#Hers would probably be the more difficult of riddles to unravel

[egophiliac]

please i would like to know more knitting headcanons if you have them. i love the most wholesome cozy headcanons out there

this got SO away from me, I'm so sorry, it started as "here is some needlework-related headcanon" and then I just lost my entire mind and it turned into "here are Scenarios about characters doing crafts". I…wasn't kidding about dedicating large amounts of time thinking about characters making things out of yarn.

it's not quite a fanfic but, uhhh, take it about as seriously as you take my comics, I guess. :') we're all just having fun here!

the closest Grim has gotten to knitting is the time he ate half a skein of yarn because it "looked spicy". (that was not a fun day for Yuu or the Ramshackle bathroom.) the ghosts, meanwhile, have canonically have made clothes for Yuu and Grim and, honestly, they're probably their own little knitting club (and Yuu's self-appointed eccentric granduncles). you know they're loving having an actual person to play dress-up make things for. we shall be well-prepared for any more impromptu Tsunotarou snowstorms.

Riddle, Trey, and Jamil all know the basics of sewing, but don't do any needling beyond mending/darning/general upkeep. they're all annoyingly practical. (Najma is also annoyingly practical, but she's more fashion-forward about it than Jamil. she's probably really into visible mending.)

Ruggie and Epel probably do know how to knit, in addition to those basics, but to them it's more of a utilitarian thing (need a new warm hat for the winter!) than something they do for fun. on that note, I think Epel wouldn't really have a complex about knitting -- partly because it IS a practical skill to have for those Harveston winters, and partly because he would have learned from Marja, and no one would dare imply Marja is anything less than absolutely badass.

meanwhile Ruggie is over here gleefully unravelling Leona's old sweaters so he can make himself a cashmere hat. it'sfreeyarn.jpg

Jack crochets little cozies and accessories for his cactus. he makes seasonal and holiday-themed versions with cute little sewn-on buttons and, you know what, now I need to draw event outfits for a cactus. hold on.

Deuce's mom definitely knits. he might've learned the basics from her when he was little, but never used them until recently, when he's been trying to pick it back up in order to make her a gift. (there's probably a heartwarming story in there about a special scarf or something that she made him that he's trying to replicate for her.) he's been at it for literally months now because he keeps screwing up his math and Riddle has to help him fix it.

Ace doesn't do any needlecraft, and razzed Deuce about it for a while until he found out the reason he was so Determined is because it's for his mom (and also the heartwarming story about the special scarf or whatever). so then he felt kind of guilty, and since he'd rather die than admit it, resolved to just never mention it again. except Deuce is so hilariously inept that not making fun of him is really, really hard. so Ace is just sitting there having a personal crisis every time Deuce whips out his needles and adorable little yarn basket. his life is so difficult. :(

Cater bought an amigurumi kit once when they were The Thing on Magicam. he made a few hedgehogs, took pictures, then gave them away to his friends and hasn't thought about them since. (Riddle was so moved by the gift that he forgot to yell at the first-years for a whole day. his hedgehog has a place of honor on his desk.)

Leona has never touched a needle in his life, and would be insulted if you implied he might enjoy expending a small amount of energy over anything he doesn't have to.

Kalim has touched a needle, once, when he tried to help mend something. he was so atrocious at it that Jamil forbade him from ever touching one again. if he started knitting it would probably give Jamil heart problems.

Azul strikes me as being someone who always has to be doing something. but he also doesn't like the inefficiency of spending so much time and effort without much return (personal satisfaction doesn't count). so I think he doesn't really do any crafting outside of whatever's necessary for whatever bit he's running at the moment…though maybe there's a tasteful stitched sampler or two hanging on a wall in Mostro. just because.

Jade is a little more crafty (ho ho, puns) outside of Schemes. by which I mean he exclusively makes mushroom-related decor and insists on hanging it up in Mostro. (Azul keeps asking him to stop. Jade pretends not to hear.)

Floyd once knit most of a densely-cabled fisherman's sweater in half a day. he got within 200 stitches of finishing before he got bored and never got back to it.

Vil probably, like…spent a week making a pair of cute mitts or something, and was really proud of them! then Neige made the mistake of getting super excited and trying to bond over it, and inadvertently soured Vil on knitting forever.

Rook I genuinely believe is both capable of doing everything, and also actively involved in using those skills at any given time. he could make an offhand remark about how he's been needlefelting tiny petals to stitch together into an elaborate rose-themed bodysuit and I would just be like "yep, that tracks."

he could also mention that he just put the finishing touches on the statue of Neige made out of hair that he keeps in the Hey Arnold-style shrine in his closet, and I would still be like "yep, that tracks".

I don't think Idia knits, but he might have bit of theoretical interest in it because of the relationship between knitting and binary? he probably spent a while trying to figure out if he could somehow make a playable version of Doom on a sweater. (it's magic, so yes. he doesn't want to actually have to make the sweater though.)

Ortho once made a hat and some mittens for Idia. it might be cold when they finally go to the park. :)

Malleus has a tapestry that's been his quick breather project for the last 400 years. he was vexed when he ran out of a color that hasn't been produced since the plant the dye came from went extinct a century ago. >:( the new flosses just aren't the same.

Sebek has tried embroidery in order to feel closer to ~wakasama~ but he doesn't have the patience for it. he's trying, though! his daisies are barely lazy at all these days! (he would probably actually be really good at knitting, since a lot of it is just…following instructions and doing math. since his main point of reference right now is Lilia, he hasn't figured this out.)

Lilia knits poorly and with much gusto. gauge? never heard of her. tension? this is supposed to be a relaxing hobby! it's unclear if he knows how bad he is, or if he's deliberately trying to see how embarrassing he can get before the others stop wearing the things he makes them. (they never will.) either way, he's having fun!

Silver was a self-sufficient little homestead boy by the time he was twelve, so of course he knows all the fun things you can do with wool (fortunately he learned how to knit before Lilia had a chance to ruin him) (idk, a friendly squirrel taught him or something, he's a literal disney princess his life is like that). he has a unique talent for being able to sit there asleep and somehow still spin perfectly consistent yarn.

look, I just want Silver to use a spinning wheel, c'mon

Neige and Silver both make tiny sweaters for orphaned baby animals. Neige's are more skilled (they have colorwork and little seed buttons) but Silver's are softer, since they're made from the wool that his forest bunny friends gather for him and donate to the cause. (Ace heard him mention this once and had to go have another personal crisis over it.)

this also ties into another absolutely unfounded headcanon I have about Silver and Neige being friends with the same bluebird family that alternates island sides for breakfast and dinner. there isn't any more to it, I just think it'd be cute. 🐦

orphan baby animals aside, Neige absolutely 1000% knits and you'll never convince me otherwise. he made that sweater. he made Snick's scarf. if you spend too long around him he'll have already started making you a cardigan in your favorite color. the dwarves don't knit because they don't have to. (wait, no, Timmy probably does -- you never actually see him do it, but every once in a while there's a new aggressively cute potholder added to the collection. Toby has tried, but he is physically incapable of not dropping stitches everywhere and ending up with a sad little pile of yarn.)

Che'nya says he does yarn sculpture, but really he's just batting the yarn balls around and leaving them for someone else to clean up.

Rollo does enormous cross-stitch recreations of illuminated manuscripts on 60-count linen (over one, of course). he will lecture you for two hours on how much he does not enjoy doing it and how that makes him better than you.

Mickey doesn't (I SAID EVERYONE). I'm sure his girlfriend knits though.

Crowley enters stitching competitions at the local fair. his depictions of handsome-looking ravens in top hats do better than you'd think, but he still keeps losing to goddamn Ambrose with his perfect backs and railroaded stitches and no hoop marks and…

resisting the urge to say that Crewel does crewel. failing.

…okay, but look, he does fashion design in canon, it MAKES SENSE --

Trein is a Good Cat Owner, so (after carefully researching durable and pet-safe materials) he crochets little mice with catnip inside. he gets a deep sense of satisfaction at seeing them get torn to shreds. :)

Sam doesn't partake himself, but he does have weirdly intricate knowledge of every potential needlecrafting technique and the associated tools -- which he just so happens to have in stock now!

like Rook, I do believe that Sam just…knows everything, through his "friends" or otherwise. he could start spouting details about the historic production of goldwork thread, and as long as he then offers to sell something to us while shouting gratuitous English, it would feel perfectly in-character.

you wouldn't think Vargas would be into crafting, but he did spend a week painstakingly painting antlers onto a hoodie for his deer cosplay. magic? pah! he didn't get these muscles by NOT smearing craft-store fabric paint everywhere BY HAND.

(this is also why Crewel agreed to wear the…thing…that Vargas made for his turn at being camp monster. he actually spent time and effort on it and the whole idea was giving Crewel his own personal crisis.)

this got so far away from me, I am so, so sorry

[mischiefandmystics]

📬 - A mysterious letter has just been found in their mailbox. How does your character react? Who would it be from?

Sun’ra loves intrigue, so the idea of someone:   A. finding out where he actually lives, and B. delivering a letter to that location, would definitely draw his interest. He would respond with curiosity and amusement and would likely try to figure out who sent him the letter, and based on the contents of it, why.  As to people who might feasibly want to send him a letter at this point in time? Probably a member of his immediate family that wanted to inform of something without sparking conflict or awkwardness. Being aware of all of his idiosyncrasies as they are, none of them would actually sign the letter, or outright say what they want or where to find him, instead writing in riddles, and thus fueling his interest.  Get to Know My Character

[your-turn-to-role]

new opinions of the cerberus assembly (etgw spoilers!!)

somewhat inspired by the conversations the other day, bc it’s reminded me i have a lot to say about these motherfuckers

let’s start with the obvious:

Master Trent Ikithon, Archmage of Civil Influence (Chaotic Evil Human)

Book Text: [Trent is respected as the acclaimed Propagandist of the empire and the third oldest member of the assembly. Once an instructor at the Soltryce Academy, he only returns every few years to collect young students for his experiments in the mental conditioning that he calls “awakening.” Many of these students go mad and are locked away, but those who endure become zealots for the assembly and join the Volstrucker, an elite group of arcane thugs commonly known as Scourgers, who perform the assembly’s dirtiest work under Trent’s direction.]

Most of this we knew. I hate this guy. Though, as a point of interest - Caleb’s for sure not the first person this has happened to. They account for a certain number of aspiring Volstrucker never completing the program, Caleb was just another statistic. Which means somewhere in Vergessen is a lot of other people with the same backstory who never managed to escape. That’s, something worth looking into, maybe.

Martinet Ludinus Da’leth, Archmage of Domestic Protections (Lawful Evil Elf)

[Ludinus is the oldest and only original member of the assembly, as well as the master of warfare and conflict. Charged with overhauling the military structure of the Dwendalian Empire, Ludinus directed the construction of the garrisons on the Xhorhasian border and often oversees their maintenance. He was one of the mages who survived the destruction of Molaesmyr and fled to Bysaes Tyl, but he saw the opportunity to achieve greatness within the empire and left his culture behind to continue his arcane pursuits. Wise, if emotionless, he bears a deep hatred for the Kryn Dynasty and spares no effort gathering information on their weaknesses and secrets. Ludinus spends most of his time developing arcane weapons of war and shoring up the military might of the empire, while subtly challenging the leadership of Crown Marshal Damurag.]

This guy’s old. That's the scariest thing about him really. Like, this guy's been in the empire since it was half its current size. This guy saw the destruction of Molaesmyr, and knew many of its residents. But he also rejected that society, purely for his own ends. He's at least 400 years old, more likely at least 500, and for the past 3-4 centuries has been focusing entirely on magic and warfare. That's a long time to hone those skills. Ludinus may say it's hard to compare power in the Assembly, but if I had to pick one of them for an end game boss, it would be him, no question. Trent's more of a wild card, sure, but he's only like 60, 70 years old. He's a baby compared to Da'leth. Keep an eye on this dude, and under no circumstances trust him.

Lady Vess de Rogna, Archmage of Antiquity (Neutral Evil Half-Elf)

[A public recluse for most of her life, Vess is both a brilliant mage and dedicated historian. She assumed this post after replacing her criminal predecessor, Lady Delilah Briarwood. As an instructor at the Soltryce Academy for over two decades, Vess has studied and unraveled a number of historical mysteries and pre-Calamity riddles — and hoarded some of the spoils for herself. Always eager to pursue forgotten lore and artifacts of eons past, Vess has been known to quietly vanish to Xhorhas for weeks at a time, returning with fewer guards and more uncovered secrets.]

Canon confirmation that this is who took over from Delilah Briarwood, and from what we’ve seen, they’re rather similar people. They're both scientists and historians, ruthlessly efficient, far more concerned with what they can learn and what they can do than what's good or safe for those around them. Liable to be found breaking the law in the name of science and progress. At least Vess has lasted longer than her predecessor.

Headmaster Oremid Hass, Archmage of Cultivation (Lawful Neutral Earth Genasi)

[The current headmaster of the Hall of Erudition in Zadash, Oremid is tasked with watching and grooming the next generation of mages and arcane specialists outside Rexxentrum. While he himself is a gentle soul who adores animals, he puts on the façade of a strict man with no sense of humor, which is further enhanced by the elemental influence of his earth genasi blood. He teaches students that failure is not an option, and that emotion is a barrier to one’s true ability. Equally feared, respected, and privately loathed by the students (and some instructors), Oremid personally dismisses those who break under his school’s curriculum and heaps joyous praise on those who endure their training.]

So, I've had teachers like this. And they stick in your mind, because, even a decade later, I still have a hard time getting over their instilled fear of failure. I can believe that, in general terms, Oremid's not a terrible person. I think he looks the other way on a lot of things, which precludes him from ever qualifying as good in my books, but he hasn't committed any major acts of torture or murder himself. Still though. You don't teach like that if you view your students as people. You teach like that if you view your students as potential assets. So like.... not as bad as some of his colleagues. Potentially someone they could work with if they had to. But still probably someone to stay away from.

Headmaster Zivan Margolin, Archmage of Conscription (Lawful Neutral Human)

[Zivan Margolin inherited the position of headmaster from his father, the late Jorma Margolin. Zivan has been the headmaster of the Soltryce Academy in Rexxentrum for nearly twenty years. Calm, patient, and quietly imposing, Zivan walks the halls of the Academy with a keen eye for talent. He is in charge of the curriculum and also watches for any latent powers that may be worth grooming as future allies of the assembly, dangers to be monitored, or prospective minds for Ikithon to conscribe into the Volstrucker. Zivan has rarely had the opportunity to demonstrate his full power, for he is typically busied with keeping the peace between the feuding members of the assembly. Those who have witnessed his true might, however, now know that his words are backed by some of the most powerful magics within the Cerberus Assembly.]

I think @lostsometime said it best, having the archmage of conscription be in charge of your elite magic school really sums up everything wrong with the empire. Like, if that's out in the open, your problems are unfixable. Get a new government. Jeez.

Master Doolan Tversky, Archmage of Dysology (Chaotic Neutral Gnome)

[The second-oldest member of the assembly, Doolan is in charge of the study and understanding of abnormal creatures and deviants of arcane creation that might threaten the empire’s way of life. She is an absentminded yet brilliant gnome who is obsessed with all beasts, aberrations, and creatures of legend. Doolan imports creatures from around the world to study, disassemble, and use in her attempts to revolutionize magical practices. She resents the Library of the Cobalt Soul, as her reputation has caused them to bar her from their facilities. She wishes to catalog the unstudied horrors of Xhorhas and has covertly obtained the services of the Myriad to retrieve new specimens.]

Now, Doolan is fascinating to me, not because I think she's a good person, but because she's just so delightfully weird. She's probably done some evil as fuck shit but she's also a gremlin of a gnome who loves weird fucked up arcane experiments and magical meteors that created eldritch ducks and all sorts of bizarre things like that. I'd love to see more of her, because there's always room in fantasy stories for more weird morally ambiguous old ladies who are banned from libraries on the grounds of "is about as likely to eat the books as she is to read them" and "last time we let her in here she somehow combined five forbidden rituals and created a new species of demon that haunts the halls of the rexxentrum archive spreading toxic slime everywhere and we can't figure out what it wants or how to make it go away".

Lord Athesias Uludan, Archmage of Diplomatic Union (Neutral Good Human)

[Athesias’s charm and bombastic personality serve him well as a diplomat. His duty is to foster a positive relationship with people of power both within and beyond the borders of the empire. He was originally one of the most effective instructors at the Soltryce Academy, but his penchant for spectacle and his rampant narcissism made him a difficult ally to trust with state secrets. When the office of Diplomatic Union opened, he was quickly and quietly reassigned. Athesias finds great pleasure in ruining or usurping the plans of his counterpart in the Crown’s employ, Emissary Lord Zeddan Graf.]

We’ve talked a bit about Uludan already - the Gilderoy Lockhart of the group for sure. Though I’m sure he has layers to him, so I’d be interested to find out what exactly they are.

And, saving the most interesting for last,

Baroness Jenna Iresor, Archmage of Industry (True Neutral Doppelganger)

[One of the younger members of the assembly, Jenna is known for her business acumen and her extravagant lifestyle. By hiding her nature as a doppelganger and using memory-altering magics at a young age to fabricate a false past, Jenna constructed her human persona from the ground up, leveraging her powers of deception to essentially write herself into history as a Clovis Concord expatriate. She helps oversee central guild business in Rexxentrum under Guildmaster Kai Arness, and helps Exchequer Aethia Drooze organize the collection of tithes through starostas across the empire.]

I am, insanely curious about how a doppelganger ended up in the Cerberus Assembly. She’s definitely ambitious for sure, doppelgangers already have a fair bit of innate magic - they’re natural shapeshifters and have a fair amount of psychic powers (like reading minds of anyone who happens to be near them), but to get here she had to be extremely committed. Which means she probably has plans for this position, or had plans that she’s already put into motion. Very interested what those are, especially for the archmage of industry.

[gmariam321]

In honor of the 10th anniversary of Children of Earth, I thought I’d share the stories I’ve written that all bear the CoE fix-it tags. Because ten years ago this week, Torchwood lost one of their best and brightest, Ianto Jones. And some of us still miss him and want him back. In the Whoniverse, anything is possible! So these are the stories that bring Jack and Ianto back together through just about every means possible - the Doctor and the Tardis, time travel, nannites, Time Lord watches, the Rift, the Red Key, soulmates, and more time travel. Am I leaving anything out? Probably, and I do hope there will be more! But for now, if you feel like reading a fix-it this week, I hope you enjoy these.

I’ll start with the Series03 Fix-It: Children of Earth (Torchwood) tag on AO3: 263 STORIES BY MANY GREAT AUTHORS HERE!

And the more general Fix-it tag, Torchwood stories only: 225 STORIES HERE! 

And my 11 fix-its are below the break. I really need to write one more and make it an even dozen! Until then, enjoy these, and long live Ianto Jones! :) 

Animore

"Lovers don't finally meet somewhere, they're in each other all along." ~Rumi. A mostly canon soulmate story.

Sacrifice: When Jack is inexplicably injured by a brilliant enemy from the future, the consequences quickly threaten the very fabric of space and time, forcing Ianto to make the hardest decision of his life: accept Jack's mortal death and watch time unravel, or save the universe and condemn Jack once more to an eternity of immortality.

Time is Eternity: When Ianto Jones stepped into the Rift in the House of the Dead, he intended to close it forever. He did not expect to tumble through and find himself trapped in his own past. He had to return to his own time, but what did the future hold for a man who was already dead? Yet another death, or perhaps a second chance at life?

Haunted When Ianto woke up with a very transparent Time Agent in his flat, he knew it would be a long, difficult day. He never thought he'd end up closer to Jack because of John Hart, though.

Realizations When Ianto goes up to Torchwood Two to help out for the week, he has several realizations about Jack—and their future.

Changing Hats When Ianto found Jack's RAF cap in the back of a filing cabinet, he had no idea how important it would become in their relationship with one another. A series of vignettes centered around the hat, inspired by an off-hand comment in the novel 'Another Life.'

Faith She speaks in riddles, of shadows and light, heartbreak and love. Sometimes he hates her for it, but sometimes he is relieved, because in the end riddles are easier to set aside than the truth.

Future Perfect: The first time it happens, Jack is not sure what to think. He's always said (and believed) that he is not the type of man to get jealous in a relationship, and at times it has even been true. But not this time—not with Ianto.

Past Imperfect Ianto Jones knows that working for Torchwood means the impossible is always possible. It's Christmas Eve, he's chasing a Rift opening, and he shouldn't be surprised to see Jack Harkness looking up him from the ground with a broad grin, but he is. Sometimes even Torchwood surprises Ianto Jones.

Homecoming Yes, Jack was excited about Torchwood, about going back to Wales and leading a new team, but he couldn't do it without knowing he had someone to come home to. He couldn't do anything without Ianto Jones.

Don’t Leave Me Again: Jack Harkness is about to destroy the aliens who took so much from him back on Earth. He is also about to learn that the end is indeed where one starts from, for this ending is an unexpected beginning as well.

Oh, and an alternate universe rewrite of much of series 2 and 3, including Children of Earth, but featuring a much different series of events: A Different Life When Ianto Jones leaves Torchwood after Owen's death and revival, he builds himself a different life. But can he really leave Jack behind when the world is about to end?

[rosaliamorais]

a guide to eventually getting framed for murder by the police, probably, as told by rosa.

mentioned: @ivyleagves, @holdenwoodz, @figurchead

Part One ( You. )

Do you have any criminal history? Anything big or small that you want to make us aware of?

“No.” The answer is a little too quick, a little too panicked to seem entirely true. Her nerves are shot, her blood is laced with caffeine. She can’t stop shaking; hopefully they chalk it up to her anxiety. That is, after all, a major part of why she can’t seem to sit still, her usual decorum is lost-- forgotten and left to rot on the forest floor, just as she had been. Just as she’d learned Nathaniel had been. That thought churns her stomach, brings a welling of tears to her eyes. She squeezes them shut for just long enough to clear her vision and not a second more. Closing them for too long is a mistake. Trying to force herself into falling asleep for the past two nights was enough proof of that. Even still, her quick answer boiled down to mostly being about the fact that the other twenty-nine students involved in this case now knew her deepest, darkest secret. Unfortunately for some of the police officers in this very precinct, they knew it too. They just hadn’t needed the blog to tell them. “I have no criminal record. I’d be pretty stupid to pursue law, if that were the case.”

How have you spent the few weeks back at college? What have they been like?

An incredulous gaze lifts from the place her hands are fidgeting on the table, brows furrowing as she tilts her head. “Are you kidding me?” A breathy laugh, cold and unamused. “I’ve spent them in total fear, Elaine.” She says the name with the venomous taste of condescension on her tongue, only to turn to the younger officer immediately after, her expression puzzled. “You’re sure you want to work here, Mikey? I’m pretty sure you’d be better off training under Starsky and Hutch.” The girl who would’ve come into this interview all of a week ago was nowhere to be found amidst her foul temperament and biting remarks today. In spite of the current state of affairs surrounding her reputation, Rosa had always been respectful to the right authorities, even if she felt they were undeserving. 

The person answering these questions retained nothing of that polite, well-mannered mask. “They’ve been horrifying. One day I’m celebrating making it to my senior year, the next I’m worrying about whether or not any of the people who knew Daisey were going to see graduation.” A faux-thoughtful expression crosses her face before she speaks again. “Oh, and then the local police force decided to keep us all on lock-down, like we’re kindergartners on a field trip. And would you believe that it didn’t help anything at all, because four of us went missing under their oh-so watchful eyes? One of us were even murdered? The second one in a month? I don’t know. Maybe, if you ignore all of that crap, it’s been a great last year before for law school.”

Part Two ( Daisey. )

How did you know Miss. Rutherford? What was the nature of your relationship?

“We barely associated. We had a few petty arguments now and then; academic rivals, I suppose.” You guys aren’t asking the right questions. This won’t help anything. The thoughts nearly tumble from her careless lips, only kept back by Rosa’s tightly clenched jaw. “She was a cruel and vindictive sociopath, but I’m sure you’ve gathered that much. Even with your way of investigating. Point is, I didn’t care about her until she went missing. I was just focused on getting into Harvard. I don’t have the time to spare on actively hating someone. Other than being a snarky annoyance, Daisey wasn’t on my radar. Everyone was on hers, though. Girl had no life aside from getting off to the sound of people crying.”

Do you remember where you were the night Daisey went missing? If so, where were you? What were you doing? Who were you with?

“I was at Oz Lamar’s party, same as basically everyone else at St. E’s. I spent part of the night with my gi-- my friend, Ivy Westbrook. We did shots together, I got super drunk, and then I met Holden Woods and we became besties in the bathroom.” She produced her phone in order to scroll through several of their blurry, intoxicated pictures together. “These span over an hour. So, clearly I was having the time of my life, I guess.” At least the change of subject subdued her sudden temper, her demeanor visibly simmering down.

Did you notice anything strange about Daisey’s behavior the night she went missing? Did you notice anything suspicious about anyone else you ran into that night?

“All I remember of Daisey that night is seeing her dry humping someone who was definitely not her fiance.” That’s all she plans to say, before she decides to tell them more before they can demand it. “I saw her making out with someone else. I don’t know who it was, because I’d assumed it was the guy-- is his name Octopus? No, that’s stupid. I don’t know.” She takes a second to collect her thoughts, lips pursed in her concentration. “Anyway, I thought it was him. Clearly, I didn’t want to be privy to a peep show, so I ran through the hall. That’s when I ran into the poor guy. Completely unaware Daisey was hooking up with someone else.”

Where were you the night Daisey’s body was recovered?

“I heard while I was in the grocery store. Everyone around me started talking about it, and someone turned on the TV. Everyone in the store just stopped and stared, horrified. No one wanted to believe it. Regardless of what kind of person she was, she didn’t deserve to die.” Rosa can still recall the look on every single stranger’s face that day. “It was so... quiet in there after the broadcast went off. Not another word was spoken, like an infinite moment of silence.”

How familiar are you with the Ashmont woods? Have you been there often? Have you recently ventured out here? If so, why?

“Fuck you.” She pushes her chair back with a deafening screech of the legs against the floor, poised to get up and leave. An empty gesture, apparently, since she stays in her seat. The room is blending together now, her eyes trying to find something to anchor her to the room, to remind her of where she is. Each of her hands find the lining of her seat, her white-knuckled grip doing nothing to help. She finds herself breathing in uneven patterns, heart palpitating as she tries to distract herself. This is pathetic: one mention of the woods and she’s unraveling, spiraling into a panic attack faster than she’s ever done so before. She’s avoiding either officer’s gaze out of humiliation, unwilling to ask for help. The sound of her own voice calling out that night, begging for a savoir, is an echo in her mind. The concrete floor of the police station suddenly looks a lot like the blood-riddled leaves coating the ground in the Ashmont woods.

You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re here. The voice reminding her of her safety isn’t her own. It’s Ivy’s, gentle and careful and warm, the same words she’d woken up to, after being pulled from a nightmare on the night they spent together. The memory slowly overtakes the one Rosa’s trapped in, the rough edges of the treeline enveloping her smoothing out, fading back into the recesses of her mind as she concentrates on breathing. Her relief is palpable as the comfort of home brings her back to her senses slowly, allowing her to melt into the chair once again. A hand covers her eyes as Rosa motions for the questions to continue and clears her throat. “I’m intimately familiar with the depths of that forest, considering how you and your incompetent officers nearly let me die there, thanks for reminding me.” She broke her words in order to pull in a deep sigh, the only thing keeping her from crying being her adamant desire not to deal with these people for a second time. “I don’t want a break, I’m fine. Keep asking your stupid fucking questions, because I’m not coming back for another one of these.”

Part Three ( the Investigation. )

Do you have feelings towards the investigation? Any comments?

“Just one,” Rosa takes a moment to steady herself before she looks the lead detective in the eye once again, defiance scribbled across her features, jaw set. “Do better before someone finds dead student number three in some storage building.”

Do you have any people you feel the police should look into? Please, let us know who and why.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to answer these inane inquiries, and her expression shows it. “I guess the fiance. I wouldn’t be happy if I found out the girl I was engaged to was sleeping with other people. I don’t know if he knew, so I’d break that to him gently. Daisey was a good liar.”

Part Four ( Weekly Events. )

Where were you kidnapped from? What do you remember of your abduction?

She’s moving uneasily in her chair once again, the only thing holding her facade together the mantra she’s still repeating in her head. Nerves make it hard for her to be angry, the rage from a few moments ago swapped out with unease, her hands back to wringing together, her foot beginning to tap against the floor. “I don’t remember any of that. Doctors said I could’ve blocked it out, or something, but I can’t even remember waking up that morning. As far as I’m concerned, that entire day is gone.”

What details do you recall from the time you were captured to the time you were released?

“Details?” Rosa’s disapproving scoff is half-hearted now, as she fights to recall the fuzzy memories in as calculating a way as possible. She couldn’t-- wouldn’t-- freak out again. “There aren’t details. At least, not for me. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak. I was awake for all of it, and I couldn’t even get the blindfold off.” The tears that’d made such a fuss trying to escape her eyes are finally streaming freely down her face, but she’s too preoccupied to notice. “My arms were tied down to a chair,” her hands instinctively gravitated to the burns on her wrists, “and my legs were tied together. My mouth, um, was duct taped… and… there were these headphones on me. Noise cancelling, I guess, unless whoever took me was a monk.” She swallowed past the growing lump in her throat, eyes searching the table in front of her as she went on. “They fed me this disgusting-- I guess soup? And gave me water twice a day. They were always wearing gloves, so I don’t even know if they had long fingernails.”

Did you learn anything about your kidnapper? Any facial details, an accent, any knowledge that you can share to help police in their investigation?

Her irritability resurfaces at lightning speed as she realizes how little she’s being listened to. A spark of recognition lights her face up, jaw dropping as she wiped her cheeks in a fervor. “Wait, no, I remember it. I remember everything.” Shaking hands ushered for the detective to grab her pen and paper. “Write this down, hurry-- before I forget again.” Rosa nods to herself as she begins to recount everything she knows. “It was a man, stocky build. He had white hair, and… it was spiky. A dark goatee, with a little light patch right in the middle. I couldn’t see his eyes, because he was wearing these thin, plastic, black sunglasses.” She clapped once, as if in celebration. “And every time he came to give me food, he pulled my headphones off just enough for me to hear him scream FLAVORTOWN! as he poured it down my throat.”

“Oh, wait, that’s Guy Fieri. I guess I didn’t miraculously remember anything since the last time I answered that, two minutes ago.”

Were you aware of any of the other kidnap victims when you were taken? Do you have any information or insight into the death of Nathaniel Ballantyne?

“I thought I was the only one until I heard people talking about the others. I had no idea there were more of us. I don’t even know if we were in the same place.” She stands up with her shoulders straight, the clothes she’d tried to sleep in still hanging freely off her figure. “As fun as this was, I’m going to go back to bed and do my very best to remember every detail of my excruciating days in hell so you can ultimately waste it on your corkboard and red string investigative approach. See you when the next round of people die, yeah?” With that, she takes her graceful leave.

[bleedingcoffee42]

Absent- Part 10

Prev parts

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The drive back was filled with less talk about alchemy and more common date discussion. As they drove down the streets, Roy would point out an establishment and ask if she had been there or wanted to go there.   She would reach over and put her hand on the wheel to avoid a collision with the establishment in question, then reply.   Many were places they had eaten at, a few were places she would like to and the rest were theaters or clubs where they could never go together.   These questions made it seem like Roy never got out, but she wondered if it was just her mind playing back places she wished she could go with him.  In reality he did frequent a lot of them with his 'dates' but she would never consider going without him.  Not that she faulted him for going, she just realized that most of these exciting venues were for couples who liked to be seen and be part of the excitement of the East City social circles.  

It was strange how this fantasy was being played out for her.   Everything she wished she could do with her secret boyfriend was now an option.   It was all very easy to want to enjoy it here instead of spend their time trying to find a way back to her own existence.   Perhaps what he said was true, this was some kind of test.   How easy it would be to determine if a person was too distracted by temptation to complete their assignment, they simply wouldn't wake up.   Before she could focus on that any longer they were back to their starting point.

They arrived at HQ and Riza got out of his car.   Roy pet Hayate one last time before her dog followed her out and he realized he was finally going to have to say goodbye.   “I had a great time.”

“Me too.”  She said and left it at that.  She honestly did.   “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“I'll look forward to it.”  He said and she gave him a smile before closing the door and turning to go back into work.  He sat in the car with the engine idling for a good ten minutes before the doors opened again and Ed and Al scampered down the stairs and raced to the car, jumped in the back seat and started  talking all at once asking about his date.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Riza thought about going to the locker room and borrowing some clothes from Rebecca, as she doubted her lock combination was different, but she thought better of it.   At this point her uniform was the only thing that made her military and that was her only thing keeping doors open for her.   Becoming a civilian in any capacity would make things difficult, until she got outside the city when she planned on removing her pant cape and jacket and trying her best to look more casual.   It would be a necessity to get her past the door when talking with the other Riza.

The young man at the motor pool was indeed swamped.  Cars were coming back, the gate was getting stuck in it's tracks and Major Hempstead was screaming about his car having a sticky back seat when he took it this morning.  The kid looked about ready to quit.   She walked up and gave him an understanding smile as the Major went on about “I don't know what you could be implying” by suggesting it was him that had made the seat sticky before returning it.   She simply grabbed the clipboard and signed a car out as the kid begged her to save him, but knew she lacked the rank to do so.   He winced as Hempstead demanded to be checked out first since he did nothing wrong and was already late for an appointment.   It all worked in her favor, the private handed her keys and scribbled something on the clipboard and pointed to a sedan parked by the gate.   She wasted no time in getting over to it and getting in, catching something about “You let dogs in these cars? No wonder there is unknown substances on the seats!”.

She was quick to try to leave, only to see the gate was stuck a foot away from allowing her to escape.   The private saw it as an opportunity to get away from the Major and rang over, threw his whole body into unjarring the chain link frame and clearly hoped it would send him to the infirmary with some injury.   It didn't happen and she saw his sad face as she left and turned west onto Oak Street.

She started her journey to her home town and thought about Roy.   She doubted he was going to tell Hughes or the boys about her last name because he wouldn't want to have them interfere.   Hughes was relentless and if the boys were part of his family now then they would be protective as well.   Roy would keep the secret, she was sure of that.  She wasn't worried about being discovered in that respect.

Delegating the task of unraveling the mysteries of the coin to the three best alchemists she had ever known was something she was banking on working out.   She had doubts that her alternative self would be that capable and passionate about alchemy to have studied a rather specific malicious subject like that coin.  If this was her mind constructing this reality of her knowledge than she doubted something would surprise her in that respect.   Fears coming to life maybe, but this was about suspending her disbelief and if someone she knew well did something truly out of character than she would start doubting all of this.   That would help her find an exit instead of being lulled in complacence and that was not what this simulation was about.

If she knew the answer to this riddle, then it would come from the mouths of Roy, Ed or Al when she returned to East City tomorrow.   There was hope there because in the short time she had known the boys and in the half a lifetime she had known Roy, they had probably all covered the expanse of alchemy and science in one discussion or another.   Alchemists were a different breed, it literally took nothing to set them off about the chemical components or this or the molecular structure of that and the  'simple' transmutation they could do to create something entirely different.   She had encouraged all of them and although she didn't contribute to the conversation, she did sit through many of their excited ramblings.   She believed in them.   The problem she foresaw was that she really didn't know how far her mind would go to give her an answer to maintain that belief.   They could tell her something made up and she'd never know.  

That was for later. Right now she needed to figure out how to approach and talk with herself, something she knew would be much more difficult than anything she had done thus far.  

[notlikelyheroes-blog]

Chapter Three: Activation

Swampy:

Page 15

Boy am I tired, I probably could have gotten another hour of sleep before waking flint, but I know we have things to do today. As I traverse our hideout I hear the newbie screaming in his room, I take it was a rough night for him. Good thing he won't stop screaming because I have no idea where his room is, and he is making it a lot easier. Flint didn't leave bed she said i could take him to the activator room, and explain everything to him, and she will meet up with us after. I don't blame her, it's going to be a struggle explaining this to him, and she has a very short temper, and I won't get as flustered explaining it as she does. I finally reach the door to his room, and take a second to observe him, he is around the same as us, but sure does act like a kid. He had a buzzcut and looked to be a mix of two races, not sure which two, but i'm sure he will be happy to answer my inquiries after he is done screaming. I creek open the door, and for about one second i thought he was gonna stop screaming, but boy was I wrong. He just kinda kept going, so i proceeded anyways. Getting closer i noticed how his eyes were bloodshot from his lack of sleeping, and probably because all the smoke his body took in the night before. I decided to pull up a chair next to his bed that way he can see that i'm not there to hurt him. He didn't seem to care how friendly I was, he wasn't going to stop yelling until he understood everything going on, and it's difficult to explain that to him while he is screeching at the top of his lungs like a baboon. I reach into my hoodie and pull out one of our most advanced gadgets, it has the ability to make anyone be quiet, it goes by the humble name "duct tape." I unraveled a mouth size length of it, and gently set it across his mouth.

Page 16

So now all I have to talk over is his muffled screams. "Bare with me this is going to be a long explanation." When he finally stopped fidgeting and freaking out, I noticed his twitches, and agitations of just laying still, and doing nothing. "Ok so where do I begin, you technically aren't human, and neither are flint and me." When his eyes widened, and he began screaming again, i realized that wasn't a very good spot to start, but i continued nonetheless. "We are human, but only about half, and before you ask 'but swampy what are we then?' I have no idea. One of the council members that used to work here told us that none of us know what we are, and the only people that know are the people who we refer to as alphas, but i'll explain them later. We titled our little difference from humans, our kinship, and because of that everyone who is like us go by the name 'Kin'. I honestly don't like the names, but I wasn't the wont to decide 'hey let's all live like wolves, and rank ourselves accordingly.' I hope you're following along." he let out a louder muffle. " Correct the ranks go as such ; From the highest rank to the lowest it goes, Alpha, Council, Kin which is like me and flint, and then there are the not activated, which is you." He looks to have calmed down a bit, so i figure why not take off the duct tape. When I take the duct tape off he screams at me for a bit, which is fine because i would do the same thing if i was kidnapped by half human weirdos. Finally he asked a question that wasn't riddled with obscenities, and I could make out what he was actually trying to figure out. "What do you mean im not activated?" Which was as blunt of a question as I could hope for. "Well you see when we are found by a kin they offer to activate us, and what that basically means is they turn an interest of ours into a power. So for example flint was a pyromaniac, and was actually found by a council member because she burnt down an old abandoned house for fun." he looked slightly confused, and asked "so we get to choose what our power is based on?" I sigh "sadly not, the machine does that on its own. The machine is titled 'The Activator' for obvious reasons. There are quite a few activators, but before i explain them, i'd like to explain a more crucial part of this whole ordeal."

Page 17

"You see just like in humanity there are people who think they are better than others, and that causes problems because we are created to live on this earth together. So just like humanity has wars and terror, we have war and terror. There is an organization known as gammas, and they are also Kin. Their idea of humans is not of the highest, and they think that they should not have to live on the same earth as a race that is so worthless. They are evil, and should not be trusted. They will try and manipulate you, and make you hate humans if you aren't careful. People like me, flint, and the council are known as omegas, and we fight to protect mankind. While us omegas and gammas are distracted with our problems, humans expanding knowledge, and inventing. So we need them just as much as they need us. " He looks like he understood everything, and that's good because now I'm at a hard part to explain. "So back to the activators. There are many activators. Although both Omega, and Gamma have quite a few, there are some differences in ours. Since they are further in technology their activators have no issues, while ours have just about two major ones. When you step into a Omega activators a few things will happen. In the first hour the machine will find out what aspect of you should be activated, so for me it was my love for plants, and for flint is was her love of fire. Next the activator will start a lengthy process of enhancing that one aspect of you, and this is the part where humans would die because the activator would crush their minds trying to enhance one of their interests. Now is when the two negatives come into play, the first negative is that the process of activating will change one aspect of your appearance as well. For me it bleached my hair permanently, and made my pupils this light green color. For flint it gave her the whole red and grey hair look. The second negative is that our machine can alter one other random thing for better or worse. We can't seem to figure out how it determines what its going to change, or if it will be for the better. I got kind of screwed, and lost all of my memory, I do sometimes dream of what i believe to be memories, but I can't tell if they are or not. Flint got pretty lucky, and only became more hyperactive which is probably for the better. Although there are these negatives, us omegas we do it anyways because when you come out of the gamma machines you are imprinted as one of them, and you will evidently hate humanity."

Page 18

"Now that i'm done explaining its up to you to decide if you want to get activated with us, or wait until they get a hold of you, and activate as a gamma. If you wanna get activated with us just leave this room and take the first left and then the first right me and flint will be in their waiting for you. If you rather wait for the Gamma to find you, the exit is down the stairs which you'll see is right when you leave this room, and then the main exit should be directly on your right when you reach the bottom of those stairs." I got up and left the room immediately, I wanted him to make his own decision, and if I stay in their too much longer I'd influence him more than i'd like. When i reach the room I told him to meet me and flint in I find flint sitting with her feet on the table waiting for me. "Hey swampy, sorry it took so long, had to give our old buddy john his breakfast." John is this guy about our age, who seems to already be activated, but we can't tell on what side. He encased himself in darkness so we can't really see his physical features, but by his voice we can tell he is about our age. We captured him in new zealand when we found a whole small village encased in darkness. Now he sits in a room by himself playing with shadows. We ask him if he is good, or bad, but  he doesn't seem to even know. He also doesn't know who activated him, so just to be safe we keep him in that room. A few minutes pass and still no sign of the newbie, I wonder if he already left, and we are just waiting here for no reason, or if he is still making his decision. Me and flint make tea while we wait for him, and my eyes start to drift off, probably because I woke up really early to surprise flint, and I also had to be ready to explain this whole thing to our new friend.

[isabellakristen]

from @riddle-me-that​

When Isabella would arrive back to her home, she would find a green envelope with a black question mark painted on the front of it from sitting on her kitchen table. The envelope looked incredibly similar to the ones he used to use when he started their first game nearly a year ago. Everything else in the apartment seemed untouched and just as she had left it. Implying not only that he was in her apartment, but that if he hadn’t left something behind, she would have never known that he was there.

If she chose to open the envelope, Isabella would find Edward’s beautiful cursive lettering. Beginning the letter with;  

Dearest Miss Flynn,

A good day to you, my lady. You were out past curfew so I took the liberty of setting a few things up for our little game while you were out of your chambers. I will reveal all I have done to your apartment with time. That being said; 

Riddles can be difficult but I saw you have received my first riddle, and understood it with ease! You were always so very intelligent. It was what I found most endearing about you. What I loved about you. So…

Killing your spirit won’t be as easy for me as you must think. I hate to have to break you down, but you know I must for you to understand. I’ve noticed you have already begun spiralling. I figured your paranoid nature would get the better of you. You’ve always been so bad at holding it together when you believe someone is after you. It must be worse knowing that someone really is for once…

How is it for you, really  knowing you are constantly being watched? Absolutely horrible. I imagine.

And a gentle reminder, my dear, before I forget. You must follow the rules. All of them, that means no getting help and no leaving your apartment when it’s unnecessary to. No more trips to the library. I don’t want to have to break in here again to teach you a real lesson.

My love,

Riddler.

Isabella was exhausted. She closed her front door behind her, and wandered into the kitchen, not bothering to take off her shoes or put down her bag. All she wanted was a mug of cinnamon tea. She knew that Edward might have been watching, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to sit down, to not have to think or speak to anyone for the rest of the day.

The dark green envelope was the first thing she saw. It was sitting on her kitchen table.

Even without the question mark, Isabella would have known. She froze, and stared at it. He had been inside her home. Of course, there was the possibility that he’d already been there, when he’d set up the camera. But now she knew. He had been inside her apartment, and if he hadn’t left this letter, she would have had no idea. Nothing was out of place. Had he been there before? Had he invaded her home while she was at work, or at the library?

She didn’t want to open it. What if it had anthrax inside it? What if it was full of insects? Her mind was spiralling wildly, imagining maggots crawling out of the envelope, hundreds of baby spiders, deadly toxins, human remains. She knew she was being utterly ridiculous. She knew Edward. It would be a letter, the next stage of their game. But she couldn’t get the pictures out of her mind – dead bugs, animal blood, poisoned gas.

She sat at the table, dropped her bag, and ripped open the envelope without allowing herself to think about it. It was a letter. She gave a hysterical laugh that could have been a sob, and looked down at it. Of course it was just a letter. And she carefully, slowly, unfolded it, preparing herself for what she knew she would see. But it still made her chest ache so much that it was difficult to breathe, and for a moment, she didn’t think she would be able to read it.

His handwriting was still beautiful. It was almost mocking her, with its perfection. The way he looped his y’s and g’s, the flowing way he joined each letter together, the particular slant of his writing. Edward had beautiful, cursive, writing, and just looking at it on the page, without actually reading it, hurt. Isabella felt her hands shake, and the paper rustled in her fingers.

She read the first line, and had to stop and close her eyes. Dearest Miss Flynn. It was as if Edward was whispering it in her ear, so loving and gentle. But she could hear the hatred in every word, the undercurrent of mockery and disgust in the address. He was laughing at her with every single word, and she could hear it ringing in her skull. She wasn’t Isabella, to him. She was Miss Flynn. Just like, as Kristen, she had been Miss Kringle. Never her name. Always her title.

He called her his lady, and it made her skin crawl. She felt dirty, violated, covered in grime. Once, being Edward’s lady had been wonderful. She had been so proud, to be his girlfriend, to be the Riddler’s assistant, to be by his side. But now? Now him calling her that made her want to scream. He was teasing her, turning what had once been sweet terms of endearment into cruel jabs, dangling her own love for him in front of her, as a constant reminder that he had never loved her. He hated her.

But she was still his lady, wasn’t she? He had her jumping at shadows, flinching at texts, breaking down in tears in public places. Oh yes, Isabella knew she was still Edward’s. She belonged to him, mind and soul. She was his plaything, his entertainment, the woman created out of the flesh of his murder victim, to be the perfect Stepford Wife, to only exist in whatever form he wanted. Isabella was his lady.

She was out past curfew? Isabella felt like a child, being reprimanded by their parents for staying out late. It wasn’t even dark outside. She was, in equal parts, furious and stupid embarrassed, as if she’d done something wrong. But then she had to stop reading again, because it was difficult to breathe. She took a few slow breaths out, trying to calm her stuttering heartbeat, her quivering hands. What had he done to the apartment?

Had he planted a bomb? Had he set up trip wires? Jets for knock-out gas? Poison gas? Had he turned her home into a trap? Had he poisoned her food and drink? Her mind whirled, a hundred possibilities cartwheeling through her head sickeningly, each one worse than the last. Edward could have done anything. She was terrified to move from her seat, in case she set something off.

Slowly, she continued reading, frowning a little, taking every word in at a snail’s pace. It hurt less, if she kept pausing. He mentioned the fact that he had loved her intelligence (past tense) and she could bear the stabbing pain of that a little easier, because she reread it until she was numb to it, until it stopped making her chest burn to see the word loved written in his beautiful cursive script.

And she moved onto the next paragraph, her gaze slowly dragging across the page. She was glad she’d worn her glasses, because her eyes were straining – there was a dull throbbing pain deep behind them. I’ve noticed you have already begun spiralling. She gripped the paper a little tighter, and hated the fact that she was embarrassed by that. He’d been watching her, and he’d seen how jumpy she was, how twitchy and nervous she’d become. He’d probably laugh at her. All he’d needed to do was send a single text, telling her there was a camera, and she’d done the rest.

Edward knew her. He knew that she would unravel perfectly fine all by herself. He’d simply wound her up, like a clockwork toy, and sat back to watch her paranoia blossom. Isabella felt the humiliation rise in her throat like bile, and she despised the fact that she cared what he thought. She cared that she’d acted so stupid, so afraid, so spineless. And he had hardly done anything. Until now.

She glossed over his rhetorical question, and the pet name – my dear – and hardly let it hurt at all. Instead, she focused on the next few sentences. He was keeping her prisoner in her own home. Isabella felt a horrific, wordless emotion bubble up inside her lungs, as if she was about to scream or burst into tears or start laughing hysterically. Of course, Edward was trapping her here. He wanted her in a controlled environment. Like a lab rat. Like a test subject, squirming under a microscope. He wanted her somewhere he could watch her.

She remembered Tom, keeping tabs on her via text. It had been sweet, at first. Where are you? Who are you with? He’d just wanted to know. At first. But then, slowly, he had told her to stay in at night, so he knew where she was. He had told her to come straight to his place after work, to skip girl’s night with Lee, to tell him where she was if she went anywhere with a guy. And then he didn’t need to ask where are you? anymore. Because he always knew.

My love, the Riddler.

This wasn’t her Eddie – her adorably nervous boyfriend, who had awkwardly asked her on a date over dinner, who called her Isa and kissed her gently and clung to her after he’d had a nightmare. This was the Riddler. An egomaniacal, arrogant, genius. Isabella had mourned Eddie. It felt as if he’d died, and she was left with some twisted perversion of him. This Edward wore his face and sounded like him, but there was none of her boyfriend left.

She felt the loss of him so acutely that it was like a knife sliding into her ribs. Eddie, holding her close as she cried into her shirt, unable to shoot him. Eddie, clutching her hands tightly, his skin slick with his own blood from his gunshot wound. Eddie, lying beneath her in bed, handcuffed to the bed frame because she didn’t feel safe sleeping with him unless he was restrained. Oh, she missed him so much. He’d been replaced with a monster.

She breathed out slowly, coming to the end of the letter. It had taken her five minutes to read it, and she felt like her brain was going to burst out of her skull from the effort. But she could see the bold letters, and she knew she’d missed things. Edward was playing. He had left her clues. So she read it again, her gaze skipping from bold letter to bold letter.

A waits? She blinked and frowned, confused. That made no sense. Her mind couldn’t put the letters together. Maybe it was an anagram? Or an acronym? She looked at them again, silently mouthing the two words. Her thoughts were slow, like her mind was drowning in molasses. A. Waits. She didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

And then, slowly – painfully slowly – it clicked. Awaits. It was one word, not two. Of course it was. God, what was wrong with her? She felt so stupid. She felt like a complete idiot. Her mind was moving so achingly slowly. Everything was so much effort. She was so tired. But she was fighting a genius – she needed to play on his level. There was no time for her to be moronic, now. If she carried on being stupid, it would get her killed. So she looked at the letter again, skimming it quickly, even though it physically hurt her eyes to move fast, trying to spot anything else out of the ordinary.

She scanned down the side of the paragraphs, and saw it immediately. An anagram. ARKHAM. Arkham awaits. And again, it took her a moment to understand. Arkham Asylum was closed, wasn’t it? They had shut it down. So what could he mean, Arkham awaits? There was no Arkham anymore.

Yes there is, she thought, with a sudden, awful, moment of clarity. This was Arkham. Her own personal asylum. He had trapped her inside her house, full of cameras, and he was going to keep her there. Edward was playing the role of Head Psychiatrist, security guard, and doctor, all in one. But he had more power than those three roles combined, Isabella realised. He was God, here.

With trembling hands, she placed the letter on the table, and put her head in her hands. Every inch of her body was screaming with weariness, and she felt, in equal parts, terrified and exhausted and humiliated. But she couldn’t rest. The game had just begun. Edward was only just getting started with her.

She didn’t move from the table, or make any sound at all. To do anything would have been asking too much of herself. All she had the strength to do was sit there, staring down at the letter, trying to prepare for whatever was coming next.