Part 14 is here. Feel free to check out the rest of the TTAU masterlist here. My complete MASTERLIST is here.
His eyes open to the sound of commotion.
“It’s him. It’s him! He’s back!”
He sees the white ceiling first, and once they’ve adjusted to the light, his eyes slowly flick from one wall to the next, until finally landing on the nurses talking in hushed tones.
“He’s back… but what has he returned to? His grandmother is gone, his uncle is dead and his wife? Missing. He’s returned to an empty home.”
“You say missing, I say she ran off with someone else. She probably knew that Mr FitzGeorge would’ve caught her and thrown her in an asylum the moment he returned and caught her with all those men!”
“Beth, I think they were just her employees or friends. She couldn’t be having an affair with all of them.”
“Oh you don’t know deviant women like her; they’d stoop to any level of depravity if it got them what they wanted.” Beth huffed. “And what can you say about her character if she’s seen hanging around at the wretched club! Thank heavens it burned down before corrupting all of London!”
Silas closed his eyes before letting out a loud exhale, catching their attention as they gasp and rush to him.
“M-Mr FitzGeorge! You’re awake!” The other nurse said. “I’ll get the doctor!” She ran out of the room, leaving Beth with him, who was fretting over him, hands finding ways to be useful as they offered him water, then went to adjust his pillows, then his blanket.
Silas ignored her. Perhaps she was trying to cover up for the fact that she’d been caught badmouthing his wife.
The doctor came in with the nurse, along with two police officers. After the initial check up was done, the officers began their questioning.
“Where is your wife, Mr FitzGeorge?” Flashbacks from the night appeared before his eyes.
I was buried alive in a coffin.
You slapped him across the face, making him snap out of it. “SILAS!! This is not your fucking grave! GET THE FUCK UP!”
You pulled him out of the grave.
He felt a throbbing ache in his back.
He was struck by a metal rod, making him fall. “Silas!” You dove towards him and shoved the man away from him, his uncle William.
“No!” You shielded Silas with your arms as he struck again, hitting you. “Stop! You’ll kill him!” You jumped over Silas to shield him as his uncle began raining down strike after strike, not stopping until you screamed in pain.
You blacked out and a figure came up behind his uncle, grabbed him by the neck, choked him and then slashed his throat.
He took in a sharp inhale as he recalled the tall figure turning to him, knelt down down and picked you up.
“If you don’t sacrifice for what you want,
What you want becomes the sacrifice.”
He looked back at Silas.
“You’ll never see her again.”
“The Ripper.” Silas whispered. “The Ripper has taken her.”
The officers shared an alarmed look, whispering something to each other before turning back to him.
“Lets start from the beginning. Where were you for the past 4 months?”
Silas took a deep breath as he began.
It started the day when Y/n had sent over the divorce papers. He remembers standing by the window of his study and seeing a figure out in the snow-covered backyard, near the trees. He went to investigate, taking the papers with him but when he reached there, he found a snowman dressed in a coat and hat, clearly disguised as a man to draw him out and the next he knew was being struck on the head and blacking out.
When he woke up, he found himself in a cell, dimly lit by a torch outside the bars. The walls were made of thick concrete, and there were no windows.
For days, he didn’t have any human contact. Food would be thrown into his cell, often a stale piece of bread. The person who would do this would be wearing a robe with a hood that covered his face and Silas made no attempts to talk to him. He wasn’t about to give into their satisfaction of initiating negotiations. Aristocratic ego.
Finally, after who knows how long, a masked figure came. He was wearing a golden ring that glimmered in the dim light. The mask was black with golden patterns on it, and the man was well-dressed in a three-piece suit, paired with a top hat. It was all well-tailored enough to let Silas know that the man didn’t dress cheaply.
As the man walked into his cell, his hands folded behind his back, Silas didn’t need a introduction to know that London’s most notorious killer stood only a few feet away from him.
Keeping calm, almost to the point of looking unamused, Silas spoke first. “Is this your plan? To keep me in solitary confinement to drive me insane? To kill me? To get my money?”
Jack the Ripper tilts his head a little, and speaks for the first time.
“What is your worth?”
“Ah, right to it.” Silas chuckles, standing up, the chain around his ankle clinking. “I suppose… 50 thousand quid, would be sufficient?” When the killer didn’t say a word, Silas sighed. “A million pounds, then?” JTR still didn’t respond, and so Silas kept increasing the ransom money.
“100 million pounds!” Suddenly, before Silas could react, the Ripper pushed him against the wall, had pulled out a knife and held it against his cheek. “Do you think a 100 million pounds could stop me from killing you?” Silas narrowed his eyes. “If you want a single pound of my money, you wouldn’t dare to hurt-” He sliced his cheek slowly, drawing out blood as Silas gritted his teeth. “You’re not worth a single penny.”
Slighted, a fire burned in Silas’s eyes. “If you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it long ago. So why don’t you stop playing your pathetic intimidation tactics and get to what you want.” JTR stares at him for a while before letting him go, turning around as he walked away from him.
Silas thought he was going to leave him to rot in the cell again when the Ripper turned around and pulled black leather gloves from his coat, putting them on, he made his way back to Silas and began beating him black and blue. Due to being chained, Silas couldn’t defend himself all too well, but he doubts he would’ve been able to even if they weren’t there.
Finally, the Ripper only stopped when Silas was lying on the ground about to pass out. Thats when the Ripper knelt down and spoke to him.
“I am going to take everything away from you. I will strip every delusion you have about yourself. By the time I’m finished, you will know exactly what you are worth- down to the last, excruciating detail.” He pulled off his now bloody gloves. “Whether by revelation or by ruin, you will learn. The choice I’m afraid, is no longer yours.”
For the next few months, the Ripper found different ways of torturing Silas, starting from physical methods that ranged from getting beaten up regularly, to being forced to lie on ice blocks for hours on end, and the worst was the waterboarding. He absolutely loathed that one.
But he remained resilient, he didn’t break down, simply suffering in silence. He knows very well that its highly likely he’ll be killed by the Ripper, but he wont give him the satisfaction of breaking down.
That is, until his grandmother died.
The Ripper had come to his cell and informed him of Sarah’s passing and he didn’t really believe it until he showed him the newspapers. Still, he was doubtful, as he continued to inspect the paper’s authenticity. “She was a lovely woman, did her very best raising you but you… such a disappointment.” The Ripper tutted. “I met her.” Silas stopped flipping through the papers for a moment, his eyes catching sight of the pattern on his gold ring- a snake eating its own tail.
“You’re lying.” He muttered. Yes, this is all a lie. Another tactic to get him to break.
“I visited her in Edinburgh, at the cottage she and her late husband used to meet at. We had a pleasent conversation.” Silas felt his blood run cold. That cottage, very few people knew of its existence, and he was sure that he was the only one to know of its history.
“You’re lying-” But the Ripper cut off his meek denial. “We talked about you, about Daisy and how you let your uncles send her away to the asylum, about the night your mother died. Your grandmother always blamed herself for not being able to help you heal from that night. But we both know that you only have yourself to blame.” Silas’s lips parted in shock. How did he know-?
“You thought no one knew that you were the one hiding in that closet and how you watched your mother be murdered while your coward self watched through the slit of the cupboard. Have you lied to yourself that you weren’t the very reason of her demise?”
“I- I was a child-” “You led the killer to her. Your mother had warned you many times to stay in your room at night, but you had to go to the library, didn’t you? You just had to take another book to read? And when you heard footsteps, you ran towards the nearest bedroom, hiding in the closet, not realising that you’d mistaken the killer’s footsteps for your mother’s. But your mother knew that those heavy footsteps were not yours, were not familiar and she came to get you, to protect you. But she was murdered instead. All because of you.”
All these years, all this time that Silas spent running away from the truth, trying to bury the traumatic memories from that night, had suddenly been resurfaced. They were slapped in his face, by none other than London’s ruthless killer.
Silas stood up, the paper dropping from his hands. In that moment, he realised that everything the Ripper knew about him, about the details of his family would only be possible if- if he was the one who’d killed them all.
Blinded with rage, Silas lunged at the man, barely landing a jab before he was struck down again and beaten to unconsciousness.
When he woke up, he was lying on the ground as Ripper cleaned his bloody hands.
“It was a wonderful funeral. Sarah would’ve been proud.” The Ripper stated. Silas stared at him, his chest hurting so much, he was sure he’d broken a few ribs. The killer only folded his arms across his chest. “You should be grateful. I attended it on your behalf. Your wife did an amazing job arranging everything on such a short notice.”
Wife.
Y/n.
Silas hadn’t realised it until now that he’d completely forgotten about you. You had not once crossed his mind since he his time in captivity.
“Will you finally kill me, now that you’ve taken away everyone I cared about?” Silas asked through jagged breaths. The Ripper looked over his shoulder. “Not everyone.”
Once he was left alone, Silas sat up and grabbed the paper again, going over the details.
Y/n. He supposed that he always thought you’d have left him and run off with someone, perhaps with Henry. Maybe now that the Ripper has him, you’d probably have taken his money and left London.
Not everyone. Those words echoed in the back of his mind.
The Ripper wasn’t done with him though. Far from it, really. Silas thought he’d already been through the worst of his abuse, but he was in a whole new world of pain when the psychological torture began.
It started with the classic “Betrayal Manipulation”, where Silas would be informed for hours on end, everyday, that he’s been abandoned by everyone, that no one is looking for him, no one cares about him. Silas didn’t have a hard time believing it, seeing as his grandmother was perhaps the last person who would’ve truly looked for him, his cousins probably would’ve sent a search party if they weren’t under his uncles influence, who he already knew couldn’t care less about him. He didn’t have any real friends, and perhaps Cadbury might’ve been one to alert the authorities of his absence, but then again, what chance did a butler stand against the Ripper?
Were you looking for him? He doesn’t think so. Silas doubts you even knew he went missing. You were probably out of London the day you sent the divorce papers via your friend.
Would you have looked for him, if you knew he’d gone missing? Even after that fallout with him? After he screamed all those awful things at you, would you have still put your bruised pride aside to find him?
He really doesn’t know the answer… after all, how much did he really know you? You did call it a sham marriage, but then again… you weren’t soulless like most people in his life.
Once the Ripper was tired of telling how no one will come for him, he would have Silas be taken to a cold cellar by his minions (robed and masked), where he would be tied down to a chair with a bucket of water placed over his head. He would be blindfolded, and they’d leave him there as water dripped out of the bucket onto his scalp, one drop at a time, at a slow pace he couldn’t predict. He remembers reading about it-“Chinese Water Torture.”
You would think that this was better than waterboarding, but it wasn’t. The pattern of the drops was irregular, and the cold sensation is jarring, which caused him anxiety as he tried to anticipate the next drip. It was mentally painful, instilling fear and causing mental deterioration.
Had the pattern been regular, he could’ve used the periodicity to meditate. But the ominous dread of not being able to predict the next drip, it was going to drive him into insanity. Silas remembers actually flinching when the water drops hit his head, and even today, he could pinpoint the exact spot on his scalp where the droplets hit. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve assumed that there was depression on his scalp at that site.
But the worst was still yet to come. The Ripper could see that Silas was falling to pieces, he was near his breaking point. And thats when it was time for his final tactic- “the Silent Companion”, with the Ripper’s own sick twist. You see, in method, dummy boards, also sometimes called “silent companions", are life-size flat wooden figures that were a popular room decoration in the 17th century. Painted and cut to resemble soldiers, children, loved ones, and were put in places that they’d be usually found in. A sweet way to remember them by.
But the Ripper decided to use it a way to shatter Silas.
Silas would wake up to the sound of screams coming from a cell at the end of the hallway. It was a woman screaming, begging, pleading for mercy. It would go on for days until she was put into a burlap sack and then thrown into Silas’s cell. The woman’s screams now were muffled, clearly gagged, and she would be thrashing in her sack until the robed men began to beat her into submission or unconsciousness. Silas couldn’t help her even if he wanted to, he had chains holding him down and he was far too emotionally drained to care.
But then the Ripper would come, folding his arms over his chest. “It seems like everyone has to pay on your behalf.” Silas was confused, but he still didn’t look up from the ground. The Ripper continued, not caring about his lack of response. “Everyone who ever cared about your worthless self has had to suffer. Every woman who ever gave a crap for you had to die. Your mother, your sister, your grandmother, your…” He trailed off, and Silas’s eyes finally snapped up. Your? His wife? “Y/N! Don’t kill her!”Silas leapt forward, before being yanked back down by his chain. He was on his knees, reaching out for you. “Dont kill her! Stay away!” The Ripper pulled out a knife and as soon as he’d touched the burlap, you began thrashing again. The men grabbed the body, while the Ripper cooed only, gently petting the sack as if calming an animal before it was ready for slaughter. “She shouldn’t have announced to everyone that she was your wife. She shouldn’t have lied about how much you loved her. She shouldn’t have associated herself with you.”
Silas leapt forward again, trying to break through the chains. “Take me then. Leave her. She has no part in this. Kill me!”
The Ripper looked up at him. “Why? Its not because you love her. I know that much. Do you think that if you save her, you can be absolved from the murder of all the other women in your life?” And with that, Ripper stabbed you multiple times until you stopped thrashing, while Silas screamed.
Silas stared at the lifeless form in front of him as the Ripper stood up to leave.
“Y/n is not your salvation. She is your ruining.”
Silas doesn’t know how long he was left alone in that cell with you, gasping for breath, tears he didn’t even know had stained his cheeks, until he mustered up the courage to go near and reach for the bloody burlap sack with a trembling hand, dragging it down your face.
It wasn’t you.
It was some… woman. He didn’t know her.
“She claimed to be your wife. I think it was to get fame, or your money.” Ripper’s voice cut through the room. He was standing outside the cell. “I’ll get to your real wife too. And I’ll dispose of anyone who associates themselves with you too.”
And thats how Silas was broken. Every week, a different woman would be subjected to the same torture and he’d be lead to believe that it was you. And everytime he lifted off the sack, he always thought that his eyes saw your face for a second. He was hallucinating you now.
During one of these live killings, the Ripper even tried to get him to sign the divorce papers. The papers he thought he’d lost the day he was taken. “Sign these, Silas. Sign the divorce and free your wife, hm? Let that be the last good thing you do before you die.” But no matter how much he was beaten, broken, tortured, Silas refused to sign the papers, fearing that if he did, you wont have access to his money or influence and become an easy target for the Ripper.
After months of inhumane torture, Silas had finally broken down. The Ripper walks to the malnourished man chained to the ground, hollowness in his eyes as he didn’t even flinch anymore. Kneeling down to his level, he asks him the first question he did when he was first brought here.
“What is your worth?”
Silas remained silent. The Ripper didn’t think he would answer, perhaps he had dissociated from reality-
“Nothing.”
The Ripper’s body relaxed. He raised a hand to pet Silas’s head.
Silas doesn’t fight it when he gives a glass to drink. He hoped it was poison, but it was only to put him to sleep.
When he wakes up next time, he was lying in a coffin, his body stiff and unable to move. He saw Ripper standing over his head, as someone places the lid over his coffin. He was being buried alive.
“Goodbye, Silas.” The Ripper says, and Silas closes his eyes as a tear slips out, grateful for finally being put out of his misery. As he heard the dirt being thrown over his coffin, memories of his life flashed across his mind.
I’m sorry, mom.
I’m sorry, Daisy.
I’m sorry, grandma.
I’m sorry, Y/n.
No one will come to visit him. No one will know where he is. No one cares. No one.
He is truly worth nothing. No one will come for him. No one-
“Silas!” A distant voice calls out. Is this the afterlife calling out to him?
“SILAS!” He hears that voice again, dirt being shifted and before he knew it, it was pounding against his coffin.
“SILAS!” Next thing he knew, a fist comes through, splintering the wood and oxygen floods inside. As the wooden panels are pulled apart, his vision clears as he sees your crying face.
Y/n? You’re his afterlife?
I’m in hell?
Silas only stares at you in disbelief as you try to drag him out of the coffin.
Why are you- how? Is he really in hel-?
You slap him across the face, making him snap out of it. “SILAS!! This is not your fucking grave! GET THE FUCK UP!”
It’s really you. You didn’t give up on him. You were looking for him.You saved him from being buried alive. You broke his coffin with your bare hands. You saved him from his uncle killing him. You took the beating. And you- you were taken by the Ripper.
You were taken by the Ripper.
This is all his fault.
-
The first few weeks after waking up was spent mostly at his manor recovering while the coppers came to question him again and again. It was during this period that Cadbury, who after crying tears of joy (something which shocked Silas since he hadn’t ever seen him show much emotions), filled him in on everything, specifically you.
How you kept searching for him, how you fought against everyone, how you found out about Daisy, how you stood against his uncles and stopped the from stealing his wealth and from slandering him, how hard you fought to keep his and his family’s reputation intact and how you went to the royal family to have them help you find him, how you were threatened and ambushed many times. And when he summoned Collin, who then informed him how you started your own newspaper company to raise awareness against the Ripper under the guise of finding him, how you singlehandedly strong-armed the monarchy into actually helping by threatening to expose their dirty secrets.
And when you finally had the world aware of Silas being missing, you had to stand alone and face being labelled as the “gold-digger”, fight the accusation of being “hysterical” and he was sure if you didn’t have his money, you would’ve been thrown into an asylum by his own uncles.
You stood against them all- the royal family, his uncles, Henry Blackwood, the public, everyone. All for him.
He stood up from his desk where you had laid out all the leads you had on finding him, walking over to the same window where he stood the last time before he was taken.
Why?
Why did you do this? Were you in love? Was it simply out of duty? As a wife? Or because you didn’t want to look like a suspect?
Was it because of curiosity?
Silas’s hand crumpled into a fist.
It doesnt matter, does it? Even if you had ulterior motives, many would’ve given up long ago the moment they were threatened. And if not then, you could’ve- you should’ve ran away the moment you saw the Ripper. He wouldn’t have blamed you. He’s lost himself to the killer, he wouldn’t have blamed you for leaving at the sight of him.
But you stayed, you fought, you broke your own hands to pull him out of his coffin, shielded him from his uncle.
You. Cared.
And thats enough reason for Silas to find you. He will return the favour. He will not give up on you. You didnt, even when you didn’t know whether he’d left you or gone missing, you looked for him, even when you had every reason not to.
I’ll find you Y/n. I’ll find you and I’ll avenge you, for every attempt on your life, every threat, every accusation, every tear- I’ll make everyone pay.
I wont rest until I find you. I wont let you suffer the same fate as the other FitzGeorge women.
-
True to his word, Silas did start searching for you. He created his own search party, knowing that the detectives and police alone wouldn’t be able to find you, he hired the best private investigators and paid good money to shady men who didn’t have any qualms using unethical ways. Next, he mapped out all the potential suspects that could either be the Ripper, or at least have helped him. His enemies, and anyone who held even the slightest bit of malice towards you, everyone was a suspect. At the top of his list, was the royal family, Henry Blackwood and Lady Scarlet (both of whom had vanished at around the same time of your disappearance).
Silas decided to take down the monarchy first. Not only because of what they did to you, but also because he had been long planning to avenge what they did to him and his grandmother, for treating his family as outcasts.
He went to Westminster Palace, where the British Parliament sat. As the Duke of Westminster, a title specially created for him by the Queen when she thought he would soon be her son-in-law, his connection to it is indirect, primarily through his role as a prominent member of the aristocracy. He didn’t really own the palace.
Until this morning.
Silas sat at the back of the room, quietly watching the dominoes of his plan fall as a fight broke out. The reason?
“The royal family’s long history of mental illness and life-threatening ailments.”
Ah yes, Silas had used the information you had gathered on the royal family tree and used your paper to publish it. Now the whole world knows, and as the parliament begins arguing over the legitimacy and security of the monarchs, he silently watches.
By the time he returns to the London Post, he already knows who is waiting for him in your office.
Prince Albert.
“My king, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Silas asked monotonously, sitting in his chair a bit too casually in front of the king, who was still standing, barely contained rage in his eyes.
“What is the meaning of this, Silas?” Prince Albert grits out as he throws the paper on his desk. “Why are you slandering royalty?”
“Slandering?” Silas asked, blinking at him unamused. “It is not slander if its true.”
“Whatever issues you have with us could’ve been sorted out privately.” The king said. “This is uncalled for.”
Silas snorts and Prince Albert has never felt so insulted before. “This isn’t anything personal. Its just the truth and the public has the right to know who rules their kingdom.” Silas rests his cheek on his palm and stares up at him with an evil glint. “Besides, you’ll know when I make it personal.” At the king’s confusion, Silas pulls out a document from his drawer and pushes it towards him. “This is currently being printed and published. Half of London has already gotten their hands on it, I’m sure by tomorrow, all of Britain will know too.”
Prince Albert’s eyes widened in horror at the headline.
“FUTURE KING OF ENGLAND FOUND IN THE ARMS OF A CROSS-DRESSER AT DEVIANT CLUB!”
His hands crumpled the paper. “This is not true!” “Yelling will get you nowhere, your highness.” Silas cut him off, standing up as he buttoned his coat. “And we both now, you are in no position to make any threats or demands.”
Prince Alberts face turned red with rage. “What are you going to do with this? Make people lose confidence in the monarchy? No one will believe this nonsense! Not me, not the people, and not the Parliament. And don’t try denying you weren’t there today.”
“I am not denying anything.” Silas let out a bored exhale. “As Duke of Westminster, it is my right to be there.”
“Right? You do not own Westminster Palace, Silas! It still belongs to the crown!”
“I dont own the Westminster Palace, your highness.” Silas’s gaze sharpened. “But I do own more than half of the Parliament. As of today, I have the leading party in my pocket, ready to obey my orders and even tear down the monarchy a new one if I say so.”
“SILAS-!” “Keep your voice down. You don’t want to sound hysterical and confirm the rumours about mental illnesses running in the royal family, hm?” Silas didn’t even smirk as he cut the king at his knees in the most brutal manner, only telling him to see where his son, the future heir was currently at.
As the king left in a hurry, the door to the office was suddenly slammed open and Benjamin barged in with Colin trying to pull him back by his shoulder.
“YOU!” Benjamin yelled, yanking his arm out of Colin’s grip. “YOU’RE THE REASON SHE’S GONE!”
Silas kept his calm, merely lifting his chin. “I know. I’m going to find her.”
“She should’ve never gone missing. Its all because of you! You should’ve died! You and your pathetic little self should’ve died! She’s in trouble because of you!” Benjamin accused, barely resisting the urge to not beat him to a pulp. “And to have the nerve to call me here, in her office where you sit! How dare you!?”
Silas only stared at him with a neutral expression, even if his heart was heavy with guilt. He nodded at Colin to leave them alone, and he reluctantly left.
“I called you because I need your help to find Y/n. You can hate me all you want, take a swing at me if it’ll make you feel better, but we both want the same thing.” He watched Benjamin take fast breaths, trying to reel himself in. “You were the last person she was in contact with before she found me. You were fighting some assailants that were after her, and you mentioned them wearing masks?” Silas didn’t wait for him to confirm the information. He already read the police report Benjamin had filed. “More than likely, it was the Ripper’s men after her. Now, if we want to find Y/n soon, you need to tell me the truth, Benjamin.” Silas stood up, pouring two drinks, one for himself and one for Benjamin. “My sources tell me Y/n had been in an apartment that belonged to Lady Scarlet, and that you were seen leaving that place just moments earlier.” He set the crystal glass in front of the barber. “What were you doing there? And what do you know about Lady Scarlet and Henry Blackwood?”
Benjamin stared at him, and Silas could see he was trying to come up with a lie that would explain his presence.
“There’s no need to lie. I just need to find Y/n. Please.” Silas didn’t need to plead. He could easily have this information wrung out of him, but you trusted Benjamin enough to help find him, so he’ll return the courtesy of not resorting to unsavoury means. For now.
The blonde’s shoulders sagged. “I worked for Mr Blackwood. I’d only met him once, but every task he needed me to do would be given to me through Lady Scarlet. She was his right-hand man. He’d been paying me to spy on you. I did it because… because I didn’t trust you with Y/n, and when you two had that rushed wedding, I just knew something was going to go wrong. I just wanted to keep Y/n safe.”
And financial gain too. Silas kept the comment to himself. Benjamin continued. “When Y/n started to investigate the murders of his employees, Mr Blackwood didn’t like that. He told her many times to stop, told her that the Ripper was just a myth, and that its bad for business. He didn’t want her meddling. But when she didn’t stop, Mr Blackwood wanted me to do something about it. He wanted me to keep tabs of her every moment, so that he could stop thwart her plans.”
Silas’s fists clenched under his desks. “What happened at the club that night?”
“I went to the club to confront Henry and tell him I want out, and I want him to stop bothering Y/n too. I didn’t know Y/n was there too. Lady Scarlet found me before I could find him, and she pulled me into Mr Blackwood’s office, telling me to not worry because “Y/n had been dealt with.” And when the fire broke out downstairs, we left the office, but she told me that Y/n was hiding inside, so I went back in and pulled her out of there. Since that night, I haven’t seen Mr Blackwood. Rumour has it, he left town. Or perhaps the Ripper got to him.” Or maybe he is the Ripper. Silas took a sip of his drink as the man continued. “After weeks, I was finally able to track Lady Scarlet down. It was the night you were found. I wanted to know where Henry was. If there was some unfinished business left… she said everything here had been concluded. I think she was planning on leaving soon too. I haven’t heard from her since, and her place is empty too.”
Y/n is missing. Henry and Lady Scarlet left town too. The Ripper targeted Henry’s employees.
If I’m able to find Henry, I might be able to find Y/n too.
Silas grabbed his coat and left the office, making his way to police station.
He needs to have the employees murder cases re-opened. There has to be a reason why the Ripper was targeting them, and Silas has a feeling that its not because they were “prostitutes”.
-
“I’m afraid the cases cannot be re-opened, Silas.” The chief of the department, his friend, informed him as the two sat in his office.
“And why not, Tobias?” Silas took a sip of his tea. “Whats the point of having a copper friend then?”
Tobias chuckled. “I wish I could help you out, but I really cant-” Silas set the cup down and pulled out his cheque book. “How much?”
“Silas-”
“How much, Tobias?”
“Its not about money!” Tobias exclaimed, feeling insulted. Silas’s grey eyes watched him run a hand over his face exasperatedly. “I cant open the case because its already been dealt with it. The murderer has been caught and awaiting trial.”
Silas studied him. “But… but its not the man who did it, hm?” Tobias’s eyes flicked up and he felt Silas see right through him. “I cant prove it but… the man we caught… I think he’s just a fall guy.”
“Henry paid him off, didn’t he?” Tobias jaw ticked, as he gave a stiff nod.
The two men remained quiet for a few moments before Silas spoke again.
“I’d like to examine the victims bodies.” Tobias shook his head, but Silas cut him off. “This isn’t a request, Tobias. We both know I can do this without you as well, but I need to find Y/n before time runs out.”
The police chief begrudgingly gave in to his demands and took Silas along with him to the morgue . “The earlier victims had been buried in the cemetery before the trial, but we still have the last victim here, waiting for the trial to be finished. I think after a few days, he’ll be laid to rest. We’re lucky that London is freezing now, slowing the decomposition of the dead.”
Tobias went to open the storage box that contained the last victim, only to find it empty.
“Where-?” He went to open other boxes, searched the entire room to find the victim, before going to ask the mortician.
“The mortician said that somebody came in with a permit from me saying to release the body, but I didnt- I didn’t sign any such documents! Oh god- someone stole a body from the morgue- someone stole from the police department!” While Tobias spiralled about his job being in trouble, Silas’s suspicions grew. He grabbed Tobias by the shoulders, shaking him. “Where are the other victims buried?!”
Tobias took him to the cemetery where they were laid to rest. “Silas, we need a warrant from the judge-” Just then, Cadbury came running in with a few men with him. The butler handed the warrant to Tobias, while Silas nodded at the men to start digging.
Silas’s suspicions were only confirmed when all the coffins were empty. All 7 graves, all belonging to Henry’s employees, were empty.
Tobias’s shock only grew. “No… how-? Who-?” “Someone’s getting rid of the evidence. But who would-?” Silas’s eyes widened. “We need to get to the the murderer right now.” Tobias looked confused. “The scapegoat? He’s in jail- oh!” He got what Silas was alluding to and the two reached the jail in no time. The guards stood up, not expecting to the chief today. “Sir-” “Where is the man we arrested in Blackwood case?!” “He was expecting bail today but no one came-” “Show me the cell!” Tobias yelled. The guards lead them to the cell, and Tobias let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the man lying under the covers. “Thompson! Wake up!” The guard banged his baton against the bar to rouse him from sleep, but when he didnt, they opened his cell and barged in to pull the covers off, freezing as they found the man with his throat slashed brutally from ear-to-ear.
Someone had killed the suspect today, right in his cell. In a jail. In front of hundreds of witnesses. Yet no one even heard even the slightest struggle. Only one person could be so skilled.
The Ripper.
-
A week later, Prince Albert had passed away. It is said that he had fallen sick, but his sources in the palace tell him that the king had left to see his son in Cambridge, and when he found him in a club with people engaging in all sorts of depravity, well, frankly the scandal was too much for the father to bare. They fought, Albert tried to convince his son to come home and that they’d find a nice girl for him to marry and all of this nonsense will be forgotten, evil be nipped in the bud.
Of course, Prince Edward could care less. As pompous idiots do, when it comes to being told what not to do, they do exactly that. When the king returned to the palace, he’d fallen sick with typhoid and days later, passed away surrounded by his loved ones.
The Queen was particularly affected by his death, so much so that she mourned him by wearing only black for the rest of her life. Deep in depression, she blamed Edward for his death because of the fallout the father-son had, and so the rest of the country mourned with her. Life slowed down, businesses were affected and this distracted everyone from Jack the Ripper, who apparently had also went on a break from his killing spree.
Silas saw the rest of his family, his cousins and his uncle Adolphus at the Prince Albert’s funeral. He’d avoided seeing them since his return, fearing that he just might lose control and kill his uncle for how they treated Daisy and Y/n. He had no doubts in his mind that Adolphus and William planned on killing him for a long while. He’ll deal with them, just not right now.
Silas could only hope so during such trying times as the local authorities failed to do their jobs.
But just because the police and the general public were not working actively on this, doesnt mean he didn’t hire outside help, which in his opinion, were more competent.
“Silas.” His cousins were first to approach him, and he could see how cautious they were being around him, as if he’d explode on them.
He wouldnt. It wasn’t their fault. They’re not smart enough to ever try anything against him.
His uncles, on the other hand, who did pass down the dense genes, were greedy enough to go cross him.
Silas made small talk before Adolphus ushered his sons to leave. “How are you, Silas? I’ve been meaning to talk to you ever since-” “I was almost killed by your brother? Or when you took the first chance you could to steal from me?”
Adolphus’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “Now listen, I didn’t have anything to do with what William-” Silas cut him off with a scoff. “Insulting your own dead brother by lying? Cant say he doesnt deserve it.”
“Silas, I just wanted to come here and tell you that I’m using my contacts for whatever information we could get to find Y/n.” Adolphus tried again, but Silas beat him to it again. “And I’m using my contacts to build a case against you and your dim-witted sons for your hand in my kidnapping and the death of my sister.”
His uncle’s mouth fell agape. “Silas, I didn’t do anything to you or Daisy-” “Dont you dare say her name, or I swear to God, I’ll have you and your offspring disappear from the face of the Earth before the sunset and I can promise you, you’ll be begging me for death by the time I’m done with you.” Silas walked away from him. The Ripper was right about many things, he’s come to realise that. He was right about the events of the night his mother was murdered, he was right about how he and Daisy were manipulated by the very people who were supposed to care for them, and he was right about every woman he loved about suffering because of him, and now Y/n-
He stopped. Loved? I love Y/n?
Silas stood in front of the casket to pay his respect. I love Y/n? No. I… I couldnt. I care about her, yes. But- no, no its no love.
It cant be.
Right?
The young aristocrat walked away from the casket, his feelings about you were the only on his mind.
Love Y/n? Certainly not. And I wouldn’t come to that realisation here, at the state funeral for the prince.
No.
-
It’s been over 6 months and Silas hasn’t been able to find you. He has turned London upside down, and he even expanded his search area beyond borders, from street corners to continents, a suspicion that the Ripper may have moved his operations to elsewhere. But he knew that it was unlikely, then again, the Ripper is not a predictable force.
He didn’t have much luck with finding either Henry or Lady Scarlet. As if they’d dropped from the face of the Earth. So, Silas focused his attention to your notes, when you were trying to find him. He has a feeling that the Ripper was in contact with you, he was baiting you.
But why?
If the Ripper wanted to hurt Silas, he could’ve just killed you. But he didn’t, or at least he hopes, he hasn’t. Why drive him to the point of insanity, then let him go and take you?
I admitted defeat. Silas recalled the night when he was in the coffin. I was ready to die. He could’ve killed us both. What sick game is he playing?
Silas traced all your steps over and over again, everywhere you went, he went. His first stop was the one place that he hadn’t visited in years.
Aveline’s asylum.
The staff rambled on to him for all the donations he gave, leading him towards the room his sister was lived in.
His hand didn’t tremble as it reached for the doorknob, but there was an ominous dread in his gut.
As the door swung open, the state of the room was just as he’d seen it the last time he was here. When Daisy had died, he was asked to collect her belongings, but he couldn’t bring himself to return to this place, so he’d paid the hospital to keep her room locked and unused.
Silas wasn’t allowed to visit Daisy very often, but he remembers Adolphus bringing him here when his grandmother had yelled at his uncle to take him there. Sarah knew how much he missed Daisy, even though Silas hadn’t said it aloud.
She always looked weaker than last time when he visited her. But despite how frail she’d turned, how pale her skin became, Daisy always welcomed him with a warm smile and a gentle hug.
Silas sat down on her bed, mind flashing back to the last time he saw her.
“Silas! You’re a sight for sore eyes!” She giggled, wrapping her thin arms around him. “How are you- oh, what did you bring for me?” Silas handed her the books she’d requested after she complained about being bored.
She pulled him and sat him down on her bed, before reaching under her pillow to pull out a handful of candies. As she extended her hand to him, he noticed the bruise on her wrist.
Silas’s eyes flicked to her face, then to her wrist again. But he didn’t say anything.
He never did. Not even when he saw her clothes looking too big on her, different coloured marks on her limbs, the bags under her eyes getting deeper, her hair looking greasier.
He never said anything. After all, why would he embarrass her? “She’s sick in the head.” His uncle had told him, when he asked about her concerning state.
She’s sick in the head. But she was the same as she’d always been.
Silas only took one candy. “You have the rest.” He’d urge her, worried she was skipping meals. Daisy shook her head, handing him a few more before popping one in her mouth. “I had to bribe the doctor for this!” She stood up and walked over to her closet to put away the books he’d brought. As she opened the closet, he saw a red book. “I thought they didn’t have any books for you to read.” Silas nodded towards the red book. She smiled. “I dont. This is my diary.”
Silas’s eyes snapped towards the dusty closet.
Diary.
The day you left his house, the day he lost his temper on you, you had come to his study with that diary. You’d dropped it on the floor before leaving and Silas had put it away in his desk.
But how did you find it? Silas never took anything from the asylum, unless-
Unless you came and took it.
-
Silas had rushed home and opened the red journal as soon as he found it. And his heart only sank further the more he read.
“I dont know why uncles have sent me to this awful? I do not believe I am sick, or if I am, I do not see any hope of ever getting better here. Only worse.”
“What good can ever come out of starving patients? Then again, I think the stale food they give us is only making me more ill.”
“Silas finally came to visit me! Oh, how I missed him. He’s grown up so handsomely. I am sure he will get me out of here one day.”
“The new doctor is the only one who is nice to me. The nurses talk very badly to me, and their hands hold me down so harshly. But the new doctor tended to my injuries with utmost care.”
“The new doctor listens to me when I talk. He smiles sometimes, and chuckles at my jokes too. He doesnt scold me or has me tied down when I tell him I’m not sick.”
“I bribed him with poems. He gave me the candies I’d asked for. I don’t like to be empty-handed when Silas visits me. I can see the concern in his eyes when he looks at me, but he never says anything for my sake. I wonder what I can get him for his birthday. Perhaps the gold ring the doctor wears. It has a snake eating its own tail. Very unique. Silas would like it.”
Silas’s blood ran cold. Golden ring. Snake eating its own tail. It couldn’t be him-
“The doctor hasn’t come to see me in a while. Perhaps he’s busy. I would’ve liked to say goodbye. Uncle Williams came today. He wanted me to sign some documents. But he wouldn’t let me read it so I didn’t. He was furious with me.”
“The nurses have been very unkind to me. They have taken away my meals because “bad girls don’t get fed.” I don’t understand what I’ve done.”
“Anytime I try to ask what I have done to warrant this treatment, they beat me. I demanded to see my family, to see Silas, to see my uncles, but they only locked me in the dark room, bound to my bed.”
“After many weeks, uncle Williams finally returned. I didn’t think I’d see him again after our last falling out. But he returned and apologised for his behaviour. He even brought sweets for me as peace offering. I am having them right now with my tea, they are a little too sweet for my taste. I am getting sleepy though, surprisingly earlier than my bedtime. I suppose the sweets have filled my belly and made me tired.”
That was the last entry in her diary.
Silas’s hands trembled. If only- if only he’d read this earlier. The ring. The Ripper being her doctor. Williams feeding her sweets- he killed Daisy. He killed her.
A shaky breath left him. Silas wished the Earth would split open and drag him, just so he didn’t have to face the harsh truth.
Daisy met the Ripper.
Daisy was murdered.
Daisy was never sick. His uncles put her there. Because?
He suspected why, but he still wants to hear it.
-
Adolphus woke up to a slap to the face. He let out a strangled noise, and he felt the rope on his arms and legs that tied to him to the chair.
“Awake?” A figure appeared from the shadows.
“S-silas? What is the meaning of this?! Untie me this instant!” He struggled against the ropes only to be punched, this time the other cheek.
“Behave, uncle. Tonight, you will die. How painful it will be, that will be decided by you.”
“Silas-!” Another punch, and thats when he heard the sound of a trolley creaking in. Cadbury wheeled the trolley in and Adolphus’s eyes went saucer wide at the contents laying on it. A variety of knives, a saw, a plier, and other tools he couldn’t name but they looked of the medical sort.
“Didnt you tell me that you served as a medic during the war, Cadbury?” The butler smiled, though it didn’t match the sinister glint in his eyes.
“Yes, sir. Army Medical Corps.” Cadbury picked up a scalpel, loading a sharp blade onto it. “I had to amputate many brave men, and I had to do it quickly to save them.” Cadbury then looked at Adolphus and shrugged. “I was pretty skilled back then but its been a few years, I might be a little out of practise.”
Adolphus was drenched in sweat, practically shaking in his chair. “Silas- Silas, listen to me- I didn’t do anything! It was all Williams! It was all him! I didnt- I tried to stop him! I did! I swear on my sons lives!”
“Sons? You’re going to damn your own sons by lying?” Silas sighed. “Oh well, I suppose they were already damned the moment I sent them to the asylum.”
“W-what?” Adolphus throat dried up.
Silas hummed. “Oh, I just sent your boys and Williams’s to the looney bin to rot. Just like you sent Daisy.” He walked up to his uncle and grabbed him by the neck, yanking him forward. “And when they lose their damn mind, when they cant remember their name, when their reduced to a vegetable, I’ll kill them. Just like you killed my sister. And I’ll make sure no one remembers you.”
“S-Silas! I- I didn’t kill Daisy! I- Yes- We- we did sent her to the asylum! Yes- but we didn’t kill her! We only wanted her to sign and give us the fortune your parents had left for you two! We never killed her! It wasn’t us- It was the other man! It has to be!”
“What other man?” The Ripper?
Adolphus hesitated for a second, but the moment Cadbury picked up the saw, he spilled.
“We- we were trying to join a society. Your- William and I, we- we needed to get in this secret society. It was run by a man unknown, but- but the society in essence- it was the inner circle. The most elite. The people who had the first hand at everything. If we got into the society, we’d be invincible. But- but to get in that society we needed a huge buy-in. We didn’t have the money- so- so we tried to get your and Daisy’s inheritance- we- I was going to pay you back! Always, you’re my nephew, Silas!” Silas only shook him harshly again.
“What do you mean by the other man who killed Daisy?”
“I- I dont know- I’ve never seen his face- he’d always wear a mask, or a hood! All I remember is that he’d wear a gold ring, with a snake on it! Only members of the secret society have it. But- but he- I’d seen him one time leaving Daisy’s room at the asylum! He- he must’ve killed her!”
“What was he doing in Daisy’s room?”
“I- I dont know, I never asked.” Of course, you didn’t you spineless cretin. “Thats all I know, SIlas. I swear I didn’t kill her!”
Silas shoved him away and turned around, giving only a nod to Cadbury. Make him talk.
Cadbury gleamed as he picked up an odd shaped instrument. “Back in the war days, I had to peel off a lot of dead skin and replace it with skin grafts, Mr Adolphus. Now, I know I said earlier that I’m out of practise, but I’ve peeled a lot of potatoes! I have a feeling, this wouldn’t be much different!”
Silas left the room as he heard his uncles screams echo. For now, he needs to find the secret society.
-
You wake up with a jolt, gasping for air as you tried to come out of the effects of the dream. As your eyes adjusted to your unfamiliar surroundings, flashbacks from last night came to your mind.
Silas!
I pulled him out of the coffin- he was buried alive! But I pulled him out- he was alive. He was alive! All this time!
As you realised the ache in your back, you remembered his crazy, money-hungry, fat uncle was beating you two with a metal rod! He kept striking again and again until someone pulled him off-
You gasped.
The Ripper!
The Ripper!
Your eyes frantically scanned the room, as if dreading to find him standing in the corner. But the dark Victorian interior showed nothing except for luxury. Dark brown, almost black wood was used around the room and the ceiling was high, with no windows in the room, the entire room was lit with candles and lanterns. You were lying on a canopy bed, with maroon velvet curtains tied to the posts. The walls had a few paintings, some antiques around the room but other than that, you were alone.
And you were brought here by the Ripper.
Right?
It has to be him. Who else? He was the one who hinted where he’d buried Silas- He buried Silas! Oh my god, am I going to be also buried alive? No, then I’d have woken up in the coffin. No, no. He brought me here to kill me like the rest of his victims. Brutally.
You threw the silk covers off you, ignoring the bandages covering your hands and leapt out of bed, stumbling a bit as the pain in your back made you curl up, before you gathered yourself and with a shaky breath, began making your way towards the door. Which wasn’t locked, as you turned the knob.
You peeked a look and when saw no one, you craned your neck out and saw a long corridor on either side, lined with stone blocks from floor to ceiling, a medieval contrast to the gothic room you were creeping out of now.
Using the light from the sconces on the wall, you decided to take the right and walk down the hall. You kept walking, taking one turn after the other with no logic and only hope to not get lost, or worse, be lead straight to the killer.
Your heart thundered against your ribs. Oh God, what if he finds me? What if he tortures me before he kills me-
No. You stopped walking, and rubbed a hand over your chest, pressing in deeply to calm the panic attack that was sure to come if you let your mind go on. No, think positively. He cant- he wont find me. I’ll find my way out of here and I’ll use my time machine and get home-
My Time Machine!
You frantically searched your clothes, panic setting in again.
Where is it- where the fuck is it?!
You recalled having taken it from Lady Scarlet, you had it on you when you were running from those masked men and when you crashed into Benny. You went into the cemetery to find a spot to use it and you were going to when-
Your heart dropped.
The Ripper. He has it. The machine dropped from your hands when you ran to dig Silas out of his grave.
The Ripper has my time machine.
You muffled the whimper that threatened to leave with your hand.
What have I done?
The machine- the time machine is- is in the hands of the notorious psychopath!
Maybe thats why no one has ever been able to catch him. Because my dumbass was the one who dropped the most powerful device on Earth in his lap! Fuckin-
You slapped your cheek.
No. No. No! Now is not the time to spiral. Now is not the time to lose my marbles!
You take a deep breath and clear your mind.
Whats the new plan?
Plan A: get out of here, save your life and build a new time machine and hope for the best that the Ripper has a weak immune system and dies of cholera or smallpox.
Plan B: stay in this psychopath’s lair, find the time machine, save the world from catastrophic changes in history and time, and get home!
If you were a hero with good morals, sure- Plan B. But you could really not be bothered to be the saviour if you’re dead at the hands of maniac!
You start walking down the hall again, spotting a set of stairs trailing down.
How about this- it’s plan B until I’m in danger, then we jump back to plan A? Yes.
As you descended the stone stairs, the interior finally changed to Victorian again, only more gothic.
The ceilings were high, with intricate gothic arches clawing at walls, illuminated faintly by the moonlight shining through the glass windows, though the fog outside was too thick to clue you in as to where you are. More lanterns guided you down the hall, your footsteps creaking against the wooden floor. You slowed your pace, not wanting to be spotted by anyone.
As you turned another corner, you immediately scurried back as you heard someone walking down the other end of the hallway.
You peeked, and only saw a figured robe walking down the hallway- the same hallway where you were hiding just at the other corner of it.
Fortunately, the figured robe turned to his right and opened a wooden door and entered the room, the door shutting behind him with a loud thud.
That must be the Ripper, so- you quietly crept down the hallway, your heart practically lurching out of your mouth as you made your way past the room the man had went in, praying to God he doesnt come out.
Finally, reaching the end of the hallway, you took another turn and faintly heard the sound of-
Piano? No, something more deep- was that pipe organ?
Great. This place keeps giving vampire castle, rather than a murderers lair.
Some hymn, perhaps dark church, was being played.
Wait- was the Ripper playing the organ? Huh. He could’ve made a good living out of this.
Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell him about switching careers. You rolled your eyes.
You walked down another corridor and this one had more rooms on either side of it. Granted most of them were closed.
Does he keep his victims here? Oh yeah, Y/n, the Ripper is hosting them all like this is hotel Transylvania. Get a grip.
He probably found this abandoned castle, and made his home here. Perfect place to kill and hide.
You heard footsteps again and you shuffled to hide again, but the hall was too long and you’d be spotted before you reached the end of it, so you took a risk and opened the double door, sneaking inside when you spotted no one inside and closing the door as quietly as you could, putting your ear against the door to listen to the footsteps walking away.
You stayed put before slowly backing away from the door, just in case the Ripper decided he wanted to come in here, whatever this room was.
Turning on your heel, you looked around the well lit room, with an altar made of white marble at the center and behind it, large maroon velvet curtains hung on the wall, with a pattern embroidered on it with golden thread. A snake eating its own tail, forming a perfect circle.
“What the hell…?” You whispered as you walked towards the altar.
Is this where he kills his victims? You looked around the marble, it was spotless. Not a drop of blood. Is he a clean freak? OCD perhaps-
Stop psychoanalysing the killer. You’re not an expert, Y/n.
You heard someone talking outside the door and dashed towards the corner to hide behind a pillar in the shadows.
The door opened and in walked- one, two- 6 robed figures wearing silver masks and hoods over their heads entered. They all began cleaning the room, one was replacing the melted candles with fresh ones, one was dusting the antiques lying in the other corner and another was using a broom to clean, two of them were cleaning the altar with what you assume was their version of Holy Water, or maybe it was just that. And the last one- he made his way towards the curtains, before pulling on its golden cord to draw the curtains apart.
Your eyes widened at the sight behind it.
There it was. There it fucking was.
The painting. Your painting. The one Baldwin commissioned of you. The one that followed you through all timelines. The one you had burned with your own hands.
And there it hung, unscathed, mocking you.
How-? How is this possible? I destroyed it- I burnt it to ashes! I did-
As soon as the robed figures left, you sauntered towards the painting, your hands trembling.
Am I hallucinating- no- there’s no way- I’m hallucinating.
You touched the painting. It was real. This is real.
How? How did it-?
You jumped at the sound of someone clearing their throat.
It was another robed figure, this time with a white mask and pearly-white patterns on it, lips painted baby blue. The femininity of her mask and stature gave away that she was a girl.
“Lady Y/n.” She addressed you so politely. “He’s waiting for you.”
You didn’t have to guess who “He” was.
Spotting the robed figures from earlier behind her, you knew you were outnumbered, so with a shaky nod, you followed her, taking one last look at the damn painting before you left.
On the way, you saw many other robed figures, all wearing masks, you deduced different colours meant different ranks. Your gaze went back to girl in white who was leading you to your doom, fixating on the pearly patterns on her mask.
If you weren’t so shocked by the painting, you would’ve asked or rather, begged her not to take you to “him”. But your entire energy was now being focused on not crumbling down to your knees and crying yourself to into a catatonic state.
Eventually, a large door came into view and when the girl opened it, she lead you inside to a dining hall. A large table sat in the center with more than 20 or so seats. However, she didn’t make you sit there, instead she continued to walk and lead you to another door in the corner, and it revealed to be a smaller, more private dining area, with only a small rectangular table and two plush seats. On the right, there was a big window with stained glass, and on the left, the beige wall had two sconces along with different sized candles illuminating the room.
And at the other end of the table, just under the shadows, “he” stood.
As the girl left you two alone, your heart dropped when he stepped out of the shadows. Wearing a black mask with golden tendrils forming an intricate pattern, a black top hat and a stylish long coat over his suit that would make anyone tremble at the realisation of who it was.
“Lady Y/n.” You recognised the smooth voice. “I hope you slept well. How are your injuries?”
The Ripper was standing in front of you, barely 6 feet away.
You gulped the lump in your throat. “What do you want from me?” You croaked out, not realising your mouth had went dry.
He took a slow, cautious step in your direction as if approaching a prey he did not wish to scare.
“I will answer all your questions, but first, supper.” He motioned you to take a seat.
“I’m not hungry.” He stared at you and you felt the walls caving in when he walked up to you, until you could see into his eyes.
“I am hungry, and I do not enjoy eating alone.” He stated in a tone that didn’t leave room to argue. Stepping back, he pulled out a chair for you. “Please.” It wasnt a request.
You sat down, the hair on your arms rising as he pushed your seat in.
With a snap of his fingers, two robed figures came in with food. They set the plates in front of you and him, lifted the cloches to reveal a soup dish. They left you two alone and the Ripper began eating, while you contemplated if this was poisoned or not.
On one hand, if he wanted to kill you, he would’ve done so earlier, right?
On the other hand, this just might be one of the least painful ways to die from, perhaps?
With that, you began eating soup, eyes trailing to the man in front of you.
After entree and dessert were served, the dinner ended and you two sat from across each other in silence.
Is this what dinner with Hannibal Lecter feels like?
“What would you like to ask?” The Ripper finally broke the silence.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to see the truth.”
“And what is that?” He stood up and for a second you thought he got annoyed and was going to kill you.
“I suppose it would be better to show you.” You hesitated for a moment before standing. He walked out of the dining hall, you walked a step behind him (if only to have the upper hand if you need to attack him, or more realistically, run away.) but he slowed his pace to match yours.
He was reasonably taller than you, so it’d be understandable if he walked faster.
“Feel free to ask me more questions while we walk.” He offered.
Alright. “Are you going to kill me?” Your steps faltered, preparing yourself to bolt.
The seconds he took to answer felt like hours. “No. Next question.”
You followed him again. At the sight of more robed figures passing by, you asked him about this place.
“Where are we? What is this place?”
“We’re a secret society.” He turned his head to look at you. “You think of the Ripper as a single entity, but as you can see, we have many members.”
“Secret society? Do you mean cult?” You seem to have become a little more confident now that he’d stated he wasnt going to kill you. You forget “torture” is still on the table.
Yeah, he didn’t exactly “kill” Silas either.
He chuckled. “For some people, sure.”
“And what exactly is the society’s purpose?”
“We maintain balance. Stop threats. Keep the routine going.” Threats? Does he mean people he think corrupt society’s morals? Is that why he targeted the prostitutes and the club?
As you were both walking, he pointed towards the fireplace, specifically over the mantel where the same snake pattern was carved into the wood.
“That is the symbol of our society. Do you know what it means?” He allowed you to go and take a closer look.
You traced the wooden symbol with your fingers. A serpent eating its own tail. In a perfect circle. A loop.
“An eternal cycle.” You remembered seeing it while you were studying Egyptian mythology in college. “Renewal of life, death… rebirth?” You looked back at him, and he nodded for you to continue. “In some depictions, the snake would be looped into a horizontal figure-of-eight. Or sign of infinity. The symbol is seen in different theologies and religions, but is generally called as “Ouroboros”. In the Greek version, it means unity in duality—the merging of opposites such as life and death, heaven and earth, and the conscious and unconscious mind. In alchemy, the Ouroboros represents the process of transformation, the idea that destruction leads to creation. In Christian mysticism, the Ouroboros was sometimes used to symbolise eternity and the idea of God as the Alpha and Omega—the beginning and the end. The serpent devouring its own tail was interpreted as a symbol of God's infinite nature and the eternal life promised in Christian theology.
In essence, it is a balance between life and death, chaos and calm.”
“Smart girl.” You could sense he was smiling under the mask. You shrugged. “So what does it mean? You “cleanse” the society of impurities? Of what doesnt fit in your moral code? Just so that life… can continue on? Some order is maintained?”
“You say it like its a bad thing- to rid the society of impurity.” He turned on his heel and began walking, and you followed behind him. You resisted the urge to scoff. “Some would say murder is pretty immoral.” It was a risky thing to say, but the man chuckled. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Did you start this society?” You asked, passing another figured robe who was wearing a sharp three-piece suite, a short top-hat, and a golden mask. He looked at you and only then did you realise that none of the other figures looked in your way. It was only for a brief moment before he looked away and passed you two.
“Yes and no.” You looked at him. He was relaxed, as if in complete control of the situation. As if he cold anticipate any move, any ambush you throw his way. Like he could predict the unpredictable. “Do you know about the Knights Templar?” You nodded. Of course. The Knights Templar were a Catholic military order founded in the 12th century to protect Christians and the Holy Land during the crusades. They were a powerful organisation with significant wealth and influece, with the crown’s backing and funding. However, by the 14th century they were suppressed and disbanded.
He began explaining. “As history records- the Templars were disbanded centuries ago. But despite how brutally they were persecuted, the Templars still managed to survive all this time and went underground to operate from the shadows.”
“So, you’re the Templars?”
He shook his head. “We are a branch of the Templars. Our mission is the same- to protect the public from evil organisations and keep the balance of good and evil.” He directed you towards a door and opened it to reveal a huge room with many robed figures working quietly. There were different chalk-boards. There was a black board on which different names and math equations were written, then another on which different years were written with an event pinned to it. But you were only able to recognise a handful of the historical events, the rest were of them were just- you didn’t even know what they were. The events lined to the years were sentences like-
“She jumps into the water.” “He was lost in the carnival.” “The boy slept in.”
They didn’t make any sense.
The Ripper didn’t stop you from reading the boards. Instead, he continued to explain. “I started this society only after I had lost someone dear to me. To find them, I… I began searching for ways to connect to them. In afterlife.” He hummed. “Its ironic. I never believed in life after death, I’m still not particularly religious, you see. But I was desperate. I abandoned science and logic, and went after mediums who promised me that they will connect me to my loved ones. As you would know, that was a complete waste of time. But it did help me connect with some powerful people, who then tried to invoke my sense of Christianity. In reality, they just needed my money to fund their programs. One of which was the Templars.” You listened to him, while watching the robed figures work silently as they wrote on the chalk board, drawing lines, connecting dots. “They didn’t particularly need me to become a Templar, rather they needed my money and in return, they’d support any agenda I’d have. I, of course, demanded that- my wife may be brought back to me.” It was the first time he addressed who he’d been talking about. He continued on. “They obviously cant raise the dead. And they were fed up with me, so when I threatened to pull back my support, they told me to pray to God. Pray that He may be so gracious and merciful to send her back. That God is kind to His most devout servants. So, I changed. I really did become the perfect Christian. I abstained from all kinds of evils, I followed the light. I studied the Bible, all versions of it, and when that wasnt enough, I studied the history. And thats when I stumbled upon a story. About a king and his lover who went missing.” Your heart began to sink.
He began walking again, leading you out of the room and down another hallway. “You wouldn’t find this story that easily, you see, it was buried so deep into the books, only one manuscript was found and kept save by the Templars. And it was in Arabic.” As he turned, you saw a familiar corridor, and before you knew it, you were back in the room with the painting. “It almost sounded like a bedtime story. A sick king who was bound to die, is saved by a slave girl who seemed to appear out of no where. She saves him with a kiss, because apparently God had given her some divine powers. The king believed so, that she was angel gifted to him by God. And who is he to deny a divine gift?” Your eyes are focused on the painting, refusing to look at him. He doesnt- he cant know.
“Then as all great love stories end, she didn’t want to marry him, ran away from the altar and jumped into the sea, disappearing forever.” The Ripper’s steps echoed as he walked ahead of you, standing directly under the painting. “It is said that the the king was so devastated, he didn’t believe she was actually dead. They never found her body, or any remnant of her. He searched everywhere for her, he left his kingdom and travelled half the world for her. Apparently, he had become so depressed, that he would talk to the painting- this painting, he had commissioned of her, so much so, that his tears had smudged her beautiful face, the lower half of it. I imagined he kissed her right… there.” He pointed at lower half of the face on the painting that was smudged. “The king eventually died with a smile that now he’d finally be able to meet you again. The Templars, embarrassed by their king’s mental state, erased all traces of the girl and any story linked to her was destroyed, in order to maintain the nobility of a true Christian. The painting, however, wasnt found in the king’s castle. No, it was found centuries later with the Ottomans, and I think it was either stolen from the king or the king himself gave it away to be kept safe, perhaps to a dear friend.” He turned to face you, stalking towards you as you felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. “Do you know who wrote that manuscript?”
He said it was in Arabic. Salauddin?
“A mathematician called Abbas. The love story didn’t really interest me, nor did it feel true. It wasnt… even that good. But one thing that did intrigue was the device that this girl- slave girl was paying Abbas to make it. He wasnt able to recreate it again, nor did he ever understand what was its function. He did suspect that it may be the reason you were running, or were able to escape. After all, I researched quite a bit and while many parts of his story were true, I was never able to find the family of the girl who she claimed to be trying to find. So, perhaps… the device did indeed have something to do with her disappearance?”
He knows.
He fucking knows.
“Great story. What am I to do with it?” You managed to keep your poker face. He tilted his head at you, not in confusion, more in a “are you really keeping that act up?” manner. You tried to divert the focus from you. “It was just a story, like you said. Besides, you could have all the resources in the world and still not be able to find someone. The world is a big place, and there are more humans than you could ever count.”
“And yet I found you.” He said curtly, cutting off any attempts of diversion. “I found you, Y/n. You were the girl, and yes, I verified it. Directly from the man himself. King Baldwin IV.” Your eyes widened.
“I dont know what you’re talking about. And the king is dead-” He pulled something out of his pocket and you felt fear take over you.
The time machine.
“I- where- thats-” How- how does he know? How the fuck does he know?
“The time-travelling device? Yes, yes it is.” He fiddled with it. “Are you still going to deny everything?”
You took a step back, forcing the lump in your throat down. “Who- who are you?”
He sighed, stepping back a bit. “I suppose it would be better to show you.” And with that he removed his mask.
The room was illuminated well enough by the candles and sconce, yet it still took you a few seconds to recognise the man in front of you.
No. Fucking. Way.
-
“That girl was just someone pretending to be her.” Cadbury informed Silas. He’d just returned from yet another day of following up on leads claiming that they saw Y/n, or were Y/n. Its been three years since you’d been kidnapped by the Ripper. Three years since he’d been searching high and low for you. Silas had done everything he was supposed to do- influenced the police to keep your case open, bribed anyone and everyone for any leads, hired bounty hunters, used all his contacts and more on any news on you.
Cadbury sighed. “Another person impersonating Mrs FitzGeorge for money.” Mrs FitzGeorge. Only Cadbury addressed you like that now. Everyone else assumed you were dead. Most have already forgotten about you.
Silas downed the rest of his scotch before standing up. “I’ll be back late. Follow up on the other leads.” Cadbury didn’t have to ask where he was going. He knew.
Silas was going to a party. A private one. The kind where only the most exclusive members of high society meet to engage in any kind of activity. Nothing is off the table.
He’d figured that perhaps he’d be able to find someone there who could give him any clues on your whereabouts. Or the Rippers.
Upon reaching the mansion, he gave the secret code and was allowed entry. He recognised many of the guests there, William Gladstone, Thomas Hardy, Edison, Arthur Conan Doyle, etc.
Avoiding them expertly, he went upstairs to the room where a special event was happening.
“Mr FitzGeorge, glad you finally joined us.” A guest shook his hand, while he gave a nod of acknowledgement, eyes fixed on the stage ahead.
“Ladies and gentleman, we have a very special guest this evening, all the way from America! Please welcome- Harry Houdini!” The crowd erupted in applause. Harry Houdini was an up and coming magician whose fame had grown fast enough to be recognised globally.
But Silas didn’t exactly come for a magic show. No, he came to know if he can figure out a trick.
After the show was over, Silas came up to him, handing him a glass of champagne. “That was quite a show, Mr Houdini.” The magician’s face lit up in recognition, clinking his glass with Silas’s. “Mr FitzGeorge! I was expecting you!” “You were?” Harry nodded, pulling the man aside and leading him backstage. “Of course! I wanted to ask- was it true that you were buried alive?! How did you manage to keep your calm without running out of breath? How did you get yourself out of the coffin?” Silas’s grip tightened on his glass.
“My wife saved me.” He took a deep breath, setting his glass aside. “Thats what I came here for today. I need your help, Mr Houdini-” “Please. Call me Harry. I insist.” “-Harry. I’m trying to find her. She was taken by the Ripper. And while investigating, he managed to kill a potential lead while he was in the cell, without breaking in or being noticed.” Silas explained the case about the scapegoat who was killed in a cell, surrounded by inmates and coppers, without anyone seeing or hearing anything. He came to Houdini because he was an escape artist, an illusionist. If anyone had a chance of figuring this case, it would be him.
Harry tapped his chin in contemplation. “You’ll need to give me some time to crack this one.”
Silas nodded, pulling out his chequebook. “For which, I’m willing to compensate you.”
“Can I ask you something?” Silas gave a nod. “Have you considered that your wife may be dead?”
I have. “Yes.” The answer was curt. The “And?” Was silent.
Harry tried his best to be cautious in his wording. “And… you still want to find her?”
Why wouldn’t I? Silas has thought about the possibility of you not being alive anymore. Hell, part of him wishes that if you’ve not escaped the Ripper’s clutches, then at the very least, you’re dead. He doesnt want you to suffer the way he or Daisy did. His biggest fear was finding you in one of the asylums, bound and tortured to the point of becoming a vegetable. Every time he went into an asylum, everytime he opened a door, everytime he turned around poor girl, his blood would run cold. Is this it? Is this the time he’d find you? In this horrid place? In this miserable condition? In a state worse than death? Is this the outcome of all the women in his life? Was the Ripper right? Did they all suffer because of him?
“Yes.” Silas answered. Houdini studied him for a bit, before smiling. “Very well. I will keep you updated.” Silas left the party quickly after that. He’d done what he’d came for here, there’s no room for any entertainment in his life. Not until he finds you.
A few weeks later marked the fourth anniversary of your kidnapping. Silas sat on a bench by the river, across from Westminster palace. Every year since you were taken, he’d have the palace be lit up by lanterns. He’d do this on your birthday if he knew it. What kind of husband doesnt know his wife’s birthday? He could also have the palace lit up on his wedding anniversary. But then again, he doesnt think you’d celebrate this union if you were still here.
No. The palace would be lit up on the day of your disappearance. Not to mark it as a day of sorrow. No. It was a request. A beg. A prayer, that if you were able to see this, you’d return. That if you were not able to come out of hiding because of the Ripper, then find comfort in the thought that Silas has not forgotten about you. He never will. The world may have moved on, may have started addressing you in past tense, but he won’t. You’re still alive. You’re still out there. And he wont give up until he finds you. You didn’t give up on him.
Its not about returning the favour. No, Silas has realised that he’ll never be able to compete with you, he’ll always be in your debt. Because you found him when you didn’t have anything, when the whole world was against you, you still saved him. And now that he had everything, all the contacts, all the money, all hurdles removed, he still wasn’t able to find you.
Where are you, Y/n?
Silas won’t say he’s in love with you. He doesnt think he has the right to. Love? Isn’t that reserved for people who don’t hurt their beloved? Isn’t that reserved for people who aren’t cursed like him? If his love was true, if it was pure, wouldn’t he have been able to find you? What has he not done to still not be able to find a trace of you? Where has he lacked?
He’d expanded his search from all over the world. Silas even went to Muslim countries, perhaps you’d gone into hiding there? He even went to Saudi Arabia, performed pilgrimage in Mecca, just for the sight of you. On paper, he was still a muslim. He never changed it since the day of the Nikkah. He won’t lie and call himself a believer, no. But he did pray in front of the Kabbah, a silent prayer as it rained.
What have you reduced me to, Y/n? He mocked himself. You made me fall to my knees, made me beg to a deity I don’t believe in, call out to the higher power, not for forgiveness, not for killing my uncle and cousins, not to ask for peace for my family’s souls, but for you. Asked God, Allah- that He may reunite us?
Who are you? You’re only human, nothing in comparison to others, yet I, Silas Edmund FitzGeorge, begged on my knees, pressed my forehead to the ground, called upon God and believed, if only for a fleeting moment, that He returns you to me. That if He gave you back, I’ll be the best man to you, I’ll take care of you, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that you never cry again.
Silas used to think it was the Ripper who made him realise his worth.
He was wrong.
You’re the one who has made him realise his value.
Absolutely nothing without you.
-
Silas sat in his office at the London Post when Benjamin barged in. He was the only one allowed to still act this way because - well, he was your friend. He cared for you when Silas didnt. Plus, he was still helping him in finding you.
“Benjamin. Any progress?” Silas closed the file on his desk and gave the blonde his full attention.
Benjamin’s eyes were sharp. He’d grown aggressive since your kidnapping, becoming more brash by the year. Silas had heard he was often seen passed out in bars and even high on snow these days. If this continued, Silas wont have any use for him. He’s no good to him indisposed.
“No. There’s no news on Henry Blackwood or Lady Scarlet. I’m guessing Lady Scarlet ran off and is hiding with Blackwood. Probably started another club someplace.” He moved to sit from across Silas , putting his feet up on his desk. Trying to spite him.
Silas ignored his antics. “What about his businesses? Any of them still running?”
“Nope. They all closed off one by one, all his partners pulled out when they heard about the Ripper targeting his employees.” He raised his brows. “Guess you’re the richest man in Britain now, eh? Feel big enough yet?”
Another attempt at slighting. Silas ignored it. “If thats all, you can go now.” He opened his file again, not looking up as he heard the blonde scoff and leave his office, slamming the door on his way out. Moments later, Colin entered, as he would whenever Benjamin left.
Silas pulled out a cheque and gave it to him. “He’s quit working at the barber shop, hasn’t he?” Colin nodded. “He’s committed himself to finding Y/n. Though as time passes, his grief deepens. He’s been drinking a lot now.”
Silas kept his eyes down. You would know about the drinking, wouldn’t you Colin? He never brought up that he knew how often Colin drank during office hours.
“Take care of him, Colin. If you need more money, let me know.” Silas dismissed him. He’d always give the cheque to Colin, knowing Benjamin would never accept any money from him.
When he was done with work and returned home, he wasn’t expecting Harry Houdini to be waiting for him there.
“After a whole month? I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.” Silas lead him to the parlour, offering him a drink.
Harry Houdini sat on the edge of his seat, gathering himself. “I must admit, I haven’t been able to crack the case you’d given me. I haven’t found any possible way for that man to have been murdered so brutally without anyone noticing.” He admitted defeat and pulled out the cheque Silas had given him.
He sighed. “Keep it. For your trouble.” Harry sensed the tone of finality. Silas wasn’t going to take back his cheque. Like he knew that Harry wasn’t going to be able to help him.
“You seem like a good man, Silas.” Harry stood up, downing his drink. “Perhaps, if you allow, we could try an unconventional way?”
I’m all ears. Silas gave a nod for him to continue.
“Do you believe in spirits-?” “No.” Silas finished his drink and poured himself another. “But go on.”
Harry smirked. He was desperate. “You see, I’m an escape artist. I do- magic. Illusions. But even I believe that sometimes, there is just another realm out there, invisible to us, doing things that cannot be explained by the human mind.” He paused, letting his words sink in. Silas’s face remained void of emotions. “I believe that the dead can talk. Or perhaps otherworldly beings. Call them spirits, ghost, supernatural beings, whatever. I believe they have answers to questions man cannot answer.”
“So?”
“So, if you’d like, you can join me for a private meeting tonight. Who knows, maybe the spirits can help us find where your wife is. Or if we’re unlucky, maybe she might be the one who talks to you directly. At least, you’ll have closure.”
What a load of bullshit.
“What do you say? Can I count you in?” Harry wiggled his brows. Pathetic.
“Sure.”
Desperate times calls for desperate measures.
Later that evening, Silas was sitting in the basement of an abandoned church. He wasn’t the only one there. Harry, along with 8 other people, all seemingly belonging from high society were also present.
It was a seance, or rather a ploy to scam grieving people of their money. They were divided into two groups. Silas watched the first group sit down on the table, a woman wearing garb, pretending to be a wise gypsy or perhaps a witch, rubbed her hands over a crystal ball.
Theatrics. He watched the woman hold hands with the others and mumble gibberish. This went on for 10 minutes until the candles suddenly flickered and they all gasped, one of them even started crying for their loved one.
Eventually, it was his turn. He sat down with the rest of his group, letting the others go first. Finally, it was his turn. The woman pulled out a lettered board, or as she called it “Ouija board, with the spirits using the planchette to spell out what they want to say.
“It helps the spirits talk to us.” Why? Cant you hear them?
“Who would you like to speak to?” The woman asked him.
“Y/n.” He didnt want to think about you being dead. He was just curious as to what answer the woman could come up.
She closed her eyes, muttered gibberish- it wasn’t Latin. He knew Latin.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “She isn’t available.”
“What does that mean? Is she dead? Does she just not want to talk to me?”
She looked him dead in the eye. “She isn’t available. Would you like to talk to someone else?”
Alright. “Um… Sarah FitzGeorge.” He didnt want to say Daisy’s name to these delusional people. She’s suffered enough.
The woman closed her eyes, did her routine, then exhaled. “Sarah is here with us. Everyone, please put your hands on the planchette and lets say “Hello, Sarah.” Silas placed his hands on the planchette with everyone.
“Hello, Sarah.” Everyone repeated.
“Sarah, Silas would like to talk to you. Would you like to talk to him?” The planchette moved to “YES”.
“Silas, you may ask what you want.” The woman gave him the reigns.
“Um… are you well?” The planchette moved.
“D” “E” “A” “D”
“Right. Sorry. Um, do you know where Y/n is?”
The planchette moved. “YES”.
Silas looked at the rest of them. He was skeptical. Who was moving the planchette?
“Is she in trouble?” The planchette moved.
“NO.” That was comforting. Even if this lady is moving the board to make him spend more money.
“Is she hiding?”
“YES.” Good. She must’ve escaped him.
“Does she hate me?”
“NO.”
“Is she-” the planchette moved before he could finish his question.
“M” “A” “D”
“Mad? Is she in an asylum?” His fear returned.
“NO.”
“Then? Has she gone mad?”
“NO.”
“Mad. Mad- is she mad at me?”
“YES.” Oh.
“Why?” The planchette doesnt move.
“Why is she mad at me?” When he got no answer, he changed his question. “Where is she? I need to apologise.” The moving planchette gave him hope.
“D” “E” “A” “D”
What?
“She’s dead?” He didnt register the hopelessness in his own voice.
“YES.”
No.
“Take your hands off the planchette. All of you.” He growled at the rest of them, and they immediately retreated. It was only Silas who was holding the planchette. The lady tried to intervene. “This isn’t how it works-”
“Is she dead? Is Y/n dead?” Silas repeated.
The planchette moved. “YES.”
He doesnt remember the rest of the events. The lady took charge over the board again and bid Sarah goodbye when Silas remained silent. He was in shock. It didnt feel real. You’re dead?
“I hope you got the closure you needed.” Harry patted him on the back as the two exited the church. “How did she move the planchette?”
“What?” Harry was confused.
“What trick did she use? I was the one holding the planchette. How did she move it?” Silas glared at him.
“Silas, this wasn’t a trick. It was the spirit of Sarah FitzGeorge.”
“Stop.” Harry did. Silas dragged a hand over his face. “This is sick. You shouldnt- she shouldn’t exploit people like that.” Before Harry could say another word, he left.
Silas returned a week later. He was going to figure out her trick. Lucky for him, the lady would hold as many seances as he’d like to pay for. So, now it would just be him, the lady and… sometimes Houdini.
What used to be monthly visits, turned to weekly, until they turned to daily seances, all held at his home now. He used the Ouija board to talk to Sarah, only her. He couldn’t face the rest of his family, and… you never wanted to talk to him.
Another two years passed.
You were still “mad” at him. He’d tried tracking down the Ripper, he’d gotten rid of anyone who hurt Sarah, but she still wasn’t able to help him find the killer. How could she, when she didnt even know who he was.
Even after five years, he still wasn’t able to find you. If he had to guess, the Ripper got rid of your body, just like the rest of his victims. He didnt have the courage to ask Sarah how you had died.
“How do I make her forgive me?” He asked Harry. Silas had developed a sort of friendship with him. He wasn’t close, except he was in ways Silas never has had any of his friends before. Then again, Silas didnt even want to share something like “spiritual communication” with someone at all. He’d be laughed at.
Harry sipped his drink and shrugged. “I don’t know… buy her flowers?” Silas gaze sharpened. Harry raised his hands in defence. “Sorry. Um, well- I mean, perhaps finding her would be a starting point?”
“How? How do I find her if she’s already dead?”
“Um, its a totally different dimension she exists in now.”
“Dimension?” “Yeah. Realm. After-life, you know? We’ll all get there one day, when our time’s up, so… hang in there, man.” Harry finished his drink.
His words echoed in Silas’s mind.
And so, two weeks later, Silas stood in front of her.
“Hello. Its been a while.” He greeted the tombstone- his grandmother. “Or, maybe not. I mean, you have been “talking” to me.” He shook his head. “I know. Its ridiculous for me to think that “spirits talk”, I know. I am quite self aware that I may have been fooling myself into thinking that I was communicating with the dead, but could you blame me? I was lonely, I had a lot of money, and I was nowhere near finding Y/n.” He looked at the flowers you’d planted besides her grave.
“You were right about her, you know? About her being perfect for me.” A small smile graced his lips. “I used to think she was bad for me. And there was a time when I thought she was good for me.” He took a deep breath. “I do not think of her as good or bad for me anymore. I just think of her as mine.” He shook his head. You’d pull my cheeks and coo if you were here, wouldn’t you?
“Goodbye, grandma.”
When he returned home, Cadbury stood nervously. “Have you done what I’d asked for, Cadbury?”
“Yes- yes. Um, I went to the London Post and gave Colin the papers. He’s officially been promoted to the owner of the company. He didnt believe me and he kept slapping himself to “wake him out of this dream.” He’s gone mad.” Silas laughed. “I’m sure he’ll recover soon.”
Silas removed his coat as he went into his study, Cadbury following behind. “And- and I sold most of your properties and gave the proceedings to charity- “The Daisy FitzGeorge Foundation”.
“Good.” Silas sighed, before pulling out a file from his desk. “You’re fired, Cadbury.” He handed him the file.
“I- what?” Silas began walking out of the study.
“You’re fired. Effective immediately.”
“What? Why?!” The butler was appalled. “I’ve been loyal to you all these years, your only friend too- dare I say, family?!”
“Cadbury, dont be ridiculous. You don’t work for me anymore.” Silas put on his coat.
“This- this is just-” he opened the file, his eyes widening. “What is this?”
“I’ve fired you, Cadbury. I cant just leave you empty headed. This is the rest of your paycheque.”
“Sir-” Cadbury couldn’t take his eyes off the file. “You cant- you can’t just give me the house! This is your estate!”
“You deserve it, Cadbury.” Silas smiled. “Like you said, you’re family.” He turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m moving.”
“Where?”
“I dont know.”
“Sir.” The urgency in his voice made Silas turn back to him. “Are you alright?”
Silas nodded. “I’ve never been better. Goodbye, Cadbury.” He held out his hand for Cadbury to shake. The butler looked down at it before pulling him into a hug.
“Dont be emotional, Cadbury. Someone will see your tears.” Silas patted his back, chuckling as the butler held on tighter.
By midnight, Silas reached his destination. The abandoned church.
He walked inside, and tonight the events were going to be held on the ground floor. Not the basement. The place was prepared well tonight, cleaned up and candles illuminated the place. It was packed in here tonight. He wasn’t expecting this many attendees, all of whom were wearing red robes, all staring at him with blank eyes.
He strolled in and was quickly greeted by Harry, who lead him up to the altar. The cross was removed, he’d noticed, replaced by a symbol he couldn’t bother to recognise.
What would it matter? It wont change what he came here for.
Upon reaching the altar, Harry began speaking, “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we’ll be witnessing and helping our dear friend to travel dimensions. Tonight, we will-” Silas didnt bother to hear the rest of it. His mind was telling him that this is just a cult gone crazy. That he’s being sacrificed for nothing. He doesnt believe anything these people believe in.
“Tonight, we will help Silas meet his wife! He’ll join her, in eternal life, where they wont be despaired. Where no sadness exist. He’ll be rewarded for his struggles, for all his pain, and he’ll be reunited with his true love.” What if you don’t want to meet him? What if you’re still mad at him?
Harry handed Silas a chalice. “This chalice belonged to our great saint-” How does he talk so much? Does he not hear himself and want to rip out his vocal cords? “It contains the ambrosia of eternal life, only given to the brave ones who are ready to take their final journey. And so the-” Ambrosia of eternal life? You mean, poison?
“Lets all pray for our friend’s safe journey to the other realm. Silas, you may drink.” With that, Harry and the rest of the attendees began chanting some gibberish, further cementing his belief that he’s being set up by a crazy cult. At least, they wont be able to get his money. He had Cadbury take care of all his assets, concluded all his businesses, tied all the lose ends. He’s solid.
So if he doesnt believe in anything the cult does, and he knows he’s just being killed for money, why does he continue to drink?
I don’t care anymore. He began drinking. It was sweet. Too sweet, probably to mask whatever they added in. I’m not even sure about the afterlife, if there’s one. And I’m not sure if I’ll meet you there. He’s sure you’re dead. Thats what his logic says. After 6 years, the probability of you still being alive is unlikely.
So, whats the point of it all if you’re not here anymore?
As he finishes the drink, he begins to feel dizzy. He’s laid down on the floor and he finally admits it to himself.
Silas FitzGeorge loves Y/n.
Memories of you begin to flash across his mind.
Silas FitzGeorge loves Y/n.
Your smile, your laughter- how did he ever forget that beautiful sound? The crinkle of your eyes, the mischievous glint in them, even the way your nostrils flared when you were angry.
Silas FitzGeorge loves Y/n.
You were the best thing that ever happened to him. You were his wife, his beautiful, precious wife.
Silas FitzGeorge loves Y/n.
You cried for him, you fought for him, you defeated Death for him, you sacrificed yourself for him.
Silas FitzGeroge loves Y/n.
He could hear you screaming his name faintly. You would be mad at him for going out this way, but you’d understand, right? Right?
Life began to drain out of him, his breathing shallowed.
Silas FitzGeorge loved Y/n.
Harry knelt down to check his breathing, then his pulse.
“He’s dead. Lets go.”
He left with the rest of the attendees. They all stood outside as one of them poured kerosene all over the church and then lit it up. They all watched it for hours until nothing but ash was left. Harry turned to them all, taking a quick bow. “You’ve all been very helpful. We will not forget Silas’s sacrifice. He has opened the door to the other world now. Your loved ones will now be absolved of their sins and be at peace!” The crowd erupted in cheers.
Harry returned to his house, where someone was waiting for him. “Its done. He’s dead.” He watched the man appear from the shadows. “You checked?” “Yes. Then burned down the place. Got rid of the body too.” Harry poured himself a drink and raised his glass.
“Welcome back, Mr Blackwood.”
Henry smirked. “Thank you. Your payment has already been sent to your account.”
“And the other favour?”
“Ah, yes. I’ve managed to arrange a meeting with the queen for you.” “Really?” Harry was surprised. “The mourning queen would see me?”
Henry nodded. “I sang praises of your talent. Who knows, she might be interested in the seances you set up.”
Harry chuckled. “So, how does it feel to be the most powerful man in Britain, now that your sole competitor is gone?”
“Its always good to be home.” Henry then left Harry’s place, all his dominoes were finally falling into place. With Silas gone, not only will he take the reigns over all his businesses, but also influence politics.
As he got into his carriage, he nodded at his two men, who quickly went upstairs to take care of Harry.
Like he would have introduced that idiot to the queen. What a tool.
His carriage began to move and he closed his eyes.
Once his business is concluded here, he’ll be back home to you.
-
You don’t know how much time has passed. You’re still trying to wrap your head around everything, about the Ripper’s identity. You’d never imagined it to be him.
How could it have been? You’ve been trying to match his story with everything, trying to see if you were truly so blind to have missed all the signs?
I didnt.
This- this isn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible-
“Woah. Your brain’s going to fry if you keep thinking so hard.” You snapped at the sound of his voice. The robed figure with the black mask and top hat, wearing his three-piece suit sat down beside. He was the Ripper’s second-in-command. His right hand.
The first time he had removed his mask, you were shocked. How could- how could he be working with the Ripper?!
He took off his mask and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it before giving you a lazy smile. “What?” He asked when you stared at him.
“I just cant believe its you, Benny.” You tilted your head, devastated at the fact that he was the killer’s accomplice. “What did he do to you?”
“Nothing.” Benny could see you trying to link some traumatic backstory to who he is now. “I chose this. You don’t understand it now, but we’re the good guys. Even if our methods are unconventional.” He patted your head, letting his hand play with your hair. Like old times.
He wasn’t the Benny you thought you knew though.
“How can you just… trust him?” He smiled at your question. He truly felt like explaining something to a child. “I just do. He’s made me see the reality of everything, given me a true purpose. I know its hard to see the bigger picture, but you’ll trust him soon too. In fact, I think a part of you already has begun to. Isnt that why you’ve been going along with him everywhere?” He raised his brows at you, his eyes still so gentle.
Is this the face of a killer?
You looked away from him, the wheels in your head turning again.
Adorable. Benny thought, still playing with the ends of your hair. “May I braid it?” He didnt wait for an answer, already standing behind you.
“I’m still the same man, Y/n. You just didnt know this side of me then.” He reassured you gently, as if understanding that you may be blaming yourself for being stupid. “You weren’t supposed to know before time. Though I’m surprised you didnt get a little suspicious of me.”
“I was suspicious. I thought you were the Ripper.” You defended yourself.
“And yet you went around with me?”
I chose to ignore it. “I didnt want it to be true…” The way you said it made him think of a child who’d just discovered that Santa Claus wasn’t real.
He tied your braid with a ribbon and came around to face you. Cupping your cheeks, he said earnestly. “I’m still your Benny, Y/n. I still care about you. And I always will. I will never hurt you. I promise.”
You just stared at him, searching for the cracks in his poker face. There weren’t any.
He pulled back, nodding his head towards the door. “He’s waiting for you. Go on, now.”
You sighed before getting up.
Reaching the room with the damn painting, you found him waiting there. Taking a deep breath, preparing yourself for what he’d give you today, you walked unto him.
He smiled when he saw you, his dimples appearing.
The Ripper has dimples.
You peaked up at him from your lashes before looking back down at the ground. Its not that you’re shy, or scared. You- you just don’t know what to say.
“Something troubles you.” He lowered his head to meet your eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
“It’s nothing.” You avoided his gaze, only for him to lift your chin. “It is something if it bothers you.” You pursed your lips. He wasn’t going to let it go.
“I just don’t understand how you’re the Ripper- how you even exist?”
He suppressed a smile. He didnt want to make you feel silly, but he couldn’t help but tease. “I’d figure that someone who came from the modern times and has your education would understand it better than others.”
“Silas.” He chuckled, apologising quickly.
Yes, Silas is the Ripper. London’s most notorious killer was Silas FitzGeorge.
But not your Silas, not the one you married. No, this is an older Silas, looked to be in his early forties, but he claimed to be 52. His hair had barely begun to grey, his eyes were still the same stormy color, and his dimples-
“Alright, I’ll explain this as many times as you’d like.” Silas took a deep breath. “I’m Silas FitzGeorge. I’m from another dimension, one where you also existed. And when similar events as of this timeline followed, my Y/n died. I looked all over the world for you, for about a decade, before deciding to join the Templars, where I was able to discover you and the concept of time travelling. Using the Templars, I started a society- or rather woke up a branch of the Templars, who also call them as “The Circle”, whose mission is to dedicate their lives to keeping the balance of time and events, and stop anyone trying to disrupt the timelines for sinister purposes.”
“And Benny?”
“Ah, Benjamin was already a Templar Knight. When he heard about “The Circle”, he was intrigued.”
“Did he- did he really kill all of those people?”
“Henry’s employees? Yes, yes he did.” He watched your face fell. “He was only trying to protect you.”
You didnt appreciate his attempt at consoling you. “Who killed me? In your dimension?”
“One of Henry’s men. It was presented as an accident. You died in a fire.”
“So, why are you here? You want me to replace her?” You asked cautiously. He smiled, shaking his head.
“Of course not. Even though you two share the same face and traits, there’s still something unique about her. She was my Y/n. We have shared many memories. No one can replace her, not even you.”
“So, why are you here?”
“To keep you safe. To prevent you from being killed. I wasn’t successful with other versions of you.”
“Other versions. You mean there are more dimensions?”
“There are infinite number of dimensions, Y/n. But we don’t exist in all of them. In fact, I’ve found myself in 9 others. You? Only in 2 others. One was mine, and one was in another, where you had died in childhood, a car accident.”
“Cant you use the time machine to bring your Y/n back?”
He shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “You cant raise the dead, Y/n. I’ve tried turning the time back to save her, but she’d always end up dying. Her death was already written, set in stone. Once the events have occurred, I cant change her end. I stopped trying after the 20th attempt. I watched her die twenty times, each death worse than the previous one. I can’t put her through it again just to relive my time with her again.” Silas sighed, something clear in his eyes. “This is why I came here, to save you. I’ve spent the last 20 years, figuring out all the events and changing them down to the last detail, just so that I can save you. If you’re alive and return to your time, I’ll have broken chain of events. You wont be killed.”
“And why am I being killed? What does Henry want?”
“Power. Revenge. Perhaps he deems you to be a threat if you’re the only FitzGeorge alive. Or maybe he just didnt take kindly to being rejected.” Silas smirked. “That is the common thing in the other universes you were in. You always rejected him.”
“It’s been years since I’ve gone missing. How come you and I haven’t aged?”
“We age only in our own timelines. That is what I’ve observed so far.” You suppose it’s true, because even after he’s taken you through so many different eras, you haven’t aged a day.
You looked at the time machine in his hands. “I still cant understand how you managed to understand the science time travelling. I mean, you may have graduated from Oxford but your education was limited to the Victorian period.”
He laughed, his dimples appearing again. “You underestimate the human mind and its capabilities when motivated.” You glared at him. “How did the Egyptians build the pyramids? With absolutely no modern machines, how did they even lift those heavy blocks?” You shrugged. He smiled, extending his palm towards you as his other hand set a date in the time machine.
“Let’s find out.”
-
Henry’s in his office when his assistant brings in his mail. “This was left for you without a return address.”
He looks at the envelope, then opens it. Its an invitation.
“Welcome back, Mr Blackwood. At the behalf of Freemasons London, we invite you to a night of socialisation with the future world leaders.”
Freemasons, huh. He closed the envelope.
I suppose there’s no harm in making more contacts and blackmailing more people.
He’d decided to go.
And once he’s done here, he’ll be back at home with you.
He reached the building- a castle rather. So, this was the Freemasons lodge? Fancy.
Henry spotted some men, who didnt say a word. They just lead him inside and he was waiting in the lobby, to be joined by the others. He adjusted his cufflinks, fixing the collar of his coat.
What? He wanted to make a good impression.
A shadow watched from above, hiding in the dark, waiting for the other one to arrive.
And then he did.
The shadow smirked.
Showtime.
Henry was still adjusting his collar when he sensed something.
A breath. Someone elses.
He ducked just as a knife was thrown at his head.
“Oh, sorry I missed.” Henry glared at him.
“Silas? How did you-”
“Survive? Did you really think I was just going to kill myself and let you win?” Silas scoffed. “I’ll take you down with me.”
Henry smirked, shaking his head. “Is that the only weapon you had on you, or are you ready to fight like a man?” He removed his jacket, folding it neatly as he set it aside.
Silas raised his fists. “You’ll pay for coming after me and my family.” And the duel began.
Silas landed the first punch and Henry grinned through the blood pooling in his teeth. “Good punch. It’ll be fun to beat you down now.” And then, Henry landed a series of hits that Silas wasn’t able to dodge. “When I kill you, I’ll enjoy taking over everything you own. And then I’ll have Y/n-” He was cut off as Silas kicked him in the gut, making him bend and Silas threw another punch, knocking him off his feet. Silas climbed over him, punching him again and again.
“Where is she?! Where have you kept her?!” Henry cackled through the hits.
“She’s in my bed right now, waiting for me to fil-”
“HOW DARE YOU?!” Silas’s anger had reached its peak and he was intent on killing him.
The shadow watched with a smile as the two men fought. Silas had mistaken Henry for the Ripper.
Benjamin looked at his watch, then pulled away from the balcony and went inside the room with the painting, waiting for you and the Ripper to return.
Any moment now.
And then a bright flash appeared, and you two appeared.
“Benny?” You looked at him, surprised to see him waiting.
“I’d greet you in a better way but we have a situation.” He looked at Silas. “Henry’s here.”
“No.” Silas face went grim. “He wasn’t supposed to find her- how did he even know about this place?”
Benjamin shrugged. “I have no idea, but he’s down there fighting with Silas. This timeline’s Silas.”
Silas is here? You tried to follow them, but the elder Silas stopped you. “No. You need to stay here.” “I cant-” But he cupped your face. “Please, Y/n. I cant endanger you. If something happens to you, all of this, all my work will be for naught. Please.” He was begging. You nodded stiffly, and he smiled. “Good girl.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before taking your hands, squeezing them reassuringly. Your heart skipped a beat as you stared into his eyes. “I’ll be back soon. Benjamin, guard her with your life.” You watched him slip on his mask and leave.
“Benny, whats going on? Tell me the truth. How did either of them find this place?”
“The two of them mistook the other for the Ripper. They’re fighting for you.” He sighed, walking near you, gathering your hair and placing it on over your left shoulder. “As for how they found this place… well, someone sent out an invitation to Henry. And Silas had faked his death to make Henry come out of hiding, and Silas now followed him here.”
Your brows furrowed. “What? Silas faked his- who sent out the invite?”
“I did.” You didnt have time to react as he pressed on a pressure point, making your world go black.
-
Silas came just in time to see his younger self beating the life out of Henry. But at the sound of movement, the younger one looked up, confusion flashing across his face.
If the Ripper is there, then-
Henry took this moment of distraction to throw Silas off him and he knocked him out cold with a punch. He turned around, only to get hit in the face by the Ripper.
Henry spit out the blood, cracking his neck as he smirked at him. “You’re the reason why my employees died. I’m going to fuck you up.”
However, over the course of next 15 minutes, it ended with Henry being the one who got “fucked up”.
Henry was lying on the ground with at least a dozen broken bones, and he was in a world of pain, as evident by his laboured breathing, barely hanging onto consciousness.
“I’ve been looking forward to this day for the past 30 years.” He pulled out a knife and held it against Henry’s throat. “What a disappointing opponent you turned out to be.”
Just as he was about slit his throat, a bloody scream ripped through the air.
“SILAS!!!!!”
The Ripper’s eyes shot towards the room he’d left you in, smoke had started to come out of the closed doors.
Y/n.
-
Fifteen minutes ago.
You woke up to the sight of Benjamin hovering over you, tying your arms together. Your feet already done so.
“Ah, I was hoping you wouldn’t wake up for this part, but oh well. I suppose it’s tradition for me to confess my crimes to you, as I did in every other universe where I killed you.” He’d placed you on the altar.
“B-Benny, what are you doing? Stop-” Your eyes filled with tears. He cooed. “Shh, don’t worry. I told you, I’m one of the good ones. The ones on the right side of history, and religion.” You tried to reach for the time machine you’d hid in your sleeve when Silas slipped it in your hands.
“Looking for this?” Benjamin dangled the device in front of you before chucking it aside. “Had to get it off you before you slipped away. Silly girl, making me chase after you.”
He pulled out a rosary with the cross and slipped it over your head, onto your neck. “I am the Templar Knight, I will never wrong you or my faith. If its any consolation, this will be quick and painless. This time, at least.”
“Benny, you said you’d never hurt me-” You struggled against the ropes. He held you down, and stared into you. “I am not hurting you, Y/n. I am saving you. I am saving us all.” He pulled out a flask and began anointing you with what you assume was Holy Water.
“I would’ve loved to baptised you, but we don’t have the time for that.” “Please stop.”
“You should be thanking me.” He chided you in almost a motherly tone. “I am making you holy, I am returning you to your maker, I am returning you to Baldwin.”
Your blood curdled. Baldwin?
“Silas- he doesnt see it, that old fool. He’s too far gone in love to ever understand his duty. His responsibility as a Templar. I do! I cant allow sacred, holy, pure creatures like you be just tainted by the world! No, you’re divine, you’re blessed- just like the Holy Grail.”
Oh no. Its only dawning on you now that Benny’s not just a lunatic. He’s a religious lunatic!
“Benny- BENJAMIN! Stop- if I’m so sacred, WHY ARE YOU KILLING ME?!” You shrieked, struggling against your restraints. “Just keep me around like the damned painting- or the Holy Grail!”
He sighed, shaking his head. How naive you are. “Y/n, hey- shh. I can’t you keep you like an artifact. You’re a living being, I have to sacrifice you before the world taints you. You’re already onto believing that you’re Muslim or married to a heretic like Silas.” He pulled out a knife and your breath hitched.
“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God- please- please don’t do this-”
“Dont you understand? This is a good thing. When I kill you, the balance will be restored. I’ve done the math, I swear. With you gone, King Baldwin would’ve never left Jerusalem. Christianity would’ve been the religion of the land. We would’ve ruled all over the world. Humanity will be saved.” He patted your hair as you cried. “Dont worry. I will personally make sure to preserve your sacrifice. I will pray for you, although I think, God will be merciful to you and allow you to enter paradise. You’ll be reunited with Baldwin.”
He’s crazy. He’s crazy. He’s crazy.
“Ive done this before. It was a very quick, very painless death. You remember Daisy?” Your jaw dropped. No. No.
“You killed Daisy?!”
“I had to. How else would’ve Silas been driven by guilt to reach here?” He positioned himself over your head. “Silas thought he was the mastermind behind everything. He couldn’t have been more wrong.” You sniffled, and Benjamin’s eyes softened. “Benny, please- I don’t want to die- please, I don’t want to die!” He set his knife aside, and ran a hand through your hair. “Its okay. Calm down, love. I know its scary, but I’ll help you through this. Forget about the knife- hey, hey.”He cupped your face to make you look at him when your teary eyes drifted towards the painting hiding behind the drapes, illuminated by the candles. He wiped your tears, his heart actually melting at the sight of the big fat tears in your doe eyes. “You remind me of my baby sister. She was so much like you, so pretty, so innocent, yet always a mischievous glint in her eye. Breathe. Breathe, Y/n.” You took a deep breath, a feat that seemed so hard to do now that you were going to die. “You’ve healed a part of me, you know. You let me be the big brother she never had. Thank you.” And just like that, you saw a glimpse of the old Benny. The one you could never imagine killing someone.
He knelt down to press a kiss to your hairline, but you took that moment to knock your head against his hard, throwing off and allowing you to roll away, the sudden movement made your legs hit the candle and push it over, causing the drapes to catch on fire. Benjamin reached for you, but you jerked your bound legs in a way that made you kick him in the chest. You spotted the time machine lying just a few feet away from you and you leapt towards it, the fire behind you catching onto the entire wall.
You were only a few inches away from the device when Benjamin grabbed your ankle and yanked you back. “Enough!” He yelled when you thrashed in his arms.
“SILAS!” You screamed his name and seconds later, the door bust open to reveal the Ripper.
“Get away from her!” Benjamin threw you to the side and you hit your head, knocking yourself out.
The two men began fighting. No doubt, the Ripper was stronger and better at fighting, and Benjamin couldn’t be fast enough to dodge the hits.
Outside, Silas had finally regained consciousness. He looked to the side, where Henry was out cold, badly beaten, barely alive. He then looked upstairs, the sound of yelling and the sight of smoke brought him back to reality.
If Henry is not the Ripper, then-
His eyes widened. Y/n is here! He dashed upstairs to the room.
His eyes darted first towards the Ripper and- Benjamin? What is he doing here? The Ripper was punching Benjamin over and over again, and only then did he spot you lying on the ground, only a few feet away from the burning wall.
Y/n!
Silas was about to run, when he hesitated. What am I doing? Run to her! His mind screamed at his body to move, to save you, but it was like the months of torture had suddenly paralysed his body.
Everyone you’ve ever loved has suffered because of you! You’re worthless. The Ripper’s words echoed in his mind. I’m worthless. I’m worthless.
He watched the Ripper throw Benjamin against the wall, only sparing Silas a glance before turning towards you. You were groaning, lifting your head as you looked at the Ripper.
“Silas.” You called out for him, even as the Ripper walked in your direction. You were calling for him even in the face of death.
Do I deserve her? Am I worthy of her? Irrelevant. She called out for me!
And it was like you’d broken him out of trance.
He ran. “GET AWAY FROM HER!” His heart skipped a beat at the sight of your small head in the Ripper’s murderous hands. Pumped on adrenaline, Silas jumped on the killer.
“I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU!” Silas began throwing punches, while the Ripper only defended himself.
“Silas! Silas!” You stumbled onto your legs, calling for him to stop but it was like he’d gone deaf. The Ripper- elder Silas looked at you and nodded for you to get out of here. You suppose he’ll handle this situation then. You picked up the time machine, running towards the exit when you saw the fire had reached the roof, when you were suddenly grabbed by your hair and yanked.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Benjamin yanked you back inside the burning room. “Let me go!” You clawed at his hands that were embedded in your hair. He dragged you back near the burning painting, where his knife laid. “We could’ve done this the easy way, but every version of you has to fight me!” He threw you to the ground and you screamed in pain.
The Ripper punched Silas in the jaw and threw him off him. He dashed towards you just in time to push Benjamin away and as the two men struggled, Benjamin stabbed him in the chest just before the Ripper snapped his neck.
Silas looked down at you and your eyes were staring at his stab wound. “Dont worry about it. I’m- I’m fine.” That would be a more convincing argument if blood didnt spurt out of his mouth. He knelt down, checking on you. “Are you alright? Can you move?” You nodded, only to hear a loud crack. You two looked up to see the roof which breaking, and before you could react, he took the time machine from you and set the date.
Your eyes widened. My machine!
The roof fell and he shoved the machine in your palm, pressing on the button, pulling you under him and shielding you from the burning roof. You felt it fall on him, but before you could pull him along with you, you’d already teleported.
The Ripper was dead. And so were you. Silas saw the burning roof fall on two of you.
He doesnt remember being pulled out of the burning building, he doesnt remember anything.
All he can see is the sight of the roof falling on you and the Ripper.
This is going to get really long but if you are a fanfic writer that uses google docs, it's so important that you read this as it affects you
If you haven't been aware about the previous discussion going around regarding google docs and what's been going on for about the last year now, let me recap it really fast: their shitty ai has *allegedly* (i mean we pretty much know but just to be safe) been scraping your work for ai training purposes and also using ai to moderate the content you are writing in docs - meaning that if it finds anything it doesn't approve of, like violence or sexual content, your docs will be deleted or locked for breaking policy, even if it's not.
Since July, I’ve only noticed the moderation affecting a few users here and there, but over the last couple of days my social feeds have shown me several fanfic writers from multiple fandoms posting about how their backup fic docs or works in progress docs are being deleted without warning or any kind of notice.
The screenshot above (via this tiktok) is from a couple hours ago & sadly that writer lost pretty much their entire collection of fics, and unfortunately they are not the only person this has happened to.
The purge that is happening right now seems to be SPECIFICALLY TARGETING FANFICS and (so far) not any other docs or novels in progress. But it’s a mass deletion, not just one or two doc like before.
IF YOU USE GOOGLE DOCS TO WRITE OR GOOGLE DRIVE TO BACK UP FICS: please please pleaseeeee start downloading your work before you lose it for good.
This is not meant to cause panic, but I heavily consider it time sensitive as I would just really hate for this to happen to anyone here or anywhere else. Check to see if you are missing any wips or if your docs are locked.
If you need help figuring out how to download your work, or need ideas on where to write or store your work going forward, many of us fellow fanfic writers would be happy to share that info with you based on our writing processes. I'll share some resources below, and if you have any that i'm missing please comment them so others can look into it as well!
If this has happened to you, first of all: I'm so sorry, and secondly: please share your experience!
how/when did you notice, what did you lose, did you reach out to support, was support helpful/responsive, was your work ever recovered or did you lose everything for good?
yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere
Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?
previous | story masterlist | next
You and Rowan ended up having a pretty good date.
Even though his first impression left a lot to be desired, you’re starting to think that he’s actually not that bad. A little childish at times, for sure, and his ass-kissing sometimes makes your eyes roll so hard that they’re at risk of falling out of your skull, but so far, you’re okay with him. You have no way of knowing if you’ll actually develop romantic feelings for him, but there’s always a chance. Either way, the first date was fun. You’re hopeful that the next couple ones will be, too.
After your date, you got home and were unsurprised to find your parents hounding you, asking how it went, their excitement clear as day. Since you had nothing to hide, you answered all their questions—including how you felt about Rowan.
“He seems fine so far. He’s kind of goofy, but I don’t mind it. I can’t say for sure, but I might end up liking him. We’ll see.”
Apparently, that simple statement was more than enough to make them happy, and they congratulated you, for some reason. As if going on a date is some kind of monumental accomplishment.
Still, it was a good day. You spent the rest of it relaxing and reading books with Fiona, and by the time you realized it, it was already time to go to sleep.
Now, you awaken to a clear morning sky, looking forward to yet another fun, laidback day.
Well, not quite as laidback as you thought it would be.
“My lady, I’m sorry to rush you first thing in the morning, but there are guests downstairs,” Fiona says, opening up the curtains in one fell swoop.
“My eyes!” you wail, seeking refuge under the blanket. “Ugh. What do you mean guests? They’re here to see my parents, I’m assuming. I don’t think I need to be there. I have literally nothing of value to offer.”
“You shouldn’t speak of yourself that way,” Fiona frowns. “That simply isn’t true.”
Well, you were more so referring to the villainess character. You can’t recall her being involved in her parents’ business or doing virtually anything of substance. She was literally only created to mess with the heroine. It’s no wonder she was dumb. You’d probably be dumb too if your only purpose in life was to be a bitch for no reason.
“In any case, I was told to help you get ready. Your parents are expecting you downstairs. Rise and shine, my lady. It’s time to tackle a new day!”
Fiona smiles widely, but it’s hard to respond with the same enthusiasm. You’ve never been a morning person. The last thing you want to do while being all drowsy and sluggish is deal with tedious noble customs, like however you’re expected to behave while entertaining guests, but oh well. This is still a cake walk compared to how busy and stressful your previous life was. You should probably just suck it up and get it over with.
Albeit begrudgingly, you step out of bed and get dressed. Fiona helps tidy you up by fixing your behead and picking out some nice accessories for you to wear, as well as applying a smidge of makeup to your face. You yawn loudly while she fusses over you. Everything is so stuffy in this world. If people were to have shown up to your apartment first thing in the morning—unannounced—back in your old world, you would have greeted them in sweatpants and a hoodie. At best.
“All done,” Fiona beams. Thankfully, she’s usually pretty good about helping you get ready. She doesn’t take an inordinate amount of time. Unlike your mother, who practically lives in front of her vanity.
You’re still sleepy, so you’re hardly in the mood for etiquette right now, but despite your reluctance, you still trudge down the staircase and make your way over to the foyer. Fiona leads you along, and even from afar, you can vaguely hear the sound of laughter and intermingling voices.
She finally stops in front of the merry little gathering taking place inside your home, and even though you weren’t looking forward to this in the first place, the second you see who it is, you have an unexpectedly visceral reaction.
Um. Umm.
Why the hell is Lucy here?!
“Ah, [Name],” your father happily greets. “Good morning, my love. I trust you slept well? Come, meet our guests. Although you’ve already been acquainted with one of them, from what I hear.”
Naturally, he’s referring to Lucy, who’s sitting next to her parents—who you immediately recognize from the plot of the game. It looks like her whole family’s here, for whatever reason. As far as you recall, this meeting was never supposed to happen. The villainess’ family and Lucy’s family never hung out as if they were best buds. So then, why?
You stand there, jaw gaping open in disbelief, but before you can actually say anything, Lucy springs up from her seat and beams at you.
“[Name]!” she exclaims, looking happy as can be. She pauses for a moment, as if contemplating something, and then, her smile gets even brighter. “I’m so happy to see you again. Um… ‘sup!”
Oh my god. She really did remember the slang you taught her. That was ridiculously cute. You feel tempted to laugh, cry, and scream all at once—because, seriously.
What the fuck is going on right now?
“Pardon me, but I’m not familiar with the term you just used,” your mother frowns.
“Oh, [Name] taught it to me,” Lucy happily replies. “Apparently, it can be used as a greeting! It means, how are you doing?”
“How fun,” your father chuckles. “I see the two of you have already come up with your own little secret language! I didn’t realize you were such good friends!”
“Um, no. We barely know each other,” you protest.
Regretfully, it seems like your words go in one ear and out the other. You watch, wide-eyed, as Lucy’s parents proceed to stand up as well, and they turn towards you with expressions so bright, so blinding, that you swear you nearly go blind.
All of a sudden, they’re bowing to you.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, [Name]. My name is Joseph Wright. I’m Lucy’s father.”
“And I’m Eva, Lucy’s mother.”
I already know who you guys are! Seriously, this is so weird! What’s happening right now? Did I trigger some kind of hidden event??
“Lucy spoke very highly of you,” Joseph continues. His smile is warm, kind, which doesn’t surprise you, because they’re pretty much a family of sweethearts. It’s just so goddamn jarring. After all, in the game, Lucy’s parents despised the villainess for her many acts of cruelty, and for how helpless they were to stand against her. And it goes without saying that they despised the villainess’ parents too, since they were so permissive and let their daughter run around doing whatever she pleased.
By all accounts, this interaction should not be happening.
And yet, it is. Because now that you’re here in this world, now that there’s no longer an actual villainess to speak of, everything will change.
Not necessarily for the better.
“We heard that you stood up on Lucy’s behalf. Our reputation being what it is, I can’t say we didn’t expect some criticism moving here. As much as we’d like to remain hopeful, we know we’re bound to be seen as outsiders. On the night of the welcoming ball, Lucy told us that she was harassed by a group of women… but you rose to her defense. Thank you so much. We will never forget this act of kindness.”
Joseph bows his head again, and Eva does the same. You feel unbelievably awkward, and honestly, not entirely sure how to handle this. It’s true that you did stand up for Lucy and put those rotten bitches in their place, but it just felt like the natural thing to do. You wanted to do her a little favor—to do the opposite of what villainess always did—in the hopes that she could enjoy the welcoming ball for a change, instead of having to spend the better portion of the night crying.
You figured that would be your last encounter with her. You’d already resolved to stay well out of her life—because, again, villainesses and heroines just don’t go together. One of them is always destined to meet their demise.
…and you really, really don’t want that person to be you.
You press your lips together, jaw going taut. Actually, how did she even know where to find your home? You purposefully didn’t tell her your name. Did she ask around about you? But in that case, she would certainly have heard the rumors. You doubt she’d be so excited to see you if she knew about all the nasty shit the villainess has done.
As if reading your mind, Lucy suddenly steps forward, extending something towards you.
“Um, here,” she mumbles shyly. “Thank you again for lending me your handkerchief. I made sure to wash it thoroughly after using it. I-I understand if you don’t want it back because I’ve gotten it dirty, but I wasn’t sure whether or not it was important to you…”
You look down at the handkerchief, the one you gave her the night of the welcoming ball for her to wipe her tears with, and immediately, you feel like facepalming.
Goddammit. That fucking thing is embroidered with your household name. It’s no wonder she immediately knew who you were. You never actually unfolded it to get a good look. If only you’d made more of a mess while eating. Dammit, dammit, dammit!
No, there’s no point in getting upset. If she cared enough to bother coming all this way to thank me, I’m sure she would’ve figured out who I was, sooner or later. God. Why did I have to open my big mouth and intervene? She would’ve been fine as long as I avoided her. The villainess was her main antagonist.
You just felt so bad seeing her cry. You felt guilty walking away and doing nothing, especially since you’ve become so attached to the heroine after playing as her countless times while you cleared all the routes of the game. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and you didn’t stop to think that it could come back and bite you in the ass.
“It’s really no big deal,” you reassure. “You can keep it, if you want. You didn’t have to go out of your way to return it. When I gave it to you, I meant for you to hold onto it. I know it’s not much of a gift, but… it’s yours now. Don’t worry about it.”
Lucy blinks a few times, still looking a touch unsure. Knowing her, she probably feels bad accepting pretty much anything. She’s way too nice for her own good.
You scratch your cheek. “I mean, if it’s really eating you up that much, I guess I can take it back—”
“N-No. It’s alright. I will gladly accept this gift,” she smiles, cradling the handkerchief to her chest, as if it’s a precious, irreplaceable thing. “I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t still need it. Thank you for your generosity. I’ll be sure to treasure it.”
Now she’s acting like you just gifted her a yacht, or something. Well, whatever. You could care less about a handkerchief. If it makes her happy, that’s good.
“Our daughter is such a lovely, benevolent soul,” your father proudly hums. “She truly is the apple of our eye.”
Bitch, don’t lie. Up until recently, your daughter was a sadistic, self-absorbed asshole. Show some humility, please.
You let out a heavy sigh. It’s still hard to believe things turned out this way. Now that she and her family have thanked you, though, they must be getting ready to leave, right? As seemingly pleasant as this whole encounter is supposed to be, you can’t help but feel on edge, for plot-related reasons. You need them to leave so you can finally stop clenching your asscheeks.
But unfortunately for you, Lucy isn’t leaving yet.
Instead, another visitor decides to show up.
Because apparently everyone loves to show up to your home completely unannounced, within the next minute, you find yourself staring at the face of the villainess’ beloved childhood friend, Flynn.
“Hello. I stopped by for a bit fun,” Flynn shamelessly states.
You grind your teeth together. This asshole really is the bane of your existence. He’s such a pest, clinging to you every chance he gets. He’s like a flea. Practically impossible to get rid of.
Just as you’re about to start stressing even more, suddenly, you have an epiphany.
Wait a second… isn’t this good news?
You blink. Sure enough, Lucy and Flynn are in the same room together. They’re officially having their first meeting. Even if it isn’t following the original storyline of the game, this is the perfect opportunity for the two of them to be introduced to each other. Alistair and Carmine aren’t the ones you’re worried about. It’s this guy that just can’t seem to quit. Your best chance of getting rid of him is if Lucy ends up on his route. Which means your next course of action is as obvious as can be.
You need to wingman the shit out of them.
“Flynn!” you happily exclaim, running up to him and grabbing him by the arm. He flinches a bit, perhaps a bit surprised by your enthusiasm—considering you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder up until now—but you’re too wrapped up in your plan to care.
If Lucy falls for him, and they get together, he won’t have any more reason to keep pestering you. He’ll be too focused on his budding romance. They can be together, free of the villainess’ interference, and once they obtain their happy ending, you can rest easy knowing that you’ve avoided all the game’s death flags.
There’s no way this could possibly go wrong.
“Your timing is impeccable, Flynn,” you continue, grinning widely. “Have you had the chance to meet the lovely Lucy Wright yet? You know, her family just moved to the kingdom. I think you two would get along great.”
He frowns as you continue pulling him along. “No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of making their acquaintance yet. In any case, you seem rather excited today. Did something happen?”
“Nope! I’m just in a good mood. Like always.” You pause to whisper in his ear. “Hey, isn’t Lucy pretty? She’s really pretty, right?”
“Yes… I suppose she is,” Flynn nods.
Strange. He’s not sure why you’re smiling so brightly. It seems like an odd thing to get so excited over. It’s not like you were the one he just complimented. And he can’t recall you having ever been so elated to hear a compliment being directed towards someone else.
As is often the case, these days, you confuse him to seemingly no end. And that’s what you’ve failed to realize. In this timeline, in this rendition of the world, Flynn’s primary concern isn’t falling in love with some woman he’s never met before. The reason he fell for Lucy in the game was because he found her unique. She was a novelty, and of course, she managed to pique his interest.
But as things stand, he has no room for Lucy in his heart. He’s far more interested in something else.
He wants to know what the fuck is going on with his best friend.
⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰
"What is a ghost? A tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and again? An instant of pain, perhaps. Something dead which still seems to be alive. An emotion suspended in time. Like a blurred photograph. Like an insect trapped in amber."
All shot using real lighting, figures and miniature sets. Only digitally added element is Santi's blood floating from his head which I illustrated in.
online dating is the fucking pits. it's bad enough, being a hairy, fat broad trying to find a match, but doing so online makes it ten times worse. the rejections come faster, meaner, and from people you never would have even considered in the first place. it's almost as if they sought you out solely to reject you and inform you how undesirable you are. messages to prospective dates go unanswered at best, mocked viciously at worst. it's hard not to lose hope, but your options are to either persevere or succumb to hellish loneliness.
you're a nice person, you'd like to think. there's a lot of love and affection welling up inside of you, waiting for an outlet, for someone to let you pour it onto them. sure, you've got zeke, but he's a thirteen year old shih tzu. as much as he is the best boy in the world, you'd really like to cook for someone and get a compliment that's a little nicer than a sneeze in your face.
the days are monotonous, and every night it's the same routine- take zeke for a walk until he flops down on the sidewalk and refuses to move any more, carry zeke home, wash the day off in the shower, make dinner, and half-watch your shows as you check your inbox on your online dating profiles. tonight's no different as you settle in with chicken curry and sigh at the red zero hovering over the little envelope icon on your screen. it's a bummer, but not unexpected. a few clicks later and you're perusing other people's profiles, sending off little messages in hopes that someone, anyone, will engage in a conversation with you.
at this point you're sure you've blocked all the trolls within a 25 mile radius, and you know that by opening your search parameters even further that you're just inviting in a fresh new crop of dickheads to make fun of you. it's fine, you'll keep to 25 miles until you get really desperate. at this point you're willing to chat with folks that just want to be friends. you're good with that, as the number of irl friends you have is dwindling. you're already not, like, a mega extrovert, and as of the past few years things have been even harder.
you can't help but miss gloria, who left your very small circle of friends, although you're not actually sure why. you'd thought you were both on good terms, great terms, even. the pair of you did all sorts of things together over the years, and you'd never felt as seen by anyone as when you and gloria talked. the two of you have so much in common- a fat, tattooed, dyed hair punks with a soft spot for old dogs, independently owned coffee shops, and thrift stores. between you there was no shortage of stuff to talk about, and looking back some of your favorite memories were just walking laps around the city park, talking about everything and nothing. so when gloria fully ghosted you out of the blue, you racked your brain for anything you could possibly think of that would make her drop you like a bad habit, but you only came up blank. to your knowledge, you'd always been a pretty good friend. you'd been there for her when she needed it most, supporting her dream of getting her master's degree and going to law school, even though neither of those panned out.
ironically, one of the last conversations you'd had with her was about how frustrated she was because another friend that she'd met through her masters program had ghosted her after a joint trip to boston together to look at law school. she'd been on the verge of tears, unsure what she'd said or done, heart broken over unanswered texts and dm's. you'd assured her that it was that other girl's problem for not communicating and being a coward about whatever was wrong, that it wasn't truly gloria's fault. now, two years into not having heard from her despite living in the same city, you can't help but laugh bitterly when you think about how upset she'd been about being ghosted. your instagram dm's are a monument to your failed friendship, two years of unreplied to messages stacked up on the right side of your screen with not so much as a reaction emoji.
with her gone from your life, you don't have that many friends left. the ones you do still have are all busy with having kids and trying to settle into good careers so they can get nice houses for their perfect babies. it's hard to relate to them anymore, really, but that's not their fault. they're just taking their lives in a different direction than you are, that's not a crime. so when you come out to your monthly brunches you just patiently nod and smile as they compare diaper brands and mommy podcasts as you sip your wine and try not to think about how much you miss gloria, the only other childfree person you could to relate to and have side conversations with at these get-togethers while the mommies talked about bluey. now you sit at the end of the table in your usual brunch spot, trying not to drink your wine too fast as conversations about formula shopping, mommy groups, and baby mozart washes over you like a wave of white noise. none of the others bother trying to include you in the conversation, and you can't help but wonder if they'd notice if you just... stopped coming to these monthly get-togethers.
after one of these brunches, in a fit of desperate loneliness, you'd put together a profile on a dating website, posted a few full-body pictures so nobody could accuse you of pretending to be thinner than you are, and filled out your bio as best you could. nothing too detailed, you don't want stalked or doxxed, after all, but it's enough to let anyone looking know that you're a real person looking for a real connection, in whatever form that may come in. hopefully your visible tattoos, smiling photos, and friendly demeanor will go a long way in getting cool, compatible people interested in chatting with illustratedwoman270.
the first few days on the site went by without a single person responding to your messages, not even a friendly 'hello'. it was hard not to be discouraged, not to feel badly about yourself when nobody on the 'desperately looking to give and receive attention' website will interact with you. then the trolls found you. it's not like you were unprepared, you've been fat and on the internet for a while now, you knew the kinds of things to expect. still, you couldn't help but feel a little extra hurt to see a red '1' on your inbox, get excited about a potential connection, and realize that some dude whose profile picture was taken in his car was comparing you to a barn animal. again. fortunately, as is the nature with bullies, they outed themselves as dickheads pretty quickly, making it easy to block and move on. it was like asshole whack-a-mole, really. you're pretty sure that within the first two weeks you must have blocked at least a quarter of all the singles within your 25 mile radius.
after that, things got quiet again. way, way too quiet for your liking. now that the trolls were banished, nobody wanted to talk to you, it seemed. back to the endless silence you went, trying to be a trooper about it. you quickly made a rule for yourself- to send at least one message a night, to be the one to put out feelers and not depend on others to come find you. you think you've done a pretty ok job at it, you've only gone a few nights without sending notes, and so far you're rockin' an 18 day streak. you always do your best to send something that is friendly and indicates you've read their profile and know what they're about, just so they don't think you're taking the 'shotgun approach' and just trying everybody and seeing what sticks.
it's hard not to feel self-conscious when faced with that intimidating wall of silence, like maybe you aren't as friendly or charming as you'd previously assumed you were, or like maybe people really don't want to talk to some fat, tattooed broad on the internet. it's hard to keep your head up, but you keep going. you have to, otherwise you'll drown in your feelings of isolation.
it's late in the evening when you're making the latest rounds on the site, sitting on your bed with a glass of wine in hand, zeke's head resting on your lap, looking for anyone who might be cool to hang out with on weekends or something. all you need is one nice, normal person to message you back. that's all. it doesn't even have to be a romantic connection, really, although that's what you'd prefer. you just need someone new to hang out with, someone who will reply to your messages, won't only talk about babies, and hopefully won't be shitty about the way you look.
after you send off a message to 'ska_jesus' that you're pretty sure will get ignored, you see it- under the 'you might be interested in' popup is a blank account with the username gh0st141. their avi is just the default picture of a grey, hairless form with no distinguishing characteristics- a plain circle on top of a semicircle. the account has no pictures, no pronouns, no details, just two words in the bio- "knock knock". curiosity well and truly piqued, you can't help but impulsively message them with a "who's there?" before moving on to the next profile, a pretty alt girl with purple locs and a bio that reads "so goth i was born black". you send her a message too, telling her how you like her sense of style and would love to hear what music she's been listening to lately. you hope she writes back, she's so pretty and seems really cool. you can't help but daydream a little about listening to her vinyl collection with her head in your lap.
you continue scrolling through profiles, the monotony getting to you. it just feels like an endless parade of hot singles in your area who want nothing to do with you, not even to say hello. you're two seconds to calling your evening scroll off when the red "1" on your messages tab takes you by surprise. you can't help but stare at it for a second, blinking hard to make sure it's not just a trick on tired eyes. when you click the tab, it shows that gh0st141 has already written you back. a response to your knocking.
>>an englishman, a scotsman, and a welshman
a small smile spreads into a wide, hopeful grin as you try to think up what the possible punchline for this joke could be. may as well play along and find out, right? your fingers fly across the keyboard to respond, and you double check for typos before you excitedly send it off.
>>an englishman, a scotsman, and a welshman who?
>>an englishman, a scotsman, and a welshman walk into the wrong structure of a joke.
>>the barman says 'hey, you shouldn't be in here!'
>>and the scotsman says 'well, we did knock!'
it's so unexpected that you can't help but laugh out loud in your empty apartment, startling a dozy zeke who looks at you with a major case of bedhead and stink eye. you smooth down his wonky hair, cooing your apologies and mentally make a note to give him a haircut after your walk tomorrow. he'll look like he got run over by a lawnmower for a little while until it grows out a bit, but it beats paying money you don't have for a fancy groomer.
>>ok, i really liked that, actually.
it takes gh0st141 a second to reply, and for a moment you worry a little that the only person to speak to you might already be done with conversing with you just because he got his joke out of the way.
>>what's a pretty thing like you doing mucking about with blank profiles like mine?
pretty thing? oh, god, it's been so long since anyone's outright flirted with you that it takes you a moment to bite back your cynical disbelief. you're on a dating website, for fucks sake. of course people are going to talk to you like that. that's what you wanted, it's why you're here in the first place. don't freak out now that you're getting what you want.
>>i just wanted to hear your joke.
>>why is your profile blank anyways?
>>not really looking for anyone. just made this to take the piss out of my mate that's trying to bag himself a bird
you don't know why, but the admission that they're not looking for anyone knocks the wind out of your sails. the first person to respond to you in weeks, and they're not even here seriously. fuck, you're really just striking out all over the place. it's not their fault you're as lonely as you are, and you try not to let your disappointment show as you try to gracefully exit the conversation so as not to be annoying.
>>ah, ok. i'll leave you alone, then.
the reply comes faster than you expected, and your eyebrows raise as you read.
>>didn't say i was against talking with you.
>>how many tattoos you got anyways, illustratedwoman270?
>>i don't know. i stopped counting after 20. more than 40, probably.
>>do you have any ink, gh0st141?
>>got a half sleeve on my arm, still looking to finish it up at some point.
>>just gonna do the one arm and call it good, you think?
>>not sure. no plans for more, but that doesn't mean it won't happen.
>>lmao i remember saying that when i finished one arm. now both my arms are covered, as well as one leg and my back.
>>yeah? you got more lined up?
>>oh, always. i'm getting one done this week, actually. hang on, lemme find the sketch my artist sent me. i think you might get a kick out of this.
>>you think so?
>>i mean, i assume you like jokes and you like ghosts, right?
you upload the photo, watching the little progress bar with baited breath until the image pops up- two ghosts in patterned bedsheets, one with an accordion, both of them dancing and enjoying themselves with little music notes floating around them.
>>ta-daah! polkageists!
there's a long pause, long enough to make the doubt and self-deprication set in. they hate it. they think it's corny. they think it's stupid, think you're stupid. they're probably on google or the site's faq looking up how to block you right now.
>>you were right. i do like that. very much.
>>you got other jokes inked on you?
it's unreal how relieved you are to get this stranger's approval. tension you didn't even know you had in your shoulders melts away a little at his admission that he likes it. god, you really are fucking lonely, huh? you can't help if maybe your people pleasing tendencies are feeding that a bit.
>>not quite like my ghosts, but i do have a fortune cookie that says 'you're fucked' which still gets a consistent laugh
>>quite like that one, too.
there's another long pause, and you chew your lip. you don't know what to say, but you want to keep going, to keep talking to gh0st141. you flip through your mental rolodex of icebreakers, conversation starters, anecdotes, anything to keep them talking to you. you feel like you've been cast in the role of a hostage negotiator, but for your social and love life.
>>so how's trolling your friend going?
>>it's been amusing. just sent him a message telling him i managed to get a funny, pretty girl's attention with just a blank profile, actually.
>>has he not been getting any responses?
>>he has, but not the kind he wants. pretty sure his inbox is just mostly me asking him to make me best man at his wedding, which is made even funnier by the fact he keeps striking out.
>>almost all of his messages that aren't mine just accuse him of using stolen pictures, which i encourage by reporting his account for catfishing almost every other day.
gh0st141 drops a profile link and you click it. soon as the page loads and the smiling man in the avi comes into focus, you lose your breath a bit. christ on a cracker, this man is gorgeous. his name is kyle, he's 29, he's located in the uk and he looks like a fucking dreamboat with his soft, kissable looking lips, friendly brown eyes, and a perfect smile that reminds you of every teen heart throb you've ever seen on tv. he's not just handsome, he's, like, 'actor on drama that's playing on the cw' handsome. abercrombie model handsome. otherworldly handsome. if you saw this profile in the wild you'd think he was catfishing too, since the closest thing he seems to have to physicals flaw are a set of parallel scars on his cheek and a finger that bows very slightly inwards... and even then? the scars are kind of hot and the finger is barely noticeable. you click around his profile for a minute, just taking in this adonis that's apparently very, very real somehow, and you feel the urge to tease him just to make gh0st141 happy.
>>you just trying to meet nev schulman or what?
you click back to your messages, where gh0st141 is waiting for you.
>>hope you're not thinking of ditching me for him now
>>nah, you've captivated me with your knock knock jokes and perfectly spherical grey head.
>>good.
>>you want to hear another joke?
>>yes, please
>>what's red and bad for your teeth?
>>i have no idea.
>>a brick.
"oh my god." you giggle at your screen as you burst into another little laugh, earning you some more old man stink-eye from zeke as your entire soft body shakes with a case of the giggles. it shouldn't be that funny to you, but it is. it's been so long since you've had a chat with anyone, it's nice to laugh and shoot the shit and waste some time interacting with another person.
>>that's so terrible it's good, actually?
a quick glance to the clock dampens your spirits like a cold bucket of water over the head, along with the realization that you're going to need to go to bed soon if you don't want tomorrow's early shift at the cubicle farm to be hellish.
>>hey, i have to go, but i had a great time chatting with you. talk to you tomorrow, maybe?
>>yeah, maybe. have a good night.
>>you too! thanks for the laughs!
as you take zeke out to pee, lock up your apartment, change into pj's and brush your teeth, all you can think about is gh0st141, and how nice it was to just chat and laugh with someone for a bit. god, is that pathetic? are you pathetic? the conversation lasted barely an hour and yet you can't help but be excited to talk to them again, to laugh and shoot the shit and maybe get to know them better. would it be weird or corny to try to come up with some jokes of your own, or is that a try-hard move? either way, you want to make an effort, to do what you can to ensure that your next chat with them won't be your last.
for some reason, sleep is hard to come by. it might be the summer heat, it might be the fact that zeke snores like a furry chainsaw, or it might just be hopeful excitement for a future that's just a little less isolated. either way, all you can do is rest with your eyes closed while your mind filters through all the dumb jokes you've ever heard until your alarm goes off and zeke pokes at you with his cold nose in hopes of breakfast.
you brace yourself for another day at the cubicle farm, trying to enjoy the hour before you have to head out to work and put in your eight hours of soul-crushing work. there's so much bullshit you have to take care of today, but you're determined not to think about it until you actually sit down at your desk and get the work. to hell with your boss, he doesn't get your mental energy without paying for it.
the sunrise is slowly morphing from a light pink to the sky's regular soft blue when you take zeke out, watching him leave a trail in the early morning dew as he seeks out an optimal place to wobble on one leg to relieve himself before rolling around in the wet grass and giving you a big, wide, doggy smile. you herd him back up the stairs and into the apartment, scooping out some wet food for breakfast as you boil water for yours. when you check your phone over your steaming bowl of instant oatmeal, you're surprised to see a notification on your phone indicating that you got a message from gazoline020. when you open it you can't help but snort so hard that you fear for the health of your sinuses.
>>on my mum's life, i swear i am not a bloody catfish!!
Chapter 4 for the indulgent original writing (4.2k words)
Chapters 1-3 are in my pinned post.
Just unpolished writing to get ideas out of my head
No real content warnings like last last chapter, but wow it’s actual story lol
The entire way down to the dining hall he never faltered, never once did you slip in his grip, never did he need to readjust his hold on you, just strong and steady. It felt like the trek there had taken forever, just miles of hallways and endless flights of stairs, though it also might have dragged on from
your embarrassment of being carried about half clothed clearly in a state where everyone you passed very clearly knew how you spent your morning.
Much like the other parts of the palace you have seen, the dining hall seemed to follow the king’s personal style. Dark wood floors and furniture, drapes and tapestries trimmed in black and gold, jewels inlaid in surfaces that most definitely did not need it.
He took his place at the head of the table, an overly ornate carved chair, nearly a throne, but when you went to climb off his lap and sit in your own chair he tightened his grip.
“No my pet, I’d much rather you warm my lap”.
Serving staff trailed in, the woman from yesterday, Mirabette, and two other women who you guessed where probably around your age.
“And what would you like for breakfast my treasure?” he asked. “Anything you little heart desires”.
This would have been exciting had you not been so overwhelmed. Every possible food seemed to slip from your mind and you fidgeted on his lap, wracking your brain for any possibly reasonable answer.
“If you keep wiggling about like that you’re going to get me hard again” he whispered in your ear, promptly making you freeze. “Oh don’t tense up like that. If I choose to fuck you over the table I’ll send the staff away, don’t worry. I’m not fond of sharing after all”.
His words were not reassuring, regardless of whether he was telling the truth or not.
“Would you prefer if I just chose what was for breakfast and you can add anything you can think of? I do suppose you aren’t used to so many options, it must be quite overwhelming”.
You nodded, “Yes please, my king”.
“Very well! Mirabette, a pot of tea, my usual, and bring everything you can think of, spare nothing for my little pet. Such a sweet little thing should be pampered, especially with how well she pleased me this morning”.
“Yes, my king” Mirabette turned on her heel and disappeared back through the doors, never once batting an eye or making any acknowledgement of how the king spoke so openly.
The two other women remained at the side of the room. One seemed entirely at ease, hands clasped behind her back and simply staring forward, ignoring everything much the same way Mirabette had.
The other women though, a sour expression on her face as she watched you. Eyes narrowed and staring at you as if she thought to stare a hole straight through you.
“Cassandra!” yelled the king, “Either you will control your expression or you will retire to the kitchen, I care not for your opinions. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my king” she curtsied, her facial a forced neutral as she stood back up.
“Pay her no mind, my treasure. It appears some may be jealous of my affections for you” he kissed the top of your head. “No one’s opinion matters but mine, and I have quite the high opinion of you”.
Mirabette returned with a large tray, precariously balancing a tea pot, two tea cups with saucers, milk, sugar, honey, lemon wedges, various breads, butter, jams, and other small pastries. “Tea and a little something while you wait. The kitchen is working on everything else. May I get you anything else, my king?”
“No, that is all for now. Thank you”.
Mirabette curtsied again, same neutral smile as before, and took her place between the other women.
“Tell me, my sweet little pet, how do you prefer you tea?”
“I don’t know, my king. I haven’t really had tea truthfully” tea in your city was quite the luxury. As it was not a port city or along any major trade routes, nor had a suitable climate for its cultivation, any true tea was a costly import reserved only for the rich.
“Another first for you then. Fine wine and bath soaps last night, sleeping in the bed of your king, wearing my clothes, the first of many times being so throughly fucked” he smirked at you, clearly enjoying embarrassing you.
It was working. You buried your face in his chest, even clinging to him was better than making eye contact with any of the staff.
“So cute that you’re flustered, but I’m sure everyone here knows your role, they see that pretty collar around your neck. No one should be surprised to hear that I fucked you until you cried this morning, how you satisfied me so well, how my cum is still on your thighs as you sit here on my lap in front of my staff”.
“Why are you doing this?” you asked.
“Manners”.
“My king, why are you trying to embarrass me?”
“No, little one, not embarrass, I’m simply praising your good behavior. I think everyone should know what a good girl you’ve been for me”.
You hated how he called you ‘good girl’. Hated that part of you enjoyed his praise, hated how his words made your legs a little weak and caused a heat between your legs.
“Speaking of how well you’ve satisfied me, I do suppose you’ll need something for that, I’m much past the point of wanting to sire any more whelplings”.
In surprise you yanked your face away from his chest to stare at him.
“What? Were you not aware of that possibility? Has no one ever taught you where children come from?” he laughed.
“I know how it works with humans! You’re not human though!”
“But human bodies are highly adaptable you’ll find, almost like humans arose just to serve dragons. Not that humans are particularly capable of having very sturdy whelplings anyways, half whelps just don’t have the hardiness of a pure dragon. They’ll look just like a pure dragon, but never have the full magic or size. But don’t worry yourself over the details, like I said, I have no desire to deal with that anymore”.
You tried to banish the thought. Possibility aside, the entire concept seemed rather unpleasant in general, especially with him being the father.
“Alondis!” he barked, “Let the apothecary know I need something to avoid any unnecessary consequences from this morning and something for daily use”.
You had not noticed Alondis standing just inside the doorway, he seemed an ever present constant, a bored expression on his face as he waited on orders.
“Yes, my king” he vanished through the doorway.
“Now, little one, where were we? Tea! Yes, I’ll prepare yours the same I take mine in that case”.
He leaned forward to grab the tea pot, his sudden movement nearly sending you toppling off his lap and causing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders to prevent falling.
“I’m not going to let you fall, my other arm is still around you. I promise I’ve got you. Though I do quite like you clinging to me like this”.
Gods he was warm, even in the drafty open air of the dining hall it felt like there was a fire just below his skin. Clothed only in his shirt it felt quite nice to be so close to him.
“There you go, a nice cup of tea for a lovely pet” he handed you the cup.
It was warm, sweet and earthy as you sipped it.
“Is it to your liking? I do prefer mine on the sweeter side. I fear I’ve developed quite the sweet tooth from spending so much time around humans, perhaps not the most becoming of a dragon”.
“It’s good, my king”.
“Wonderful! Hopefully everything else will be- Cassandra!” his voice dropped into a growl, his lips pulled back into an angry snarl that showed off sharp teeth.
You snapped your head over to look at the woman, her nose was wrinkled in disgust and a sneer on her face.
“Kitchen! Now! I will not tolerate your disobedience after you have already been warned. You do not have to like or approve of my new plaything but I’d rather have you locked up for the foreseeable future than show any disrespect to myself or my pet” his grip around you tightened.
“Though maybe it would do you better to remember your place below my pet if you were her personal handmaiden. I was going to have Mirabette attend to her, but Mirabette already has to keep all of you in line so instead you will wait on her. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my king” she responded through gritted teeth.
His chest was heaving and he was not settling down. This was a much stronger anger than you had experienced last night when you refused him, this was animalistic and much scarier.
“Out! Everyone!” he yelled and the three women wasted no time retreating to the kitchen.
Tentatively you leaned your head against his chest and tried to wrap your arms around him, hoping to calm him down. Your touch seemed to snap him out of it for the most part.
Much of the rage receded from his expression as he looked down at meet your own frightened expression.
“Oh darling, I’m sorry you had to see that” he kissed the top of your head softly “I do suppose a display like that does not really endear you to me”.
Darling. Not pet, or treasure, or bird, or even ‘my’ in front of it, just darling.
“Why don’t we enjoy our tea and a light breakfast? I have something I’d really like to show you”.
“Whatever you would like, my king” you answered.
“I would like it to be your decision, actually”.
You furrowed your brow, trying to suss out if this was a trap or game, but his expression genuine seeming.
“In that case, I do think that would be nice, my king”.
Breakfast was a fairly quick affair, and he promised you a much nicer lunch to make up for it. He actually seemed sorry for his outburst even though he continually framed it not as him losing control but as Cassandra making him lose control, though for a dragon that was probably to closest he would ever get to an admission of fault.
Once more he carried you in his arms, this time you wrapped your arms around his neck and laid your head on his chest as he carried you out into the large central courtyard.
“I want you to see me, my actually self and not just- this” he vaguely gestured to himself once he had sat you down on the stairs. “I don’t get the chance to just exist as me often, but I do want you to fully know me”.
“My king, why do you spend so much time looking human then?” you ask.
“It’s just easier this way. The world isn’t really built for dragons anymore, it hasn’t been for a long time, since long before my hatching even. And there’s not many of us left, especially from pure bloodlines. Too much infighting between the bloodlines and humans advanced too much to control the same way”.
“I live somewhere clearly not meant for a dragon, and the process of changing shape isn’t exactly pleasant, it’s not something I do often” he said. “I haven’t even been able to be myself in my own palace since I was a whelpling”.
“Did you grow up here?” you asked.
“I did, before this was my territory it was my father’s, though it was a much smaller territory then. I suppose you’ve heard the stories about me” he smiled.
“Though when I was still little, young enough where I couldn’t even take a human form yet, I would run down the hallways as fast as I could. Oh my mother hated it, she’d be chasing me yelling ‘Valathos! Valathos! Get back there! You’re going to knock someone over!’ She never could catch me though” he laughed, “You try catching a young dragon while you’re stuck on two legs”.
His relaxed expression quickly vanished, his eyes widening as if he just saw something truly awful. “Forget what I just told you” he snapped.
“What?”
“What I just told you, forget it, that was not meant for your ears”.
“Oh” you said softly, not sure what to quite say or what the issue really was, but you had a name for him finally, Valathos. You wracked your brain, trying to remember if you had ever heard his name before, but it was not familiar at all. In all the stories or songs never once had you heard his name, just titles and epithets.
An awkward silence settled between you both. It was a strange bit of information to learn about him, that staying in a human form was less a choice and more of a necessity. As you mulled your thoughts over a noticeable expression must have settled on your face.
“You don’t need to look upon me with such pity, it’s my choice to confine myself as such. I could fly off and control my territory as a dragon at all times if I truly wanted, but with how the world is, this is just easier”.
“I don’t mean to be nosy, but what is so unpleasant about changing shapes?” you asked.
“To be honest, going from this form to my true shape is actually euphoric. I can’t really explain it, there’s nothing that feels like it, just this rush of freedom, feeling like I can finally breathe again. Nothing compares”.
“It’s going from that to this” he once more gestured to himself, “that is so unpleasant. To feel yourself collapsing and folding in on yourself. Every fiber of your being getting twisted and condensed until what is left isn’t you at all. I try to keep a few things, but nature doesn’t like splitting the differences, it wants humans to look like humans and dragons to look like dragons. I try to keep some height, my teeth to some degree, and my eyes. I couldn’t stand to see this face and not even see my own eyes”.
“I didn’t realize any of that” you said softly.
“No, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a dragon really openly admitting it to a human. It’s not a particularly powerful image for us huh? That one of the most well known parts of our magic is actually so horrible and painful that many of us just choose to stay trapped to avoid it”.
“You don’t have to do this now. I’m sure there will be other times where you’ll have to change shape and I’ll see you then instead of putting yourself through it now”.
“It’s been nearly ten years since last I was myself. Not that long compared to my age really, but it’s not often there’s a reason where I have to change shapes. I’d rather just show you on my own terms instead of my hand being forced”.
“Then I think I’d really like to see the real you” you smiled.
“I’m quite the handsome dragon you know, even if you may not be able to tell” he smiled back.
“And what makes you such a handsome dragon?” you teased.
“My horns! I’ll have you know my bloodline is one of only a few to have double horns and I’m the only of my siblings to get them! You would be very impressed if you were a dragon”.
“No, I’m very impressed!” you held your hands over your head, mimicking horns.
“Very dignified” he laughed, “Thank you for humoring me, I don’t really joke much anymore. You’re a sweet little thing to indulge me so” he ruffled you hair.
“Well at least the first part is fun” he shrugged, “Help me undress?”
“What?”
“I actually happen to somewhat like this shirt and these pants, would be a shame to destroy them in the process, so help your king undress?”
“Yes, my king” you smirked.
He knelt down to where you sat on the stairs so you would not have to stand. You lifted his shirt up, letting your hands linger on his chest, looking over the scars than adorned his skin as you removed the shirt.
“So are the scars your own choice too then?” you asked.
“No, those I can’t change. Injuries inflicted by magic can’t been covered up, even by magic”.
“You have quite a few”.
“I’ve lived a long time, I’ve established a large territory, you don’t manage that without fighting, especially with other dragons”.
He stood up and kicked off his boots, “Now, I will ask you turn away while I change forms. The magic tends to be too bright for human eyes and the process has been described as a bit grotesque, so I’d prefer if you did not see that part. Understand?”
“Sure”.
“Manners” he said firmly, apparently whatever playful closeness was between you moment ago was over now.
“Yes, my king”. You quickly finished removing his pants.
“Do not turn around until I tell you to. I’m serious”.
You heard his footsteps recede to the other side of the courtyard and even with your back to him the whole area was painfully bright. It dragged on for what felt like ages, before you heard his voice.
“Will you face me, little one?”
His voice echoed oddly, it was still very much his voice but something felt off.
As you turned around you found yourself sitting in his massive shadow.
This was the Dragon King, not the man you had just spent the last day with. He was imposing, towering over you even when sitting, your head not even level with his elbow. His scales were a dark charcoal tone, nearly black, his claws a gold tone, you could see where his own personal style came from now.
His eyes though, they were familiar, the same piecing gaze as always but even harder to read like this.
“You are quite handsome like this” you smiled at him.
“Simple flattery, but I’ll accept it”.
His voice did not seem to emanate from his mouth, rather it echoed in your mind.
“How are you doing that?” you asked.
“Speaking to you? Just how dragons communicate, we’re not exactly built to speak verbally like humans”.
“Can you speak like this in your other form?”
“No. I don’t have much access to magic in my other shape, just the basics” he stretched out to lay down, lowering his head to rest on the ground to rest next to you on the stairs and to be relatively eye level with you.
“So, you like this? My actual self?” he asked somewhat uncertainly.
“I do, I meant it when I said you were quite handsome”.
“Did you see my horns?” he tilted his head to the side, careful to not knock you over.
“Quite magnificent, my king” you ran your hand along one of the horns.
Two horns swept back from the top of his head that curved up at the end. The second set arced back before curving back along his jaw to point forward, one horn on each side to frame the center horns.
“I like this, just having you near to me like this is nice” he said.
You leaned against the side of his face, avoiding the point of his horn. His scales were rough, but there was a warmth to him, like he had been sitting out in the sunlight for hours.
“I like it too” you said.
What felt like hours passed, and at some point you definitely napped for a while, but it was comfortable, there was a secure feeling about being curled up against him like this.
“My little pet, it’s time to get up” he gentled nuzzled his face against you, “I know I promised to take you around the palace, and a nice lunch to make up for breakfast, but I long for the skies. It’s been so long since I’ve soared, since I’ve felt the wind beneath my wings. I cannot bring myself to confine myself to the ground quite yet. I hope you don’t hold my nature against me”.
“No, I understand. It’s the same anyone else would want, their freedom” you could not look him in the eye. The horrible irony was not lost on you, that he felt like he had no freedom while he held so many captive here.
“It’s not the same” he said firmly, “The very nature of my being is to fly, to roam. The very nature of humans is to serve. Here at my side you’re able to fulfill your nature and serve me, it would do well to remember your place”.
Powerful wing gusts knocked you over as he took off, the discussion clearly over.
As you tried to pick yourself up off the ground, a gloved hand reached out to offer assistance.
“He’s a hypocrite, and frankly an asshole, in case you didn’t notice” it was Alondis.
“Yeah, I don’t know what I was expecting” you took his hand and let him help you up. “How much of that did you see?”
“Not much. I got back to the dining hall and you were both gone but it’s pretty difficult to hide a dragon so it wasn’t hard to find you. You were napping when I got out here so I left to actually go get some stuff done and I had just gotten back to hear you lecture him on freedom. Quite boldly of you for someone literally wearing a collar”.
“Shut up”.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude, but you’ve been here for less than a day and you think you’re going to find something to say to him that hundreds of others haven’t already? He quite literally will never see a human as anything more than a subservient pet. His nature isn’t freedom, it’s subjugation, sometimes he just hides it well”.
“Yeah, I’m noticing that” you sighed.
“He’ll be charming as long as he gets his way, praise you and dote on you, as long as you’re a docile little lap dog at his feet. But he was so happy to announce that he made you cry this morning, happy to tell everyone that you tried to push back against him and he put you back in your place”.
“So that’s just it? Just roll over and take it?”
“I mean, in a very literal sense for you” Alondis smirked.
“That’s not funny!”
“I’m sorry, that was an awful joke, wasn’t it? I swear I’m not trying to be an ass for no reason, I don’t get the chance to speak freely often. I’m either tailing him around waiting on whatever orders he has, or having to be the jerk in charge keeping everything running around here”.
“Have you been here a long time?” you asked.
“About 27 years now in all, 10 years of being his personal guard though, and no, I don’t know why a dragon needs a personal guard either before you ask”.
“Personal guard? Not errand boy?” you teased.
“Very funny. Captain of the Royal Guard, personal guard to the king, and now glorified babysitter of you when he’s out”.
“Of me?”
“Yep, like it or not, you’re stuck with me. Strict orders to keep you out of trouble when he’s not around”.
“So that’s it? I step a toe out of line and you run and tattle on me?”
“Gods no, I really don’t care about what you do as long as I don’t get yelled at for it. I have no interest in being another captor to you, we’re in the same boat after all” he shrugged.
“So, uh, 27 years?” you asked tentatively.
“27 years of captivity and servitude, yeah. It’s great, been here longer than I lived in my own town before” he said bitterly, “A royal caravan came through to collect tribute and unfortunately the previous guard captain decided that I’d make a good apprentice so that was that. I was 14 at the time”.
“I’m so sorry” you said, but your words felt hollow. You did not know what to else to say though. ‘I’m sorry’ did not begin to cover how you felt about his situation, or yours, or for anyone else trapped here.
“Yeah, so am I. None of us deserve this, waiting hand and foot on that monster. But you either play your role or suffer the consequences”. He handed you the bag he had been carrying, “For you, from the apothecary. Blue bottle for right now, green ones are daily. Apothecary said pick a consistent time to take the daily ones, unless you want little versions of him running about. And for all of our sakes, please be good about this, one of him is already more than enough”.
Each charm features 6 unique acrylic shaker pieces, the charm itself is 4 inches long and has a glitter epoxy covering as well as a crescent moon keychain piece.
For those interested in ordering, please fill out the form below (just gaging shipping costs/numbers) i will be listing these on etsy once they have arrived and i am happy with the product quality.
Just making this form as a way of counting how many people are interested in and are currently able to buy a shaker charm (once they arrive
The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine: A History of Settler Colonialism and Resistance, 1917-2017 (book)
The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine (book)
Nakba Day: What happened in Palestine in 1948? (Article)
The Nakba did not start or end in 1948 (Article)
Donations and charities:
Al-Shabaka
Electronic Intifada
Adalah Justice Project
IMEU Fundraiser
Medical Aid for Palestinians
Palestine Children’s Relief Fund
Addameer
Muslim Aid
Palestine Red Crescent
Gaza Mutual Aid Patreon
Books:
A New Critical Approach to the History of Palestine
The Idea of Israel: A History of Power and Knowledge
Hidden Histories: Palestine and the Eastern Mediterranean
The Balfour Declaration: Empire, the Mandate and Resistance in Palestine
Queer Palestine and the Empire of Critique
From Haven to Conquest: Readings in Zionism and the Palestine Problem until 1948
Captive Revolution - Palestinian Women’s Anti-Colonial Struggle within the Israeli Prison System
Palestine: A Four Thousand Year History
Except for Palestine: The Limits of Progressive Politics
Before Their Diaspora: A Photographic History of The Palestinians 1876-1948
The Battle for Justice in Palestine Paperback
Uncivil Rites: Palestine and the Limits of Academic Freedom
Palestine Rising: How I survived the 1948 Deir Yasin Massacre
The Transformation of Palestine: Essays on the Origin and Development of the Arab-Israeli Conflict
A Land Without a People: Israel, Transfer, and the Palestinians 1949-1996
The Iron Cage: The Story of the Palestinian Struggle for Statehood
A History of Modern Palestine: One Land, Two Peoples
Where Now for Palestine?: The Demise of the Two-State Solution
Terrorist Assemblages - Homonationalism in Queer Times
Militarization and Violence against Women in Conflict Zones in the Middle East
The one-state solution: A breakthrough for peace in the Israeli-Palestinian deadlock
The Persistence of the Palestinian Question: Essays on Zionism and the Palestinians
Fateful Triangle: The United States, Israel and the Palestinians
The False Prophets of Peace: Liberal Zionism and the Struggle for Palestine
Ten myths about Israel
Blaming the Victims: Spurious Scholarship and the Palestinian Question
Israel and its Palestinian Citizens - Ethnic Privileges in the Jewish State
Palestinians in Israel: Segregation, Discrimination and Democracy
Greater than the Sum of Our Parts: Feminism, Inter/Nationalism, and Palestine
Palestine Hijacked
Palestinian Culture:
Mountain against the Sea: Essays on Palestinian Society and Culture
Palestinian Costume
Traditional Palestinian Costume: Origins and Evolution
Tatreez & Tea: Embroidery and Storytelling in the Palestinian Diaspora
Embroidering Identities: A Century of Palestinian Clothing (Oriental Institute Museum Publications)
The Palestinian Table (Authentic Palestinian Recipes)
Falastin: A Cookbook
Palestine on a Plate: Memories from My Mother’s Kitchen
Palestinian Social Customs and Traditions
Palestinian Culture before the Nakba
Tatreez & Tea (Website)
The Traditional Clothing of Palestine
The Palestinian thobe: A creative expression of national identity
Embroidering Identities:A Century of Palestinian Clothing
Palestine Traditional Costumes
Palestine Family
Palestinian Costume
Encyclopedia of World Dress and Fashion, v5: Volume 5: Central and Southwest Asia
Tent Work in Palestine: A Record of Discovery and Adventure
Documentaries, Films, and Video Essays:
Jenin, Jenin
Born in Gaza
GAZA
Wedding in Galilee
Omar
5 Broken Cameras
OBAIDA
Indigeneity, Indigenous Liberation, and Settler Colonialism (not entirely about Palestine, but an important watch for indigenous struggles worldwide - including Palestine)
Edward Said - Reflections on Exile and Other Essays
Palestine Remix:
AL NAKBA
Gaza Lives On
Gaza we are coming
Lost cities of Palestine
Stories from the Intifada
Last Shepherds of the Valley
Voices from Gaza
Muhammad Smiry
Najla Shawa
Nour Naim
Wael Al dahdouh
Motaz Azaiza
Ghassan Abu Sitta
Refaat Alareer (murdered by Israel - 12/7/2023. Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un)
Plestia Alaqad
Bisan Owda
Ebrahem Ateef
Mohammed Zaanoun
Doaa Mohammad
Hind Khoudary
Palestinian Voices, Organizations, and News
Boycott Divest and Sanction (BDS)
Defense for Children in Palestine
Palestine Legal
Palestine Action
Palestine Action US
United Nations relief and works for Palestinian refugees in the Middle East (UNRWA)
Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. Next
It is not unusual to hear odd noises in the forest during dark nights.
Neither is it unusual to see shapes moving about in the silhouettes of the trees – your eyes adjusting, the shadow of a squirrel, the dark canopy above rustling in the cold wind. You’ve traversed this area before, yet not at this time, and the contrast is striking. Otherly.
After all, a dark forest is just that, something otherly to a daywalker such as yourself. People get lost in these forests, they say. Sometimes they don’t come back.
Superstitions and rumors, of course. The first thing you were warned of since moving to this area was its vast collection of make-believe.
The matted ground beneath your feet is full of shapes that you can’t make out, all blending together as your eyes desperately try to make sense of everything suddenly being colorless. If ‘dark’ can be classified as a color.
You jump in surprise when something snaps to your right, and you look only to find nothing. The branches of the trees are one blurry silhouette, and whatever is hiding in their shapes remain unknown to you.
You keep walking.
The path is muddied and slippery, a gentle rain caressing your face when a stray droplet finds its way under the hood of your jacket. Gentle you remind yourself, the rain is not here to hurt you or purposely slow you down. As many other things in this forest tonight, it’s simply there, with you.
You find your path home divides in two, and suddenly you have to make a choice – however you do not remember that your path home used to have such a choice. Have you taken a wrong turn somewhere?
You glance around the dark colors that dance around your vision, denying you clarity. Are you lost?
Left or right?
Or turn back?
You turn around, trying to trace back your steps, but the darkness closes around you and you don’t know where you are anymore.
The rain hits heavier now, your path still unclear. A rumbling in the sky above serves as a warning of something to come. You pull out your phone, trying to spare it as much of the pouring water as possible as you swipe to find a flashlight and navigation app, wet fingers uselessly sliding across the screen.
Finally, a small white light pierces the dark from your phone, but still offers no answers of your whereabouts as the navigation app seems to have trouble locating your position.
You keep walking. There must be a way out somewhere.
You can feel your pulse increasing now, you're straining to keep a steady pace and simultaneously keeping on your feet in the slippery path below. The rumblings in the sky above turns to glinting, the rain starts drumming heavier, and you’re slowly realizing this is a losing battle. The dark is total now, and, despite your phone providing a meager shine, you can barely see a hand in front of you, let alone the path you’re on. It’s dizzying, suffocating, and you fumble ahead blindly.
Your hand finds the bark of a tree. You rest your palm against it momentarily, grounding yourself. The world is still here.
Lightning strikes across the sky, and you yelp in surprise, the purplish tint momentarily blinding you and lighting up everything around you. The phone slips from your wet hands and vanishes somewhere in the underbrush.
In the fleeting moments of clear vision, you spot something new. Were those tall rocky formations there before? You must have gotten further off track than you thought.
You curse, leaning down to try and feel around for your phone - your hands brush against the branches of a bush, and the light is gone. It's no use. You can't find it.
You feel around and find another tree to steady yourself on, and head toward where you saw the rocks. If you can find some sort of alcove in between the wall of stone you might just be able to find a secure spot to wait out the storm. Your phone can wait until this passes. Hope reignited, you steady on, careful not to slip.
You palm soon finds the smooth surface of a boulder, and you start to feel around for some sort of opening.
Surely enough, a surprisingly large entrance deeper into the rock formation presents itself only moments later, and you sigh in relief, hauling yourself inside and out of the onslaught of rain.
You still can’t see a thing, but you shake off the worst of the water and stand there for a bit. There's an earthy scent hanging in the air, hinting at whatever entrance you've found goes deeper yet. You decide not to venture further for now, staring out in the murky darkness outside.
A few minutes pass. The rain thunders across the forest, and another blast of lightning divides the skies in blinding flash. You catch your breath, thankful for the small reprieve the rocky shelter has provided you.
But the noise deafens everything else, and you notice far too late that you’re not alone when you sense movement above you.
Something drops down in front of you and a rough push sends you to the floor.
“Not on my watch,” a harsh growling voice sounds, and you feel something heavy forcing you into the ground.
You immediately start struggling, luckily having landed on your back you kick up blindly into the air. You manage to hit whoever is bearing down on you, and they recoil with a hiss and you swear you hear something scuttling. There’s movement all around you, one, to, three, four – you lose count at the rapid sounds of clacking footsteps. You fumble around, palm closing around a stray rock and you hurl it at whatever is above you in a panic. It collides with a sharp clink, and something above you chitters angrily.
In the confusion you manage to turn over on your stomach, and get to your feet. You don’t waste a second before you start sprinting back out into the storm in favor of whatever you just encountered back in that cave.
The now howling winds are accompanied by the sound of rapid footsteps. You pray it’s the heavy rainfall playing a trick on your senses, though you’re severely disappointed mere seconds later as something narrowly strikes past the side of your head, and you know for sure that the thing has given chase.
You turn, and you’re sprinting blindly through the underbrush in an effort to shake them off.
“You think I’d let you get away with this?!” your pursuer roars through the storm, booming voice full of rage. “Get back here.”
You're not inclined to follow that order and grit your teeth, keeping up the pace.
Things change however, as you sense the hunter suddenly leave the ground behind you, and you hear its movement instead above you, using the trees to move about. You try and look up though the canopy conceals most of it. You do however catch a glimpse of an unusually large amount of long limbs moving about in the dark.
You stop dead in your tracks as it suddenly drops from above to land right in front of you, the large figure forcing you to make another turn to avoid getting snatched.
It returns to the canopy above.
Something crashes against the bark of a tree to your right, and you rapidly spin left.
It drops yet again, making you turn on your heels and dash the opposite direction.
After two more forced turns, you realize it’s not just hunting you anymore.
It’s herding you.
You don’t have time to think about where, because suddenly you fall face first into something soft and sticky, and immediately your limbs are immobilized. You flail around, but you only manage to entangle yourself further.
You let out a pitiful whine as the horror of the situation settles within you.
You're stuck.
The rain falls heavy, and for a moment you can only hear your own haggard breathing, adrenaline coursing through your body. The there’s another dull thud, and the sound of multiple footsteps coming closer. Right in front of you is a silhouette of something big coming out from the darkness. Multiple limbs protrudes from a crude lower body like that of a giant spider, though instead of a head you can just barely make out the shape of a humanoid torso.
You stare from under your hood, mouth agape.
This is a nightmare. It has to be.
“Got you,” it snarls, stepping closer.
You struggle against your bindings, realizing now that it must be web, and that you have been herded right into a trap.
It watches you for a moment. “Don’t bother, filthy thief. You’re not going anywhere.”
Thief? You ponder, daring to glance up. One of its limbs heaves into the air, as if preparing to strike.
“W-wait!” you call out, squirming. “I didn’t -”
The limb halt slightly.
“It talks? First time I’ve heard that. Well good,” it steps closer, far too close, and leans down. A hand roughly grabs around your throat. You feel it glaring holes into the top of your head. “Maybe then the thief can tell me where it's hiding my eggs?”
“Eggs.?” you gag, straining. You feel tears prickling in the corner of your eyes. “I don’t – what eggs? Please-”
The hand around your neck tightens, efficiently cutting off your air flow. “Do not play games with me, you little - hm.”
There’s a pause where the grip suddenly lessens. You greedily heave in a shuddering breath and cough.
It shifts, crude legs stepping around you as it settles further down at your eye level, and another hand comes up against your neck, causing you to whimper. You feel its thumbs brushing against your throat.
“Warm.. no scales,” it ponders quietly. You shudder as you feel one of its hands slowly taking the hood of your jacket and lifting it back, revealing your face.
You can make out two sets of eyes gleaming in the dark, taking in your appearance. The other hand somewhat gently grabs your chin and moves you face side to side, as its eyes widen in surprise.
“A sentry?” it – he? blurts, hands immediately recoiling. “Blue moons – I am so, so sorry!”
His entire demeanor changes. He keeps low to the ground, legs folded back and humanoid arms awkwardly fidgeting in front of him.
“Silhouettes are so similar, trespassing my abode during a storm – I thought for sure-” he frantically waves his arms as he speaks, and then settles for crossing them as if he’s unsure where to put them.
You cough, just blearily staring at him while struggling to find words for a few seconds.
“I’m – what?” you stumble, relieved he apparently isn’t set on murdering you anymore, but this stark contrast to the vengeful predator you saw merely seconds ago has effectively thrown you off any sort of loop you could get on.
He starts pacing a bit, nervous. “Four limbs, nimble running styles, covered in fabric from head to toe-” he lists off, as if that should explain anything.
Lightning cracks the sky once again, and you get a glimpse of the being in front of you – the uncanny mixture where his humanoid torso meets the spider lower body is baffling your mind. Something about how he’s put together screams of something wrong, the chittering lower body somehow incomplete and yet completed by the torso above it. It doesn't make sense.
It shouldn’t be possible, yet here it is.
And currently he’s pacing back and forth on spindly legs as if he has a bunch of pent up energy he doesn't know where to utilize. “Chased down and trapped a sentry. Of all the asinine things-!”
You stare at him for a while as he berates himself. He rubs his face in frustration and finally returns his attention to you. He takes a deep breath, and when the spider leans down close again you recoil per reflex.
“Are you alright?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.
“Let – let me go? Please?” you manage, straining against the webbing to put some distance between you and him.
He blinks. “Oh! Right, yes, of course! Hold still.”
It takes all of your mental fortitude not to scream when the legs of his lower body suddenly get way too close for comfort as he gets to work undoing your bindings, pedipalps keeping you balanced while the upper legs works to easily cut through the webbing, releasing you. He carefully lifts you out of the trap, and sets you on the ground before respectfully moving a few steps back.
You feel like a deer in headlights staring at this thing straight out of a nightmare just awkwardly standing in the pouring rain. Adrenaline is still kicking through your system. Thunder rumbles above.
You weigh your options. Is now a good time to run for it?
When he speaks again you flinch. “You must believe me, if I’d known I would never have – I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
If?
You genuinely thought you were going to die. He was mere seconds from gutting you like a fish. You just keep staring at him.
He fidgets uncomfortably. “I did, didn’t I?”
You don’t know what to say, so you just nod an affirmative.
He cringes, and distracts himself by observing the harsh surroundings, hands in front of his face presumably to keep hair out of it from the wind. “Storm will get worse. If you promise me you’ll assure your custodian I mean no quarrel, I can offer you a safe place to stay dry in my abode if you want?” he looks back at you. “As a way of apologizing.”
You blink. What the hell does that mean? Is he serious? After all that?
“Unless they’re somewhere nearby and you have somewhere else to go,” he continues. “But – seeing as you probably came looking for shelter in the first place, I’ll allow myself to assume that you don’t.”
This can't be real. This might just be a fever dream before death. You're still not sure a tree hasn't just fallen on you and you're currently bleeding out in a ditch somewhere.
“I don’t know where I am,” you croak. “I don’t – how did I get here?”
The spider gives you a somewhat pitying look, and slowly turns to the side. The way his legs move is oddly fascinating. “The middle of a storm is not a good place to find that out. Will you come along? I’ll help you answer that if I can.”
You don’t trust any of that for a second. Notwithstanding he could have killed you, you probably shouldn’t go with a complete stranger in any case at all, nightmarish creature or not.
You look at him wary. He’s started fidgeting a bit again, patiently waiting for your decision. He crouched a bit down, like he’s trying to make himself appear smaller. Nonthreatening.
It's not very efficient.
Though if he’d wanted you dead, you would be. You’re lacking options, you’re drenched to the bone and while the darkness is no longer as suffocating as before, you still have a hard time making out anything. Not to mention the storm getting stronger, for what you know, something even more sinister than the thing currently in front of you could be hiding out in the gloom, and you’d have no way to defend yourself.
This is a terrible idea.
But do you really have anything else you can do?
“I don’t trust you,” you say, and his form slightly falters. “But – you’re right. I’ll.. come along.”
It’s hard to tell in the dark, but his eyes somewhat widen and then scrunch up a bit. You think he’s smiling.
jbbartram-illu
gummygunk
snowghoul
janainaart
izzy806
pixelskylines
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
