#j short stories

[j-rants-reviews-random-stories]

Andy Grey and the Abbott Mansion Murderer (Part 2)

Carl went to get himself a glass of water from the kitchen around 11pm, only to find the body of Ms. Stewart, clad in only her pyjama shorts and a t-shirt, sprawled across the dining room floor in a pool of blood. After Carl, I was the first to arrive at the site of the murder. Quick to follow me were Diane, Luna, Chadwick, Will, Thomas, and then Emerson, who was still donning her beautiful maroon dress she had worn to dinner earlier in the evening unlike everyone else, who opted to change into lounge wear or pyjamas soon after dinner. Based on the smudges of her eye makeup and water stains on her dress, I assumed she had been preparing to take her makeup off when she heard Carl screaming like a little girl and came running.

Carl seems like the type to get in the middle of a lot of things. It must be quite annoying for Emerson to have smudged makeup across her face.

Everyone began to talk at once when we all recovered from the shock of seeing the cadaver on the floor. Diane quickly took control of the situation and ordered us to remain calm. Her calculating gaze that she held when she looked at us told me she was analyzing us all. I did the same. When looking everyone up and down for clues, maybe blood or perhaps offensive wounds from Ms. Stewart, I came to a startling realization.

“Where’s Colin?” I asked quietly. Everyone’s eyes shot to me, then quickly to their surroundings to see that Colin Dawson was nowhere to be seen.

Luna suggested that Colin was the killer and that he ran. We all opted to stay on guard and go back to our rooms and lock our doors since the hurricane left us with very few options, but everyone seemed uneasy at the thought of going upstairs. Diane finally led the charge to head up the staircase and everyone followed like some twisted follow the leader game.

When I got to the top floor I looked around quickly for any signs of Colin, and noticed that the door to the room he was staying in was ajar. I tapped Chadwick on the shoulder, who had been walking in front of me, and pointed to the door. Chadwick crept silently over to the door, catching everyone’s attention. We watched as he stopped in front of the door, paused for a moment, and swiftly kicked the door the rest of the way open, only to lurch back in surprise.

On the floor was Colin Dawson, throat slit and a rose placed stem first in an open wound in his chest.

Things quickly spiralled from there. Everyone began to run about like headless chickens. I hid myself in the bathroom nearest to my room for a few minutes to recompose myself, and noticed a bit of blood on the sink after I gathered myself and took in my surroundings. I found this odd, I didn’t think I had gotten blood on myself when I was downstairs near Ms. Stewarts’ body.

I was broken from my thoughts by a knock at the door.

“My dear, there have been another two bodies found, and someone is missing,” the soft voice of Diane vibrated through the heavy bathroom door. I ripped the door open to see Diane’s ashen face, and she led me to the library where the bodies of Luna and Chadwick were found.

“What happened?” I questioned her. “How could this have all happened so fast? There were only ten of us here, who could be the killer.

“I don’t know, most of us went to our rooms. Chadwick said he was going to go downstairs and try to find any clues pointing to who the killer is. The rest of us went to our rooms. We only came out when we heard glass breaking downstairs, but we all waited before rushing downstairs. This is when I found them like this. Emerson, Will and Carl came down soon after.”

The shock I had felt earlier began to set in again as I realized the reality of the situation I was in.

So far the only body we haven’t found is that of T​​homas Hunter, the 40 year old writer who recently faced a lot of backlash for a controversial book he wrote when he was 23 and had quickly been blackballed in the industry. It’s a miracle he was invited to this convention.

“Yes but he's the one with the most motivation!” cried Will, the calm man who reminded me of my grandfather in a way, quiet, reserved, and not quick to raise his voice. Now is a special circumstance however.

“Yes,” voiced Emerson, finally speaking up and moving closer to the group. We all stood in the atrium of the house, debating whether to brave the hurricane and walk to the closest town. It was a good 3 kilometres from the mansion, but facing the storm seemed a lot more appealing than facing a murderer right now.

“He does have the most motive, but Andy is right about the red herring. Theres a high likelihood that the real murderer has planted a red herring to lead us off his trail.” Emerson continues.

“But if that's the case, then who else is here that could be a suspect besides the 5 of us currently in this room?” asks Carl, who eyes everyone suspiciously. We all eye each other up and down uneasily, wondering which one of us had the potential to be the killer. I quickly realize Carl is right, no matter how much of an asshole he is.

“Jesus Christ I'm too old for this shit,” mutters Will, shaking his head and putting his hands over his face. “

“Excuse me young man, I am 5 years older than you, don’t go calling yourself old just yet. You sure as hell better not be trying to say we aren’t going to make it out of here alive. I have too much life left in me yet to go out without a fight,” exclaims Diane loudly. Something tells me she isn’t the murderer, and I have a sneaking suspicion that neither is Will. To be completely honest, they just seem like they want to get out of here, but I can’t rule them out. I don't plan to be one of those idiots in a horror film or novel that ends up trusting everyone and gets killed. I’m actually genre aware.

“Okay, we can’t start turning against each other right now, we need to figure out what the fuck we need to do to get out of here. We obviously can’t call the police because of the hurricane, so what are our other options?” Questions Emerson.

“I vote that we high tail it out of here and walk to the closest town,” Carl snarks back in a ‘duh’ tone.

“You know what Carl, you can go right ahead and go out in that hurricane and walk to the next town which happens to be a 4 kilometre walk. If you can make it to town without getting blown away then you can get the police, but right now I’m doing the smart thing and staying here. I can fight another person, but I can’t fight the elements. If you're confident that you can fight mother nature herself then have at it,” Diane condescendingly says. Damn, I really like this woman. Explains why I love her books so much .

Carl looks down at his feet, unsure of how to respond, and looks back at the front door which is a mere 6 feet from where he is standing, and looks away in defeat.

“I’m with Diane,” sighs Will in resignation, realizing that Diane’s plan was perhaps the safest option right now. Emerson and I silently agree and nod.

“Okay, well if we’re going to stay here then what are we going to do, wait for whoever the murderer is to come out and slit out throats too?” Retorts Carl. Goddamn I wish someone would slit his throat to shut him up.

Well, maybe don't actually slit his throat, but at least knock him out.

“No,” I finally cut in. We aren’t going to wait for the killer to come after us. We are going to find him.”

[torpublishinggroup]

Though it might be tempting, don’t venture into hedge mazes…no matter what

Be mindful of triggering the wrath of revenge ghosts lest you become a ghost yourself

Beware the dangers of underestimating “docile girls”—it could be a killer mistake

Summoning an ancient evil demon is NEVER a good idea. Seriously. 

Trying to steal someone’s home might cost you your soul. It’s never worth it. 

Understand that haunted houses have feelings too—the problem is sometimes they’re evil.

Tips provided by Terry J. Benton-Walker, editor and contributor of The White Guy Dies First: 13 Scary Stories of Fear and Power.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT

Killer clowns, a hungry hedge maze, and rich kids who got bored. Friendly cannibals, impossible slashers, and the dead who don’t stay dead....

A museum curator who despises “diasporic inaccuracies.” A sweet girl and her diary of happy thoughts. An old house that just wants friends forever....

These stories are filled with ancient terrors and modern villains, but go ahead, go into the basement, step onto the old plantation, and open the magician’s mystery box because this time, the white guy dies first.

Edited by Terry J. Benton-Walker, including stories from bestselling, award-winning, and up-and-coming contributors: Adiba Jaigirdar, Alexis Henderson, Chloe Gong, Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé, H. E. Edgmon, Kalynn Bayron, Karen Strong, Kendare Blake, Lamar Giles, Mark Oshiro, Naseem Jamnia, Tiffany D. Jackson, and Terry J. Benton-Walker.

A collection you’ll be dying to talk about…if you survive it.

[thingsarentgood]

There is a seed inside of you, an inkling you're not quite sure what to make of. It comes to you in short bursts like a fleeting commercial on TV, something too interesting to ignore but too scary to delve into alone. So you don't untill you find a friend. A friend has the very same seed as you and they decide to lead you by the hand, push you if necessary, and water you along with themself. Then that friend begins to bloom and they tell you how. They tell to truly break free from the soil, you must first become unrecognizable and kill the old you. It may be scary but they did it. So they offer you the chance to feel truly alive for the first time. You're addicted though, to time moving too fast and surviving off of an inhaler that barely saves you from the heaps of agony. But you are too scared. You have to apologize to everyone in the world for every second you've existed right or wrong or whatever. You must live and make peace knowing what you could have been if you were free, but still choosing to be an unsprouted seed suffocating under the dirt.

[acourtofquestions]

The Assassin and The Princess

a Crown of Midnight exclusive scene

from the Throne of Glass series by Sarah J. Maas

This story belongs to its writer Sarah J. Maas & the many affiliates it may concern. I claim NO ownership of this story, and give full credit to said parties.

[sylviaknightingale]

I wanted to finally have a go at attempting lineless background props/items, and I actually enjoyed the rendering process. I noticed that in the pilot episode, when Freckles is grazed by Mordecai’s bullet, the blood/wound showed up a vivid red, so I tried to mimic that here.

a little short story for this scenario is under the cut!

��I refuse to accept your silence as an adequate response to my inquiries, Mister Medcaff.” Sylvia Knights cold tones echoed in the dark warehouse, her blue eyes fell upon her captive, a stubborn man with a penchant for pain, apparently, considering the way he was foolishly avoiding the Marigold operator’s questions.

Medcaff struggled against his bindings, the blood adorning his clothes and face a testament to his resolve, something that Sylvia silently respected, he was loyal to his operation, but even the most loyal of people could be persuaded to loosen their tongue, should the proper tactics be applied. Sylvia was unswayed by his resistance, her disposition one of cool patience, she had all the time in the world to extract the information she needed, Madcaff however, wore a figurative clock around his neck, and it was counting off the seconds until it ultimately ran out.

Medcaff took a shaky breath, his deep voice hoarse from the hours spent crying out in growing pain. “You are wasting your time, Lady, I won’t budge!” He growled.

How charming, an almost imperceivable twitch of the edges of her lips hinted at a smirk of amusement, but then it was gone, Sylvia inclined her head and moved towards the table, her hands busy as she subconsciously cleaned the product of Madcaffs resistance from her fur.

“Hmmm.” The gentle note lulled chillingly around the room as she studied her arsenal of ‘negotiation tools’ her tail flicking behind her, she stole a glance over a shoulder, sizing up the rival operative for the next round of interrogation.

“You seem to misunderstand me, I want answers, Mister Medcaff, and I’ve got all night to acquire them.” Sylvia said, her movements deliberate yet graceful as she produced her next weapon of persuasion and turned to face her victim, who’s eyes were wide in realization, and she knew that a clear understanding had been made, a swift climb up the ladder to breaching a breakthrough.

Sylvia would stop at nothing to extract the information the Marigold needed to insure the rival gang encroaching on their territory had been properly dealt with, and as she moved forward from the shadows, Medcaff realized that he was left with only two options; Submit, or Die, and Sylvia, polite as she was, waited patiently for him to understand the depth of each option and choose for himself how she would proceed from there….

[coeluvr]

What does the inside of the character thing look like? Vincent please? Show me to me please?

You'll see it soon so I blurred cropped and killed it and will just show you his pretty face which you've seen 100 times before.👍

[siriuslygay1981]

Click. Click. Clickclick-

Remus felt his agitation start to rise

Click. Clickcli-

His arm shoots out quickly and snatches the pen before he chucks it across the common room violently. He doesn't look up from his book even with the scandalized gasp and soft sound of the pen hitting the ground.

He turns the page and almost sighs in relief. His irritation slowly going away. Finally some peace and quiet.

Click.

His head whips to the side where Sirius holds another pen. He practically snarls as he slams his book shut, he looks at Sirius and crosses his arms.

"Sirius, for my sanity...what the fuck are you doing?" He hissss angrily

Sirius waves him off his finger drifting towards the back of the pen again. Remus latches onto his wrist and waits for Sirius to look at him. Sirius still looks out of it even as he slowly makes eye contact but he doesn't click the stupid pen again, so he counts it as a win.

"Spit it out or get rid of the pen." He gently takes the pen and shoves it in his robe pocket, now feeling concerned. What had Sirius so out of it?

"I just....do you think regulus has been seeing someone?" Sirius asks after a long period of silence. He stares at his hands and then to where Remus still holds him gently.

Remus let's go and sighs. He resists the urge to hex Sirius before taking a deep breath. He looks around the common room and doesn't see anyone who can take over this ridiculous conversation so he powers on. He shrugs nonchalantly, tries to figure out what he knows.

"why do you say that?"

Sirius shrugs and drums his fingers against the table in front of them. Remus twitches, his lips pursing together.

"Just..a feeling. He'd tell me if he was, wouldn't he?" He murmurs. He suddenly stills and whips his head towards Remus

"are you dating my brother!?"

It's such an absurd question, such a stupid silly thing to ask. Remus bursts into laughter, his stomach aches, he can barely breathe. By the time he's in tears he sees Sirius' put out look so he tries to calm down and take this seriously.

"Siri- Sirius please- what are you on about-" he shakes his head and wipes the tears from his eyes still grinning

"Lord no...no I'm not- what don't give me that look!" He exclaims

Sirius glowers at him and pouts, swiftly turning his body away from Remus in a childish way of saying 'im mad at you'.

"Did you want me to say yes!? Pads what is your problem?"

He turns towards Sirius with a raised eyebrow

"You said it as if he was gross! I thought you were best friends!"

Remus gaped at Sirius for a moment before pinching the bridge of his nose

"Pads...I can't believe I have to say this-" he takes a deep breath and exhales harshly

"I'm not attracted to your brother but he's still attractive...objectively."

Sirius scowls deeper and huffs

Remus thinks about jumping off the astronomy tower.

"now what's the problem?"

"Well...it's just weird you said he's attractive. He's younger than you and he's my brother!"

Remus' eye twitches

"One he's only a year younger and two he's of age- no wait- you were mad I didn't think he was attractive and now your mad I said he is?"

"Yes! Maybe I'll just go see prongs! He'd never be so terrible to me!"

Oh how wrong he was. Remus almost snorted, he watched as Sirius stomped out of the common room with fond eyes. He was irritated for sure but he was also highly amused.

Pulling out the map he quickly searches for James's name. He isn't surprised to see him far too close to one regulus black. Rolling his eyes he searches for Sirius and immediately chokes on a laugh

"Oh boy...that's not good."

[rosietrace]

“Midnight Waltz”

| Malleus Draconia + Victoria Shard | 🐉 + 🪞 |

✎ᝰ. synopsis : Malleus held out his hand to her, his eyes glowing under the darkness of the hall. There was a strange tug in Victoria's system, somehow urging her — convincing her — to take that step closer and intertwine her hand with his.

✎ᝰ. content warnings : takes place post-glorious masquerade, Victoria's dress description is inaccurate to the event color scheme due to this being written pre-redesign, potentially ooc

✎ᝰ. genre : romance, canon divergence, oc + canon character

( ˚₊· ͟͟͞��❥ ) a/n : I have so many drafts in my docs its almost EMBARRASSING ☠️ so I saw that this was already finished among them and decided, “why the hell not?” and boom. I've finally posted it. Good for me ig [ dividers belong to the amazing @cafekitsune !!! ]

✎ᝰ. : reblogs > likes

“And just where do you think you're going?”

Whatever mood Victoria was in prior, it had immediately soured. Malleus Draconia came into view at the turn of her head.

“I'm leaving.” It was an answer, simple as that. It didn't warrant any other explanation; the festivities of Noble Bell had come to a close, and no matter the fireworks, the glimmering lights, and the enthusiasm of their schoolmates— none of it mattered.

It would all become a distant memory, one way or another. Maybe it would be something she could look back on with fondness.

Or maybe she'd forget a moment such as this. Just like so many others that came before it.

Her response made Malleus appear all the more displeased than usual. “Already?”

“It's past midnight, Draconia.”

“And I thought the festivities would finally get you to loosen up, Shard.”

“What point would there be in doing so?” So you could hold it over my head and mock me? She sure as hell wouldn't allow that.

“It's rare for you to not be so… yourself.”

Malleus didn't know how else to phrase it, it seemed. Even the sound of his voice bothered Victoria, almost as much as looking at him and his emeralds for eyes.

“... You're not in your masquerade garb,” Victoria acknowledged. Now all the prince wore was his Diasomnia uniform— complete with the boots and, in Victoria's humble opinion, equally ridiculous hat.

“Is that a problem?” he inquired. His stance militaristic, arms behind his back, head held high like any awaiting king would.

Oh, how Victoria yearned to knock him off that pompous throne. To be the one wearing the crown and staring him down, watching as he groveled.

Well, Victoria, you can't have everything, she told herself in mild disappointment.

It was already late into the night, and the bell at the top of the tower had ceased its ringing when Midnight struck. They shouldn't have been here, near each other, looking at each other.

Malleus spoke again, the bastard. “And what of you?” His hand lazily motioned to her. And for the slightest moment Victoria wished there was one more garment she could wear as a barrier between him and her.

She refused to let that show. “What of me?”

His eyebrow arched. “So late into the night, when everyone is tucked safely into their sleeping quarters…”

“And yet here you are: all dressed in white like a bride left at the altar.”

“Like you're any better,” Victoria shot back with a sneer. “You fancy an unchaperoned midnight stroll, Draconia?”

“The stars are of better company than the likes of you, dearest Shard.”

“How flattering.”

“I should hope so. It's probably the only genuine compliment you could ever get.”

Her eyes narrowed down into slits, her lips pressing together before she said, “Do not challenge my patience, Draconia.” Patience that was hanging by a very thin, very fragile thread.

But Malleus Draconia was a prince not so easily deterred. His eyes wandered. To the large stained glass windows at his right, the moon illuminating them in a strange yet no less stunning disposition of color.

His eyes focused back on her, raking over her from head to toe. How irritating that he remained with an obscured and masked face. Perhaps that was a blessing, Victoria wanted to convince herself.

“Would you care for a dance?”

The question came in a matter of seconds. Straight-laced, firm, not sounding even the least hesitant.

The hesitancy she expected radiated off of her, instead. He chuckled at the baffled expression on her face, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile.

Naturally, Victoria wasn't quick to accept. She took a step back, one foot forward and the other backward, she folded her arms across her chest.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Then beg.”

“Don't play games with me, Draconia.”

“And what makes you think this is a game, Shard?”

“You don't have a reason to dance with me. Not willingly,” Victoria took another step, this time towards him. “Have you perhaps been spiked with some sort of hallucinating serum?”

Malleus scoffed. “Don't be daft…” yet he didn't say anything to what she'd said before that inquiry.

“Being daft is more in character for you,” Victoria said in a mockingly crooning tone, clasping her hands together and bringing them close to her cheeks, rocking slowly.

“You are crossing a line.”

“I've crossed many bridges, Draconia. All I've done after is watch them burn.”

“Do you only speak in metaphors?”

“Do you do nothing but annoy me for your entertainment?”

To which Malleus gritted out, “A dance is all I ask of you.” It seemed she'd done her job of tugging at his strings well enough.

Her lips curved. “And why do you think I'd agree to something like that?” They stared each other down, eyes blazing in intensity.

Malleus held out his hand to her, his eyes glowing under the darkness of the hall. There was a strange tug in Victoria's system, somehow urging her — convincing her — to take that step closer and intertwine her hand with his.

Malleus guided her to a vacant music room. It seemed to be lacking in actual use, all the inhabiting instruments covered in dust and stained with a spider's intricate cobweb.

Victoria sent him a look. He knew she was wondering how he'd come to discover this room, but he was better off ignoring the silent question for now.

Bringing forth a self-conducted orchestra was as easy as flicking Malleus' wrist. The instruments burst with life, floating mid-air and playing a tune for them to dance to.

With a turn of his heel, Malleus went back to facing her. Victoria, dressed like some ghostly bride, iridescent in a dress so white it bordered on blue.

He bowed, even if it struck a chord in his pride to do so. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, wasn't it?

He heard her release a huff. He kept his eyes to the ground, hand still extended to brush against hers when she finally gave in and reciprocated.

The ends of Malleus' lips ticked upwards as he pulled her close, his free arm snaking around her waist.

Victoria already held a deep scowl in her eyes. It only seemed to deepen in intensity once he'd made that gesture clear to her. “Draconia…”

“And what is it now, Shard?” said Malleus, far too smug for the better of others, or his own.

“Don't act sly,” Victoria sneered, synchronizing with his movements. “You don't look good when you're sly.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “So when I'm not, I do?”

She didn't say anything about that comment. When he felt a sting of pain in his foot, he knew that she stomped on it with her heel.

Malleus was more surprised about the lack of a puncture wound than the pain itself. With how sharp her heels were, he half-expected his foot to start bleeding.

But did that stop Malleus Draconia, prince of the Briar Valley abyss, to move forward and engage in a waltz with her? No. No, it did not.

There was little surprise in the way their movements synchronized; Victoria made for both a formidable academic opponent, so Malleus felt little shock with her formidability on the dance floor.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” stated Malleus, giving Victoria a twirl. “When the celebrations came, I mean.”

“Tsk.” Victoria's footsteps were hard against the floorboards of the music room. “What, did you expect me to rejoice when the crimson blossoms wreaked havoc?”

“With the kind of woman you present yourself as, I would hardly be surprised if you feigned outrage.”

“I don't need to feign it when all I have to do is look at you.”

“How flattering.” Malleus' eyes rolled heavenward. Why should he bother at this point? No matter what he did, Victoria Shard would not take kindly to him being… well, himself.

He jolted, his face grimacing with a sudden hiss of his teeth. Shard…

He looked down at her, at her sapphire-like eyes and the smug look on her face that dared feign ignorance.

“Shard.” Malleus glowered.

Victoria huffed, and he could've sworn she was trying desperately hard not to laugh in his face. “What, Draconia? Already so tired from our dance to forfeit?”

If this were a challenge, Malleus made the immature decision of stepping up to the challenge.

This woman— Malleus thought with gritted teeth after each hard, deliberate stomp Victoria performed directly on to his feet. More likely than not, he'd lost count at how many times she'd done it.

Perhaps at some point, Zenith would give him some sort of petty participation award. Preferably titled, Endured being repeatedly stomped in the feet by Victoria Shard.

“In all my centuries of walking this land, never have I encountered a woman as egregious as you.”

“Then I find myself lucky.”

“You simply can't help but make my blood boil, can you?”

“Oh, Draconia.” Victoria batted her eyelashes with a croon.

“It's my favorite pastime.”

How crude of her. Malleus felt his pride get struck by some arrow. Be it an arrow from Orion, or one by Eros, he could not tell the difference.

He wanted, so badly, to put her in her place. To set his foot down and speak sternly, warning her not to be so bold in any future interactions between them.

But it was difficult. Difficult having to deal with a woman so high on her horse that she's arrogant enough to try and kick him off his; Difficult to constantly maintain order when it became very clear that it was the very thing she didn't want out of him.

Difficult to know that— no matter what he did— he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

He dared stared longer than necessary; at her frame, the dress she wore, the choker around her neck, the color of her eyes.

Her lips.

Malleus came to an abrupt halt. In doing so, so did Victoria, as were the instruments that only played at his command.

Victoria nearly stumbled, but the arm around the small of her back kept its grasp secure to prevent her from truly falling, lest her pride be wounded even more after agreeing to this.

“Draconia?” She'd called out to him, with an arch of her brow and a honeyed edge to her voice that made him want to fall apart.

Malleus remained ever still, unsure of what to make of himself after thinking such accursed thoughts. He barely heard her.

“Draconia?” She could repeat his name a thousand times, for the rest of time, and the only thing it would ever do to him was make his heart melt because she was saying his name.

He wasn't staring at her. Not directly. Not at her eyes, or any of her accessories— but at her lips. His eyes locked on to them, his breath uneasily jagged.

A part of him wanted to let go. To give in. To finally reach out and indulge in something for his own sake, and not for the sake of his kingdom, no matter what consequences he may face in the long run.

But he didn't. Malleus was better than that— his pride was better than to stoop to the levels of some desperate loon.

Victoria grew restless, calling out to him once more. “Draconia, speak,” she demanded. “Say something, damn it. I don't care what you have to say, just say—”

A small yelp came out of her as Malleus pulled her closer, their noses brushing. Neither of the two tried to break the gazes they held— though in the case of Victoria, her eyes seemed wide in a manner that, to Malleus, appeared almost otherworldly.

The hand that intertwined with hers broke free of its own iron grip, soon making itself known by caressing her cheek. His thumb brushed over her lips, but this time his gaze never wavered while looking into her eyes.

That familiar, gorgeous ocean-like pool that he'd drown in, for as long as time would allow him to.

Seldom were the visions that plagued his mind. He shan't bring himself to indulge himself. For the good of his people, of his kingdom.

Of himself.

“Save your voice for after our waltz, my sweet villain.”

“... What the hell am I looking at?”

Miren rubbed his eyes a good three times, blinking all the while and even going as far as pinching himself. Anything to try and prove to him that what he was looking at was a dream.

Turns out it wasn't.

There he was, Malleus Draconia — prince of Briar Valley, ruler of the abyss — dancing with Victoria Shard.

“Well this just got interesting,” uttered Rosemi, lightly shoving Miren to the side so she too could take a peek through the barley open doorway.

Miren's eyes narrowed. “Rosemi.”

“Miren.” Rosemi’s voice remained perfectly pleasant, a tight-lipped smile on her face as she maintained her focus on the incredulous sight before her and not the glutton beside her.

“Oho, how scandalous, Miss Shard…”

Miren grimaced. Maybe it was the weird mumbling on Rosemi's part that was getting to him, but a part of him felt… bewildered? Regret? Whatever it was, Malleus and Victoria dancing was the source of it all.

But the moment looked — and felt — intimate. Peaceful. A calm before a storm that Miren didn't know when it could strike.

Yet Miren was no stranger to the obvious look in Malleus' eyes. His lips pursed, unsure of what to think.

Perhaps it was best to keep his thoughts to himself.

【 Taglist / Credits 】

↳ In order of Character appearances/mentions

Malleus Draconia

Victoria Shard — Me 😈

Zenith Devi — Also me 😈

Miren Lockhart — @authoruio

Rosemi Columbina — Also @/authoruio

@starry-night-rose | @jasdiary | @nem0-nee | @fumikomiyasaki | @sakuramidnight15 | @geminiiviolets | @valse-a-mille-temps | @hallowed-delights / @terrovaniadorm | @twistedsongstressofstarz | @twsted-princess @mystery-skulls-ghost | @absolutelyobsessedkiya | @lueerhythm | @cecilebutcher

[notanartist143]

important announcement to make: The Drones club has an official cat

[bubbleteasing]

I drew a quick sketch for a new story I have in the works 😩

Mc is a radio host and Sans is a physiotherapist. They meet after she has a car accident on her way to work 👉👈

[j-rants-reviews-random-stories]

Andy Grey and the Abbott Mansion Murderer (Part 1)

I had always prided myself on being analytical and cool in the face of fear and danger, but when I was confronted with the real possibility of being trapped in a house with a murderer, that cool facade flew out the window.

“I only write about murder! I don't want to be part of a real murder! I’m too young to die!”

“Diane, you are 70 years old, I’m pretty sure you're past your expiration date”

“What do you know about expiration dates Carl? Your stories expired on the shelves years ago, it's a wonder you were even invited to this convention,”

“I’m pretty sure the only reason people were invited to this was so the coordinator could slowly pick us all off one by one,” I pipe up frantically, in hopes to get the others to shut the fuck up so I could think.

After being a murder mystery novelist for the past 15 years I was thrilled to be invited to this convention, with the chance to meet some of the best writers from the past 50 years, but a couple of things kind of ruined that.

The hurricane that is cutting off all cell service.

The corpses that began showing up.

There had originally been 10 of us at the convention, now only 5 of us were left, potentially 6, but there is a chance that if the sixth is alive, they aren’t on our side.

“And what would you know, I hadn’t even heard of you before coming to this convention, what could you possibly know about murder and the motives of a murderer,” mutters Carl, who I was quickly beginning to despise as the night went on.

“Just because you haven’t heard of me doesn't mean shit,'' I spit at him. “There are 4 bodies and 1 person missing right now, I don't think you should be focusing on how little recognition I've had over the years, maybe more on finding out who is killing us and why they want to do this! In case you haven't noticed, we are trapped here with no cell service until the hurricane calms down which isn’t likely to happen for at least another 12 hours,” I continue. Carl looks ashamed at his actions.

Diane quickly steps in and adds “Yes, but don’t we already know who’s doing it? It's obviously the person that went missing - their body is the only one that hasn't turned up yet, so they are the most likely suspect,”

“Not necessarily,” I reason with her. “Isn’t it the first rule of a murder mystery to throw off the detectives, to create a red herring?”The other four in the room murmur their agreement

“I suppose you're right,” replies Emerson in a quiet voice. She is the only one close to my age, being the youngest here at 22 and me being 28.

Both Emerson and I started writing out murder mystery stories at a young age, catching the attention of publishers before we each reached 18. Before that I had only had recognition on small blog posts as a writer, until I hit the big tims. After my first novel that sold however I was struggling to keep up with sales and demand for new books. This struggle to keep up with popular demand over the years is what made me skepctical of my invitation to the convention at Abbott House.

Many rumours circulated for years, inspiring many of the famous mystery writers invited to the convention, especially Diane.

So far this evening 4 bodies have been found, all displayed the same way as the Abbot family was; throats slashed and a rose stuck in the open stab wound through their hearts. The first victim was found after everyone heard a shrill scream around 11pm, at which time most of us were in our assigned guest rooms. The victims tonight were Christina Stewart, a 45 year old writer who had been topping sales charts for the past 20 years. Colin Dawson, a 37 year old writer from the south who was well known for his detective series inspired by Agatha Christie’s Poirot novels, Luna Harkin, 53 years old from Spain, who specialized in amateur detective novels, and lastly the body of Chadwick Bradbury was found, 68 year old writer who was famous in his prime for his gruesome stories based in the 50’s about women being slain for their organs.

All found dead within an hour, and nobody knows who did it.

[torpublishinggroup]

“Changing the horror game one short story at a time.” —Cosmopolitan on The White Guy Dies First

WHAT IT’S ABOUT

The White Guy Dies First includes thirteen scary stories by all-star contributors and this time, the white guy dies first.

Killer clowns, a hungry hedge maze, and rich kids who got bored. Friendly cannibals, impossible slashers, and the dead who don’t stay dead....

A museum curator who despises “diasporic inaccuracies.” A sweet girl and her diary of happy thoughts. An old house that just wants friends forever....

These stories are filled with ancient terrors and modern villains, but go ahead, go into the basement, step onto the old plantation, and open the magician’s mystery box because this time, the white guy dies first.

Edited by Terry J. Benton-Walker, including stories from bestselling, award-winning, and up-and-coming contributors: Adiba Jaigirdar, Alexis Henderson, Chloe Gong, Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé, H. E. Edgmon, Kalynn Bayron, Karen Strong, Kendare Blake, Lamar Giles, Mark Oshiro, Naseem Jamnia, Tiffany D. Jackson, and Terry J. Benton-Walker.

A collection you’ll be dying to talk about…if you survive it.

[fairyhaos]

"love gaze" this, "heart eyes" that. bro forget about those things bc do u know what i have. an adoring and devastatingly proud mother smile

[shortstorytournament]

Short Story Tournament

THE RAVEN by Edgar Allen Poe (1845) (link)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

HOMECOMING IS JUST ANOTHER WORD FOR THE SUBLIMATION OF THE SELF by Isabel J. Kim (2012) (link) - tw: death

A border is an artificial thing with practical consequences: the severing of the self from the self.

[harlepinyo]

This shaved pick, this guitar that's completely rotted away—

Shiho =]

[ssaluss]

I've heard "his world" in this trailer 2 im not crazy it was my jam when i was little IM NOT CRAZY I KNOW THE "DU DU DU DU" WHEN I HEAR IT (im sick and the fever got me but im not delulu... yet, its 3am, at 4am i might be)