#how many times a day do you contain your murderous intents?

[fanatic-freakshow]

Please excuse me while I go commit murder.

[ghosts-to-reid]

NeoGothic

A/N: First time writing for CM and Spencer so I’m still finding my footing. This will be the start of a series and will later include angst and smut. 18+

Part 2 / Bibliography

Summary: Receptionist at the BAU by day, Gothic Literature student by night. You are asked to consult on a case with the team, leading to you getting closer to the resident boy genius of the FBI. Going with the flow of the butterflies, you’re not sure where you’ll be taken when you accept the offer to consult on a case with Gothic themes.

When you applied to this random 9-5 admin job with the fbi, you weren’t particularly prepared for what awaited you. The job was a mix of different duties, filling case files for agents, passing on messages, answering the phone, kind of like a receptionist. However, you weren’t prepared to be filing away files for murders so horrific you couldn’t even imagine. The floor you were assigned contained the BAU, and as expected you were often face to face with the grim reminders of the horrors of humanity.

At university, the nature of humanity was something you often debated with your cohort. The why, who, where, when, and how was seen as key understanding to the nature of humanity, particularly the humanity of those who are fictional. See, you were a literature graduate, studying her masters during the evenings while trying to keep her head afloat and pay rent, hence the ‘random’ admin job that fit into your schedule perfectly. There was an adult mundanity in the fact you worked in the fbi that felt secure, that allowed you to study your passion with the knowledge that you had a job that supported that, and was a safety net if writing doesn’t work out. The role was easy, you weren’t particularly privy to inprotant information, but that wasn’t a problem, what you did hear was fascinating. In your time studying, you aquired a taste for gothic literature, and found it fascinating the new views gained after an overheard conversation from the team after their return from a case. Your understanding and insight of psychoanalysis in class has been applauded by your professor many times, and may or may not have earned you a few extra points on assignments when you throw in a fact overheard by the water cooler. The best thing about the job? It was never boring, there was always something new going on to observe.

Considering you’re not an agent, you communicated mainly with JJ, Penelope, and Hotch. Often having short interactions with Hotch, handing him messages or files that had been left at your desk for him, you were closer to the two blondes. JJ, as former media liaison, had trained you in some aspects for your role, an example being reporters finding the phone numbers of desk staff and asking them for intel, she taught you how to shut it right down. Over time, you exchanged pleasantries, and became friends. She would ask about how class was going, discuss weekend plans with you, often telling you to call her in any emergencies in her maternal tone. It was nice having a friend like her, when you moved to Virginia, it was on your own, your parents had passed and you had worked hard to earn enough money to move for college. Sure, it was a few years delayed but you weren’t going to college to party. So, JJs maternity towards you was welcomed. Penelope, however, befriended you almost instantly, or more likely decided to befriend you before you even got there.

As you arrived on your first day, satchel slung on your shoulder loosely, she greeted you at the elevator doors. A bright, bouncy, and very pink woman grinned at you and grabbed your hands before speaking frantically

“Hello there angel! It is so nice to meet you my name is Penelope and I am so excited to finally meet you! I’m so so sorry but I did do an extensive background search on you however it was with the best of intentions and you seem so so so lovely and I’m excited to have you here-“ she rambled on, making you almost dizzy, you kept your eyes trained on her and smiled back, giggling to yourself at her energy. Any first day nerves long forgotten.

“That’s okay!” You chuckled “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you Penelope.”

She took your hand and shook it excitedly

“You will love it here my love, I saw that you’re still a student, what are you studying, are you hoping to join the bay someday ebvause you know I have contacts” she winked as she lead you through the bullpen. A few people stopped to watch as the women lead you through, offering a small smile or wave, you assumed they knew Penelope and that this was fairly common. She lead you to a desk tucked away near an office with a plaque that read ‘Agent Hotchner’. A stern looking man emerged and joined Penelope and you.

“This is Hotch, he’s the head of the team!” Penelope introduced eagerly, Hotch reached a hand forward to shake yours with a small smile which you returned.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“I trust that Penelope has already told you everything you need to know” he glanced to the blonde woman who had already filled you in on the walk over “You know what to do, yes?”

You nodded, having completed your training for the job prior to starting, you were confident. Penelope offered yo grab you a cup of coffee, which you obliged with a smile, and began to unpack you satchel. The desk was nice, nicer than any ikea flat pack you had anyway. Making it your own was easy and when Penelope returned to drop your coffee and offering to lunch with you in her ‘bat cave’ she left you to your own devices.

Suddenly, this had become very daunting. There were already a ton of emails waiting for you, as well as files that needed to be dropped off. Picking your slight technophobe side however, you pick up the pile of Manila files and begin to read the labels for agents names. Luckily for you, name placards seemed to be a big trend around this office. Separating the files for each agent before making your way around the desks. Each agent offering you a small thanks, some introducing themselves, others just grunting in acknowledgment. Finally, you made your way to the last agent, a thin man with shaggy curls. His eyes were furrowed with concentration as he scribbled quickly onto a note pad, you gently placed the remaining folders on the end of his desk hoping not to disturb him, when his head snaps up.

“Oh! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disturb you!” But he shook his head

“It’s no problem. Thank you. You’re new, right?”

You nodded “started about… 15 minutes ago?”

“13 minutes 53 seconds ago.” He corrected, caught of guard you stammered slightly to respond, which made him flustered too “not that I was counting! I just, notice these things!” There was a beat “I’m Spencer by the way.”

“I know. I read the name on the file” you smiled, now he was stammering “I’m y/n.”

He returned the small smile awkwardly after a moment and nods, you wave him goodbye before returning to your desk.

Since that, your interactions with Spencer have been short. Occasionally chatting in the kitchenette, catching eyes across the room and exchanging small smiles. You didn’t know much of his life, though you wanted to. But it was hard to get to know a man who spent half his time out of the office, so you often cherished any moments you did manage to talk.

This particular morning you were deep in thought. JJ seemed to notice when you came in, and came to your desk soon after you sat.

“What’s up?” She asked, sitting on the edge of your desk, breaking you out of your ponderous trance

“Oh it’s just exam season. I was trying to plan an essay in my head in the way here. I’m struggling to find a topic.” You admitted, feeling slightly awkward that you were thinking so scholastically this early in the morning. JJ quirked an eyebrow, intrigued.

“You do Literature right? The gothic? Isn’t that mostly ghost and ghouls, and damsels in castles with a candelabra?”

You shrugged “kind of, it’s a bit deeper than that. You see the gothic actually wasn’t a literary genre until about the 19th or 20th century. The term was actually originally used to describe a Germanic tribe, who sacked Rome. William of orange actually used them to justify his usurption of the throne during the glorious revolution. But what’s interesting is that it was used almost like a slur in the next centuries due to the revival of more classical styles like Roman and Greek-“ you cut yourself off before you can ramble more, by this point JJ’s face has dropped slightly in a mix of awe and a shock. You pull your lips into a right line and mutter a sheepish “sorry”

“You sound JUST like Reid” she chuckled, you flushed slightly, but unsure why, you tried to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your belly “But you know all of this and you’re struggling for a topic? How come?”

This you pondered for a minute. Before sighing and looking at her again sheepishly before asking “promise not to profile me?” Intrigued the blonde nodded “I kinda need to up my game because my professor really liked my last essay topic and I’m not sure how to top it… “you trailed, JJ nodded for you to continue, unsure of your apprehension

“What topic was it then?”

"…How Male and Female Cannibals differ from each other in modern literture… it was titled 'Desire Vs Destruction'… i got the highest grade I’ve ever gotren because of stuff I’ve learned here…"

That definitely took JJ back. She blinked at upu momentarily

"i was not expecting that… but thats definitely interesting…" she thought for a moment "You use psychoanalysis a lot?" you nodded "Well, im sure you’ll think of something, just wait until we have a case and there’s your inspiration.” JJ smiled and gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "worst comes to worst, ask Reid. He’ll have insight, I promise you, you’re a lot more a like than I ever realised.” And with that, she returned to her desk.

What did she mean you were were alike? He was essentially a walking super computer, an agent with multiple PHDs. Hell, he graduated from his second PHD by the time you even entered college, and he was only 3 years older than you. Your thoughts were interrupted by Hotch’s voice calling the team to the conference room. Watching as they all stood and gathered, your eyes trailed Spencer. As he walked, his sweater rode up slightly and gathered at his waist, allowing a slight bit of pink to peek through before he pulled it back down. Though, you still saw and blushed, shaking your head and trying to return to work.

45 minutes later the team emerged, most of the team exited, whilst JJ and Emily approached you.

“Y/N, we think we might need your insight on something.” JJ spoke, your gave her a surprised look, Emily continued for her

“You study gothic literature primarily in your degree, yes?” The woman spoke softly but direct, you’d never particularly conversed either her much before this. Confused, you simply nodded and followed them whilst they lead you to the conference room most of the team just left.

Inside you were greeted by Hotch and Spencer, who were stood next to a board. It was littered with pictures of bodies that made your eyes widen and turn quickly away, hiding In JJs shoulder. Spencer quickly pulled a shade down over the board as the group apologised

“Oh my god, were those people dead!” You squeaked, not asking really, you were aware what department you worked in. Hotch apologised once more before continuing.

“Apologies again, L/N. But I called you in here because I believe you may have some insight into our current case.” Slowly, you turned around again, confused once more, Spencer’s eyes were on you.

“Me? How?”

“This Unsub appears to be displaying a pattern pertaining to deaths synonymous with famous gothic works. So far he’s replicated the death of Lucy Westenra in Dracula, Carmilla the vampires death, And we believe he may begin to escalate. Your insight into the genre may help identify any patterns we may miss.”

A few beats passed. Looking around the room, all eyes were on you. Emily gave you a small pleading look, and JJ squeezed your shoulder reassuringly. Spencer’s eyes had never left you yet, when you look over to him, he gives you a small nod, encouraging you to say yes. You were sure that you weren’t as useful as you thought, but if they were the experts and they believed you could help, who were you to say no? With a deep breath of hesitation, you nod and take a seat.

Hotch briefs you on your role. No field work, of course, but you’ll join the team on the jet. He will give you temporary clearance to join them on scenes and other occasions you may be needed, your knowledge could mean you spot something the others don’t. Before you can agree, he explains the aspect that you forgot. The gore. Being a horror fan you were used to fake gore on screen, but real life was another story. The people on TV would go home, they’d see their family, and they’d continue on their lives, but the people in the photographs you saw wouldn’t. They’d never go home again. As if sensing your thoughts, Spencer spoke up from across from you.

“I know that it’s hard. It’s hard to stomach but, your insight might stop this from carrying on.” He paused thinking, looking to see if anyone would continue but they seemed to silently agree with him “Holding onto that thought. The thought that you’re helping someone truly and actively, then it helps you stay motivated past your own apprehensions.”

He seemed to know exactly what to say somehow. This man you barely knew, had somehow found the right words to say to get you on board, pensively you agreed. Hotch stood first.

“Ok we leave in an hour. Go home and pack a bag and meet the rest of the team at the airport. You’re doing a good thing, L/N.” As he left, JJ smiled and followed along with Emily. Leaving you alone, for the first time with the infamous Dr. Spencer Reid. He turned towards you to offer a small smile.

“I can give you a ride home if you like. I noticed you take the bus in, it’ll be quicker if I drive you.” He stated, surprising you

“Oh yeah that would be amazing thank you… but how did you know I took the bus?” You asked curiously, standing from your seat to stand nearer to him. He stammered for a second before collecting himself

“I noticed that you arrive mostly on time with the bus schedule, and the times you run late are in line with mornings with heavier traffic that causes the bus to take longer… I memorised the bus schedule when I first started.” He shyly looked to the floor, shuffling his feet, a beat passed before he looked up again to which you offer him a small reassuring smile. “Shall we?” He points toward the door, and you nod. You knew he was a genius with a quick mind but you’d never witnessed it first hand before.

On the drive, you were calm up until you had realised you agreed to leave the city in the same week you were supposed to be writing the essays you may have accidentally on purpose put off till deadline week.

“Shit” you gasp, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth before scrambling to email your professors, hoping this counts as extenuating circumstances, however in this process you had alerted the FBI’s resident genius next to you to your panic.

“Are you okay?” He laughs out, after your outburst had subsided slightly. Without looking up from your phone you spoke

“I’m knee deep in deadlines and I forgot and now I’ve got to go to… where are we going again?”

“Texas”

“Texas! And I haven’t started some and oh god!” Your head is in your hands as you groan. Reid chuckles a bit, before pulling up to your apartment building.

“I can always help if you’d like.” He spoke shyly, you peeked your head up slightly.

“How much do you know about gothic literature?”

“A fair amount. I’m a big fan of Ann Radcliffe’s writing, her essays are insightful” At the mention of Radcliffe you perked slightly, and when he said essays you sat up fully, more happy that someone outside of your cohort was aware of radcliffes essays.

“I could probably use some help with psychoanalysis actually…” you thought “have you read Rosemarys Baby or The Exorcist?”

“I’ve read both actually, a few times they’re some of my light halloween reads. I’m sure I can help, what exactly do you have in mind? The demonic aspects? I think I could give you some good insight, I’ve read Creeds book with the essay on the exorcist recently and I believe that you could make some good observations of abjection in motherhood in horror-“

As he rambled on you felt another small flutter. Hearing him discuss your passion with such ease and knowledge made you flush, he spoke almost as passionately as you. Maybe JJ was right about your similarities. Before you could think more on your new blossoming feelings, Spencer interrupted himself

“Oh we have to be there soon, we can talk about this later if you want? We can discuss on the jet and start planning tonight? During our downtime at the hotel possibly?”

You agree before you can conjure any more butterflies at the thought of being alone with Spencer. Moving quickly out of the car and up to your apartment, Spencer in tow.

You left Spencer in your living room whilst you packed a bag quickly. When you returned you found him eyeing your bookshelf.

“You have a great collection here… would you mind if I borrowed this?” He held up your well worn copy of dracula. It was annotated thoroughly, with more additions each time you reread, it’s well worn and well loved totem of your literary love.

“you should probably get a better copy, that ones nearly unreadable.” Making your way to your bookshelf, you search to find a nicer copy you had recently purchased from a second hand book store. But when you tried to hand it to Spencer he shook his head

“I’d actually enjoy reading your notes. If that’s okay.” Spencer looked at his shoes, a habit you noticed already, you couldn’t refuse him.

The car journey was filled with vivid conversations about Dracula, and how you thought it was unfair that Dracula was the iconic vampire when Carmilla was written first. The jet ride however jarred your nerves slightly. This was the first time you fully took in the crime scene photos, and you could see how the team quickly linked these to gothic novels. The victim who replicated Lucy Westenra had wounds that accurately depicted the characters turmoil from her turning, the (highly medically inaccurate) blood transfusions, and finally her vampiric death. The same can be said with the victim who replicated Carmilla, though she obviously didn’t have her own tomb, so the unsub dug her mother up instead. There were clear links to the novels, but something didn’t sit right with you.

“They’re all novels with vampiric elements…” you muttered.

“We noticed that too. We belive the unsub may be trying to chronologically work through the vampire cult novels.” Spencer’s eyes caught yours for a moment before you quickly moved to look at the folder once more.

“But no male victims?” You sifted through the crime scene photos once more, not entirely used to the sight still, but echoing Spencer’s words in your mind.

You’re helping people, and that’s what matters.

“No. Unsubs tend to stay to the same victimologies unless they’re forced to change, or they begin to deteriorate. This particular unsub is organised enough to plan the crimes in advance and execute, pun not intended, them without letting his urges take control.” Spencer told you, leaning over the table to point to a note in the file. He was close enough to you that you could smell his cologne, mixed with the comforting scent of patchouli and coffee. A slight blush crept up your cheek, that made you loose your train of thought, stuttering your way through your next sentence.

“There’s a possibility the unsub could be a woman. One part of the gothic allure is the liberalism that it embodies, and for women that’s inviting. The idea of the monsterous feminie is being widely discussed at the minute, it’s why there’s so many horror films with female monsters that we end up rooting for. It’s a way to juxtapose the patriarchal constraints in soceity. Think Jennifer’s body, Yellowjackets, even historical figures like Elizabeth Bathory are all stories about monsterous women yet, somehow in their own contexts, we root for them. It could be possible that this unsub is a woman trying to take control, after someone wronged her. She could feel vindicated in her actions and see them as an expression of the monsterous feminine, and a man wouldn’t be so accurate. The fact that these are iconic monstrous women who were struck down by men could be symbolic of that anger she feels. The victim replicating Westenra had 4 different blood types present in her system, the character had 4 transfusions in the book. Her entire death is perfectly replicated, as described. They even sent her garlic flowers, like a warning.” After you were done you had noticed that everyone on the jet was staring at you. Glancing around you, started to feel that little blush that Spencer had induced, creep into a slightly brighter red of embarrassment. Did you do something wrong?

After a beat, Rossi spoke up.

“That’s some very insightful information, kid.” He looked around the jet, the whole team chimed in in agreement.

“Where did you learn that?” Emily spoke up with an aghast smile

With a relieved smile, your face began to cool down slightly and you, albeit sheepishly, admitted that you overhear them occasionally and have a tendency to research theories they mention, and that you may or may not have read Rossi’s books. The fact that you apply psychoanalysis to literature more often than not. They all seemed impressed

“Watch out guys, I think we’ve found a future profiler.” Derek spoke up from the row behind Spencer “Ever thought about going through the academy?”

“I don’t think I really have the qualifications to join you guys. I just like to read.”

“I reckon you could surprise yourself, baby girl.” Derek flashed a smile before sitting back in his seat. JJ gave you a proud smile before she turned back to continue her conversation with Rossi. Slowly everyone turned back to what they were doing before, leaving you in pensive thought as you looked out of the window.

Profiling was alluring. It’s just analysis on people, and with enough knowledge you can read anyone. Your thoughts were interrupted by a small voice

“I think you’d be a good profiler.” He spoke softly, giving you a grin before returning to his discussion with Hotch, expanding on your thoughts.

The arrival to Texas was a whirlwind for you. The team landed, drove to the precinct, and were quickly dispatched onto different tasks. Hotch had paired you with Spencer to go over victimologies to find a pattern in the victims lives and how they line up to those in the novels. The victim replicating Carmilla was an older Lesbian woman, u and alluring by all accounts, fitting the personality of Carmilla for the most part. Meanwhile, the victim who replicates Lucy was a known flirt. not promiscuous in a modern sense, but with the victorian ideals of Dracula, the fact she was dating two men at once made her fit well enough into the role for the unsub. It seems he is trying to figure out who she wants to replicate next.

Finally, hours later the team regroups for the night at the hotel. It doesn’t go without a hitch however, as it turns out that since you were technically not meant to be here, there was a shortage of rooms and, as though god intended to make things awkward, you had to double up with someone. Before any discussion could be had, just assuming you’ll be paired with JJ, Spencer surprisingly speaks up.

“I’ll share with her.” Was all he said, shocking both you and the team, but Derek spoke up

“Pretty boy trying to make a move on our junior profiler?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Soem et who was growing increasingly red.

“No- No that not what- no I mean we were goin- we were going to work- work on her assignment together.” He coughed and readjusted his posture, seeing him flustered like this made you smile “it’s logical if we share a room then we won’t be disturbing anyone travelling between rooms”

The team shared a look you couldn’t read, before JJ asked if you were okay with that, you nodded, you were honestly too tired and slightly overwhelmed and honestly? A bed is a bed, and you were absolutely going to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep once you got to the room. So it was decided, and it wasn’t until you got to the room it dawned on you.

You’re sharing a room with a work acquaintance, albeit a cute one, and you never questioned the bed situation. Entering the room you were greeted by your worry, and that was the lone bed in the enter of the room. You looked up to Spencer to assess his facial expression, he seemed to have forgotten to question the bed situation too. You started

“I can take the couch-“

“We can share” Spencer interrupted. Looking around the room. “It’s logical and hygienic, with the amount of germs on a hotel floor would get us both a lot sicker than any off of a human.” He cleared his throat, almost trying to convince himself. You simply nodded and put your things down and preparing for bed.

Half an hour later you were sat, crossed legged, on one side of the hotel bed whilst Spencer showered. You tried not to think about it and tried to focus on the paper you were reading.

Sure, you knew he was cute. That was just obvious. But you’d never really interacted before today, not in any meaningful way at least. Yet here you are, waiting for him to finish showering whilst you sit in bed. It was strangely domestic, but you shouldn’t dwell on the thought of making a nice life with Spencer Reid. He is a collegue. Without you noticing, Spencer had finished in the shower and had emerged, dressed in plaid pants and an oversized MIT shirt. You looked up from your screen to him as he made his way to the other side of the bed. He sat with his back against the headboard and looked over your shoulder.

“That’s a good read, I read that last week actually.” He broke the silence between the two and you shot him a smile

“I’m really enjoying it… do you want to read it together?” You weren’t sure if that was a normal thing to ask anyone, you know people read books out loud to each other but reading an authors essay on Abject womanhood off of a laptop screen didn’t seem particularly as appealing. Spencer however nodded, and you shifted to be closer to his side. The tension palpable between you both

“Is this okay” you asked quietly. Your thighs were pressed together, laptop balanced between. Your arms were pushed together awkwardly and Spencer shifted. Unexpectedly, he wrapped the arm closest to you around your shoulder. This took you by surprise, taking your breath away momentarily and reawakening those pesky butterflies again. Somehow you managed to stutter out a yes before you continued to read. Eventually you both relaxed more into each others touch, loosing yourself in the words of the essay. You hadn’t realised that Spencer wasn’t reading, but looking down at you, watching how your eyes flicker between words between your eyelashes, and the small pout of concentration on your lips as you tried to take in the information. His long fingers were slowly tracing delicate lines on your skin, causing goosebumps to form in their path.

Eventually, you finished the essay but hesitated to shut the laptop. Your eyes lingered on the final paragraph, hoping to stay in his touch longer, yet you had to admit defeat, finally closing the laptop and shift slightly up right. Spencer’s arm lingered for a moment before he half heartedly moved it behind you. There was a silence as you both let the tension of what had just occurred sink in. Surprisingly, it was Spencer who broke the silence once more.

“You know many animals cuddle at night for safety, otters hold hands so they don’t drift away from each other.” He trailed, you quirked a brow at him, probing him to continue silently “what- what I’m saying is… if you want we- we can stay. Like this tonight… only if you want!” He couldn’t look at you properly, looking mainly anywhere but your face. Your heart was beating so fast you weren’t sure how to reply, so silently you just nodded. Spencer let out a small relieved breath before moving to lift the covers over you both, and opens his arms to let you in. You oblige gingerly, and slowly he wraps his arms around you. There’s silence as you both settle into each others breathing in the dark.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah Spencer?”

“Do you… think that maybe we could do this more?” His question caught you off guard. You lifted your head to try and make out his features in the dark, he was already looking down at you.

“What do you mean?”

“Can we… do this more?” He squeezed you against him to emphasise his thoughts, he meant cuddle. Slightly surprised you cocked your head to side.

“Do you not do this a lot?” Curiosity overcame you as you detached his eyes in the dark. There was a sadness that was palpable even through the darkness.

“No. I don’t really like people touching me” you try to move away, thinking you may have overstepped but he simply holds you against his chest tighter. “But I like this.” He mumbled into your hair.

Unsure how to process this, you simply nodded. Sometimes people need hugs and, you knew from JJ that Spencer was someone you could trust. So you allowed yourself to melt into his touch for tonight.

“Of course Spencer.” You muttered into his shirt before drifting off into the deep sleep you predicted, yet it wasn’t so dreamless.

Part 2 soon.

[pbees]

Marechi!

[𝙐𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙨! 𝙓 [𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧!]

Part 1 ☆ Part 2!

WARNINGS!; future parts will contain Nsfw content!!

This part contains

Face eating //kinda//

Mention of Gore

Kidnapping by default

Need

/nēd/

require (something) because it is essential or very important

⏝︶︶⏝︶ ୨୧ ︶⏝︶︶⏝

強くて美しい

..."

You're still alive..

YOU’RE STILL ALIVE?!

Quickly sitting up you surveyed the scene. You were covered in blankets that seemed to be soiled, but you couldn't complain. There was a fire going in a chimney a little ways away from you- confirming it was a house.

This place smelled horrible.

Surveying your surroundings check! now body check.

Alright for the most part. Your lips were still sore from earlier and your throat stung. For the most part, however, you were fine, all your fingers still intact.

Then suddenly

" Eat"

Bellowed a horrible English accent from the far corner of the room making you jump out of your skin.

There sat a man with-

Six eyes and wine red hair ? I mean besides the eyes he was rather attractive and his clothes didn't do much to hide the muscles underneath. His scary appearance didn't stop you from blurting out a-

" Oh hell what am I looking at?- did

Did I actually die?"

You whined ' Of course it was too good to be true. The creature in the corner didn't enjoy what you said about what he assumed was his appearance he grunted all his eyes narrowed at you.

You gulped quickly shutting up- what did he say do 'Eat? - Where's the food? Looking around again on the floor you spotted the very uncooked meat that had been thrown on a broken plate.

"Yeah I don't think I can eat that- uhm anything else in here you....?" you swallowed your pride and gave the creature a nervous smile. He grunted again before saying what you assumed to be his name.

" It's Kokushibo" he pointed to his chest, he realized you were filling in for his name after. In your defense your Japanese wasn't the best the group translator was previously slaughtered, plus and the same could be said for Kok-ushibo.

Well, not his Japanese, but English.

That begs the question, how does he know you speak English? The group spoke French the whole time- also assuming he's the one that slaughtered them.

Okay, you had to stop too- many questions were approaching your head. Might as well try talking to the Creature again.

" Kokushibo- hmmm- do you Hafe cookied phood?" you motioned to the bleeding plate of pale meat.

Another question- what was he trying to serve you???

He replied back in English even though you were trying your best to speak in Japanese " I Do not"

"Okay, are we gonna speak English or Japanese?" You let out a nervous sigh He gave you a look before replying " English"

"Okay okay- Kokushibo was it? Uhmmm where are we?" Oh gosh the questions are back.

He pointed to the quote on quote ' Food.'

" His House"

He does murder people good good, you're so safe.

" Why am I here Kok-ush-iboo?"

"Kokushibo"

"Kokushibu"

" Gud enough"

You sighed finally deciding to get up. You haven't properly used your feet since you froze a day ago, and your clothes were soiled much like the blanket making you uncomfortable. Clearing his throat he piped up again.

" Come here-

You visibly sweat as you approached the demon. The closer you got the more imposing he looked. Those are skull-crushing hands. Better yet why we're you here talking to him you should be running away right now, but much like before you were frozen as soon as you were arm's distance from him.

Your arm distance.

Reaching his hand out he grabbed your face making you yelp. He inspected your face, not with the intent to crush it luckily- more for studying it. He was a bit taken aback by your even when he first rescued you out of the snow. He only really saved you because your appearance intrigued him. He totally thought you were a demon at first glance but a demon wouldn't beg like you had their limbs would've grown back with no trouble.

There was also the interesting case of your blood. Before you wheezed out a "please" to him he drew his finger across the small drop of blood you left on the snow it's the smell was pungent. Which made him turn your face over by then you had passed out but the blood littering your lips was still there.

Demons didn't have blood that pleased other demons. His original idea was to ask the master about it, but if He didn't know you existed Kokushibo greedily wanted to keep you to himself.

Though much didn't hide from that man.

After checking if you were still breathing he picked you up by the collar of your clothes you were

basically a freeze pop in his hands.

He has to find some way to warm you up the circulation to most of your limbs was disappearing and your heart was on its last beat. Why you were so far out in the woods puzzled him- better yet why you were still alive with such heavy traces of a demon on you.

Seeing a house horribly covered in wisteria flowers, that would do a good job at keeping lesser demons away. They must be been a demon slayer of some kind 'Oh well'.

Making quick work of the Humans inside he sat you down close to the fire they had previously burned. He ate most of the slaughter but left pieces for you on the ground.

" Are we done yet..?" you squeaked out the position was making your back hurt from being bent to suh and angel. He let go of your face and huffed.

" You must eat" He pointed to the raw human. You just gave him a distributed look " I can't eat that ma-youu" you quickly corrected yourself not sure he would enjoy being called anything but his name.

"I don't know how out of date your human book is, but we can't eat Raw food and Especialy Humans at that?" you could not stress that fact enough.

" Then we must get you food so you can stay- healthy "

"Are you trying to fatten me up?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing-"

He gave you the nasties glare before standing up- AND HOLY SHIT HES TALL. Maybe your death which your pretty sure actually happened opened up the part of your brain that was a pure idiot because Why aren't you running the fuck away right now?

" if you try to run away I would and could kill you" he adjusted his clothes glaring at you.

"Noted!" Now he can read my thoughts give me a damn break. Walking past you he motioned you to follow him as he made his way through who's ever house this was.

" When I walk you follow - understood?"

"I guess ?" you sighed your confusion was going to make your head explode.

He nodded, the two of you must be fast the sun would be coming up soon.

_

You tried picking up his sword twice with him scowling at you in distaste every time you fell on your ass. He wasn't sure why he's kept you alive, you're no different than any other human wel that's not entirely true actually. There was the topic of your blood, demons survived off of it but flesh also fed the hunger they always have. Your blood seemed to be gleaming when looking at you it's the first thing he smells.

He wants to taste it, but he doesn't want to scare you away- any more than he has at least. He will bring it up later after you've eaten.

It would probably taste even better than it smelled. Thinking about drinking from you made him excited.

“ I’VE GOT IT!” you finally got it off the ground by and inch before you slipped on the snow hitting your face up against the weird eyeball sword. This caused you to bust your lip with a cry. You gave up you weren't gonna attempt to pick it up again.

Sighing you finally looked at Kokushibo- expecting to see the upset scowl from before your soul left your body when you saw him drooling.

His teeth were clenched showing off his canines as he looked down at your frame. You were too afraid to move just like before hyperventilating as he approached you.

“ Ko- before you could finish he grabbed your chin, it was far bigger than your face. Pulling you closer to him you started to tear up.

He's gonna eat me oh gosh he's gonna eat me i knew it- DAMN IT I KNEW-

‘Slurp’

Huh-

He was sucking your lip.

This definitely wasn't eating you- I mean it is but not what you were expecting. He was so engrossed in the act he was ignoring the confusion radiating off you. Your hands grabbed at his Haroi pulling him closer, his teeth scraping the bottom of your lip. Finally pulling away a string of saliva still connecting him to you.

Your hands still held his haori as his hand still caged your face. All six of his eyes gave your face a once over like he didn't suck the life out of you.

“I'll get the animal myself stay here” He started walking off.

“Man, what the fuck just happened?”

____

Not to plot driven this chapter unless you conclude the fact Kokushibo thought reader was a demon☠️

Next part will be a little more spicy, in truth after a certain point I forgot what the hell I was typing a desperately tried to remember.

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!!

I'll typo check later :3

[666writingcafe]

Breaking and Entering

I don't park the car in front of the entrance. That would be too obvious. Instead, I take a side road that takes us into the woods surrounding the amusement park. Even though I haven't been to this particular park, I know that there's usually walk paths for employees that take them to various sections without having to deal with the crowd of guests.

Plus, there aren't nearly as many cameras in the back half as there are up front.

MC doesn't question me until we're actually inside the park.

"When I was an angel, I used to sneak down to the human world," I explain quietly. "One of the things I would do is watch circuses, but since I didn't have any money, I had to figure out ways to get in undetected."

"Did you ever get caught?" they ask.

"By humans? No. I was small enough back then that I could instantly blend into any crowd." MC nods their head, and we walk in silence until we're in sight of the circus tents.

"Grab my hand," I whisper. I haven't used it in a long time, but I have the ability to not only become invisible, but to make anything I touch disappear as well. It's something I accidentally discovered one day when I was still getting used to my demon form.

Once I feel MC's hand in mine, we sneak inside the largest tent and hide under the bleachers. Diavolo's standing at the center of the tent, surrounded by a circle of salt. His back is turned to us.

"That actually works?" MC whispers.

"Not unless it's infused with magic. Ordinary table salt's not enough to contain us." Suddenly, a group of cloaked people enters the tent from the front.

"You know, you could have just asked me to come to you," Diavolo states, appearing to recognize them. "There was no need for all this--"

"Silence!" the individual at the head of the group exclaims. "You will not speak unless you are spoken to!" I sigh, recognizing his voice.

"Fucking Avarius," I hiss. He's one of the head sorcerers of the Society, and he's adamantly against demons. To say that he's made Diavolo's job difficult would be an understatement.

"Now, we have been extremely generous by allowing your little Avatars to play at being human for the past several months, but your prolonged presence here is simply unacceptable." A moment's silence.

"Even if you allow me to explain myself, you wouldn't believe a single word I say," Diavolo responds. "You never do."

"How dare you!"

"For what? Speaking the truth?"

"Your kind doesn't know truth!"

"And the angels do? You know that they sent representatives shortly after we arrived, right? Why aren't you questioning them about their presence?"

"We would much rather work with them than with you!" Diavolo scoffs.

"I am at least open with my intentions."

"Oh yes, you and your goal of uniting the three realms." Avarius' voice takes on a mocking tone as he air-quotes the last part of his statement. "You and I both know that it's code for you wanting to seize control of everything."

"Just because my father behaved in such a fashion doesn't mean that I--"

"Silence!" I applaud Diavolo for keeping his composure. I would have torn the sorcerer into shreds by now.

"I will say," Avarius continues. "You using the half-breed is one of the smarter moves you've made in a long time."

Half-breed?

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar! You sent the disgraced sorcerer into my establishment, and he somehow convinced whoever was working the desk that day to allow that wretched half-breed to get their permit, even though we explicitly banned any and all of his apprentices from ever receiving a license!" Upon feeling my hand getting squeezed, I glance over at MC. Their murderous look from earlier has returned in full force.

"Don't move," I whisper to them, using the power of our pact to keep them in place.

"You know, if I were you, I'd much rather have them go through the process than allow them to run amok," Diavolo states. "At least now they're in your database, so you can track them to your heart's content."

"That isn't the point!" Including Avarius, there's six sorcerers. Since Diavolo's currently indisposed, I'd have to take them on myself. A bit of a challenge, but I've had worse.

"Alright, so here's the plan," I murmur. "I'm going to let go of your hand and make my presence known to these guys. While I distract them, you keep an eye on an opening. Once you see one, break the salt circle and get Diavolo out of there. From there, we'll try to escape as quickly as possible. Only fight as a means of self-defense."

"But--"

"Diavolo and I can heal quickly. You can't. Just focus on freeing him."

The next few minutes go by in a blur as we execute my plan. Everything goes according to it until one of the sorcerers slashes my arm. The next thing I know, he crumples to the ground, a knife having gone through his chest. Seconds later, I'm lifted off my feet. It's not until we're well outside the tent that I realize that Diavolo must have picked me up and began sprinting away from the scene.

I get set back down once we're in the woods, finally allowing me to see the reason for our sudden departure.

MC is absolutely feral. The white glow surrounding them makes them look rather monstrous, and they're fighting Diavolo restraining them in his arms.

What have they done?

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick

[yanderes-galore]

Mm, what about a scenario for Chemach where she kills her darling? :0 Maybe in a sudden fit of insanity, maybe to turn them into relic or maybe she kills her defiant! darling in order to transform them into her follower like the ones we see in her shop? There's a lot of potential~

I can try, sure! I hope this is alright-

Fledgling

Yandere! Chemach Oneshot

Pairing: Dubious

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Murder, Grotesque descriptions, Blood, Delusional behavior, Dubious intentions.

"Ah! Yes, yes, you look so pretty for Chemach. You belong here like all the rest!"

The stained glass in the temple glimmers despite the dark atmosphere of the room. Candles illuminate the old stone temple, showing its many imperfections. The atmosphere is old and reeks of dust and... blood.

Black ichor drips from the ancient bird like the blood from the many gods she's killed. The many eyed crown on her head seems to pulse with barely contained power. The smell of rot permeates the air the most...

Giddy giggles come from the chained bird, ones born from hysteria. The crown's power had rotten her mind long ago. Her own siblings think she is dead, or at least dead to them.

Oh, but she isn't...

Chemach still has many more gifts to give.

Chemach has made many gifts in her lifetime. All sorts of old relics that still hold a god's power. She cherishes them all, hung by the ceiling and on podiums.... They're all her treasures.

But there is one she cherishes above all the others... perhaps not as strong... but its value is priceless.

Chemach remembers when she first met you. It was a long time ago, perhaps decades? She's given up on the passage of time....

However, she never forgot your visits.

You had often visited her temple deep in the woods. You came searching for power, like many of Chemach's other visitors. You were a fledgling god... one not very strong but clearly ambitious.

Chemach adored your presence! You had so much potential, a tiny vessel capable of so much power. You just needed Chemach's gifts!

Chemach would always give you her gifts.

Chemach has never had such persistent company. Even her siblings left her in her chains after she went insane. Chemach's only company has been her followers...

The rotting effigies in her temple supposedly hold that purpose... they're her followers.

Chemach felt almost... infatuated with you. She adored how you look, your confidence, and your power. Such a young god trying to survive in this world...

Unfortunately, gods do not last long now that the Old Faith has come into power.

Chemach could not just stand by and allow yourself to perish! The Bishops are not worthy of tainting you. You mean too much to Chemach!

You are meant for Chemach!

Poor fledgling god... Chemach had more power than you thought. You had come to her temple for aid, wishing to fight against the Old Faith. You were determined to fight against those stronger Bishops who call themselves gods...

But Chemach merely locks her temple with her chains, similar chains locking around your neck to anchor you.

"Poor young god... You should know that you'll die like the rest of Chemach's visitors. Your age is finished... Yet Chemach wants to preserve you for herself!"

It's a one-sided battle, this temple serves as Chemach's territory. Your first mistake was trusting the insane bird in a place such as this. Your second was your own greed and ambition....

Chemach felt you would die one way or another. She originally kept you in her temple alive, chained to the ceiling for her own viewing pleasure. Alas... your body continued to wither... Chemach hated that you weren't meant to last.

Now, in the modern day, Chemach holds you close to her heart.

More giggles echo through the old building as crazed bloodshot eyes stare longingly at a relic from the ceiling. In the very same spot where you once were, a relic made from you occupied the space.

Blood still drips from the chains, a reminder of the suffering you once endured.

"It's better this way! Better for you, better for Chemach!" The old bird coos, gaze never once leaving your remains. She always looked back on those days fondly...

Yet her concentration is broken when she hears footsteps echo through her temple.

"Ah! Little lamb, have you come for Chemach's wares? Many gifts for lamb! Many to choose from!"

A new young god takes your place. A lamb, last of their kind. Said lamb reminds Chemach of you... an ambitious and confident god who comes for more power.

Chemach intends to help this one too, just as she did for you...

Then, maybe once their own power wanes...

She can keep them to herself too, after all, they remind Chemach of you....

[hayleythecannibal]

Twisted Minds: Chapter Twelve Releves

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Crying, Death, Malpractice, Lying, Gruesome Death, Realization.

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter

Twisted Minds Masterlist

HOSPITAL - WILL GRAHAM'S ROOM - NIGHT-

Will opens his eyes, stirring as an aroma hits him. He sits up in bed as Hannibal pops the lid on a second Tupperware container allowing the steam to escape a rich amber broth. “Smells delicious.” Will says. “Silkie chicken in a broth. A black boned bird prized in China for its medicinal value since the 7th century. With wolfberries, ginseng, ginger, red dates and star anise.” Hannibal says as he places the bowl of soup on the tray.

“You made me chicken soup.” Hannibal offers a supportive smile. Of course he did. They sit silhouetted by the window, reminiscent of the first meal they shared together in the beginnings of their relationship. “The nurses tell me you've been wandering, Will.” Hannibal says. “I was awake. And wandering with purpose and good intentions.”

“Visiting that unfortunate young woman suffering from delusions?” Hannibal asks as he screws the lid of his thermos back onto the said thermos. “She's my support group.” Will says as he takes a spoonful of soup. “And I hope you're her's. Nothing more isolating than mental illness.”

“I know Dr. Sutcliffe was a friend.”

“She didn't murder Dr. Sutcliffe. Her disease did. I can't blame her for his death any more than you can be blamed for shooting Abel Gideon.”

“The hallucinations, the loss of time, sleepwalking. Could that have all just been the fever?”

Hannibal considers saying what Will wants to hear or what he wants Will to hear, then simply replies: “It's possible.” Not confident enough of an answer for Will. “Fevers can be symptoms of dementia. Dementia can be a symptom of many things happening in your body or mind that can no longer be ignored.” Hannibal says but once again, Hannibal knows whats wrong with Will and it is most certainly not Dementia. “Does Jack know?”

“That this could be more than a fever? No. I haven't told him.”

“Shouldn't you?”

“Not until we know for certain. What we must do now is continue to support and monitor your recovery. The young woman you were visiting. How is her recovery?”

“I don't think she wants to recover. Afraid to remember what she did.”

“Can't say I blame her.”

HOSPITAL - GEORGIA MADCHEN'S ROOM - DAY -

Smoke stains the walls and the high tech HYPERBARIC CHAMBER. BRIAN ZELLER studies the charred remains of Georgia Madchen as JIMMY PRICE studies the charred remains of the chamber. JACK CRAWFORD, Y/N L/N and Will Graham stand nearby. Will is still wearing his hospital robe, holding his rolling IV stand. “Hospital speculates a short circuit could have ignited the fire.” Jack says as he turns to Will and I.

“Unit looks well maintained. No exposed wiring.”

“Don't know if she suffocated or burned to death. We'll look for soot in the lining of her airways.”

Will fights the overwhelming sadness of Georgia's life.

“Horrible way to die.” I say softly. “A kid in Italy was in one of these things. A spark of static electricity from his pajamas set it off. Two cubic yards of oxygen became two cubic yards of fire.” Jimmy says, which makes me feel sadder. “Could she have started the fire?” Will is disturbed by that thought. A thought Zeller finds evidence to support. He pulls a blackened anti-static wrist strap out of the Oxygen Chamber. “She wasn't wearing her grounding bracelet. Prevents build up of static electricity. Took it off.” Zeller says as he looks up at us from the bracelet.

“Suicide? By immolation.” Will says confused, why would anyone want to go out that way? “She was facing two murder charges.” Jack says with a tone that makes me a little angry. “She wasn't suicidal, Jack. She was sick. I was here. I spoke to her.” Will says which causes me and Jack to look at him. “Why did you speak to her?” Jack says in an almost scolding tone.

“Because I know what she felt like.”

“She tried to kill you. She's a murder suspect. Being her friend impacts the case against her.”

“The case against her doesn't really matter anymore, does it?” And with that, Will EXITS. OFF Jack watching him go...

F.B.I. ACADEMY - JACK CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - DAY -

Will Graham approaches Jack at his desk. “Checked myself out of the hospital.”

“Check yourself back in.” Jack says as he turns away from Will. “Fever broke.” Will says as he enters farther into Jack’s office. “I don't care.” Jack says as he Turns back around with a scolding look on his face. “Georgia Madchen didn't commit suicide. And whatever happened to her wasn't an accident.” Will says as he approaches Jack’s desk. “I'm going to have Z come down here and put a thermometer in you and if I see a temperature above 99…” Jack scolds.

“She was murdered, Jack.” Will says with a tilt of his head. “By who?”

“By whoever killed Dr. Sutcliffe.” Will says, and Jack just looks at Will like he just lost his damn mind. “His blood was all over Georgia Madchen. Her DNA was all over him.” Jack says Bewildered that Will thought she wasn't his killer given all of the evidence. “She knew what she was capable of. She told me there was someone else there. She couldn't see his face.”

“There was someone else there. Sutcliffe. And she couldn't see his face because she cut it in half. I know you're looking for an explanation to make this all right.” Jack says as his voice raises slightly. “There isn't one. There was something wrong with her. We'll never know what that is. Just that she was wrong. However many doctors she saw, however much help she got, she was fighting that wrong alone.”

“You can't do anything about that.”

“All her adult life this woman was misunderstood. What I can do is make sure her death isn't misunderstood. She didn't kill herself. This wasn't an accident.” OFF Jack considering Will's convictions...

B.A.U. - MORGUE - DAY -

Brian Zeller, Jimmy Price, Jack Crawford and Will Graham stand over the CHARRED REMAINS of Georgia Madchen. “Dismantled the oxygen chamber to see if we could find evidence of someone tampering with the wiring or a short circuit. Nothing.” Zeller says as he looks from his report. “Then what sparked the fire?” Jack asks, confused.

“Inconclusive.”

“Not conclusively inconclusive.” He turns their attention to a SMALL BAND OF MELTED PLASTIC. “Found this. Thought it might have been part of the bed or monitoring equipment, but mass spectrometer said it was celluloid plastic. They don't use plastic in these things.” Jimmy explains to everyone.

“It generates static electricity.” Jack takes the band of plastic, studying it. “It was by her head. Her hair was melted into it. Preserved almost like it was in amber.” As Will takes in the sad dead girl...“Could it have been a plastic comb?”

“Static charge from a plastic comb in a highly oxygenated environment would have a powerful accelerant.” Jimmy supports the theory. “Everything combustible in there would combust.” Will looks at the melted plastic in Jack's hand. “You're holding the murder weapon.”

“Or what she used to kill herself.” A MORGUE DRAWER It OPENS REVEALING the body of Dr. Sutcliffe on a separate drawer than Georgia Madchen's CHARRED REMAINS. Jack, Will, Zeller and Price are gathered around the slack-jawed dead. “Whoever killed Sutcliffe wanted to kill him how Georgia Madchen killed her victim. But not exactly how.” Will says as he points to the nearly decapitated corpse.

“Georgia Madchen carved up her victim's face. Sutcliffe was nearly decapitated at the jaw.” Zeller says as he points to the bodies. “She went further the second time. Serial killers often do.” Jack says but Will's mind whirls around the details and facts, then: “She was copied. Like whoever killed Marissa Schuur and Cassie Boyle wanted to copy how Garret Jacob Hobbs killed his victims.”

“But not exactly how.” Will responds with a look, “Wait, wait. Hold on. Now you're telling me Dr. Sutcliffe was killed by Garret Jacob Hobbs' Copy Cat?”

“And so was Georgia Madchen. Because he thinks she saw his face.” Will says putting pieces together.

“You said Nicholas Boyle was the Copy Cat. His blood was on one of the victims. Nicholas Boyle's dead.” Jack says looking at Will concerned.

“Then he wasn't the copy cat.” OFF Jack Crawford studying Will...

HANNIBAL’S OFFICE - DAY -

Jack faces Hannibal, who sits behind his desk. “Will's connecting murders that previously had no connection.” Jack says concernedly. “Beyond his involvement in the investigations.” Hannibal questions with a very slight head tilt. “That's right.”

“You're wondering if the lines are blurring or if he's onto something.” Hannibal asks but what he’s thinking is if Will is putting it together, What does Y/N Know. Y/N has always known more than she lets on. But what exactly does she know? “I'm wondering about all sorts of things.” Jack says as he takes a sip of his drink.

“May I ask, do you believe Georgia Madchen was murdered?” Hannibal asks Jack with no emotion in his tone. “There's evidence to suggest her death was intentional but it could have easily been by her own hand.” Jack says but even he is questioning himself.

“This woman was bested by madness. Perhaps what Will can't accept is that she took her own life so she wouldn't kill again.” Hannibal suggests, on the outside he is put together and elegant, non-breakable. But on the inside he is slowly going mad, but we all know that he won't get caught until he lets himself get caught.

“Why is that so hard to accept?” Jack asks Hannibal as he is scared for a person he sees as a friend. “If she could survive her delusions, then maybe he could survive his. He was hallucinating when he shot Abel Gideon. In his mind, he was killing Garret Jacob Hobbs. Again.” Hannibal explains.

“What's Will's relationship with Abigail Hobbs these days?”

“You think Will's protecting her.”

“Has been since he killed her father. Just don't know from what.” Jack says as he runs his hands over his face. “I can't imagine he would hide anything criminal from you. I've only ever known Will Graham as a man striving to be his best self.” Hannibal says with a small smile.

“You haven't known him very long. But we both know him well enough to know he hasn't been himself.”

“Will needs our support, whether or not mental illness is involved.”

“Is it mental illness or does his mind just work so differently we don't know what else to call it?” Jack asks and stands, letting the question float in the air. “There are days when even Will doesn't understand his thinking.” Jack Crawford studies Hannibal. There is something the psychiatrist is hiding. He can sense it.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - DAY

Hannibal and Will, mid-session. “I'm much better now. I feel clearer. It had to be the fever.” Will says as he looks at Hannibal with a tilted head. “You checked yourself out of the hospital against the recommendation of your attending physician.” Hannibal says as he observes Will, in every aspect of the masterpiece he is.

“He gave me antibiotics.” Will says observing Hannibal just as much as Hannibal is observing him. “This is not the behavior of someone who is thinking clearly.” Hannibal inquires warialy.

“I'm finally thinking clearly about the Copy Cat.” Will says as he finally brings his eyes to Hannibal’s, their eyes danced around each other but finally meeting each other in the flames of the fire.

“The murders you're attributing to the Copy Cat have suspects, whose DNA was found on the victims.” says Hannibal as he breaks the intense and strenuous eye contact. “So what?” Hannibal stares, then proceeds calmly: “You're choosing to ignore that?

“Both of those suspects are dead. I'm choosing to factor that into my psychological profile of a killer. Georgia Madchen followed me to Sutcliffe's office. She witnessed his murder, she saw the CopyCat.” Will says as he stands up and starts to pace. “Why not kill her then and there?” Asks Hannibal as he leans forward.

“He must not have had time. She was an unreliable witness. And that bought him the time.” Will says as he looks out the window with his back to Hannibal. “So he framed her for the murder?” Hannibal asks and Will looks at him from over his shoulder. “He wasn't planning on framing her. He was planning on framing me.” Will says with a Realizing tone “You believe this is personal.”

“If it wasn't before, it is now. It could be someone at the Bureau, someone in the police force, someone who knows the crimes, and has access to the investigations.”

“Someone like you. Or Y/N?” Will considers that briefly, then dismisses the notion. “Y/N would never- No one is touching Y/N. There will be evidence. I found a pattern. And now I'm going to reconstruct his thinking.” Will says in an almost chaotic and rash tone. Starting to lose it once Y/N was menti

oned. Last time he saw her was this morning when he left her in bed for work. “How do you intend to do that?” Hannibal asks with furrowed brows.

“Take Abigail back to Minnesota. Start where the Copy Cat started. With Garret Jacob Hobbs.” Will says confidently, “Will, this is venturing into the paranoid. I can't allow you to pull Abigail into your delusion.”

“This isn't a delusion. I'm not hallucinating. I haven't lost time. I am awake and this is real.” Hannibal eyes Will's determination with curious concern.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - NIGHT

Jack Crawford confronts Hannibal Lecter. “What the hell is going on between Will Graham and Abigail Hobbs?” Jack demands. “Will has been victim to many unusual and irrational thoughts.” Hannibal says calmly. “Has he acted on those thoughts?” Jack asks in a demanding manner he is angry. “Not that I'm aware of or he's aware of, for that matter. But he has experienced periods of lost time.”

“I've seen him confused at crime scenes. He was disoriented.” Jack says in an angry knowing tone. “He may've been confused because he was waking up. Might not have known where he was or how he got there.” Hannibal Explains gently and calmly, and his eyes subtly go to his scalpel just in case. “Waking up?”

“From a dissociated personality state. He would appear perfectly normal and not remember a thing. But a fractured part of him would.” Hannibal explains as he quickly stands up defensively, he towers over jack which balances out the power dynamic and position. Giving Hannibal the Right amount of Intimidation that he desired “You knew about this.” Jack accuses. “He's only recently started to discuss these episodes.” Hannibal admits. “Unless recently was right before I walked into this room, you failed to mention any of this to me.”

“Because I was trying to determine if it was trauma and stress from the work he does for you... or mental illness. Thought it wise to be sure before making any kind of claim about Will Graham's sanity.” Hannibal growls back though really all he wanted to do was see what would happen if Will Graham fell off the edge. Would Y/N follow suit? “He took Abigail Hobbs. Any idea where they could be going?” “No.”

“We have evidence she was involved in her father's crimes. We just don't know how involved.” Hannibal appears appropriately gobsmacked by this revelation. “Could Will know what she did? Is that why he's been protecting her?” Hannibal looks like a man who wants to have a heart-to-heart. “There's something you should hear.” ON A RECORDING DEVICE

Hannibal presses play and watches Jack Crawford listen.

“How did you feel seeing Marissa Schuur impaled in the antler room?”

“Guilty.”

“Because you couldn't save her?”

“Because I felt like I killed her.”

Hannibal presses stop, studying Jack's reaction. “Where was Will the night Marissa Schuur was murdered?” Jack asks slowly, not wanting to believe his realization. “He was supposed to be in his hotel room. I knocked on his door. He didn't answer. He told Dr. Y/N L/N he decided to go to bed early.” Hannibal says softly. “We know Will was in Sutcliffe's office when he was killed. And Will was the last person to visit Georgia Madchen before she died.”

“Is Will Graham a suspect?” Hannibal Asked concerned for Will. “This dissociated personality state you say he goes into... whose personality is it?” Jack asks “Will said he got so close to Garret Jacob Hobbs and what he had done, he felt like he was becoming him.”

“Now Will has Hobbs' daughter.”

“Who Hobbs was intending to kill.” OFF that revelation...

HOBBS HOUSE - KITCHEN -

Abigail walks in and STARTLES to FIND HANNIBAL LECTER standing against the counter. Waiting for her. She immediately runs into his arms for a huge hug. “What are you doing here? Is Y/N here too?” Abigail asks hopeful, she had found a new maternal figure in Y/N.

“I was worried about you. No Y/N did not come, Just Me. Will told me he was taking you to Minnesota. I strongly advised against it.” He gently releases the hug, looking Abigail in the eyes: “Where is Will, Abigail?” Hannibal asks gently. “I left him at the cabin. I didn't feel safe with him. So I left him. He knows everything.” Abigail says Frightened. “So does Jack Crawford.” Abigail's mind spins, her options narrowing. “If I run, they'll catch me, won't they. You and Y/N can't protect me anymore.”

“They'll arrest you when they find you. They'll arrest Will, too.” Hannibal says with slight remorse, something he doesn't feel often if at all. “Did he kill Marissa?”

“They will believe he did. They will believe he killed others, too.” Abigail stares at Hannibal, awareness dawning. “Will always said whoever called the house that morning was the serial killer. Why did you really call?” Abigail asks softly as she gently steps back. “I wanted to warn your father that Will Graham and Y/N were coming for him.”

“Why?”

“I was curious what would happen. I was curious what would happen when I killed Marissa. I was curious what you would do.” Hannibal admits this time though a smile shows through. A wave of near-nausea washes over her, she pushes it down. “You wanted me to kill Nick Boyle.”

“I was hoping. I wanted to see how much like your father you were.” Hannibal says with a cocked eyebrow. “Ohmygod.” Abigail exclaims softly as she takes herself out of his hold. “Nicholas Boyle is more important for you gutting him. He changed you. That's more important than the life he clamored after.” Hannibal explains.

“How many people have you killed?” Abigail asks frightened for her life, and rightfully so. “Many more than your father.” Quiet tears stream as she realizes what she only dare ask:“Are you going to kill me?”

He gently strokes her cheek, then: “I'm so sorry, Abigail. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you in this life.”

[rou-luxe]

thinking about how they're not really "villains". (contains minor spoilers)

for one, the princes aren't your typical idea of a "fairytale prince". i'm using chev as an example, but there's definitely more than that. he's not charismatic or kind. he's cold and merciless. many of the princes have performed some sort of crime. on top of that, there was no "happy ending" for the king (not that I'm saying he deserved a happy ending at all)... but yes, ikepri is really dark if you think about it.

ikevamp... I've only played one path, but they don't really feel like "vampires". they still feel more "human" than anything. sometimes I feel like the "vampire" thing is just a cover so they can all be in the same place... 💀 but anyway... they feel the most normal to me tbh. except... maybe the 2nd path suitors. holy shit.

I don't even play ikesen, but even the generals are really goofy (or so I heard).

for the villains... they "fight evil with evil". they're willing to do whatever it takes, but at the end of the day, crown has good intentions. people have called the contradictions out multiple times, there's no arguing there.

they are all redeemable in one way or another. they all have good traits in them.

william doesn't use his powers for cruelty. he prefers to only use it when he needs to.

harrison let his father's murderer LIVE. + harrison pointed the gun at kate's head as a warning, because he wanted her to live. he begged for the doctor to help jude. there's a lot.

liam is just straight up a good boy patpatptp

elbert has his reasons.

alfons has his reasons.

roger

jude is secretly kind. cutie

ellis

victor is far from heartless.

also, if they were completely irredeemable, I don't think people would like them very much 😭😭 you're still supposed to love the LIs, yk. but does that mean that at the end of the day, we still want to believe there's good in the world? this idea merits further thought...

the verdict?

there is good in evil, and there is evil in good. maybe that's why it's called vices and virtues.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Wow, I'm mad at myself for being late to the favorite fic subject coming up /j

Personally, I'm a huge sucker for cya and have itysg as a second(however, if we decide to count your other fics then... itysg would be third while your smile makes me smile would be second). I think it's the amount of world building that makes it so interesting for me along with the fact that it takes place before the archon war. Like, there hardly passes a day where cya doesn't just... scoot right over into my thoughts making it kinda hard to reread cause it know it so well </3.

I am sad to say that I haven't checked out BitA yet. When I first saw it while looking for some other fic of yours to read, I didn't really like apocalypse stories much. I might check it out though cause I'm a lot more open to those kinds of stories now. I also remember starting every good intention, but I don't remember why I stopped... I think I had to get off my phone for a bit and just... forgot to continue? Idk I really should check those two...

You really get me Sprinkles- those murder mystery fics are so good! I remember reading one of genshin that was also mixed with a time loop and I just ate it up-(it was sadly discontinued and then deleted from ao3, but not before I managed to download it for future offline reading-) I'm honestly interested in those wriolette ones you mentionned, may I have a few recs if you don't mind? I need more wriolette in my life.

i do in fact have some wriolette murder mystery / cop mystery recs

A Match Made in France by oooohscar - not a murder mystery per se but it does contain mystery investigations. it's basically furina trying to matchmake neuvillette and wriothesley and she quickly discovers they work well as investigation partners? and so she starts trying to get them to investigate things together, but then shit gets out of hand. it's so fucking good and so fucking funny. like it's pre-reveal furina but i can forgive the mild ooc and- y'know, furina portrayal pre-trauma-reveal (?) just because it's so well written and hilarious (and also she's not portrayed entirely as a brat, i find her more absurdly histrionic than anything). also it's not just furina pov, it switches between all of them. it's incomplete but updating, and absolutely worth a read

The Gambler's Debt by Marsrevale - much more serious than the one above, this one is a murder mystery through and through. the mystery is still only starting, so it probably has a long way to go, but i'm patient so i'll keep up. it's basically neuvillette and clorinde going to investigate a series of murders in the fortress of meropide (this is a sort of modern au so meropide is a gambling house / hotel i think) and wriothesley is the main suspect, but there's also stuff going on between neuvillette and wriothesley bc they knew each other long ago but only wriothesley recognizes him. idk how else to describe it, it's really intriguing so far, i hope the mystery pans out nicely

Hold my hand, never let me go by Jinnmi - also a proper murder mystery, this one is about what is essentially a branch of fontaine's police force for criminal investigation led by wriothesley and the many interconected cases they have to solve. neuvillette is sent as a consultant to keep an eye on them, but ends up basically joining the team as they all try to solve a big case that seems to threaten the country whole and is also somehow connected to wriothesley's past. this one is very good, the murders might be a bit too gruesome for sensitive people? but still, really nice. i love the unsettling vibe of whatever the one behind this all is planning, the suspense is also really good. still updating and i rush to it every time a new chapter comes out, it had me in a chokehold when i first found it.

hope those sound interesting!

[sadruru]

"Captivity begins with one's own mind."

A story about Melissa with an old illustration (old, yep, from last year!). As it turns out, Baphomet has played a cruel trick on her. This is a very important part in her story. Later I will illustrate this moment in the comic strip. Doesn't everyone in Baphomet's lineage like to play with nerves???? HAHAHAHAHA ;D I love how it turned out anyway! Why not post it here? I just wanted to reveal a bit of her character back when I wasn't drawing comics yet. I'm a not good writer. I tried very carefully to translate (maybe). That's a lot of reading to do, hehehe. Enjoy the despair ~ ...

The heart of demon lord Baphomet's domain - the Inevitability Prison. Another room. Another torture chamber. This place is part of an eternal labyrinth, littered with suffering souls and their torturers.

The labyrinth was the property of Baphomet, and once again the commander felt the call of the Abyss. The call of destruction and murder confused the thoughts in her head. The commander could hardly contain herself, venting her anger at the servants of the Father of the Minotaurs. A weary glance fell on the cracked mirror in the corner. The commander saw her reflection and - vaguely and briefly - the master of this prison glimpsed in it

No one noticed how Melissa had fallen behind the squad. Does no one see it but her? Does no one hear it?

- How long you gonna hide from us, goat?! I've had enough of these stupid riddles! Give me back the Hand of the Inheritor, or I'll gladly find you again and gut you! - a cheeky grin touched her face. Her eyes lit up with scarlet fire.

Baphomet let such a brazen insult pass his ears. He grinned, glaring intently at his enemy.

His eyes reflected… victory?

- An empty boast, mortal. But I see our last conversation has borne results,- he pointed a finger at his forehead with a bloody, burning star, repeating what he had once said: - "Captivity begins with your own mind". There was that phrase again. From the first few seconds it had been lingering in the commander's mind. Melissa didn't understand why those words were so irritating to her.

- Are you showing off again? Threats don't scare me.

- I'm not threatening you. Rather, I'm reminding you that I've studied you, your thoughts and feelings. There's no need to get rid of you myself. I wonder what will happen first - will your mind destroy itself now or afterward, if you close the Abyss? I've met your kind before. It doesn't always take physical strength to defeat you. - every word was infused with arrogance and poison.

- What the hell are you...

- A world-abused, terrified, unhappy tiefling-child. You know what I mean? You're in my domain. Your mind is like an open book. Still remembering all your hurts? - in the shards of the mirror there are pictures of the past and faces of familiar people, - Do you remember the face of your dear mother that day? No... But that look! So cold, unfamiliar, empty... You admired her so much.

The smug grin quickly disappeared from Melissa's face.

Everything came into view as if it had happened yesterday, when her happy childhood had begun to crack.

- And your beloved father? What did he do to you? Do you remember the mad fear for your life, the pleas for mercy? Which gods did you turn to then? A poor kitten, tied up, thrown into the raging river in a dirty, cramped sack, without the slightest hope of rescue...

- Stop it!

The wounds never healed, even after many years. The pain always returned, coming in waves, and each time it was worse. It became hard to breathe. Blood boiled with rage. A drop of cold sweat rolled down her cheek.

Trying to break free of the illusion was futile.

The commander realized that this was nothing more than another trick… But her soul was still torn apart.

The demon lord's words hurt like knives.

- What about old friends? A friend who deemed you useless and betrayed you for the sake of her freedom and safety. The laughter in her eyes. The cracked skull of a dear comrade who died because of you. And you only escaped and survived because of him!

- I said enough! Stay out of my head! - Melissa's voice trembled, her legs shaking under the weight of her past. Her chest was squeezing painfully.

- Have you ever thought about what will happen when the crusade is over? Will your "faithful" companions, all those people, still need you? What about that boy, who fell in love with someone like you? Have you wondered: are they not using you because you are useful?

The demon lord's voice changed. It became almost affectionate:

- They will quickly forget your existence and get rid of you. They will look at you the same way, like the dirt beneath their feet, tiefling. That's the way it was, is, and always will be. No one will be there for you like the day you died. It was scary to die helplessly, slowly, alone, with your neck cut, wasn't it? Once again, the world condemned you to die.

- Shut your fucking mouth, asshole!!!!

A cry of pure anger echoed through the dark corridors. Her fist struck the fragile mirror with all its force, ending its existence.

And only in her ears could she still hear the laughter of the Lord of the Labyrinth.

A hellish pain brought her back to her senses: the shards were embedded in her arm. The companions found Melissa quickly enough. The leopard led them to his mistress. She was sitting on her knees. As soon as she raised her head, she could read the shock and worry on her companions' faces.

It seemed like an eternity had passed, not a couple minutes.

Something was wrong.

Something had changed in the commander - everyone understood it from the first second. Melissa looked at her companions. In the red eyes read a lot of things… Doubt? Distrust? Despair? Like a wild animal trapped in a cage, surrounded by enemies.

From that moment on, nightmares and insomnia began to plague her more and more often, almost every night. In Drezen, many people noticed the change in Melissa. The fun, cheerful girl was turning into a walking corpse, repelling any attempt to speak or care for her. Periodically she repeated the same thing quietly, barely noticeable, like a curse:

- Captivity begins with one's own mind… She's broken like the shards of a mirror.

[xaeethebaee]

Shuji x Shortcake Chapter Two

Minors DNI! Mature Audience ONLY!

After over a decade, you reunited with your childhood best friend Shuji Hanma after moving back to Japan. Things seem great however the more you've spent time with him, the more you learn about the dark activities he has been into since you last saw him.

Warnings! Violence, mentions of murder, smoking, Hanma being a giant intimidating doofus, and strong sexual content. More warnings will be added for individual chapters.

This fic contains both fluff and smut in addition to some dark content (Hanma is in a gang after all).

Chapter Warnings! Mentions of murder, mild stalker behavior, the word ‘whore’ being mentioned a few times, drug use, and Reader getting drugged.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/n: Sorry for taking so long with coming out with chapter two. I have a very draining full-time job that does not allow me much free time. No worries as I am dedicated to putting in lots of effort in this series and getting these chapters out in a timely manner. Also, I am still trying to figure out that taglist, so please bear with me on that. With all that being said, please enjoy.

Chapter TWO

Inside a boardroom is a group of men dressed in long-white trench coats, white pants, and black boots sitting on a leather sectional couch that wraps around a long rectangular mahogany table. The air around them is thick and each one of them can feel the ominous aura radiating throughout. Adding to the atmosphere is the leader of the men who is sitting at the end of the table, leaning forward while resting his elbows in the center of his thighs. His dark eyes peer straight forward as a serious expression adorn his slightly boyish face. Releasing a deep grunt, he remarks with a blank tone:

“I don’t like the fact that Brahman has been silent for the past couple of weeks.”

The men around him listen intently as he continues.

“That most likely means those assholes are planning something. Since tonight is the party, they’ll be expecting us to have our guards down. It is the perfect opportunity for them to strike. You understand what I am saying?”

Each man around him nods obediently while none of them attempt to speak out of fear of interrupting and subsequently disrespecting their boss. It is no denying the dangerous ambiance the men are exuding and the kanji letters that are embroidered on the back of their white trench coats further support the fact that these individuals are not to be taken lightly. Those letters are arranged eerily to spell out Kanto Manji Gang in bold, not allowing anyone to mistake them for anyone else.

Their reputation grows more and more every day due to their violent activities, often indiscriminately attacking anyone who they deem as a threat. News organizations around Tokyo are advising everyone to stay off the streets at night due to the gang’s bloodthirsty behavior. Local law enforcement has estimated that assaults and murders have doubled - nearly tripled - since the Kanto Manji Gang’s formation, and due to the gang’s influence, the police are powerless against them.

One of the dangerous men raises his hand in order to get his boss’s attention. That man’s face is plastered all over magazines and posters around Tokyo. Many women and men fawn over him for his handsome look, luscious shoulder-length hair that is styled neatly in two pigtails and his alluring lilac downturned eyes. The man in question is Ran Haitani, who is promptly acknowledged by his much shorter blonde boss who just gives a slight nod and a firm: ‘What is it?’.

“That bait we laid out is going according to plan. She fell for the trap as my brother anticipated, so now all we gotta do is wait and see what she will do once she arrives at the party.”

Ran explains as he proudly grins while crossing his legs.

“And how are you so sure she is really falling for this?” The boss questions with a raised brow.

“Trust me, Mikey. If she is who we think she is then luring her straight to us will be as easy as cutting butter with a hot knife.”

The elder Haitani brother answers with a cocky tone. Quickly after his response, his little brother speaks up while leaning forward in his seat.

“Plus, no one would think she is no other than some whore coming to our party, which means it is the perfect opportunity to act undetected.”

He says pushing his circular glasses up to his forehead before rubbing his lilac eyes. Strands from his neckline-length blonde hair fall to slightly obscure his vision causing the younger Haitani to breathe out a slight groan. After that, he yawns slightly.

Seeing the actions from Rindou makes Ran place a comforting hand on his shoulder while leaning forward.

“I told you not to spend all night playing with your set.” He playfully scolds.

“I was making sure my turntables are in working condition for the party tonight.”

Rindou grumbles his response while glaring outwardly. Mikey - their boss - just watches with his face resting in the palm of his left hand. The once serious expression he bestowed was replaced by a slightly softer look.

“Very well. If you’re so confident that she fell for the trap then there is no need to question further. Just don’t cause another riot like last time.”

Ran stifles a laugh before reluctantly correcting Mikey:

“That was not a riot.”

This time, the pink-haired man next to Mikey responds.

“A battle royale more accurately speaking.”

His sarcastic tone is slightly muffled due to the black mask on his face; however, the rest of the men nonetheless heard him. Amused, they chuckle including Ran.

“Why did you think it was a good idea to invite all of our exes and the whores we indulge with?” Another man with light hair that is worn down and a small scar on the leftmost side of his mouth asks.

“Shut up, Shion! That was actually HANMA’S idea!” Ran spits back and then points at the tall black and blonde hair man who is sitting on the opposite end of him.

Each executive of the Kanto Manji Gang averts their gaze over to Hanma. Mikey remains to have his slightly soft look despite the glint of darkness in his eyes. Hanma smirks from all of the gazes on him.

“What? I like to make things interesting every now and then.” The man says, amused by the conversation.

“You almost got us KILLED.” Rindou scolds.

“But we’re still alive and there are fewer women to worry about.” Shuji immediately counters with a nonchalant shrug.

“It was a bloodbath.”

Hanma chuckles at Rindou’s latest response and then he follows up with:

“And they say we’re the violent ones.”

Everyone just chuckles before giving their attention back to their boss, who only sits up and sighs.

“Got off topic momentarily, but at least now we know what we should be expecting for tonight.”

Mikey starts standing up, and the rest of his gang follows suit. Ran puts his arm around his little brother who just does a small stretch.

“Remember, Ran and Rindou. Your suspicions better be correct about that woman.” Mikey warns, peering at the brothers.

“Yes, sir.”

Ran acknowledges. As Mikey starts to leave, his dark expression returns and it permeates his face. The rest of the men immediately start to feel the dark impulse radiating around him. Hanma watches as Mikey turns to face them. The following words spit out of his mouth like snake venom, sending shivers down each of their spines.

“Kill if necessary.”

The boss says then exits the room with his pink-haired subordinate following right behind him.

~~ Hours later ~~

Never in a million years did you think you’d end up at a party as big as this one. You’re sitting in the passenger seat of your work friend’s car as she drives through the large iron gates that protect the property within. You’re in awe of the massive mansion and the vast array of luxury vehicles parked out in front. Your friend finds a place to park her car before turning to face you with a reassuring smile.

“It’s going to be fun, I promise.” She says in a soft voice.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” You reply with a shaky voice.

Your concern is only met with a slight giggle as her hand reaches for a small pouch that is placed in your lap.

“You worry too much, Y/n. Tonight is the night we wind down and let loose.”

She continues to explain while pulling out red lipstick and looking into the rearview mirror. Using her reflection she applies the makeup on her lips.

“As I said before, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be at the house of two of Tokyo’s hottest men.”

“You mean alleged members of the Kanto Man-”

“Shush.”

Your friend firmly says, preventing you from uttering the name of the infamous gang. You can only roll your eyes as she finishes touching up her makeup. After that, she looks at you again.

“How do I look?” She asks.

“Good.”

The woman just groans slightly at your dry response. Somewhat annoyed and eager, she quickly opens the door and you follow suit. Both of you take the time to admire the extravagant three-story modern home. The home constantly features in magazines that advertise the life of luxury and Japan’s sexiest bachelor pads blog posts. The beauty of the home does little to calm your nerves, however. Nevertheless, you still find yourself following behind your friend as she makes her way to the entrance of the mansion.

Two guards stand in front. One of them holds a tablet, checking in the invited guests while the other watch for weapons and any signs of suspicious behavior. It is your turn to be checked in. Both men look down at you two, examining your revealing dresses, high heels, done-up makeup, and beautifully styled hair. Their intimidating presence nearly causes you to break out into a cold sweat. Your friend, on the other hand, exudes confidence as she presents them with invitations for both of you.

“Orchid Ash Valley.” She proudly says.

There is a momentary silence as the guard reviews the tablet. The other guard pulls out another tablet and stares intently at it. He then looks directly at you. You’re locked in an awkward staring contest with him as you try to read his unreadable expression. Suddenly, his gaze averts to your friend, and then just as quickly, it moves back to the tablet.

After a few more seconds of very loud silence, the guards look at each other and then give a nod.

“Go in.” The first guard says.

Almost immediately, your friend goes inside, not bothering to check if you’re following behind her. Your pace picks up in an attempt to not stray too far away from her as you two walk through the foyer.

“Hey. What’s Orchid Ash Valley?”

You question; however, you’re only met with no response as you two reach the main party area. Unbeknownst to both of you, one of the guards pulls out a radio from his pocket.

“Haitani Ran sir? She has arrived.”

Almost immediately, you’re overwhelmed by the environment. The music is blaring so loudly that it is difficult for you to concentrate, the bright strobe lights constantly flickering around makes you feel a bit disoriented, and the huge crowd of dancing drunk people has caused the area to be humid to the point where it is hard to breathe. You can barely focus on your friend who is stepping into the middle of the dance floor and starts dancing to the music.

Awkwardly, you try dancing as well. You try as hard as possible to become accustomed to your surroundings but it is all to no avail. To make matters worse, once again that unnerving feeling of being watched has crept back into your body. Looking around in an attempt to find whoever could be watching you, all you see is the drunk partygoers, sloppily dancing with each other. Your eyes then avert up to where the Dj is. You see that he is a man with average height, lean build, and neck-length hair that is pulled back in a bun, and’s also wearing circular glasses.

Rindou Haitani. It’s not hard to recognize who this man is as his face is plastered everywhere and because you know how much your friend is infatuated with him. It does not change the fact that you know of the allegations made about him as well as his older brother. It’s their supposed involvement with the Kanto Manji Gang - a gang that is quickly becoming Tokyo’s most dangerous group.

Your staring was felt by Rindou himself, who only peers down at you while transitioning into the next song. The man just grins, which sent shivers down your spine.

“Looks like someone likes what he sees.”

Your friend teasingly says in your ear, causing you to become startled. “Stop it.” You scold her; however, she just giggles.

“We should go up there.”

Her suggestion makes you shake your head profusely, adamant about being as far away from him as possible even though you do not know much about him at all. The only thing you can go off of are the rumors made about him; however, knowing that he does have a bad-boy reputation does not alleviate your concerns. Despite your protests, your friend insists on pulling you in the direction of the Dj booth. Once you’re within a few feet away from the booth, you stop.

“We’re probably not allowed up there anyways.” You suggest, which is enough to stop her from dragging you further.

Crossing her arms, the woman makes a pondering expression.

“Damn. You have a point. That could be the case.” She says, then makes a face that shows she is thinking of a different idea.

“How about we go to the bar instead?”

She offers. Although hesitant, you accept with a sigh. Since you are in a stuffy environment, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a cold drink. Maybe it’ll be enough to calm your nerves.

Smiling, she grabs your hand and you two make your way over to the bar where you’re greeted by a handsome bartender. You notice your work friend leaning over the counter, accentuating her cleavage while batting her eyes at the blonde and purple-haired man. He only sports an exhausted look on his face as his droopy eyes stare back at her.

“What can I get for you, princess?”

He asks despite the popsicle stick poking out of his mouth.

“What’s the special for tonight?” Your friend immediately asks him, never dropping that seductive smile.

There is a moment of silence between them as you watch the scene unfold. Unbeknownst to you, up on a balcony that overlooks the entire party is Shuji Hanma who finishes taking a drag from his cigarette. He discards it in the ashtray next to him before standing up, giving a full view of his black pullover hoodie and grey sweatpants. Approaching the ledge of the balcony, he leans his body over it, resting the upper half and allowing his long arms to dangle off the edge.

A soft smile adorns his face as he watches you from the distance. Even though it’s a dark environment save for the dim and multicolored strobe lights, and the fact that you’re all the way across the room from him, he can easily read the body language that you’re displaying.

“Why would you show up here knowing this is not your kind of environment, Shortcake?”

The tall man feels a fuzzy sensation in his chest watching you awkwardly interact with your friend and the bartender. You smile as the bartender presents a freshly made drink, which you reluctantly accepted. Hanma’s heart skips a beat upon noticing you enjoying the drink.

“Good job, Wakasa. Make her happy.”

He praises. His actions did not go unnoticed by the pink-haired man who is sitting in a leather chair a few feet away. His blue eyes peep at the lanky man while tilting his head with slight curiosity.

“What?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Sanzu.” Hanma immediately responds.

The man named Sanzu just shakes his head before heaving out a groan.

“Fucking weirdo.” He brushes off Hanma’s behavior.

Hanma ignores the response as he is too focused on you. That is when he sees Ran come into his field of vision. The older Haitani brother stands a fair distance away from the bar; however, that did not stop you as well as your work friend from noticing his presence.

You can feel your chest tighten when your gaze meets his. Your work friend, on the other hand, does not hide her arousal upon seeing him.

“He’s even sexier in person. Right, Y/n?”

You shrug your shoulders before taking a sip from your drink. The bartender named Wakasa just averts his attention elsewhere at the bar. Although it was a very quiet remark, you barely heard him utter ‘I did my part.’ under his breath. One of your eyebrows raises, but you did not get a chance to question him as your friend immediately gets out of her seat to approach Ran Haitani who is surrounded by a group of women.

“The hell?”

You start to get out of your seat to follow her. At that moment, two men block your path. You look up and quickly noticed their sleazy grins before turning to face Wakasa who’s wiping the counter, presenting a glare towards the men. The men then look back at him.

“Give us some drinks, pretty boy.”

One of them demands while you take the opportunity to slip away. As you approach your friend, you realize she has somehow cut through the crowd of women and is engaged in a conversation with Ran. The closer you get, the more you hear what they are talking about despite the blaring music.

“I really love your hair. I bet it is really soft.”

She says to the man while biting on her lips. You cringe at the behavior she is displaying; however, you can tell Ran is nonetheless entertained by it.

“You wanna feel it, doll?”

He asks, leaning down making it easier for her to reach out to stroke it.

“Wow. It is little wonder how you ended up being the spokesman for Arimino.” She flirtatiously states.

“Thanks. You wanna dance?” He offers his hand to her which she did not hesitate to accept.

You watch as you’re essentially abandoned by your friend as she is escorted to the middle of the dance floor. The partygoers part ways, allowing him to easily slip through. You follow suit, never discarding your drink.

The alcohol in your system allows you to become somewhat accustomed to the environment although, you are still a little on edge. Nevertheless, you began to loosen up a bit, swaying your body back and forth while listening to the music that is expertly being mixed by the younger Haitani brother. After spending so much time worrying about the party and being bothered by the feeling of being stalked, you finally found yourself feeling enjoyment. Maybe it is the alcohol that is causing your body to feel warm or is it the fact that you’ve momentarily stopped thinking about your precautions?

You did not have time to register your answer when you catch a glimpse at Ran’s tall and lanky figure looming over your work friend as she seductively rocks her hips against his crotch. His hands worked their way up her chest, groping her breasts as she giggles from the contact.

Seeing that made you gag slightly prompting you to turn in the opposite direction. Taking another sip from the drink, you peer back at the bar. The two men are no longer there, though you did not think much of it. You continue to dance on your lonesome, a smile adorns your face; however, it quickly drops from a sudden realization.

Your vision begins to blur as you feel your body begin to get heavy. At first, you assumed it was just the alcohol you are currently drinking. It did not matter at this point as your main priority is to find your friend. That task quickly became difficult to do as your hazy vision made it impossible to keep your balance. The disorienting feeling from the lights and blaring music comes back as you frantically try cutting through the crowd in an attempt to find her.

From the balcony, Hanma sees your slumping figure. Confused, he tilts his head.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” He asks.

“I’m doing just fine, idiot.”

Sanzu answers from behind him, snorting a line of cocaine on the glass table assuming Shuji was asking him a question. Hanma ignores the annoyed reply from his crewmate as he leans up from his spot. His confusion immediately turns into concern and rage when he realizes what has happened. He becomes even more unhinged upon seeing the two men from the bar approaching you with malevolent grins on their faces.

[Would you like a hint for the next chapter or nah?]

[ase-trollplays]

To Be Loved

==> Shadah: Contemplate your feelings

It's funny.

You thought you knew what it was to be loved. Snakemom, for all the abuse and trauma she heaped on you growing up, had good intentions with you. That's what she always claimed, at least. She did her best to give you a thick skin, unshakable resolve, and unhindered strength so you would survive. She forced you to be cold and hardened to everyone and everything so you would have the best life for yourself possible.

No matter how much she berated you, attacked and poisoned you, controlled as many facets of your life as she could get her coils around, she never hesitated to tell you that she loved you. Everything she did to you was out of love.

That's what you used to believe, but now you know better. Now you know love.

Shadah slowly blinked awake as scant beams of sunlight shone through gaps in the curtains on her moirail, Ferlic's hive during a rare pause in storms.

She rubbed her eyes with a sigh as she recalled last night's activities. She took Steume, her matesprit, with her to visit Fer on his rainy island for game night. She killed at monopoly, though her quads bested her at the other four games. Shadah's demands for recounts and do-overs only earned her their laughter and playful scoldings before moving onto the next game.

Between games, Shadah cooked and made snacks for them as they bickered back and forth without her present to make them behave. The only time Steume and Fer co-operated that entire night was to launch a two against one tickle attack on her after a particularly bad tantrum at losing another game.

Despite threatening to murder them both in their sleep, there was nothing but love in the room that night, and that same feeling of love persisted this afternoon.

She looked to her left where Ferlic lay snuggled against her, his wild hair that could be classified as one of the horrorterrors themselves barely contained with hair clips and a sleep cap. He was the first to ever see her as she is.

That night sweeps ago when she broke into his hive foolishly in search of legendary treasures was the first step on the road to freedom. With his powers as an empath, he saw her for the self-conscious and anxious person she really was behind the arrogant and loud façade. No matter how challenging she made herself to tolerate, he persisted until eventually he became the one person she had to rely on.

Shadah turned to her right to face Steume, who also lay snuggled against her. She showed her how it felt to be loved in a way she never had been before. It was a whirlwind of confusion and things she'd never experienced before. Being the emotionally stunted person she was, she'd attempted to murder Steume multiple times because of it.

It felt so long ago that the only forms of love she knew came in the forms of emotional and physical abuse. She groaned at how brainwashed she used to be. They were both there for her after she was forced to kill her lusus on her tenth wriggling day and had to rebuild her life from scratch.

Fer gave her shelter and care when she had nowhere to go and suffered withdrawal from her snakemom's venom. Steume helped her destroy her old hive, the last remnant of her previous life, and give her a new home.

They took care of her when no one else could, and she did her damndest to be there for them as well. They taught her how love is supposed to feel, and what a loving relationship is supposed to be.

They saw past her barriers and endured her loathsome attitude to find a person worth loving and teaching how to love. They showed her things -- Made her feel things she never thought possible for her.

They showed her that the way she'd been raised and the definition of love she'd been shown was wrong. Her lusus may have had good intentions, but she never truly loved her. No one who loved her would have abused her like Snakemom did.

Shadah sniffled as diluted teal tears formed in her eyes, though she didn't dare try to wipe them away lest she wake up her quads. She didn't bother cursing herself for being so sentimental as she would if either of them were awake.

The last few sweeps were the best of her life, and she had so many more sweeps ahead of her to enjoy both of them before they inevitably outlived her. Nothing else in the world mattered as long as she had them by her side.

She lied down between her quadmates silently crying before Steume started to stir awake, and she stifled her tears and sniffles. Steume half opened her eyes before more tightly wrapping her arms around her and pulling her against her body and rolling onto her other side, effectively stealing her from Ferlic.

She took a breath and allowed more tears to fall.

What did someone like her ever do to deserve love and happiness like this?

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | The Flash (Muschietti, 2023)

This review contains spoilers for this movie and Wonder Woman 1984.

So, if I can point out the positives about this movie, it’s that the special effects, through their shortcomings, achieve a sense of accidental surrealism. I don’t just mean the scenes in the Speed Zone (or whatever, I’m not looking it up), where the effect is intentional, but even things that are supposed to be closer to a superpowered reality. There’s an early scene where the Flash has to save a bunch of babies and a dog and a nurse falling from a crumbling tower, and aside from some conceptual novelty, the monstrous computer-generated faces of the babies make you feel like you’re watching an episode of Ren & Stimpy. What should be cartoonish fun is instead rendered into a grotesque, Boschian hellscape. But the majority of the effects are astoundingly bad, with many of the CGI-rendered characters having that unsettling dead-eyed Polar Express look, , doubling effects (which were perfected decades before CGI) being botched, and many of the scenes of rubbery, weightless supposed spectacle looking about as good as a PS3 cutscene from a decade and a half ago. Never has so much money been spent on effects that look this poor. (One shot in particular brought back memories of watching my brother play RTSs when he hogged the computer growing up.)

And I’ll say that compared to the other actors in supporting roles, Sasha Calle as Supergirl gives the kind of performance that feels like it belongs in a well executed version of these things, in that she actually tries to evoke some kind of emotional reality for her character. (I don’t put much effort in anticipating these things, but it does seem a bit cruel that she’s probably been jettisoned from future entries.) In comparison, Michaels Keaton and Shannon seem to be in a competition to give the lowest energy line readings possible to still meet the contractual definition of a performance Keaton wins, as his eyebrow raising provides a level of charisma that can’t be quashed, while Shannon seems so affectless and so frequently depicted through special effects that I’m not convinced he ever actually stepped on set and didn’t just bark his lines over the phone one afternoon. And Gal Gadot in her cameo gives a line reading so bad that you wonder how she ever passed an audition or screen test.

So aside from that freaky ass baby scene and Sasha Calle, this is quite bad at being an effective superhero movie. At this point I must concede that I struggle to muster much enthusiasm for the majority of entries in the genre, and the fact that this is bad in ways that suggest autocritique makes it a more interesting than a lot of these things. In fact, like Wonder Woman 1984, its badness gave me a lot to chew over. That one, while pretty awful as spectacle, laid bare the implied contempt of the genre and maybe doubled as a commentary for our present political situation. That movie, which has a grifter promising people their wishes will come true only to complicate them with monkey’s paw twists, ended not with Wonder Woman actually doing anything useful to save the day, but with her browbeating everyone for wanting better lives for themselves and taking back their wishes. You see, you shouldn’t expect these things to actually be good (or for our leaders to do anything to improve our situation), and in fact you’re a bad person for wanting that, so fuck you, eat your scraps and be happy. (Perhaps I have some firsthand skin in the game, having been accosted years ago by some fucking weirdo acting like he wanted to start a fight after a screening of Guardians of the Galaxy when he overheard me complaining to my friends. I am a man of peace, but motherfucker was scrawny as a toothpick, I could probably have taken him.)

This one, where the plot is instigated by the hero traveling back in time to save his mother from being murdered and ends with him accepting her death but managing to at least clear his father of the crime, offers a somewhat more optimistic message. We can’t fundamentally change what’s wrong with the genre or the world, but can maybe make things a bit more bearable. That being said, this absolutely is not more bearable, given its total failure as spectacle. (And to be honest, I’m normally one who finds the thinkpiece-brained moralistic handwringing about blockbusters to be a bit obnoxious, between the Oedipal obsessiveness with which this movie ponders the mother’s death and the glee with which it repeatedly kills Supergirl, I found its treatment of women a bit unseemly.) The fact that much of the plot hinges on the Flash trying to go back in time to course correct future events plays like a commentary on its release, having been crapped out by Warner Brothers when it’s in the midst of course correcting its handling of the DCEU, and the flagrant disrespect it shows cultural history (exhuming George Reeves and Christopher Reeve to turn them into unsettling CGI puppets) matches the attitudes of a certain WB exec who’s been in the news more than anyone would like. And perhaps the ending lends a certain self-critical read to this element.

Like Wonder Woman 1984, this feels like the overarching corporate strategy being exposed, or more accurately, falling apart. There’s the awkward mix of irony-tinged Whedonian quipping and solemn Snyderian destruction, executed so as to lack any of the timing of the former or the weight of the latter. And in that sense, Ezra Miller’s twitchy performance feels like a glitch in the algorithm, refusing to work on either level the movie aims for. That they weren’t recast despite their offscreen criminal antics and that this movie was released, despite the abrupt change in corporate strategy and the aggressive PR management these things normally have, give this all a certain morbid interest. The near-empty theatre I watched this in gave this an ambience of archeological decay, like I was watching the detritus of a collapsed civilization.

[fluffythevixen]

I’ve had a similar idea rattling in my head for a bit that I haven’t done anything with bc I dont think I can do it justice, but instead its a dagger which does not simply kill, but utterly erases the victim, adjusting causality as needed:

You had always lived in your brother’s shadow, envious of the praise he received. A lifetime of this, and your resentment had grown to murderous intent.

It was then that the dagger came into your possession. A blade, etched with strange markings and patterns. Through research you learned it was supposedly a weapon of great and dangerous power, which could dispose completely of those slain with it. What luck! No body would put you completely in the clear. Warnings be damned, how could you pass up such an opportunity?

So it was that you convinced your brother to come with you, out to the hills, where a site of sufficient magic existed to perform the ritual. As you approach the place, you offer up your blood to the dagger, barely containing your breath as you draw it across your hand. And finally, as he turns, you thrust, and-

The world around you shudders. You have but an instant to see the pain and betrayal in his eyes, when things shifted slightly. You were standing a bit differently, and your clothes were different, but you do not notice these things. Your eyes are locked on one thing.

The chest the dagger is jutting from is now your wife’s.

This feels shocking to you, but you cannot fathom why. After all, you sudden recalled that she had just the other day cheated on-

But this too was only an instant. The world shudders again, and the victim is an acquaintance of yours. You felt so sure that this was someone closer, a more personal vendetta, but who? You have no immediate family to spe-

Another change, another new face. This one feels unfamiliar, yet you *know* that they-

Again, and again. Each for but a moment, slightly different from the last. Every moment you try desperately to recall the ones before, but you find with horror that you’re sure you came here to kill this person because-

All around you, reality bends and roils, more and more and more violently, as the timeline shifts over and over. You can see cracks forming in the maelstrom at the edges of your vision, as you gradually begin to realise the true danger of the blade. No matter who is on the other end of it, you will always have been in this clearing, sacrifice made, intent on killing. And so how could this possibly end? How could time itself forgive this transgression?

An eternity of murder sweeps over your mind, and with no concept of how long this instant has been, how many times you’ve experienced it, you begin to come apart. You close your eyes.

Stillness. Pain. Your eyes snap back open. The woman before you is not someone you know, after all you had been squabbling over coin, and…

As your mind begins to drift you become aware there is a dagger in your chest. With it finally turned against you, as the shuddering around you begins again, you

​

​

​

​

The soldier rubs her eyes in confusion. Hadn’t there been a man here? No, of course not. The afternoon heat must be getting to her.

She shakes her head, then something catches her eye. A worn and beautiful dagger in the grass. Studying it for a moment, she slips it in her pack, before turning and heading back towards the road. After all, she’d absentmindedly wandered off of her patrol route (how strange…), and really ought to be headed back now.

Weapon idea: a retro-causality pistol, loaded with bullets made of justification. When you fire it at someone, it changes history to provide a reason for you to have shot them.

Finally, you’ve killed the man who murdered your wife. But was she dead before you pulled the trigger? You will never know.

[aviatorasharak]

Writer Interview

I've been tagged (shouted the same way one would "I've been hit") by the wonderful @theycallmeratt

When did you start writing?

I, let's say, experimented in high-school, writing here and there, finishing maybe 2 shorter stories in total and starting 10 more. I recently found some of those writings, and I was unable to read more than two sentences... The cringe was overwhelming, lol~ I also won a competition with a short story I've written specifically for that, though thinking back, it was probably a case of "only one person bothered entering".

As for my "real" beginnings, I finished the short story that started my streak that's still ongoing in the beginning of 2021. That was in my native language (Hungarian). I began writing in English less than a year ago

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I enjoy detective stories, the build-up, the mystery, everything falling into place at the end so neatly. Bonus points if the story has a deeply emotional side to it (Murder on the Orient Express comes to mind). I also like mythological tales, although I do have one short story that tries to emulate that style to some degree.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Terry Pratchett. As in trying to emulate at times (though I do want to establish my own style). My only regret is not starting to read his books sooner.

There are also some other writers who use humour or absurdity in their writings which I'm fond of overall, but I'm very, very far from that.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I either feel best writing at night (or at least when it's already dark outside and I have no reasonable responsibilities left for the day. Or have a slow, chill Saturday/Sunday with no other programs but to just write leisurely.

While I was writing in my native language to mostly two or three of my friends, I liked writing my first and second draft on paper. I used a couple of my old notebooks that still had enough empty pages in them and repurposed them this way. I also filled a couple new ones over the years. I kind of miss that, actually. I enjoyed the physical aspect of writing the pen and paper.

Now I'm writing fully digitally. Makes it easier to organize, search for specific parts etc. I use LibreOffice, because it's offline and free and has everything I need~

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Sitting down and writing. It feels awful at times, especially when I feel all I'm writing down are disjointed sentences with half the words being placeholders (in different languages no less!). But so far, it's been proven effective. Once I cross that magical threshold, everything starts falling into place. Or at least, start looking coherent.

Also letting an idea/chapter/story sit for a bit.

Also lying awake at night.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Fathers/fatherhood. It doesn't surprise me in the slightest, because it's very intentional most of the time. A father, to me, is akin to a mystical entity, the stuff of legends, its symbolism highly prevalent in our culture, yet eluding me in all my life, no matter how I yearned for it.

So I pour my pain into my art, as one does.

What is your reason for writing?

The nice, and probably very clichéd, answer to that is that I want to create stories. I believe humans have an innate need for stories, be it consuming or creating them. In many different forms, not just in writing.

The more personal answer is that I've been dreaming up fantastical scenarios and elaborate stories ever since I was a child (a rather lonely child at times) and part of me sometimes felt I should write some of these down to make them "legitimate", so to speak. Problem is, these personal stories were very wish-fulfilment-y, and deep down I felt they didn't contain enough struggle and drama. As I matured, so did my stories mature, and I became less of a benevolent god in them and more... human.

In the end, those stories stayed and stay inside my head still, because I choose to write down other ideas. Still, there's a part of me in those stories as well, which is inevitable in my opinion. Sharing those little parts of myself is basically me showing myself to the world, asking: "Am I all right (as a person/human being?"

Wow, this is becoming kinda heavy and personal. Well, writing is a personal thing, so~

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I like when people mention specifics because it signals to me that my writing was interesting enough for them to retain details. Bonus if they point out something I felt good about while writing it. A pun, an emotional moment, a payoff to something that's been building for 5+ chapters.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Witty, clever, knowledgable, hilarious at time (intentionally perhaps)...

In all seriousness, a "storyteller." Plain and simple~

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

You're asking me to basically praise my own work, something I'm very uncomfortable with most of the time. I'm half-joking.

I think I do a pretty good job of keeping track of everything in a longer fic. Symbolism, references, objects of interest, etcetera. I also keep my notes fairly organized.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Mix of both. While I have my own, self-indulgent ideas and fics, I also like to, let's say, cater to certain people who I know will read that particular story.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Sometimes, I feel it's pretty good. Then I start doubting myself, and have a brief urge to ask people basically, "Hey, is my writing... good? Passable?"

Fortunately, I've always been able to resist this, because I don't actually think it would be beneficial. As clichéd as it sounds, I have to find the answer within myself.

I do believe my writings are at least entertaining, and have good ideas with acceptable execution. And I am proud on some of them.

I do think I'm not well-read or know enough to put in interesting references (think Terry Pratchett).

[chill-pills-yandere-haven]

Dreams of Coffee and K-pop pt.2

Pt.1

An: I found the emoji!

Tw: yandere, implied murderous intent

Disclaimer: Yanderes are abusive, this is not love.

Art cred: Kackaorz1 on Twitter

It was the day of the concert. You had been listening to the 4NEMO music that your friend had been recommending you and had gotten quite familiar with it. Now, you were dressed in your favourite outfit, ready to attend the concert with your best friend. It was two hours before the concert started, but Venti advised you to come early so you and your friend could hang out with them and watch them warm-up. 4NEMO had gotten closer to you in the time before the concert. The boys texted you constantly and you got attached, welcoming them into your tight little circle of trust. You even all had a group chat with just you and the boys. They proved to be a pleasant way for you to blow off steam from your classes and relax so you welcomed them. Just a week after you all had met, 4NEMO had a new hit album called "Coffee Dream". It had become your new favourite album from them, containing all of the things you loved in music. Almost as though it was made with you in mind. You even set your ringtone to the instrumental of one of the album's songs. A beep resounded from your phone as you looked yourself over in the mirror. A text from Venti, " Hey cutie, just wondering if you need a ride to the concert, I'd be happy to give you a ride!" The nickname 'Cutie' had been something that sort of just happened, no inside joke, just Venti teasing you. You smile and chuckle a bit then answer him. "Yeah sure, I'm already ready so you can come now and I'm sure that they're ready too so you can pick us up now." Five minutes later you received another text telling you that Venti was now at your apartment. Making sure to fix your hair, you went outside. Outside was a black limousine waiting for you. "Get in, cutie! The others are starting warmups!" Venti called to you as you got in the limo, admiring the interior of the vehicle. Vent pulled you to his side, thighs touching. You were confused at his actions but then Venti slung his arm around your shoulder and explained. "Well we've got to make sense for your friend, right? Ehe." He giggled at the end. In return, you shrugged but it did make sense so you didn't mind. Plus, this was Venti, he's always like this. Once you got to your friend's house you saw them with a 4NEMO glow stick in hand and wearing a 4NEMO tee with the group's logo on it. "Hey, bestie! And Venti!" You laughed at the stupid nickname and replied. "Ok, you know you are my best friend and I love you platonically, and that I would die for you if necessary, but do not call me bestie. You can call me anything else, hell I'd even prefer if you called me your 'stupid butt-kicking partner in arson,' than whatever that was. Now, let's pretend that never happened and erase that from our memories. 'Kay?" This was just harmless teasing as you two had done much more stupid things and had many more inside jokes that no one except for you two knew about. "Aye aye, captain!" You talked about random subjects as the car ride went on. And Venti held onto you the whole way, almost as if he thought you might disappear. Maybe even a bit more than usual. Once you got to where the concert would take place, Venti escorted you both to the private room where the boys were practicing. "Hey, guys, I brought a little something!" Venti called to the other 4NEMO members, a hand on your shoulder tugging you to him. All the group looked up from what they were doing. From Kazuha trying out different chords on the electronic piano to xiao going over some dance moves that you hadn't seen yet, to Aether doing vocal exercises. Aether and Kazuha meeting you with soft smiles. Xiao looking away from you after he met your eyes. "So that's what you went off to do, and I almost thought you were trying to skip out on practice." Xiao retorted. "Well it is nice to have you here with us, and you too." Aether addressed you and your friend. It was surprisingly relaxing watching them warm-up for the concert. The practice was flawless, clear that everyone had already gotten everything down to the most minuscule detail. "4NEMO, you ready? Shows about to

begin." One of their workers called, you fairly remember her name being Rika or something along those lines. The boys nodded already dressed in their beautiful yet casual costumes. "Wooh! Go 4NEMO!" You called to them as you and your friend headed for where the audience had already situated itself. (On the other side) That past week, they had been almost three times more productive with you as their inspiration. Starting and releasing a new album dedicated to you in just a week. With you on their brains, inspiration was abundant. They were more devoted to you than even some of their superfans, Kazuha even stalking your social media in secret so he could make sure that his next compositions were to your taste. 4NEMO had been trying to express their love for you in the clearest yet unsuspicious way they could. Even referencing the day you met with the album. Nevertheless, you seemed to be only interested in friendship. No matter, everything would go their way in the end. Venti had put in so much effort to have you by his side, even if it was for just before the concert. Having to sneak away from the group without being noticed to go get you, paying the limo driver extra as he was only supposed to have driven 4NEMO there. Even holding back what we wanted to say to make you ditch that lousy friend of yours. Just for you to voice your feelings of devotion for them while he was in the same car!? So oblivious, so innocent, he had to protect you. The other boys were also surprised to see you but welcomed your presence. They all thought you would only show up at the concert, not before. But they all loved to indulge in you, so no one really minded Venti's little stunt. 4NEMO appeared on the stage. Smiling at the crowd with meaningless movie star smiles. At everyone except for you of course. All their eyes scoured the crowd for you, happy to see that you were close to the stage. Close enough, to tempt them into pulling you up to be with them. But, they had an image to uphold. So they held off on the longing looks at you and just focused on impressing you. "Hey, guys! Who's ready for a 4NEMO concert!?" Aether grinned and asked the crowd? The audience wooed back, even you, something the boys genuinely smiled at. "Well then, we've ought to get this party started!" Venti cried as the first song started. The boys knew that this had been your first concert as you preferred more quiet, secluded ways to spend your time while your friend was the one dragging you to interact with the outside world. And they were determined to make it special. Make this day the one that makes you as head over heels in love with them as they are. They started with a fast fan favourite, the one that you had as your ringtone. The one they created as a way to only express a fraction of the passion they felt for you. Xiao moved beautifully and elegantly as he sang. Venti hit a flawless high note that even most female singers couldn't reach. Kazuha harmonized with them in such a beautiful way that it could take one's breath away, rapping clearly and rapidly. Aether was the one who pulled it all together, he was the leader after all. 4NEMO was pleased to find that you were enjoying the change of environment. Moving your head and singing along with some of the songs you knew. Just one small problem. Though it was an irritation, the boys kept up in the perfect way only they could achieve. The problem was that you just had to bring your friend with you, Venti told the others what he had heard in the car, about how you would even die for them. And they just had to separate you two, it was too much jealousy to handle. It drove them even further, made them crave your praise even more. Even just a small compliment would suffice. So they worked their hardest at this concert. Making sure you have the time of your life. The concert was finally over and now you could be reunited with the boys. They swarmed around you once you had arrived at their private room. Asking you how the experience was and was delighted that you said that it was "absolutely

surreal" and that you loved it. It might not have been a direct 'I love you.' But it would work for now. Though they couldn't be with you in public due to their status, they would still have you. They would still make you theirs. They would remove anyone to make that happen. And it seemed like your friend was going to be the first.

[cassandraclare]

The Letter Game (in full)

Many have asked to read last week’s letter game in a slightly simpler format. So here it is, for everyone’s enjoyment in plain text, under the cut. The action takes place between Chain of Gold and Chain of Iron. Read on . . .

1: INVITATION

To all and sundry—

The leaves are changing, and with them the season. It grows colder in London by the day, and even without the pestilence that recently ravaged us, even without demons breathing down our necks, cold with chill—now is the time for all good Shadowhunters to come to one another’s aid, and support one another in that most hallowed Nephilim tradition: song and dance.

So, a Musicale! The Townsends are pleased to invite the Enclave, in toto, to our West End home this Friday’s eve. Refreshments will of course be served, but the entertainment will be provided by you, our esteemed guests and friends. We would be so honored if you would help us welcome the coming of winter by bringing your most excellent capers and ballads, to keep us warm.

Grahame and Millie Townsend

2: Lucie » Cordelia

Cordelia, my sister, the very twin of my own heart,

Can you believe the Townsends’ invitation? How pretentious can one be, I ask you! It took all four Herondales an hour of discussion to conclude that “Friday’s eve” meant simply Friday evening rather than the eve before Friday (that is, Thursday). And is the demons or our necks that are meant to be cold with chill? “Cold with chill!” As a writer of words—no, even only as a reader of words—I am offended.

I digress, however. I write to ask whether you will be attending, as that will be significant to my own decision of whether to go. I asked James, and he was unenthused but “supposed” that “we must.” So I wish to let you know that if you don’t fancy attending, I believe James could be easily convinced. But, as unpleasant a night as it promises, I fear he may be correct that “we must.” You and he, after all, must do the social rounds as a betrothed pair, and I—well, I can hardly sit alone in my bedroom all night while all my friends witness Catherine Townsend’s cold-blooded murder of “O mio babbino caro.” 

So whatever your preference, I will be amenable. We can put on our frills and watch the most foolish of our set warble and prance, and at least we will have each other’s company and champagne. Or, if you’d prefer, tea and draughts in the Institute parlour. I am yours to command, my warrior-sister.

(I have realized only at this moment that perhaps you not only wish to attend but to perform yourself; if that is the case, I retract all previous mentions of warbling in favor of my unconditional enthusiastic support. I will even accompany you, if you wish, but I am not very good at the spinnet so please, something fairly slow would be best.)

Yours ever across the still waters of time and space,

L. Herondale

3: Ariadne » Anna

Dear Miss Lightwood,

I expect that you will have received the same invitation to the Townsends’ Musicale that the rest of the Enclave has. I write with the question of whether it’s your intention to attend, and to say that I hope that you will, and that I hope to see you there.

It’s not your sort of party, of course—dull, bourgeois, and stuffy, I imagine you’d say—but since as the daughter of the Inquisitor I am rarely able to appear at the more lively gatherings that you prefer, I do plan to attend myself, much as I would rather be elsewhere. (At one of those lively gatherings, perhaps?) Catherine will have my head if I am not there to keep her mother out of her hair, for one thing, and for another…well, I wish to see you.

I have it on fairly good authority that your brother and his roisterous band, or whatever they call themselves, are planning to be there. So I also write to implore you to come so that a cooler head will be present and any explosions, or implosions, or indeed bedlam of any kind, will be, if not prevented, at least more easily contained and cleaned up after.

For the event I am thinking of a dress I have, in a deep ruby color, with a rather striking neckline. I am no great judge of my own appearance, but I do know your taste and I daresay you will find it flatters me. For your part, I hope you will wear those pinstriped trousers you have. You have not worn them in an age, and I miss them, or rather, I miss how elegantly you wear them.

In short, I hope to see you there.

I know it is not your habit to keep letters from admirers, but rather to use them to kindle your fireplace. Perhaps that will be the destiny of this note as well, but I believe not. I come to you not as an admirer, after all, but as a friend, and one who wishes you all the best things in the world—

Yrs.,

Ariadne Bridgestock

4: Anna » Matthew

Mr. Fairchild—

Matthew, I have instructed the courier bringing you this note to evaluate your sobriety and, if it is found wanting, to slap you across the face twice. Straighten up and pay attention, you debauched fool. It’s still breakfast-time. And this is important.

Are you going to the Townsends’ musicale? 

Let me rephrase: if you know what’s good for you, you will be going to the Townsends’ musicale.

I hope to enjoy your company there, of course, as my friend and companion. But also, to be frank, I will need the support. My night was free and so I told them I would be there, but I wasn’t thinking, and now I’ve received a note from one A.B., letting me know in no uncertain terms that she will definitely be attending as well. It will be a large gathering, no doubt, and most of our time will be spent watching Thoby Baybrook chase after the juggling-balls he keeps dropping during his performance, rather than close-quarters socializing. But—and I trust in your confidence on this matter—I find I flutter with nerves. Imagine. I never flutter!

I hope I can count on you. I am not usually in the business of begging favors. However, this is an unusual situation. Matthew: she will be wearing the burgundy dress.

Anna

5: Ariadne » Matthew

To Matthew Fairchild—

All right, I’ve sent the letter. Against my better judgment, I should add. It seems more likely to drive her away than to attract her, to be honest, but you have her confidence in ways that I no longer do. If you think she is more likely to be there as a result, I will trust in your plan.

However.

I am fully aware that under most circumstances neither she nor you would be found as such a dreary party as an Enclave-wide musicale. (Nor would I, but as the daughter of the, et cetera et cetera, I hardly need to tell you.) So let this note serve as, not a threat, but a promise: if you even think about ditching the party for one of your Downworlder orgies, or whatever your usual scene, and you leave me and her to awkward politesse over stale canapes without showing up yourself…I will follow you to the ends of the Earth and your life will be forfeit. Forfeit, Fairchild. I daresay I can best you in a duel three times out of four, but also be assured I am very good with a dagger in the dark.

I look forward to enjoying this merry entry in the social season with you. I will see you there.

Yours sincerely,

Ariadne Bridgestock

6: Matthew » Cordelia

C,

No, that won’t do at all. There are already other C’s. Christopher, for instance. Also Caiaphas, a werewolf from whom I sometimes purchase wine. (He has an excellent nose, you see.)

Cordelia Carstairs, you need not worry about the Townsends’ party. First, none of Our Lot are planning to perform at all, but merely hang back and watch the festivities while imbibing and filling seats. You certainly shouldn’t worry that you’ll be asked to dance as you did at the Ruelle. This will not be the Ruelle. It will be far more insipid.

I’m sure J is focused entirely on your responsibilities as an engaged couple to make the rounds and be seen by the whey-faced provincials of the Enclave. He is correct, as always, the bastard, but he worries too much. Rest assured that we Thieves will be concocting a plan in which we are able to (1) have a good time at the most boring gathering of the season and (2) not miss cake. (I don’t know if you have had cake at the Townsends’. They are a tedious family, but their cook is some kind of confection-obsessed elf who performs great conjurings with spun sugar and buttercream.) (Yes, he really is an elf, I think. Or Catherine was having me on. His ears are fairly pointed, in any event.)

I do not particularly anticipate this musicale with great pleasure, but I do, of course, anticipate the opportunity to spend time in your presence with great relish. Truly, my parabatai could not have picked a more suitable bride with whom to be mutually bored to tears at parties for years to come. I suggest that for this one you bring a flask to tuck into your reticule. If you don’t, worry not; I will bring two. At least two.

I remain, as always, yours sincerely, etc etc,

Matthew Fairchild

7: James » Thieves

CONFIDENTIAL—DO NOT DISTRIBUTE—ON PAIN OF TORTURE—THIS MEANS YOU

Merriest of Thieves,

After extensive discussion, we’ve reached consensus (or as close as we will come) on our plan for Having Fun At the Townsends’ Musicale Even Though It Is a Musicale Hosted By the Townsends. (A variety of alternate names were proposed, but all have been vetoed by the plan’s organizer, that is, myself. Please do not continue to send proposed names, Matthew.)

Our esteemed colleague Christopher has, it seems, been working in his spare time on a new method of rapidly sending written messages without the use of couriers. Instead, messages are sent with a combination of runes (so bring your steles) and a propellant of Christopher’s own invention. I’m told that the technique is not yet flawless, but Mr Lightwood reports that it is ready to be shown and tested, and what better place than a party at which missing the main entertainment would be not disappointing, but rather a great relief.

Down a corridor from the Townsends’ main parlour is a small games room. I say games room, but in truth it is empty of games, and nobody ever uses it. It is windowless and a bit close, but mostly empty of furnishings and a suitable location for a scientific demonstration. Even better, the corridor itself departs the parlour with a dog-leg, and once one has passed around the corner, one is invisible to the notice of the other partygoers. (See attached floor plan of the first storey of the house; thanks to TL for his freehand drafting skills.)

This plan assumes that none of you are planning to perform in the musicale itself; if this is not the case, then MF wishes me to remind you both of your loyalties and to the overall philistine-like qualities of most of the guests.

Surely this will provide sufficient entertainment to get us all through the evening.

The party is only one days away, so if there are any questions about this plan, please hiss them to me sotto voce tomorrow night while Millie Townsend is performing her murder ballads.

Courage, half a league, half a league onward, and so on,

James H

PS: For those whose main draw to this party is Morgaint’s famous Victoria sponge, Christopher assures me that we should be done well in time for dessert. (I should add a warning that it should not be referred to as a Victoria sponge within earshot of Morgaint, as he will lecture you at length about the recipe’s preceding Victoria by centuries, the history of confection in pre-Roman Britain, and so on. He is very temperamental, even for a faerie.)

8: Thomas » Alastair

Dear Mr Carstairs—

We have not spoken in many weeks, presumably as a result of the unfortunate circumstances under which we last met. Nevertheless, I write this evening to extend my wishes for your family’s continued health and good fortune.

As I’m sure you know, this Friday marks an Enclave-wide social event at the home of the Mr and Mrs Townsend. I know that your sister will be in attendance, with her fiancé. The Lightwoods—Eugenia, Anna, Christopher, and myself—are also planning to be there. And, of course, we expect the family of our esteemed Consul, including both of her sons, to make an appearance.

Shall we expect to see you there? I ask merely because if so, I will not be attending. I understand that as your family will be there you have every right to attend, so I am happy to be the one who bows out of the evening.

Yours sincerely,

Mr T. Lightwood

9: Alastair » Thomas

Mr Lightwood

Tom

Look, you,

I am amazed and impressed by the effrontery of you writing to me to ask whether I will be attending an event only to them tell me that if I attend, you will not. No doubt you are feeling aggrieved about the last time we met. Well, so am I.  Jests and pranks from our schoolboy years are hardly a good enough reason for the kind of public humiliation I suffered, both from Matthew Fairchild’s rude outburst and your own. The very thought of attending a party with the likes of you sends me into a mixture of, on the one hand, paroxysms of helpless laughter, and on the other, a thumping headache of barely contained fury that I

[letter discarded, not sent]

Mr Lightwood,

Thank you for your kind letter.  I am, of course, aware of the upcoming affair at the home of the Townsends, through the usual means of receiving my own request to attend. It would seem to me obvious that I had no need of being informed about the party as though I would otherwise be ignorant of it. Unlike some of the London Shadowhunter families, the Townsends have only ever been courteous to the Carstairs family, and the implication that I wouldn’t have received exactly the same invitation that you did is exactly the kind of nonsense that

[letter discarded, not sent]

Thomas,

I won’t be attending the Townsends’ musicale, as I am already committed to a preferable previous engagement cleaning out the pigeon cages in the Regent’s Park Zoo.

Thank you for thinking of me.

Receipt of your letter is hereby acknowledged.

I don’t know why you would write to me at all, but please do not write back to try to explain.

[letter discarded, not sent]

Thomas,

I do want to apologize, I have tried to apologize, but every time I come near you a wall of your friends prevents me from doing so. You can hardly hold it against me that I have not apologized when you will not allow me to do so. Yes, I know what I did rises far above the level of a jest or a prank. But one must be allowed to make amends somehow, for otherwise what is there? Hopelessness? Not I suppose that you care much what I feel. Just because you are beloved of your friends, and ridiculously tolerably handsome, you think —

[Letter discarded, not sent]

10: Cordelia » James

J—

Do you need rescuing? Everyone is in the games room for Christopher’s demonstration, even Thomas, who has spent most of the evening hiding from my brother. You on the other hand have been waylaid in the corner with Mrs Whatshername. I tried to get close enough to intervene but was swept away myself by Mr Townsend, who wanted to tell me about his travels in the Levant when he was a younger man. Could not tell if he was confused about my family’s origins or he simply assumed anyone would be fascinated by his tales of camels and pyramids. Anyway, M suggests he could interrupt and scold you for ignoring your betrothed. Lucie says you are ignoring your betrothed, but don’t listen to her, I know you are far too polite to interrupt a member of the older set. (If you yourself remember, please remind me of her name when you come.) 

Come as soon as you can. Do not allow Mrs Whatshername to follow you.

Daisy

11: Christopher » Thieves

To: James, Lucie, Matthew, Thomas, Cordelia, Anna, Ariadne

From: Christopher

In an ideal world, I would have been able to send you this note through this very technique I am demonstrating tonight, but it does make a fairly loud bang, and I thought that would likely give the game away. Though I wish to not allow social proprieties to impede the progress of science, I have been reminded by several of you that discretion can be the better part of valor. Although I admit I can’t think of any personal examples where that would be the case.

In the games room I have piled a supply of protective spectacles, which I suggest you wear. There is no danger of damage to your eyes, but there may be some very bright flashes. In addition, the propellant which I will be using to send the message is an experimental mixture, similar to those I have tried in the past but not exactly the same. There is a very very small chance that inhalation of its fumes may cause some temporary effects to the mind, so I recommend that you hold a handkerchief over your nose and mouth during the demonstration. To be clear, I don’t think that any of these effects would have any negative impact on our ability to return to the party and attend the musical performances afterwards. At worst, it may make those performances seem more enjoyable than they would otherwise.

12: James » Townsends

Dear Mr and Mrs Townsend,

On behalf of myself, my family, my fiancée, and my fellows, I wished to extend sincerest apologies for departing your lovely gathering without saying proper goodbyes. Your musicale was, as all would have expected, a smashing success, with performances across the board demonstrating the falsehood of the common claim that the Nephilim are unable to produce works of art. Surely your daughter Catherine’s rendition of Puccini’s famous aria could stand alongside the finest professionals to be found in the Royal Albert Hall.

As you discovered along with the rest of the guests, Christopher Lightwood wished to use the opportunity of having us all present to demonstrate the state of his newest invention. I’m told that when it is completed, it will utterly revolutionize the way that Shadowhunters are able to communicate with one another, obviating the need for the runners, couriers, and use of the mundane Royal Mail to send messages to one another. Instead we will have a fully self-contained rune-based method. Surely anyone would agree that such a development would be well worth whatever growing pains the process of invention and experimentation might create.

As you also discovered, Mr Lightwood’s demonstration took an unexpected turn, with a good amount of his customized propellant being released into your games room and corridors. Luckily, it was a mild evening, and open windows as well as the vigorous fanning of the doors by Thomas Lightwood and Ariadne Bridgestock quickly dispersed the gasses.

That said, neither I nor my companions are able to account for an interval of roughly ninety minutes between the end of the demonstration and our departure from your house. To that end, it seems that we were sadly lacking in good manners by failing to thank you for your warm hospitality at the time. Again, please accept our deepest apologies, and our thanks for that hospitality, even if it has been delivered discourteously late. 

Warmest regards,

James Herondale

13: Matthew » James

Jamie,

Good Lord, what was in that stuff of Christopher’s? Do you know if there will be any lasting effects? I hesitate to ask Kit, he seems too dismayed.

Also, I am trying to find out to whom exactly I owe an apology for specific behaviors that might have happened after the demonstration. I seem to have lost more than an hour from my memory, as well as my waistcoat and a garnet ring of which I was quite fond. Any thoughts you have would be appreciated.

Matthew

14: Lucie » James

James,

I have been expecting to hear from Matthew, but as it has been most of a day and I haven’t yet, can you please let him know that I will make myself available to be apologized to during teatime, either tomorrow or the next day. Please also tell him that I will be sending along a bill for the costs of cleaning arrack out of the skirt of my dress. For such a prodigious consumer of spirits, you would think he would have learned not to slosh them around so much when he talks. I suppose Christopher’s propellant takes some of the blame, but honestly, Shadowhunters are trained in agility and dexterity and even under the influence of one of Christopher’s experiments he should be able to, at very least, not slosh so.

Lucie

15: Cordelia » Anna

Dear Anna,

The last hour or so of the party was something of a blur for all of us, I think. But I feel confident in assuring you that both you and Ariadne acted with all due propriety, and that at no point did you “make an ass of yourself,” as you put it, either out among all the guests or in the games room. 

Also, when next you speak to Ariadne, please compliment her on her lovely dress. It suited her quite well! I wondered if you were responsible for finding it for her? You do have such an excellent eye for what colors and cuts will flatter. 

Anyway, do not worry. I have made some private inquiries, and nobody took note of any unusual behavior on the part of either yourself or Miss Bridgestock. (In fact, Rosamund seemed to be under the impression that you were shamelessly flirting with her. I can confirm that you were not and that Rosamund simply has an odd way about her.)

Are we still on for tea Wednesday? Let me know if not and otherwise I will see you then.

Cordelia Carstairs

16:  Townsends » Everybody

For the attention of: 

James Herondale

Lucie Herondale

Matthew Fairchild

Thomas Lightwood

Anna Lightwood 

Christopher Lightwood

Alastair Carstairs

Cordelia Carstairs

On behalf of not just our own family, but the parental generation of the Enclave more generally, we wish to communicate our displeasure with your behavior at our soirée on Friday’s eve. You are all adults or near-enough, under Nephilim Law, and so you should be held to account as any adults would be. And you should be ashamed of yourselves.

Given the influence had by many of your families, and the small size of the London Enclave, we cannot bar you from all of our future events. If only we could. We will, however, be more careful in future about shutting off access to rooms in our house that are not intended for use by party guests.

Rather than taking the time to craft individual complaints, we hereby itemize the most obvious of our grievances, so that you may all have your behavior exposed to one another. Certainly none of you deserve to have your actions kept private.

Alastair: We were glad to see you eventually arrive, though there is a wide difference between “fashionably late” and the hour you appeared. (Just in time for the desserts, we note.) Also, the song you performed was highly inappropriate for the ladies present, especially the unmarried ones, such as our daughter, and also your own sister.

Lucie: While we have always supported your hobby of writing down entertaining tales, and we understand that the storyteller’s art does involve artistic creativity, your ongoing, strident, melodramatic narration of the events following the Christopher Lightwood Incident was not appreciated by us or, especially, Mrs Rosewain, who you referred to throughout as “Mrs Whatshername.” 

James: Your interruption of the cake serving to declare your undying devotion to your true love was a gallant gesture. It might, however, have gone over better had you not pledged your troth to a portrait in oils of our ancestral matriarch, Frideswide Townsend. Your taste is admirable, of course, and she was considered a great beauty. It is unfortunate for your affections that she passed away in the late sixteenth century.

Anna: We would thank you to come by and pick up your brother from our house at some point. He has been muttering to himself, fiddling with a pencil and paper, and threatening “another test, much improved.” Please retrieve him post-haste.

 Thomas: We don’t know how you made the acquaintance of that vampire who attempted to accompany all of the performers on his dulcimer, but he is not welcome back to our house, and if we see him again, neither are you.

Matthew: Whatever was in that bottle you were plying to my mother, we only found her this morning, napping on our roof. When we woke her she said it was of a greenish color and asked for more of it. We would be obliged if you could bring another bottle by, at your convenience.

Cordelia: Your demonstration of the supernatural sharpness of your sword was very impressive, even if it was not in the spirit of the kinds of performance we expected for a musicale. It is, however, not all that surprising that it was able to cut through our drapes, a dining-room chair, or the sponge cake. We spoke to your brother, and he suggested that we should feel free to send an invoice for replacement costs to the Herondale family, since soon enough you will be their trouble, and not his.

In short, you have all behaved abominably, and are, each and every one of you, embarrassments to your various hallowed family names. 

We hope you will join us the Thursday after next, for boating and luncheon in Hyde Park.

Mr and Mrs Graham Townsend