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knifedancer · 4 months

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What-If: MultiFelix

What if Felix met Multimouse before his appearance in canon?

What if Adrien wasn’t the only blond crushing on a super heroine in the family?

~~~~~~~ “Shit!” Felix cursed as he dodged a wayward akuma blast, the wall of the store he had been hiding beside becoming nothing more than a crumbling pile of bricks in his wake. He stumbled as the ground shook again, hazel eyes darting around to seek out another route away from the battlefront before the akuma-of-the-week targeted the blond directly instead of the thinning crowds around him.

‘There! I can hide in that alley!’ Felix rushed forward, panting as he sprinted across the street towards perceived safety. However, just before he could breach it, another blast struck the building to the left and the debris blocked the mouth of the alleyway – a few bricks slammed into his left leg, their bruising impacts ripping his pants and leaving a smattering of cuts on his thigh. By the way the material of his black slacks bloomed matching glossy spots, there were likely more bloody wounds than those visible through the tears. Cursing under his breath, he spun to his right to begin limping further down the avenue when the sound of maniacal laughter sent chills down his spine. Felix turned and dropped into a fighting stance; hazel eyes focused on the threat approaching slowly. The akuma was dressed as a Medieval court jester; bells jingling as they bounced from foot to foot, legs and arms as pale as snow and unnaturally long like some sort of spider. Eyes wild and toothy grin wide, their head tilted like an inquisitive puppy looking at a new toy.

‘Well, new fear unlocked…’ Felix thought, his rising panic hidden behind a carefully constructed mask of indifference and splotches of plaster dust.

“When I was a lad, I was gloomy and sad / As I was from the day I was born / When other babes giggled and gurgled and wiggled / I proudly was loudly forlorn. / My friends and my family looked at me clammily / Thought there was something amiss…” the akuma’s unhinged, sing-songed limerick coming out dejected as it approached slowly, their grin temporarily dropping into an overexaggerated frown. Felix took a cautious step back, was this the victim’s backstory?

“What else could he be but a Jester? / A Jester? A Jester! / A funny idea, a Jester!” Suddenly the akuma’s mouth stretched up into an unnaturally feral grin, like some sort of horror game villain – equal parts terrifying and disturbing that would certainly not haunt his dreams later – and squealed with joy, clapping its hands around their marotte. “Only the sharpest eye, the keenest nose / the quickest ear and the fleetest toes / Can ever outfox the Jester! Can ever outfox the Jester! / Only the stoutest arm, the bravest heart / with a magic charm and a good head start / Will ever outfox the Jester!”

The hazel-eyed teen braced himself to fight as the akuma lunged with a sharp jingle, marotte extended above their head as if to club the blond over his skull rather than shoot a blast from the tip. Out of nowhere and with a quiet fwip, a pink jump rope shot in front of the jester, tripping them. Just as soon as the rope appeared, it retracted in the blink of an eye and, in its place, a grey dressed figure somersaulted in the air directly above the flattened akuma. Time seemed to slow as Felix watched her pink hair ribbons flutter in the air behind the space buns holding back her hair, tresses as dark as a raven’s wing. His breath briefly caught as bright, bluebell eyes flashed – focused and calculating – from behind the edges of a baby pink domino mask. She brought her black booted feet together and ruthlessly planted them directly into the back of the akuma’s skull, impaling their head into the pavement like some sort of avenging Valkyrie taking down a mythical beast. Felix felt breathless and his knees turned to putty watching the graceful, powerful display. Just who was she?

Shaking off the foreign feelings clouding his mind, the blond limped backwards, unsure if this lithe woman was a friend or foe. Perhaps she would attack him next. Why did he feel a thrill at the idea of sparring with her? Focus! The movement drew the attention of those enchanting blue eyes. She squeaked in surprise, as if just noticing him for the first time. However, they took on an intelligent gleam, quickly assessing his physical state – those eyes pausing on his leg – as she approached him with her hands outstretched in a placating manner. “Um. Excuse me, garçon, I’m here to help. You need to evacuate. Are you badly injured?”

Ignoring the way that her sweet voice – which sounded like silk wrapped around steel – made his heartbeat quicken, he evaluated her for a threat. She was petite and so thin that it looked like the next strong breeze might knock her over. Hazel eyes trailed down the woman’s grey suit – lines of pink breaking the black and grey tightly hugging her tiny frame, the fabric caressing each toned curve and valley in a way that made his mouth run dry – before taking note of a familiar pink jump rope hanging around her waist like a tail. He relaxed fractionally and cleared his throat. “You were the one that tripped him before, weren’t you?” he questioned, gesturing to the now thrashing akuma attempting to free itself from the ground. If Jester had not been struggling to free themselves, Felix would liken the akuma’s current state to an ostrich hiding their head in a hole – the blond choked on a laugh over that mental image!

The grey suited woman glanced back and nodded, “I apologize but…we need to get you out of here before Jester sees us and decides to get revenge.” She drew out the jump rope and stepped into his personal space. Felix realized just how much shorter she was, the top of her head just barely clearing his shoulder, before her words finally registered.

“W-wait, what are you—OOF!” The lithe figure quickly lifted him in a fireman’s carry over her shoulder with shockingly little effort before whipping out the rope and tugging them into the air as if snapping a rubber band. Watching the ground flash by beneath them at a dizzying speed, Felix was pretty sure he was going to be sick. ‘What a way to go…throwing up while escaping an akuma, being manhandled by some superhuman, spandex wearing, midget!’ He refused to admit that this position also provided a lovely angle on some of her finer assets…which was distracting enough to assuage the rising bile in his throat.

With a jolt, they landed on a rooftop, but she only paused for a moment. The woman returned the rope to her waist and shifted him into a bridal carry before dashing quickly across the uneven terrain as if it were second nature. Felix’s arms instinctually wrapped around her neck in a desperate attempt to prevent being dropped. He glanced over her shoulder to see the rapidly expanding distance from whence he was kidnapped – perhaps rescued? – off the street while the wind whipped noisily past his ears. ‘It appears she’s just as strong and fast, even with my added weight,’ the blond thought with mounting admiration. The grey suited woman began to slow and hopped onto a flat roof with a small garden next to a fire escape, finally halting their advance and gingerly returning him to his feet. The blond attributed his racing heart from the unexpected flight rather than their proximity.

“Sorry about that! We didn’t have much time and I needed to get you away from that akuma before they freed themselves. You should be safe here and, if you’re not in too much pain, you can easily take the fire escape down to the streets. Just try to avoid Rue de Rivoli or else you might bump into our crazed jester friend again.” Her lips curved into a gentle smile that made him feel fluttery—er, reassured.

Felix furrowed his brow, “Who even are you?”

The woman blinked and opened her mouth to reply when a cry of “MOUSINETTE!” came from his right, followed by a black blur crashing into the grey suited woman. She stumbled back a few steps with a giggle that sounded like wind chimes dancing in sunlight. Wrapped around Felix’s savior, belt tail seemingly interweaving with the hanging jump rope length, was none other than a grinning Chat Noir. “What are you doing here?! Milady said she was sending in help, but I didn’t think she’d send you after…” The cat hero trailed off, one hand gesturing towards her mask. Now what was that about?

“O-Oh…Yeah…She said that it was just temp-temporary since she’s…uh…” The young woman glanced over towards Felix and then back to Chat, dropping her voice to a soft whisper, “…indisposed.”

“Indisposed? But isn’t her kwam—” Chat Noir looked confused before finally realizing they had company, his mouth dropping into a silent ‘oh’. “Gotcha. Ixnay.” Then he grinned again and ruffled her hair, “It’s good to see you again, Little Mouse! No one deserves it more than you!”

Her cheeks flared in rosy embarrassment and her lips protruded in a pout at the hero’s praise. “Um…I-I…Thank you, Chat. That’s very sweet but…uh, don’t get your hopes up?” The mousey girl cringed and backed away, tugging her jump rope free as she prepared for her departure.

Felix’s lips quirked up slightly at her increased nervous vocal quirks, ‘First she’s badass, then she’s adorable. Just who is she?’

“Since you’re more, uh experienced than me, wo-would you mind checking out this man’s le-leg? I’m heading back to see if Jester has um…broken free from where I…uh…left him.” With that, she scurried away, using her jump rope to swing back towards the akuma.

“Wow! You don’t know it, sir, but you’re a very lucky man… saved by THE Multimouse!” Chat crowed with joy while slitted eyes watched her disappear from sight.

“…Multi-who?” Felix questioned awkwardly, wondering why the cat hero appeared to be so excited.

Chat chuckled softly before turning to him, “Multimouse. She’s smart and funny and strong and sweet…She’s one of the temporary heroes, our greatest strategist (next to my Bugaboo, of course)! Our heavy hitter!”

“Is she some sort of stealth hero? I don’t recall ever hearing about her online…” In fact, he had researched all the heroes before this trip and found not a single mention of a mouse hero.

The black clad cat deflated slightly and sighed, “Yeah…she’s only been out once or twice before this…never really been caught on camera but something happened last time and…well, Ladybug said we couldn’t call her back out. I guess Milady decided it was enough of an emergency… Not that I mind!”

Felix took in the goofy smile that slowly stretched across Chat’s face while he looked off in the direction Multimouse had retreated. Suddenly he felt nauseous, as if something ugly was twisting up and clenching in his stomach, causing his neck to burn red. Unable to control his emotions any longer, his tone became clipped and hard as a lump of anger gripped his vocal cords. “Aren’t you…supposed to be in love with Ladybug?” Did he sound jealous? It was definitely not jealousy!

Chat Noir’s eyes widened comically, his arms swinging wildly in the air as if to physically dispel any misunderstanding. “Yes! Milady is the only one for me! B-but—wait...” Green eyes narrowed with suspicion and the cat stalked closer to the injured teen, his entire demeanor flipping like a switch: from nervous house cat to dangerous panther. Felix struggled to keep himself calm and attention locked on the approaching predator so that he could leap away at a moment’s notice. The cat leaned into his face before a huge grin broke through, his voice a smug murmur. “Do you have a crush on Mousinette?”

Now it was Felix’s turn to panic – eyes widening, heart racing, body trembling, and face burning red – as the image of a grey suited, blue-eyed Valkyrie popped up in his head. His mind replayed the way the breeze tugged at the ribbons in her hair, the obvious strength her petite body contained while effortlessly holding him, the intelligence that showed in her eyes, the blush painted across her cheeks and a giggle that made something inside him sing!

‘Oh…’ he thought dazedly. Sure, Felix had always heard of ‘love at first sight’ but had excused it as nothing more than romantic fantasy! Some unrealistic and overused movie trope! Yet here he was…falling for some mystery heroine that hadn’t even spoken more than a handful of meaningless sentences to him. Mortification bled through the warmth expanding in his chest.

Chat Noir’s grin became sharp, as if he could hear the hazel-eyed blond’s heart beating in time to the heroine’s name. “You and I aren’t so different; I was the same way for Ladybug. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

~~~

He refreshed the Ladyblog and scrolled through the latest posts for possibly the hundredth time, the habit becoming a daily routine for the blond. There was no real evidence of Multimouse’s existence, merely anecdotal or the occasional passing comment about a pink jump rope appearing during a time of crisis. The only images captured during the Jester akuma were blurry and taken at too far of a distance, Felix checked. Thoroughly. He questioned his memory more with each passing day as little details seemed to slip away, like a well-worn film played so many times that the sound and images began to distort. He could recall that her voice and laughter were sweet but why was it so hard to remember the exact tone? Was she really as lovely as in his dreams? Did her eyes sparkle like the sun glancing off a lake’s surface or were they more like the color of a cloudless sky at noon? What was the shape of her face like again? Did she have freckles?

Frustrated, the blond refreshed the page yet again.

The next time that Felix visited Paris, he watched the skies for a streak of grey and pink. No matter how many akumas appeared, it was simply the original pair: Ladybug and Chat Noir. His attention was divided between his phone and the skies, constantly hoping for another glimpse of the heroine that stole his heart; enough that even his cousin seemed to notice the level of his distraction.

“Hey Fe, you seem really out of it. You okay?” Adrien asked, concern seeming to drip from every pore.

Felix sighed and dropped his phone back down into his lap, “Yes. Apologies, cousin, I’m simply…” He made a motion with one hand as if scrolling through a list of words before settling on one, “…distracted.”

The model approached and hung himself over the back of the couch like a discarded throw blanket, glancing down at what had captured his interest on the screen. “Oh, are you checking out the Ladyblog? My friend, Alya, actually runs it!”

The hazel eyed teen turned with interest, desperately he tried to keep hope from bleeding into his voice. “Do you know if she has a database of images of the various heroes, perchance?”

“Besides the gallery on the blog itself, no, I don’t think so. Why?”

Felix’s posture deflated a bit as he stifled a groan, “It’s…nothing.”

“Are you looking for a certain hero, maybe?” Adrien innocently asked.

“No!” The Londoner answered a little too quickly, unable to keep his ears from turning bright red as he denied the question emphatically.

A playful grin spread across the green-eyed blond’s face, “Yes, you are, Fe! Who is it? Was it a temporary hero during that attack you were caught up in last time?”

He gripped his phone and clenched his teeth, attempting to stifle the spread of the blush now blooming across his cheeks. Good gods, he would never live this down…but his cousin was a fan of the heroes, surely, he might have some information? He hated feeling vulnerable. Felix pressed his eyes shut as if pained to admit it, his voice coming out as more of a whispered hiss than he would care to admit. “…Yes.”

Adrien seemed to light up, “Really? Who was it?” Bouncing like a puppy with a new toy, the model’s eyes gleamed. “Viperion? Or perhaps Ryuko? Rena Rouge? Or...Carapace?! No judgment.”

Felix scoffed and looked down into his lap pensively, his fingers gliding over the darkened surface of his phone’s screen as he struggled to open up. “No…none of them. She doesn’t appear on the Ladyblog anywhere and there’s no pictures of her in battle…I—”

The model gently set a hand on his shoulder, finally hazel met green. “Hey, it’s okay to have a crush on whoever it is. I mean I…” He watched as his cousin blushed, his eyes looking out the wall of windows with a dreamy, far-off look. Felix couldn’t help but think that his cousin looked like some sort of melancholic-romantic lead pining for their lover. “I’ve…had a huge crush on Ladybug ever since she saved me.”

The formal boy stared at his cousin’s profile, dumbfounded at finding common ground with his lookalike. They had been raised so differently, had lost contact, lost parents, and pursued different routes in life… The model was like sunshine incarnate while the magician resembled that of a thunderstorm. All their lives, Felix had always been compared to Adrien and found lacking. Perhaps they weren’t so different after all?

Adrien sighed softly and turned his gaze back towards him, excited once more. “So? What was she like?”

“She…” He allowed his eyes to drift up briefly as he recalled the encounter once again. “She was…strong and agile. Small, but powerful, like some sort of petite battle angel.”

“Yeah… I’m a sucker for a strong woman, too.” Adrien climbed over the sofa and settled beside him with a chuckle, leaning back so that the model’s face looked up at the ceiling. “And beautiful.”

“Graceful,” Felix supplied with an agreeable hum, lost in thought as his eyes drifted down to his lap once again. Fingers tracing the edges of his phone case as the image of bright eyes framed by a pink mask flooded his memories.

“Kind,” his cousin sighed into the air around them, his mind’s eye bringing forward images of his Lady.

“Capable.”

“Smart.”

“Clever.”

“Confident.”

“…yet adorable.”

“Especially how her nose crinkles when she laughs…”

“Laughter that makes your heart dance.”

“And a smile that makes you feel warm all over.”

“With blue eyes as clear as crystal…”

“Hair the color of the midnight sky…”

Felix laughed wryly, “Almost sounds like we’re in love with the same girl.”

“Oh gods, I think we have a type!” Adrien’s whole body shook with his laughter.

“Seems so, cousin!” The formal boy’s chuckles died out as the original issue arose to the forefront of his mind yet again. “At least you can find pictures of Ladybug all over the blog. Multimouse doesn’t appear on camera nor is she called out much. It’s…It’s like she never existed!” He ran a hand through his hair in visible frustration.

“Yeah, I’ve…uh…heard rumors of a mouse hero. But I’ve um, never seen her myself,” the model admitted while twisting his ring. “Wait! What if I ask Chat Noir – he, uh…patrols nearby sometimes – to get you a picture?”

Felix scoffed at the idea, “That’s not likely to happen. Even that cat mentioned that she is hardly ever called out to help. Besides, I don’t need any of the heroes to find out about my…inclinations. They might think I’m some sort of stalker and never call her out again.” Crossing his arms, he glared at the tops of his knees.

“Oh. Um.” Adrien seemed to deflate a little, his eyes twitching back and forth pensively as if trying to find an answer. “Then…what if you describe her to me and I can try to get my friend to draw her for you? His name’s Nathaniel, he’s really good – even has his own Ladybug comic book! Here, I’ll show you some of his work.”

Felix watched as his cousin pulled up a few screenshots he had saved of the bug heroine – obviously full colored, pre-print cells from the final draft – and was begrudgingly impressed. “That…that might just work. I…” He furrowed his brow and cleared his throat; an uncomfortable tightness having lodged deep in his chest. Hazel eyes rose to look into the model’s face once again, his voice a murmur of gratitude. “Thank you, Adrien.”

A genuine smile stretched across the model’s face. “Hey, what is family for?”

~~~

A few weeks later, a small package arrived at Felix’s door in London with a return address from Paris.

Retreating to the privacy of his room, the blond allowed his emotions to go unguarded as he quickly peeled back the tape with anticipation. A small gasp echoed in the silent room as hazel eyes finally laid upon the contents. Inside the rigid packaging and protected by a stiff plastic sleeve, lay three realistic drawings of various sizes and poses, all professionally colored and inked in a way that made it seem almost like the heroine could jump straight off the page.

“Multimouse…” his whispered voice filled with awe and admiration.

Felix pulled the largest image from the sleeve, an action shot that he had described in great detail – repetitively – to Adrien. Jump rope curled around her waist, ribbons blowing in the breeze, her booted feet together and arms extended above her head as she came down upon the akuma… Suddenly he felt as if he was right back in that moment! The artist had drawn her form as if hovering in the air, looking like an instant frozen in time, and filled in the background with a simple watercolor burst that accentuated the grays, pinks, and dark blues in the rest of the piece. With trembling fingers, he reverently traced the curve of Multimouse’s domino mask. He gazed into the bright blue eyes that had bewitched him and haunted his dreams. Somehow Adrien’s artist friend had even perfectly captured the determined sparkle in her eyes!

Gently setting that drawing aside, he pulled the medium sized image out next and found another action shot of the heroine mid-flight. Jump rope extended beyond the paper’s edges, legs extended behind her in freefall, her eyes partially closed against the wind whipping at her face – it was a beautiful vision! However, what captured his interest and stole his breath was the bright smile stretched across her face. She looked so carefree and relaxed, as if she were simply patrolling the rooftops with the rest of the team. Had they used Ladybug for reference? Or did someone see her recently?

No, if she had been seen, it would have been on the Ladyblog.

Placing that piece beside the other on his desktop, Felix finally pulled the last from the sleeve. Unlike the others, this one was laminated and covered by a sticky note in Adrien’s usual scrawl.

Dear Fe, I asked Nath to make this one small enough to fit in your wallet. We asked my very good friend, Marinette, to pose for it. I hope you like it! ~AA

The hazel eyed teen scoffed and peeled it away, freezing once he revealed the image beneath. The mouse heroine was pictured sitting on the edge of a building, reclined back on one arm while glancing over her shoulder almost flirtatiously, the sunset and Eiffel Tower behind her so that part of her face was cast in shadow. One delicate hand was brushing her bangs from her eyes, a shy smile upon her lips, her body language open and comfortable. The angle was close enough to make out long lashes and a light blush on her freckled cheeks. It almost felt as if she were looking right at him!

Knees shaking from the weight of his overwhelming emotions and eyes still locked on the small drawing, he sat heavily into the desk chair with a sharp creak in protest. Felix raised a hand to his chest, as if trying to calm the rapidly thumping organ currently threatening to flee from his body. His imagination ran wild – supplanting memories of the Jester with daydreams of shy smiles, sweet giggles, and teasing banter as they watched the sunset…

‘Wow…’ thought Felix, looking back over the three drawings before his eyes settled back on the one still in his hand. ‘I don’t know how I’m ever going to return the favor for this… Perhaps I can help my cousin with his crush the next time I visit?’

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

~~~~~~~Author's Notes: I had a this thought and decided to type it up. I'm the only one to blame here. I couldn't stop myself if I tried. I swear, I don't know why my brain spits this stuff out…

Jester lines are modified prose from character dialogue in 'The Court Jester' (1955).

Jester's visuals were inspired by a combination of Spinel (corrupted) from 'Steven Universe', Joker from 'Batman', and Huggy Wuggy and Mommy Longlegs from 'Poppy's Playtime'. Disturbing enough? Check.

Marotte: Originally the medieval fool's stick or sceptre, a short rod topped with a small head.

Adrien hints about Marinette's secret mouse identity, said hint goes right over Felix's head.

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oblivionloading · 7 months

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You can train your Speechcraft skills quickly by shouting dirty limericks with M'aiq the Liar in the middle of the night while wandering the streets of Skingrad.

#The Elder Scrolls #Elder Scrolls #tesblr #oblivion

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guyfieriii · 11 months

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Gem Amra Kheli

Translation: Games We Play

I finally did it, you guys. A lil' drabble is what I could muster for some fluff for you guys. It's set in the same story as Young Price and Bluebird.

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader

It started as something to pass the time.

A stakeout wherein hours felt endless, like watching that drop of water dangling from a faucet unable to fall. You think if you kept your eyes turned away, it might surprise you — but lo and behold, it’s still fucking there.

It makes you fidget. The waiting around for something, anything, to happen. It’s a weird kind of limbo to be stuck in. You’re on edge, as you often are, consciously aware and on the look for seemingly nothing. A harrowing trap in the betwixt and between tension and routine.

The consistent reverberation of the air conditioning that might as well have been a prop. The spice laden bouquet wafting upwards from the chaiwala on the pavement around the corner with his recurrent chorus of ‘Kichu chā chai?’ to everyone who passed by.

“Just try it.” He insisted.

You made a face at the terracotta cup he held between his thumb and forefinger — it probably held a little shy of three sips worth inside.

“There’s a kettle in the corner if I want tea, John. You didn’t have to—”

“Try it.”

That was a week ago, and your kettle remained untouched.

“Blue.” He began, his hand firmly planted on the back of yours— you were unknowingly peeling off the edges of your nicotine patch.

“Hmm?” You shook it off, smoothing over the frayed edges of the acetate film.

Another day of nothing and no one. Not counting the ensemble of transient strangers at your feet, just going about their day. Too random to find a pattern in, not haphazard enough to find any interest in surveying.

You watched the sun descend from its perpendicular position to half-mast, pulling with it a polychrome of burnt sienna and honeyed marmalade. The mismatched rooftops across your horizon interrupted its gleam in blocks of tan and taupe.

You tried to count them all.

“Play a game with me.” He takes a drag of his cigar, a shameless grin etched across his face.

“Nasty little habit you started there, John.”

“Just as you quit yours, love.”

“Fuckin’ prick.”

You resist the urge to inhale, let the murky smoke invade your lungs. The scent of it is a spiritous mix of all things provocative.

You glance down at your worn out patch and it mocks you back.

You might just—

“Go on, then.”

“Timor-Leste” His voice crackles over comms, as you make your way through the streets of Leipzig.

“Dili.” You pull your little notepad out from underneath the breast strap of your vest, and a pencil run down to its last couple inches, from the lip of John’s beanie which now rests on your head. “You’ve asked me that one before, John.”

“Doesn’t count then. You better not add that one to the tally.”

“Already have.”

“Cheat.”

That summer evening in Calcutta inaugurated a tradition of you parading your geographical prowess. Whenever you grew listless, and the silence grew too comfortable, he would ask. Eventually you began to keep a running score, once yours and his intrinsic competitiveness seeped in.

So far, you’ve only lost twice.

You haven’t decided what prize the grand victor would earn. It could be anything — he said as much.

“Can’t have it be a competition without something to compete for.”

“You’ll figure something out, I’m sure. Since I’ll win.”

“Bit naive to drop the chance to ask me for anything you want, love.”

You already know what you want, but—

“Remind me never to lose to you, John. Christ.”

“Lesotho.” He starts again.

It takes you a minute before you answer, with some uncertainty. “Maseru?”

“That a question or the answer.”

“Am I right?”

He confirms eventually with a gruff affirmative.

You peruse the pages of your now-filled notepad, the edges of it curving upwards — 154 tallies for you, and 42 for him.

Amongst those are little messages swapped between you and him. A limerick, now and then, or maybe a reminder. A cartoonish sketch of him on the top right corner of a page which he’s since torn off. It now lives in the coin zipper of his wallet.

As predicted, you won.

And it was a victory rendered bittersweet by its arrival. You kept your ask simple.

“Buy me a drink.” You said.

“I’ve bought you loads.” He countered with an expectant look. “We can do better than that.”

Yes, John. We can.

“What would you have asked for? If you’d won.”

“A kiss.”

“I’ll have the same, then.”

He obliged, of course. And it was everything you had imagined and then some.

His breath still lingered with the taste of his last cigar. His lips, softer than they looked, pressed against yours in a way so chaste, you’d have thought it was his first.

And when he finally pulled away—

“Let’s see how well you do with state capitals.”

Chaiwala - Tea Vendor

Kichu chā chai? - Do you want tea?

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shivunin · 1 year

Text

The Small Hours

(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 1496 words | No warnings)

They’d started the evening with a book.

Fenris was managing the experience of reading better now than he had at first, even if he was still slow enough to make him self-conscious with anyone but Hawke. In truth, he didn’t need as much help as she thought he did—they’d been working at it for several months now, and he read often when he was alone—but he kept coming back to her manor for informal lessons anyway. There was a quiet warmth to these evenings that had taken him by surprise, and he could not seem to let it go just yet.

So—tonight, they’d begun by reading. It was something relatively inconsequential—a collection of limericks, easy and fast to read. Fenris suspected Hawke just liked to hear him say things like “hullaballoo” or “festooned.” Her frequent, poorly hidden snickers did not relieve him of this suspicion, but Fenris found he could not mind the sound of her laughter.

In fact, he’d enjoyed it so much that he’d read through the entire volume, and then he’d been loath to leave. Her library was pleasantly insulated from the noise of the street or the rest of the manor, and the fire crackling in the hearth was a cheerful counterpoint to the whistle of the wind outside. Fenris was comfortable in a cushion on the floor, leaning back against her bookshelves while Hawke sprawled on her couch. It seemed a shame to end things so soon, though he had no excuse to stay. So—he’d set the book aside when he finished the last poem and asked her a question instead of taking his leave.

“What was it like,” he asked, “to grow up in Lothering?”

“Hmm,” Hawke said.

She peered up at the ceiling for a moment, the pause long enough to make him wonder if he shouldn’t have asked, if the memories were perhaps too painful. Eventually, she turned to look at him again and smiled.

“When I was little,” she said, “It seemed the finest place in the world. We had to stay away from anywhere too close to a city or large groups of templars, of course, because of…well. But the farm seemed like its own world; we didn’t spend much time in town until we were a bit older and could keep our magic to ourselves.”

She paused and winced, then went on.

“Well—mostly to ourselves. There was this awful boy—”

Fenris snorted and she pushed herself higher on the cushions.

“Don’t laugh!” she said, smiling despite the words, “There was this awful boy who would always knock Carver down and pull Beth’s braids and he was so mean and I just couldn’t stand him. One time he was standing somewhat close to a fire beneath a stewpot and I—”

“Hawke,” Fenris said, but she held up a hand.

“I didn’t hurt him! But I did burn out the bottom of his market basket. Eggs and fruit all over the place, the brat. He deserved it. And his mother accompanied him to the market for weeks after, so he didn’t have a chance to be cruel again until after Carver and Beth learned to throw a punch.”

Fenris shook his head, failing to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“But that wasn’t your question,” she said, shaking her head ruefully.

Reclining on the couch had left one side of her hair a mess, the curls bunched up in places and tangled in others. Fenris tried to put a name to the thing he felt upon seeing it, but he could not. It was—this was—intimate, in a way he could not seem to wrap his hands around to comprehend properly.

“It was quiet,” she went on, apparently oblivious to his stare, “We tended the farm and the livestock, always working, up before dawn every day. It was easier when the twins…when the twins were older. We could handle the load a little better. But sometimes, after harvest and before planting came, it felt like I had the whole world to run through. The sun in my hair and the warm earth between my toes—it was always a fight to get shoes on me back then.”

She was smiling again, soft and fond, her eyes fixed somewhere in the corner and somewhere farther away entirely. Fenris could not have made himself look away from the light in her face even if he’d wanted to. He wondered what it would be like to trace the lines and shapes of her expression with his fingertips; he wondered, too, what she would look like, carefree in the sunlight with the wind in her hair.

He wondered what it would be like to remember one’s childhood.

“I seem to recall you barefoot here more than once,” Fenris said, to push the last thought away, and Hawke’s eyes found his again.

“Yes,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “Have you felt formal shoes before? Goodness. I can’t blame you for never wearing any at all. Sometimes I’d like to try it for myself.”

“Why don’t you?” Fenris asked.

Hawke edged a little lower on the couch and lifted a foot, which was, in fact, bare at the moment. She wiggled her toes for a moment, then shrugged.

“What if I step on something sharp?”

“I would recommend not stepping on something sharp,” Fenris agreed gravely. Hawke tipped back her head and laughed.

“Don’t you ever?”

“Occasionally,” he said, and shrugged, “Perhaps I am used to it.”

“Perhaps,” she said, and tucked her feet into the cushions again, “Well—maybe you can try fancy shoes one day, and I can try leggings.”

“Somehow,” Fenris said drily, resting his elbow on his knee and allowing the hand to dangle loose, “I think you are getting the better end of the bargain.”

“Maybe so,” Hawke laughed, snuggling deeper into the cushions and tucking an arm under her head, “Did I answer your question? I can’t remember.”

“You did,” Fenris said, but—he wasn’t ready to stop talking yet. He cleared his throat and added:

“What became of the awful boy? The one you set aflame?”

He chose his words on purpose, and her reaction did not disappoint. Hawke’s mouth dropped open and she pressed a hand to her chest in outrage.

“I did not ‘set him aflame,’” she said, frowning at him, “The nerve!”

Fenris kept his laugh to himself, but he couldn’t resist the smile that crept up either side of his face. Hawke reached behind her, retrieved a small, circular pillow, and threw it at his head. Fenris caught it easily, laughing in earnest now despite himself. She went on, describing the boy’s fate—an apprenticeship in the city—and Fenris went on asking her questions great and small, unwilling to let the evening go. Her voice became heavy as the hours rolled by, and her eyelids opened more and more slowly, until at last she trailed off mid-sentence and did not finish her story.

“Hawke?” Fenris murmured.

He was tired, too; he was not certain of the hour, but he must have been awake nearly a full day by now. Sleep had not been kind to him the night before. Even so, he resisted the siren call of rest and looked at her instead. Her lips were parted, and her chest rose and fell in a soft and even rhythm. Some of her hair had fallen over her forehead, the tendrils dark against her brown skin. She lay on one arm, but the other hand rested on the cushion beside her elbow, the fingers loose and relaxed.

This was dangerous. He’d known as much for months, but the sight of her like this—one did not let down one’s guard like this unless trust was complete, or close enough to it that the distinction was insignificant. That horrible voice in the back of his mind whispered that she should be more wary, that he could have her beating heart in his hand in an instant and she would be able to do nothing to stop him.

Fenris rose on silent feet, took the blanket from a chair beside the fire, and approached. Hawke did not rouse when he carefully draped the soft red fabric over her, covering her from feet to shoulders. Her breath remained regular even when he lifted and tucked aside a loose lock of hair that would surely brush against her nose.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” Fenris said, so quietly he almost couldn't hear it, and turned for the door.

Perhaps a day would come when he might rouse her from her sleep and help her to bed instead. Perhaps there would be other nights when he could speak with her well into the small hours of morning, when he would feel as safe in her home as she did, when he might fall asleep without concern for safety or attack.

Perhaps it was not such a foolish thing at all, to want to stay in the warmth of her company.

“Perhaps,” Fenris murmured to himself as he retrieved his sword at the door, and let himself out into the night.

(Written for the prompt "talking late into the night" for @jtownnn ; thanks again for the prompt!! c:)

#maria hawke #fenris #fenris dragon age #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #f!hawke #da2 #da fanfic #my writing #fluff #i am weak for 'one part of the relationship could absolutely kill the other one but shows them tenderness instead'#it's flipped for my arianwen and listen #the trope is just catnip for me #shivunin scrivening

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k00293613 · 3 months

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Movement

Today I did some painting . I got started on my wings on a big sheet of cartridge paper . I’m unsure if I want to use purple wings or pink candy floss ones .

I might do both 😅

while people watching in the city , I was intrigued by two lads out on the job . These guys were having a blast messing with eachother and I wanted to catch that in a photo .

I didn’t manage to to catch that moment but I captured a photo of them both sweeping the street .

I think this image captures movement , camaraderie and just regular life in limerick city .

I went ahead and printed this today and put it into my book of photos

#art #design #photography #angel

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streetsofdublin · 2 years

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THE HAVEN PUB ESTABLISHED 1866

The owner of McCoys John Costello was interviewed by a local newspaper and they indicated that they had the Limerick bar stripped, transported and rebuilt as an authentic Irish bar in Alicante.

DAVIS STREET IN LIMERICK According to Google Maps this pub, established in 1866, has ceased trading. Back in 2016 I came across the following message online: We at The Haven Bar would like to thank all our customers & friends for your understanding while we carry out the necessary works and renovations to the premises .Good news is that renovations are progressing well and we hope to be…

View On WordPress

#davis street #Fotonique #Haven Bar #Infomatique #Ireland #Limerick #Pubs and Restaurants #Streets Of Limerick #The Haven Pub #William Murphy

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homomenhommes · 5 months

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … November 29

1764 – Percy Jocelyn (d.1843) was Anglican Bishop of Clogher in the Church of Ireland from 1820 to 1822. He was forced from his position due to claims of homosexual practices.

In 1811, Bishop Percy's brother John Jocelyn's coachman, James Byrne, accused Percy of 'taking indecent familiarities' with him (possibly buggery) and of 'using indecent or obscene conversations with him'. The bishop survived this accusation, instead suing the coachman for libel. Byrne was convicted and was sentenced to two years in jail and also to public flogging. Recanting his allegations at the prompting of the bishop's agent, the floggings were stopped. A public subscription was raised in 1822 after Jocelyn's fall from grace to raise money for Byrne to try to make up for this miscarriage of justice.

On 19 July 1822, Percy Jocelyn was caught in a compromising position with a Grenadier Guardsman, John Moverley, in the back room of The White Lion public house, St Albans Place, off The Haymarket, Westminster. He and Moverley were released on bail, provided by the Earl of Roden and others. Jocelyn broke bail and moved to Scotland where he worked as a butler under an assumed name. He was declared deposed in his absence by the Metropolitan Court of Armagh in October 1822 for "the crimes of immorality, incontinence, Sodomitical practices, habits, and propensities, and neglect of his spiritual, judicial, and ministerial dutie."

A political cartoon of the time

Jocelyn was the most senior British churchman to be involved in a public homosexual scandal in the 19th century. It became a subject of satire and popular ribaldry, resulting in more than a dozen illustrated satirical cartoons, pamphlets, and limericks, such as:

The Devil to prove the Church was a farce Went out to fish for a Bugger. He baited his hook with a Soldier's arse And pulled up the Bishop of Clogher.

The scandal was so great, that in the days following, "it was not safe for a bishop to show himself in the streets of London", according to Charles Manners-Sutton, Archbishop of Canterbury at the time. In August 1822, Robert Stewart, Viscount Castlereagh, who was both the Foreign Secretary and Leader of the House of Commons, had an audience with King George IV saying he was being blackmailed, and that "I am accused of the same crime as the Bishop of Clogher."

1931 – Leo Martello (d.2000) was an American Wiccan priest, gay rights activist, and author. He was a founding member of the Strega Tradition, a form of the modern Pagan new religious movement of Wicca which drew upon his own Italian heritage. During his lifetime he published a number of books on such esoteric subjects as Wicca, astrology, and tarot reading.

Born to a working-class Italian American family in Dudley, Massachusetts, he was raised Roman Catholic although became interested in esotericism as a teenager. He later claimed that when he was 21, relatives initiated him into a tradition of witchcraft inherited from their Sicilian ancestors; this conflicts with other statements that he made, and there is no independent evidence to corroborate his claim.

During the 1950s, he was based in New York City, where he worked as a graphologist and hypnotist. After beginning to publish books on paranormal topics in the early 1960s, he publicly began identifying as Wiccan in 1969, and stated that he was involved in a New York coven.

After the Stonewall riots of 1969, Martello – himself a gay man – involved himself in gay rights activism, becoming a member of the Gay Liberation Front (GLF). Leaving the GLF following an internal schism, he became a founding member of the Gay Activist Alliance (GAA) and authored a regular column, "The Gay Witch", for its newspaper.

In 1970 he founded the Witches International Craft Associates (WICA) as a networking organization for Wiccans, and under its auspices organized a "Witch In" that took place in Central Park at Halloween 1970, despite opposition from the New York City Parks Department. To campaign for the civil rights of Wiccans, he founded the Witches Anti-Defamation League, which was later renamed the Alternative Religions Education Network.

In 1973, he visited England, there being initiated into Gardnerian Wicca by the Gardnerian High Priestess Patricia Crowther. He continued practicing Wicca into the 1990s, when he retreated from public life, eventually succumbing to cancer in 2000.

1968 – Jonathan Knight is an American singer. Knight is part of the boyband New Kids on the Block. The band also includes Donnie Wahlberg, Joey McIntyre, Danny Wood and Jonathan's younger brother Jordan. He is the oldest member of the group and was the first to leave the group in 1994 prior to their official disbanding. The band reunited briefly in 2008.

Jonathan Knight was born in Boston, Massachusetts, to Canadian parents. (His father, an Episcopal priest, is from Meaford, Ontario; his mother is from Dunnville, Ontario.) He is one of six children, including Allison, Sharon, David, Christopher and Jordan.

In the early 1990s, Knight was linked to teen pop singer Tiffany. Both denied dating at the time. In 2009, The National Enquirer published an article from a man claiming to be Knight's ex-boyfriend, and outing him as gay. In a January 2011 interview, singer Tiffany stated that Knight is gay, which Knight then confirmed, saying "I have lived my life very openly and have never hidden the fact that I am gay." n a statement on the NKOTB blog, he added "Apparently the prerequisite to being a gay public figure is to appear on the cover of a magazine with the caption 'I am gay'. I apologize for not doing so if this is what was expected!"

Since 2008, Knight has been in a relationship with Harley Rodriguez, best known for playing Manny Lopez in the Sweet Valley High television series. The two participated in the 26th season of the reality competition series The Amazing Race, which aired on CBS in early 2015, where they placed 9th. On November 15, 2016, while vacationing in Africa, the two became engaged when Knight proposed to Rodriguez. In March 2021, Knight began hosting the HGTV television show Farmhouse Fixer, in which he restores old New England farmhouses for clients.

On August 25, 2022, it was revealed that Knight and Rodriguez had married.

1628 – John Felton, murderer of George Villiers (King James I's lover) was hanged. Villiers was the last in a succession of handsome young favorites on whom the king lavished affection and patronage, although the personal relationship between the two has been much debated.

1984 – Less than a month after being established as a city, West Hollywood approved a gay rights ordinance.

1990 – US President George H.W. Bush signs an immigration bill ending the gay ban.

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readyplayerziggy · 3 months

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Pride Show!

Lisa’s Buxom Boobliers

Lisa could brag about them. She could go on at length about the way that dresses cling to the breadth of her chest, how the sweat from a hot day pools in her cleavage so perfectly it can and has functioned as a bird bath, how she's perfected her gait so that the sloshing that seems to never not emanate from her bosom is always subtle enough to draw no complaints of noise in the library yet always firm enough to keep all eyes on the street on the sway of her chest, visible from any and all angles as she sashays down to the general goods store.

She could recite a few of the dozens of songs and limericks that had been composed of how high her breasts seemed to bounce, or show off the Akademiya theory paper talking about how it was possible for her to lactate so much given her diet and the potential health benefits of an all-milk diet, or maybe just show off the many, many bras she had that she'd required to be imported from Fontaine to handle her assets. But why would she? After all, the evidence speaks for itself.

The evidence:

#muse: lisa #pudgy-planets

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k00297627 · 7 months

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Radius Project

For the first project RADIUS our peer group explored Limerick for inspiration. For the project I focused on the street art and graffiti of Limerick around the area chosen by the group. I'd like to integrate the idea that street art breathes a certain life into a city in a different way to, for example, how the bustle of people may bring a certain life to a city.

I would also like to integrate the nature and wildlife that I found as inspiration to whatever my end project may turn out to be.

#nature #plants #sketch #graffittiart #graffiti #street art

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april-is · 1 year

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April 15, 2023: Dutch Elm Disease, Valencia Robin

Dutch Elm Disease Valencia Robin When Danny Johnson's big brother was killed in Vietnam, Danny ran around the block five times. I counted. Ran as if when he stopped his brother would be back in their driveway washing his car. But nobody knew anything about time travel back then, Star Trek hadn't even come out, Lieutenant Uhura still on Broadway doing Blues for Mr. Charlie. And even if Danny did understand the space-time continuum, his parents weren't having it, his mother on the porch yelling his name, his father tackling him on the front lawn, all us kids, the whole block standing there on pause. Which didn't exist either. No fast forward, no reverse. We weren't even Black yet. Was Milwaukee even Milwaukee? Is the Lincoln Park Bridge still there, do boys like Danny still climb over the rail, hug their bony knees to their narrow chests and plop into the river as if there's no way his parents could lose two children? Which is all I know about Vietnam, that and the way the sun hung in the faded sky as Danny ran around and around and held the air hostage, that and the way the thick August air ignored the leaves of all our doomed elm trees and let itself be held hostage. The streets were like ghosts when they cut down those trees.

Also: // On Being Asked To Write A Poem Against The War In Vietnam, Hayden Carruth // An Ordinary Composure, James L. White // Paralysis, Peter Boyle // Things That Have Changed Since You Died, Laura Kasischke

Today in:

2022: More Bang for Your Buck Running Scared, Brennan Bestwick 2021: Rain, Peter Everwine 2020: Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale, Dan Albergotti 2019: Prayer, Galway Kinnell 2018: Egg, C.G. Hanzlicek 2017: Well Water, Randall Jarrell 2016: For Desire, Kim Addonizio 2015: The Coming of Light, Mark Strand 2014: Flying Low, Stephen Dunn 2013: The Envoy, Jane Hirshfield 2012: Red Wand, Sandra Simonds 2011: Trying to Raise the Dead, Dorianne Laux 2010: Asking for Directions, Linda Gregg 2009: A Blessing, James Wright 2008: New York, New York, David Berman 2007: Waste Land Limericks, Wendy Cope 2006: There Are Two Worlds, Larry Levis 2005: America, Allen Ginsberg

#poetry #poem #war #the art of losing #time #valencia robin

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vintageslideshow · 10 months

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"You stay right here, I gotta go in an' get somethin'."

"okay, I'll wait..."

Two burros parked on the street in Limerick, Ireland.

#slide #photograph #burro #ireland

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conradscrime · 1 year

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The Canonical Five: Mary Jane Kelly

April 02, 2023

Mary Jane Kelly is who is known as Jack the Ripper’s 5th and final canonical five victim, however, there is much less information known about her upbringing compared to the other four women.

It is believed by many that the information we do know about Mary Kelly is embellished, with her having fabricated details that are known about her early life.

The man Mary Kelly had most recently been living with before her murder was named Joseph Barnett, and he later claimed Mary had told him she was born in Limerick, Ireland around 1863 and her family had moved to Wales when she was a child.

Supposedly Mary Kelly had told an acquaintance that she had been disowned by her parents, but she was close with her sister. It was said from Joseph and Mary’s landlady that she had come from a somewhat wealthy, good family. Joseph also claimed Mary confirmed she had seven brothers and at least one sister.

Mary’s landlord, a man named John McCarthy claimed she had received mail from Ireland, but not regularly. It was also believed that Mary was illiterate, as Joseph claimed she would ask him to read her the newspaper reports of the Jack the Ripper killings.

Though it’s been reported Mary had blonde or red hair, she went by the nickname of “Black Mary” suggesting she actually had quite dark hair. She also had blue eyes and some claimed to have known her as “Fair Emma.” It is estimated that Mary stood at about 5′7″ tall, and some said she was quite attractive.

On November 10, 1888, the day after her murder,

the Daily Telegraph

described Mary as “tall, slim, fair of fresh complexion, and of attractive appearance.”

In 1879, at around the age of 16, Mary married a coal miner named Davis or Davies who ended up getting killed 2-3 years later in a mining explosion. After this, Mary lived with a cousin in Cardiff, and this is where it is believed she started being involved in sex work.

In 1884, Mary left Cardiff and moved to London, where she worked as a domestic servant while lodging in Crispin Street, Spitalfields. In 1885, it’s believed she moved to the district of Fitzrovia.

Mary eventually began working in a high class brothel in the West End of London, becoming one of the most popular girls. She did quite well for herself and bought expensive clothes and hired a carriage at this time. Supposedly Mary had met a client named Francis Craig who took her to France, but she returned to London two weeks later, not having liked the France life.

It is believed that in 1885 Mary Kelly began drinking heavily. She moved around quite a bit lodging with different women and different men around this time.

It was on April 8, 1887, that Mary Kelly met Joseph Barnett, with the pair agreeing to live with each other after only knowing one another for a day. They lived in George Street, and soon a place called Little Paternoster Row, but were evicted for not paying rent and of drunk and disorderly conduct.

In early 1888, the two moved into 13 Miller’s Court, a single room a the back of 26 Dorset Street, Spitalfields. Mary had lost her key to the door, so she would bolt and unbolt the door from outside, putting her hand through a broken window by the door. A neighbour claimed Mary had broken the window when she was drunk, and a man’s coat often was used to act as a curtain.

It was said by Mary’s friend Lizzie Albrook, that Mary was sick of how she was living in 1888 and wanted to go back to Ireland. Her landlord said that she was a quiet woman when she was sober but very noisy when drunk. When Mary was drunk she often could be abusive to people, and was nicknamed “Dark Mary.”

Joseph lost his job as a fish porter in July 1888 due to committing theft, and because of this, Mary turned back to sex work. Mary would often let other sex workers sleep in their room at night when it was really cold because she did not have it in her to refuse them shelter.

It is believed that on October 30, 1888, Joseph moved out as him and Mary got into a fight about a sex worker named Julia sharing their room with them. Between November 1 and November 8, Joseph visited Mary almost everyday, sometimes giving her money.

The last time Joseph visited Mary was between 7-8 pm on November 8, 1888. Joseph claimed Mary was with her friend, Maria Harvey and that he did not stay long. He also apologized to Mary for not having any money to give. It is reported that both Joseph and Maria left Miller’s Court at the same time.

Joseph went back to his lodging house and played cards, falling asleep around 12:30 am. Before Joseph left Mary that night, her friend Lizzie Albrook also visited. Lizzie claimed Mary was sober.

In the evening, Mary reportedly had one drink in the Ten Bells public house with a woman named Elizabeth Foster. Later on, Mary was seen drinking with two other people at the Horn of Plenty pub on Dorset Street.

A sex worker named Mary Ann Cox, who also was a resident of Miller’s Court claimed to have seen Mary going home drunk with a stout, ginger haired man, around the age of 36 at 11:45 pm. The man was wearing a black bowler felt hat, had a thick moustache, had blotches on his face and was holding a can of beer.

Mary Ann actually had spoken to Mary Kelly, they both said goodnight. Mary Kelly then entered the room with the man. Mary Ann heard her singing the song, “A Violet from Mother’s Grave.” She was still singing when Mary Ann left her place at midnight, and when she returned an hour later around 1 am.

Elizabeth Prater lived in the room directly above Mary Kelly. She reportedly went to bed at 1:30 am, and the singing had stopped.

A man named George Hutchinson who knew Mary, claimed he had met up with her around 2 am on November 9, 1888 on Flower and Dean Street. Mary had asked George for a loan of sixpence, though he claimed to be broke. George said Mary Kelly walked toward the direction Thrawl Street when she was approached by a man of “Jewish appearance.”

The man was looked to be about 34-35 years old and George said he was suspicious of him because while it did seem like Mary knew him, his appearance made him look suspicious in that particular part of town. It was also said that this man made an obvious effort to disguise his looks from George, having his hat covering over his eyes as he passed.

George provided police with a very detailed description of said man, and told them he had overheard Mary talking with the man, complaining she had lost her handkerchief, and the mysterious man gave her a red one that he had. George heard Mary say to the man, “Alright my dear, come along. You will be comfortable.” And then the two walked into 13 Miller’s Court with George following them, though George never saw either one of them again.

A laundress named Sarah Lewis also claimed she had been walking in the area to meet up with friends around 2:30 am, when she noticed two or three people standing near the Britannia pub, among the people was a nicely dressed young man with a dark moustache and he was talking to a woman.

Both the man and woman appeared to be drunk and there was a poorly dressed woman standing near them. Opposite from Miller’s Court, Sarah said she saw a stout looking shorter man standing at the entrance to the courtyard. Sarah also saw an obviously drunk woman with a man further up the courtyard.

Mary Ann returned to her room around 3 am that morning and claimed she did not hear or see any light coming from Mary Kelly’s room at the time. She did think she heard someone leaving at around 5:45 am.

Elizabeth Prater who lived in the room above Mary Kelly and Sarah Lewis who was sleeping at 2 Miller’s Court that night both reported hearing a faint cry that said “Murder!” between 3:30 and 4 am, but didn’t do anything about it because this was common to hear cries in the area. Sarah Lewis said it was only one scream so she did not think much of it. She also claimed she did not sleep that night and heard people coming and going out of the court throughout the night.

Elizabeth Prater said she left her room at 5:30 am to walk to the pub for a drink, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

On the morning of November 9, 1888, Mary’s landlord sent his assistant to collect the rent. Mary herself was 6 weeks behind, owing 29 shillings. Shortly after 10:45 am, the assistant knocked on her door but got no response. He tried to then turn the handle, but the door was locked. He looked through the keyhole but did not see anyone in the room.

Using the broken window, he peered inside the room and found Mary Kelly, completely mutilated lying on the bed. She was estimated to have died 3-9 hours before she was discovered.

The assistant ran to tell the landlord, and then went to inform the police. The assistant immediately told the police it was the work of Jack the Ripper. A surgeon came to look at the body, and police gave orders to prevent anyone from entering or exiting the yard (I know, impressive for 1888 police work.)

Bloodhounds were sent in, but it appeared to be impractical. It appeared that women’s clothing had been burning, and authorities believed Mary Kelly’s clothes were burnt by the murderer to provide light so they could see what they were doing.

Joseph Barnett identified Mary Kelly’s body, he could only identify her by the ear and her eyes due to the severe mutilation.

The mutilation done to Mary Kelly was the most extensive of all of the Whitechapel murders, with many believing it’s due to the fact that the Ripper had more time to commit this one in a private setting.

During the autopsy it was noted that it most likely took 2 hours to perform all of the mutilations on Mary’s body, the death was further estimated to have occurred between 2 to 8 am.

Her body was found lying naked in the bed, her head turned on the left cheek. Her legs were left wide apart, the whole surface of the abdomen and thighs were removed and her abdominal cavity was emptied (but later said there was food found in it). Her breasts were cut off, her face was hacked beyond recognition, gashes occurring in all directions. Her ears were partly removed.

Her neck was cut through the skin and her other tissues were cut down to the vertebrae. Her air passage was cut at the lower part of the larynx. Her heart was taken. There was also blood splatters on the wall, lining up with her cut throat.

She had a superficial cut on her thumb, which some believe was caused while she tried to defend herself from her attacker.

It was believed during the autopsy that Mary Kelly had been killed from a slash to her throat, and the mutilations were performed after she had died. It was not believed that the murderer had any medical knowledge.

The inquest into Mary’s death began on November 12, 1888. After testimony, the jury had a short deliberation and the verdict was that Mary Kelly had been murdered by a person or persons unknown.

Police did house to house questioning trying to get answers as to who murdered Mary Kelly. A few people claimed to have seen Mary on the morning of November 9, after she had supposedly been murdered, though police could not find anyone to corroborate those sightings, as well as the descriptions of Mary didn’t match.

On November 10, 1888, Mary’s murder was linked to four other murders: Mary Ann Nicholas, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, and Catherine Eddowes. There was also an offender profile made, which stated the killer was an eccentric person, who was in an extreme state of satyriasis while performing the mutilations on Mary and the four previous victims.

There were no other similar murders after Mary Kelly’s and a lot of people believe she was the final victim of Jack the Ripper. Most believe these Whitechapel murders ended due to the killer dying or going to prison.

Over 100 years after the Whitechapel murders, two authors named Paul Harrison and Bruce Paley theorized that Joseph Barnett, Mary’s partner, had actually murdered her during a jealous rage. They took the theory farther, stating that perhaps Joseph also murdered the other 4 canonical five, trying to scare Mary from engaging in sex work.

Others believe Joseph did kill Mary, but only Mary and had tried to make it look like a Jack the Ripper killing to avoid being captured. The fact that Mary was found lying naked on her bed, with her clothes folded on a chair leads many to believe that her killer was someone she knew or who she thought was a client.

Some people do not believe Mary Kelly was a victim of Jack the Ripper at all. Mary was assumed to be around 25 years old, much younger than the other victims who had all been in their 40′s. Also, her mutilations were more extensive than the other four, she was killed in a private location and her murder occurred 5 weeks from the previous killings which had all occurred within a month.

In 1939, author William Stewart theorized that Mary might have been killed by a midwife, “Jill the Ripper” in which Mary was going to have an abortion. Stewart believed perhaps the midwife had burned her own clothes, putting on Mary’s and that’s why people the next morning believed they saw Mary after she had been killed.

Mary Kelly was buried on November 19, 1888 in St Patrick’s Roman Catholic Cemetery in Leytonstone. None of her family members could be found to attend her funeral. The inscription on her grave reads, “In loving memory of Marie Jeanette Kelly. None but the lonely hearts can know my sadness. Love lives forever.”

#unsolved #UNSOLVED MYSTERIES #unsolved crime #unsolved murder #unsolved case #murder #jack the ripper #london #canonical #five #last #victim #whitechapel #murders

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