a plan to sneak out. He runs into some superheroes on the way

through different colored glasses: It all started when Jason was trying to rescue his rocket launcher. (this fic is for me specifically bc of my experience with broken door handles.)

Two Sides: Jason meets Damian in the League of Assassins.

Equal Magnitude: The Robins' favorite superhero.

Batman, go grab your Robin... Wait, wrong Robin!: Tim goes trick or treating only to get kidnapped!!...By Batman?

In this Town We Call Home: The Drakes use Batman as a boogeyman to make their son behave...it didn't work out how they expect.

I wish I was: JayRoy no vigilantes au/romcom au. Jason and Roy have a meet-cute at a bookstore and then keep running into each other. 5 times Jason accidentally turns Roy down and 1 time he says yes.

In Your Pocket: JayRoy no vigilantes romcom au. For the dramatic irony enjoyers. Wrong numbers.

Familiar: JayRoy. Romcom with a vigilante twist. Contains fun banter, fluffy fluff, Austen levels of slowburn, Roy and Jason being dads, and heartbreak.

Cause You Mean More than Anything: Series of fics about the justice league's dramatic theories about batman's love life.

Life After Life: Thomas and Martha Wayne Beetlejuice AU

Lighting Bolts and Breaking Clouds: Jason and Roy adopt Billy Batson

tribute: Billy Batson dresses up as his favorite hero for Halloween

Dangerous and Noble: The Bats investigate their missing neighbor. Tim and Cass meet in the LOA au.

Things My Heart Used to Know: Jayroy. Jason Todd has been missing for 6 years and there's a 5 million dollar reward for anyone that can bring him home. Roy finds someone who happens to look a lot like Jason and they're both desperate for money. Inspired by Anastasia.

farthest you've ever flown: Robin!Tim gets kicked out of Drake manor. Red Hood finds him. Alternate first meeting.

No Strings Attached: Boostle no capes/powers au. Friends with Benefits to Lovers. Superhero groups are bands in this universe

In This or any Other Universe: Nightwing ends up in Battinson universe.

The Bachelor: Robin Edition: Batman needs a Robin. Tim knows just the plan. Kidnap several black haired blue eyed children to train and test them to become the perfect Robin until only 1 remains. He doesn't know how to test for "lovable" but he'll figure it out.

Come Alive: Dick went to Infinity Island on a mission to rescue three and ends up with Jason and Damian, too. 3x06 of Young Justice AU.

Now you will not swell the rout: Tim wants to be Robin but Batman is too overprotective and won't let him out into the field. So he tries street fighting to prove to Bruce he can take a hit and train himself. He meets a vigilante in a red helmet, too.

Little Bird's Wings: Jason comes back to Gotham only to find Batman and the Joker missing. He wants answers and instead he finds a few teen vigilantes running around.

break: Tim retires from vigilantism. If only Gotham would let him stay retired.

Working With Professionals Once: Red Hood has a plan. That plan backfires when his goons kidnap Bruce Wayne

Forecast: Red Hood pulls Dick's body out of the water. ANGST hurt/comfort. Jason coming home/identity reveal

False Words: One of the best handlings of Dick during RR/Dick and Tim's reconciliation after RR. (specifically chapters 3, 8, 12, 13, 15, 16)

reset: Circe puts a spell on Red Hood that gives him temporary amnesia. Jason wakes up confused why his family is so distant

The Nuclear Option: Tim blackmails Alfred into going to Comic Con with him. SUPER CUTE

(Honorable mention to Either Side of the Median by CaffienatedCopyeditor which is no longer on AO3.)

FE3H

Keep Him Safe: Sylvix adopts a son

the courage to love, a guide to fatherhood by felix fraldarius: Felix adopts a daughter

TMA

(i don't read tma fic much)

Rather Interesting: Crack treated seriously. jonah magnus/elias bouchard. canon compliant somehow. Elias is able to regain consciousness whenever Jonah smokes weed.

AFTG

(there's not that many here bc i didn't start keeping track till later)

Love Hurts: Aaron/Katelyn before the start of TFC

Red Right Hand: Au where Nathaniel Wesninski works for the Moriyamas and has been assigned to collect Kevin Day.

This was Home: Someone's OC joins the foxes

Pie Another Day: Pushing Up Daises AU

TPP

(there's not that many here bc i didn't start keeping track till later)

up the wolves: A nine-year-old juno stumbles into one of jet's post-heist hiding places

Six of Crows

(i don't read soc fic much)

The Meadow: Kaz dreams of his brother while finding himself past the age he thought he'd die at, and feeling stuck while all his friends have changed.

ORV

A Circle to Your Square: ORV rewrite where Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja were dating before the scenarios started

Ascension, Love, and the Ever Present Push and Pull: De-aged Dokja

Rendezvous: ORV in Yoo Joonghyuk's POV

and at the very least, the wall will change: No Scenarios Soulmate AU

World's End Rhapsody: After the epilogue, there is love.

how the mighty fall (in love): Yoo Joonghyuk can't stop thinking about Dokja. Eventually decides to settle the matter. (it's horny with no sex)

Knight in shining (plot) armor: Kim Dokja gets isekaid into Ways of Seduction, a smutty stallion novel. (spoilers for tls123's identity)

All the things we didn't say: ORV rewrite where Kim Dokja writes letters to Yoo Jonghyuk

Down: 1863 Yoo Jonghyuk meets a stranger. A thief. An uncanny man with all-knowing eyes and a too-clever tongue. A man of harsh words. A man of soft touches. The Wall tells him a story about this man and another version of himself and he listens.

Grim Reaper's guide to keeping a human alive: grim reaper yjh interferes with a human's life to get them to stop annoying him during work

A Star Without Light: A fairy tale au

[mariana-oconnor]

The Six Napoleons pt 2

Last time many people had plaster busts of Napoleon, which one of the owners admitted had no value. It was very strange.

And Lestrade is getting a bigger role, which I will always support.

For the first time our eyes rested upon this presentment of the great Emperor, which seemed to raise such frantic and destructive hatred in the mind of the unknown.

Do not understand why Napoleon is being referred to with such respect. Historically the British have not had the most positive relationship with the French. It's been super messy. But I guess if you rule enough places in the world and fight enough people then... Victorians thought you were cool? Even if you were French? And some of the people you fought were their grandparents?

This whole thing is strange to me.

Apart from the fact someone is dead. That I got.

“The most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is to identify the dead man."

That does seem like an important step in the investigation.

“No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I should approach the case.”

I know that this is because Holmes doesn't think the dead man is linked to the case beyond being there at the time, and he cares about the puzzle here. But I do still believe that identifying the body is important.

"Tell him from me that I have quite made up my mind, and that it is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic with Napoleonic delusions was in his house last night. It will be useful for his article.”

Don't give my favourite character a false lead, Holmes!

"Let us make for Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see if he can throw any light upon the problem.”

This time I will not be taken in. Those are both surnames. I am sure of it!

"Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot, that's what I make it. No one but an Anarchist would go about breaking statues. Red republicans, that's what I call 'em."

How times have changed! It's definitely the republicans who smash the statues of military dictators. Lolol.

"Do I know that photograph? No, I don't. Yes, I do, though. Why, it's Beppo. He was a kind of Italian piece-work man, who made himself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit and gild and frame, and do odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I've heard nothing of him since".

The 'no, I don't, wait, I do' is very realistic. I appreciate that. And clearly Beppo is a bad guy here. He just left his job right before all of this started to happen. He's either on the run from our Napoleonic Bust Buster or he is the Bust Buster himself.

"...we came to a riverside city of a hundred thousand souls, where the tenement houses swelter and reek with the outcasts of Europe."

So it's an immigrant area. And it's a shitty place to live. Surprising absolutely no one.

Their wholesale price was six shillings, but the retailer would get twelve or more.

Maths time

I believe that should be approximately £60 RRP per bust. So that doctor spent the equivalent of £120 on busts of Napoleon that were destroyed.

Sucks to be him, I guess.

The work was usually done by Italians in the room we were in.

Ooh, where did we last see an Italian? Or not see him, actually, because he had mysteriously and suspiciously disappeared a few days prior.

Beppo, what have you done?

"Beppo was his name—his second name I never knew. Serve me right for engaging a man with such a face."

Excuse me?

Oh, this is the guy that Watson compared to an ape, isn't it. Oh good grief. Seriously? I'm kind of on Beppo's side right now. Sure he killed someone, but you're clearly a dickhead. In fiction, the second one is definitely a worse crime.

If you weren't conventionally attractive according to Victorian values, you just died, I guess.

"No, I have never seen this face which you show me in the photograph. You would hardly forget it, would you, sir, for I've seldom seen an uglier."

People really need to stop saying things like that. If I were Beppo and I had to put up with that constantly, I would have knifed someone in the street, too.

"His name is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of the greatest cut-throats in London. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as you know, is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder."

The fact they have to explain what the Mafia is. 😂

And it should be noted, that Lestrade is at least also on the Italian path through his investigations. Yes, he's ignoring the busts, which is strange, but he's definitely sniffing up the right kind of tree.

I assume that whatever was hidden in the busts after the infamous knifing of June 3rd has some connection to Mr Venucci.

“Is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill to the Italian quarter, find the man whose photograph we have got, and arrest him on the charge of murder."

OK, now he has skipped out a number of steps in the 'proving Beppo committed the crime' process.

Lestrade, I was rooting for you!

"I can't say for certain, because it all depends—well, it all depends upon a factor which is completely outside our control."

All the best plans rely on things that are completely outside of your control. I assume Holmes' plan is to lie in wait at the house of one of the other bust owners and hope that Beppo didn't find what he was looking for in the last bust he smashed.

For my own part, I had followed step by step the methods by which he had traced the various windings of this complex case, and, though I could not yet perceive the goal which we would reach, I understood clearly that Holmes expected this grotesque criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts, one of which, I remembered, was at Chiswick. No doubt the object of our journey was to catch him in the very act...

It seems like you do, in fact, perceive the goal, Watson. The goal is to catch the criminal in the act. You don't perceive the criminal's goal, which is an entirely different thing.

I was not surprised when Holmes suggested that I should take my revolver with me. He had himself picked up the loaded hunting-crop which was his favourite weapon.

How does one load a hunting crop?

Oh... it has a steel core.

Well that doesn't seem very nice.

But I suppose neither is a revolver.

[i-myeoni-blogs]

Part -4

Pairing - Wooyoung x y/n (Reader)

.............................................................................................................................

It was a tough nut to crack. The disappearance of Y/N and Grace was tangled up with the police, and altering government records required serious authority. That meant going back to Incheon, back to when Y/N, Wooyoung, and the rest of the team were working together. They had to reopen Mr. Lee's case, the one that had propelled Wooyoung forward but had also led to his breakup with Y/N.

That case had changed everything back then, and perhaps it was about to shake things up once more.

Wooyoung had everything packed up again, ready to head off to Incheon. He hadn't been back since he transferred to Seoul, and the thought of returning stirred up a lot of memories. Every street, every corner reminded him of the times he spent exploring with Y/N, making it tough to revisit.

With a frustrated sigh, he realized it had been almost three weeks already, and impatience was creeping in. Nevertheless, he grabbed his bag and made his way to the airport where Yunho and his team were waiting.

As he boarded the plane, Wooyoung felt a mix of uncertainty and nervousness, making it perhaps the longest flight of his life. Why did fate have to play such cruel tricks on him? The woman he loved was out there somewhere, yet he couldn't be with her. All he wished for was a chance to have Y/N back in his life. Little did he expect the onslaught of media attention awaiting him at the airport.

Cameras flashed, microphones were thrust in his direction, and questions rained down on him, but what cut through the noise was one particular reporter's inquiry about Y/N and Grace's disappearance.

"Mr. Wooyoung, what do you have to say about your wife and child's disappearance? Did you try to bury it under the recent events in Seoul?" The pointed questions dripped with disdain, hitting a nerve with Wooyoung.

It was true, the disappearance had been overshadowed by the chaos in Seoul. The timing was too perfect, almost like it had been planned. Despite Wooyoung's pleas, the authorities had put Y/N's case on hold until now, and the reporters were taking full advantage of it. Already sensitive to the matter, Wooyoung lost his cool and threw a punch at the reporter who pushed too far.

As chaos ensued, Yunho and his team quickly escorted Wooyoung away, leaving the stunned reporters behind, exchanging bewildered glances as they processed what just happened.

The whole drama with the immigrants and that poor woman they harassed? that blew up like wildfire, completely stealing the spotlight from Y/N and Grace's disappearance. It was a double-edged sword for Wooyoung.

Being stuck in the Seoul police department meant he couldn't officially handle the missing persons case down in Jeju. But with all the media frenzy surrounding the September 20th incident, it gave him a chance to dig around unofficially for any leads on Y/N and Grace.

Thing is, Wooyoung's hunches led him nowhere, and the media didn't miss that. He couldn't figure out how the reporter got wind of Y/N and Grace. He never spilled the beans about them to anyone. Just as he was about to grill the reporter about it, he got yanked into a taxi before he could even open his mouth.

"That looks like it hurts," remarked the reporter holding the notepad, his face twisting in sympathy as he passed an ice bag to soothe the swollen and red cheek of his colleague. The reporter shot him a glare, snatching the ice bag away.

"Of course, it hurts, Jongo, thanks a bunch," the reporter replied through gritted teeth. "How dare he punch me," he muttered, pressing the ice bag against his cheek.

"How did you find out about his wife and child being missing?" Another voice piped up from a nearby table in the café where they sat. A man with an imposing figure and intense gaze approached them, his sharp cheekbones adding to his imposing presence. "It was kept under wraps by the police and never made it to the news," he said, pulling up a chair at their table.

"And who might you be?" the reporter inquired.

"Mingi, from the Busan police department," the man replied, his deep voice carrying an air of authority.

"I'm Hongjoong, the head reporter, and he is Jongho my colleague." the reporter introduced himself, gesturing towards his teammate, Jongho. "We heard rumors that Wooyoung was covering up his family's disappearance to protect his reputation, likely involving someone from within. We picked it up from a conversation in Incheon, but it was too vague to verify. Now, here we are," he added, indicating his bruised cheek. "Seems those rumors weren't so baseless after all," he concluded, earning a nod from Mingi.

"Yes, if this information got out, it means there's a mole within," Mingi remarked, eyeing the ID card ribbons of Hongjoong and Jongho, which bore the name of their company, ‘PERFECT SCHEDULE’ "Do you happen to know who his wife is?" Mingi inquired, prompting looks of confusion from both Jongho and Hongjoong.

"How would we know?" Jongho responded.

"I assumed since she worked at your company, you might've known Y/N," Mingi stated matter-of-factly, eliciting shocked expressions from the duo.

"Y/N," they echoed in unison.

They couldn't believe their ears. Y/N, kidnapped? Y/N having a kid? When did Y/N tie the knot? A flurry of questions swirled through their minds. "Our Y/N, our intern Y/N," Hongjoong murmured, reminiscing about the old days when Y/N was just a rookie under his wing.

Y/N and Jongho started out as colleagues, fresh faces in the field. But soon, they formed a formidable trio known as 'DEAR'—short for deadly reporters. They worked shoulder to shoulder, and Y/N's foreign background gave her an edge as a fluent linguist, landing her a spot in the crime branch at the Incheon police department.

Saying goodbye to their trio was inevitable for Y/N, but she remained close to Hongjoong and Jongho, until that fateful day five years ago.

"What can we do?" Hongjoong interjected, his tone laced with concern.

"Yeah, please tell us," Jongho added, his expression mirroring the worry evident on their faces.

Mingi, excusing himself, stepped forward, "I'll let you know, for now remove the video. Since Wooyoung and I can't directly involve ourselves in this case, we'll need your help."

Meanwhile, Wooyoung struggled to contain his anger as Yunho gave him an earful for his earlier altercation with a reporter. "What were you thinking? The media's relentless, don't you realize that?" Yunho's frustration seeped into his words. "They could use this to sue you."

Wooyoung remained silent, his mood darkened. He hadn't been thinking clearly. Perhaps the gravity of the situation weakened his resolve, the fear of losing everything he'd worked for looming over him, especially in the city where it all began, Incheon.

"They won't take action," Mingi reassured, approaching them from behind. Wooyoung's emotions were a whirlwind at the sight of his friend; relief intertwined with lingering awkwardness from their past. "And they'll ensure the video gets scrubbed from every source."

"You're... Song Mingi, right?" Yunho inquired, receiving a confirming nod from Mingi. "How can you be so sure they won't?" he pressed.

"Just trust me," Mingi replied with conviction.

It felt like déjà vu for Wooyoung; five years ago, Mingi had asked for his trust, and Wooyoung had responded with blame and curses in return.

"Wooyoung, trust me, this isn't true," Mingi pleaded, his tone earnest. Despite towering over Wooyoung, there was a fire in Wooyoung's eyes that made him appear more intimidating than anyone else. Wooyoung, visibly saddened and worn down by the relentless rumors swirling around him, had reached a point of exhaustion where he seemed ready to believe any accusation thrown at Y/N and Mingi.

"It's 'sir' for you," Wooyoung deadpanned, his words earning disappointed looks not only from Mingi but also from Y/N, who stood at a distance. The occasion was meant to be a celebration after the success of Mr. Lee's case, with Wooyoung's promotion to a higher position being the highlight. However, things took a turn for the worse as Wooyoung began to hurl baseless accusations at Y/N and Mingi.

"I don't want you to recite what you guys did behind my back, I already know it all," Wooyoung spat, casting a disgusted glance at Y/N. The rest of the team had dispersed, leaving only the three of them in the hallway of Y/N's second home – Wooyoung's apartment – the air heavy with tension.

Y/N couldn't wrap her mind around what Wooyoung was saying; it felt like the ground had slipped from beneath her feet. Thoughts raced through her mind, trying to piece together what could have possibly gone wrong for Wooyoung to question her loyalty. She looked at him with a mix of shock and hurt, as if he had struck her with a sledgehammer.

The pain etched on her face was palpable, fragile enough to shatter at any moment. Avoiding the hatred blazing in Wooyoung's eyes, she silently prayed for him to see the truth in her eyes, but his rage clouded his vision as he looked elsewhere in the room.

Mingi, overcome with emotion, found tears streaming down his face. He had never witnessed his friend in such a state before, and it tore at his heart. Before he could utter a word, Wooyoung's grip tightened on his collar, accusing him with words sharp as daggers. Each syllable that escaped Wooyoung's lips felt like a poison, slowly draining the life out of both Y/N and Mingi.

"And you," Wooyoung released Mingi's collar, advancing towards Y/N with a force that made her stagger backward as he grabbed her shoulders, his touch harsh and unforgiving. Tears welled up in her eyes, but Wooyoung seemed oblivious to her anguish.

"Was he good?" Wooyoung's voice was laced with bitterness, demanding an answer that Y/N felt incapable of providing in the face of his seething anger.

Her voice trembling, Y/N tried to reason with him. "Wooyoung, what are you saying? Mingi is just a friend to me. I love only you." But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears as Wooyoung let out a mocking chuckle.

"No, you don't," Wooyoung retorted, his tone dripping with scorn. "You're only with me for my position, now that I'm in charge. But Mingi..." He paused, his gaze piercing. "Mingi is taller, more handsome. You always had a thing for taller men, didn't you, Y/N?" Each accusation thrown her way felt like a dagger to her heart, and Y/N instinctively covered her ears, refusing to listen to any more of his hurtful words.

"It's not true, Wooyoung," Mingi interjected, his voice tinged with desperation. "I don't know who's filled your head with this nonsense, but it's not true."

"I'm spouting utter nonsense," Wooyoung chuckled, his laughter tinged with a touch of madness. "Do you really think I didn't notice when you guys conveniently disappeared, leaving me buried under paperwork while you frolicked off on your little excursions? Do you honestly believe I'm blind to your sneaky antics behind my back? And don't even get me started on the way you look at Y/N."

Tears welled up in Wooyoung's eyes, his voice quivering with emotion. "I trusted you both. But just because I might not be as charming as Mingi, and just because he might not hold as much power as me, you decided to play games with us. How could you? Y/N, I poured my heart out to you, thinking you felt the same. I thought maybe it was just the intensity of our work that was driving you two closers, but I was dead wrong. You were betraying me. I climbed the ladder, but I lost everything that ever mattered."

Wooyoung's breathing grew erratic, his chest tightening with each gasp for air.

"Let's talk this out calmly, Wooyoung, please," Y/N pleaded, attempting to approach him.

"Stop. Right. There," Wooyoung interrupted, jabbing a finger in her direction. "There's no talking now."

"Please, Wooyoung," Y/N whispered, her voice barely audibles over his anguish.

"I don't ever want to lay eyes on either of you again. Get out of my life, and don't you dare try to find your way back in," Wooyoung declared, his voice faltering as he fought to contain his emotions. “It’s over.”

The memories of the past flooded back with overwhelming intensity as Wooyoung laid eyes on Mingi once more, their reunion marking five years since they last crossed paths. There were countless words swirling in Wooyoung's mind, but above all, he yearned to utter a heartfelt apology.

It wasn't until a month after his transfer to Seoul that Wooyoung discovered the truth – the rumors about Mingi and Y/N were nothing but baseless gossip, a misunderstanding propagated by a rookie in the police department. Learning this truth left Wooyoung shattered, consumed by regret, and desperate for forgiveness.

Driven by a sense of urgency, Wooyoung made his way to Y/N's apartment, only to find it empty, devoid of her presence. Where she had gone remained a mystery. Attempts to reach Mingi also proved futile; he had been transferred to Busan. In an instant, Wooyoung found himself grappling with the loss of two of the most significant people in his life.

The reunion with Mingi after five long years was bittersweet, laden with both apprehension and hope. Yet, despite the weight of the past, Mingi extended a warm hand in a gesture of reassurance. "Everything will be fine," he said gently.

Overwhelmed by emotion, Wooyoung found himself unable to hold back tears. In a moment of vulnerability, he embraced Mingi tightly, seeking solace in his presence. Tears flowed freely as Wooyoung poured out his heart, his apologies ringing out in anguished cries. Mingi offered unwavering support, holding Wooyoung steadfastly as he let out the pain and sorrow he had carried for so long.

"Trust me, Wooyoung. We'll track down Y/N and your daughter," Mingi vowed, his tone filled with determination and support. Turning to Yunho, he inquired, "So, what leads do we have?"

Yunho took a moment before responding, "Right now, all we know is that someone within the police department is involved, and we suspect it's connected to the Mr. Lee case – the last one you three worked on together, correct?"

"Then that's where we start," Mingi declared with a firm nod. "We'll delve back into Mr. Lee's case and see what we can uncover."

Just as tension filled the air, Wooyoung's phone chimed, signaling an incoming call. With a quick nod, he accepted the call, recognizing the caller ID as that of the general commissioner.

"Wooyoung, we've got the NIS permission," came the voice on the other end of the line. It was the news Wooyoung had been anxiously awaiting. If the government notice had indeed been amended, then there was hope that Y/N wouldn't be ensnared in the authorities' net.

Yet, even as relief washed over him, a new worry crept in. If Y/N wasn't on the NIS radar, it meant she and Grace were likely in peril, possibly kidnapped and facing grave danger. The memory of Mr. Lee's case sent shivers down Wooyoung's spine; he had been embroiled in some of the darkest and most dangerous criminal dealings.

As he processed the implications of the call, Wooyoung's mind raced with the possibilities, his concern for Y/N and Grace mounting with each passing second.

.............................................................................................................................

Notes:

Hey there!♥️ I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Your feedback means a lot to me and helps me improve. If you are enjoying the series, please give it a kudos, and feel free to suggest any changes that could make it even better.💌

I'm also curious to know what you think might happen next hehe.... and who you suspect the kidnapper is. Let's keep the guessing game going! Thanks so much for taking the time. ^^

I want to interact as much as I want from my dear readers.... I need your full support ♥️♥️

Part 5

[sassyfrassboss]

I don’t know why (or how) I remembered this but does anyone else remember the actress Kelly Rutherford from the og Gossip Girl?

She got into a particularly acrimonious international custody case with her ex-husband after they split. Her ex had emigrated to the US during their marriage. After the divorce, in which they received 50/50 custody of their kids, Kelly’s team was thought to have snitched on her ex’s visa/immigration status and he ended up being deported from the US, maybe even banned from here.

However the courts still enforced 50/50 custody which meant that Kelly had to travel often with their sons to France so they could visit their father because he couldn’t come to the US. Eventually Kelly filed for sole custody saying she couldn’t keep taking the kids to France and she was broke from all the expenses. The court ended up saying “too bad” and sent the kids to live with their father (because he can’t be in the US), with now only Kelly being the one to travel back and forth all the time for her custody time.

The other quirk I remember about this case is that Kelly shopped jurisdictions. The divorce and original custody case was fought in NY. When she tried going for sole custody, she filed in CA but CA tossed the case because they didn’t have jurisdiction and sent it back to NY but NY also said they didn’t have jurisdiction anymore either and the case went to France, where the kids now lived full-time with their dad, who ruled in Dad’s favor.

Now I’m not saying this is what’s going to happen to Meghan and Harry but it’s an interesting parallel and possibly a warning story. We know there’s interest in Harry’s immigration status and we know that Meghan, as a narcissist, is capable of anything - if she gets desperate enough, who’s to say she won’t inform on Harry’s visa in hopes that he gets deported/blocked and she gets full custody of the meal tickets, but it probably won’t end in her favor. Just like it didn’t with Kelly.

I think Harry’s going to end up with the kids. Not sure of the nitty-gritty but I think their custody issues will end with Archie and Lili coming to the UK for boarding school and Meghan getting them from breaks and holidays. (I also see Meghan noping out of their lives for a chunk of time the same way Doria did and dollars to donuts, Meghan’s disappearing act will probably be for a new husband.)

I do remember this story because I thought her husband was HOT!

She was also put on the spot for parental alienation at one point and I think she tried to actually leave NYC or do something with the kids passports. It was all so super shady.

So as for H&M. This is why I think she will get some kind of apartment in London because I can see her being the "doting mother like Diana" and visiting her kids at their boarding schools and jetting all over.

What I keep going back and forth over is if Charles will pay her and $$$ for those kids. Like another anon said, he barely knows them and already has grandkids he is close with and who are constitutionally relevant.