#considering that as a mortal she was a serial killer who went by the name Ariadne (for reasons you'd think) i thought maybe

[worm-wood-words]

Once again glad I do a quick Google before naming a character.

[missmcspooks]

DEADLY WOMEN DAILY: AMY ARCHER-GILLIGAN

Meet Amy Archer Gilligan. This woman liked to consider herself similar to killers called “angels of death.” She was even mentioned on a season five episode of Criminal Minds called “The Uncanny Valley.” Most serial killers have a type of victim that they go for. Women, men, children, certain hair colors, and certain physical attributes. Angels of Death only care about one thing: If the targets are sick. Let’s begin with her story.

WHO WAS AMY ARCHER GILLIGAN? 

There’s very little information about Amy, original last name being Duggan. She was born on October 31, 1873 to James Duggan and Mary Kennedy. All together they had ten children, and Amy was their eighth child, and they were born and raised in Milton, Connecticut. Amy got married to her first husband James Archer in 1987. Together they welcomed a daughter named Mary J. Archer in 1897. In 1901, Amy and James both became caretakers to an elderly widow named John Seymour and they moved into his home. John ended up passing away in 1904, and his heirs ended up converting his home into a boarding house for the elderly, and the Archers remained there to continue their jobs. The couple ran the boarding house and named it “Sister Amy’s Nursing Home For The Elderly.” However, this only lasted for around three years before John Seymour’s heirs decided to sell the home. Afterwards, Amy and James moved to Windsor Connecticut to use their savings to purchase their own residence, soon converting it into a business called “Archer Home For The Elderly and Infirm.” In 1910 James Archer died from Bright’s disease, which is a kidney disease. Amy had already taken out an insurance policy on him just a few weeks before his death. This policy helped her continue her nursing home business. Then came her second husband, Michael W. Gilligan, who she married in 1913. Michael was also a widower and had four adult sons. Michael was very wealthy and besides being interested in Amy, he was also very interested in investing into her nursing home business. Unfortunately, just three months after being married, Michael died from severe indigestion. Amy was financially secure again, as Michael had already drawn up a will which left his estate to her. However, the will would later be determined as forgery since it wasn’t written in Michaels handwriting, but written in Amy’s. 

THE MURDERS

After James Archer's death, the mortality rates of the residents in Amy’s nursing home began to spike heavily. Twelve people have died between the years 1907 and 1910, but forty eight people died between 1911 and 1916. One of the residents who died was named Franklin R. Andrews, who was a 61 year old wealthy man who was involved in gardening in the nursing home. He was seen gardening just a few hours before dying, and his cause of death was determined to be from a severe ulcer. However, his children were not convinced this was true, especially after reading his correspondence letters between him and Amy. In the letters she was pressuring Franklin to donate money to her business. After investigation it was found that many of the people who died in the nursing home have died after donating a large amount of money to Amy. Franklin Andrews' sister, Niele Pierce, went to the local district attorney’s office to share her concerns, but they ignored her. Instead, she went to the press and took her concerns public. The newspaper she went to was named The Hartford Courant, which labeled Niele’s story as “Murder Factory.” 

The police decided to exhume both of her late husband's bodies, along with three residents who passed away in her care. All five of these victims tested positive for either arsenic or strychnine. Employee’s at the drugstore confirmed that they have sold large amounts of arsenic to Amy and others using her name, claiming that she said she was using the arsenic to kill rats and bedbugs in her home. Further investigation continued as a woman named Zola Bennett, a private investigator, was hired to go undercover in Amy’s nursing home as a resident to gather evidence on the living conditions of the nursing home. When evidence was found of Amy sending her residents to the drugstore to purchase arsenic, police were able to finally arrest her. 

TRIAL AND SENTENCING

Amy was originally charged with five counts of murder, but her attorney managed to get it reduced to just one count, the death of Franklin Andrews. In 1917 she was found guilty of Franklins murder and was originally sentenced to death. However, in 1919 she was granted a retrial and she pleaded not guilty for the reason of insanity. During this retrial, her daughter Mary also testified and told the jury that her mother was addicted to Morphine. Amy was still found guilty, but this time she was sentenced to life in prison. However, in 1924, she was declared temporarily insane and was transferred to The Connecticut Hospital For The Insane in Middletown. She remained there until she died of natural causes in 1962.

[phoenixyfriend]

The “Momma Sturmvoraus was Literally Satan” AU

As requested by @spazzbot​. This AU was initially brainstormed on the GG fanworks server almost a year ago. Specifically, on the first day of 2020.

[ID: a truncated discord message by “Miss Nixy, Gay for RoboLadies” posted 01/01/2020. The message reads “I need to sleep but please for the moment consider:” and ends there.]

So. Let’s get to it.

Satan took a human form because why not see what's going on topside, live like a human, and “Oh shit is this pregnancy? This is pregnancy. Fuck, that's a tiny human. Which is now half demon. Am I supposed to take care it? Wonder if retconing this form into that Valois family was a bad idea. They do have SO much money though, I get to live like a queen. I suppose another child shouldn't hurt, it wasn't that bad. Oh, he's cute, this is actually making sense, why humans do all the sinning. Not counting dear Aaronev's murders, of course, those are just evil, but I did search out the worst of the humans to pair myself to...”

This is literally just "Tarvek and Anevka's mom was low-key Satan on a bored “let's be human for a decade or two to see what happens” jaunt, consequences happen because these kids are LITERALLY half-demon and arguably anti-Christs."

Also it's just Very Funny for Tarvek, ineffectual sexy lamp fashion twunk extraordinaire, to be an antichrist

Jeff thinks he’s pretty. Jeff keeps describing features that don’t entirely make sense. (Jeff’s canon name is Karl Thotep but they spent so long unnamed that the server collectively named them Jeff.)

This is not a crossover with anything, btw. Ambiguously Pop Culture Satan just got bored and went to have babies with a serial killer.

They’re just kids! That are vaguely demonic. So. Moreso than the rest of the Valois.

Sometimes "mom" comes back from the dead and visits Anevka and Tarvek to impart Wisdom and possibly magic lessons The rooms always smell faintly of sulfur after that...

They try to put Anevka in the machine but SHE isn't hurt and the MACHINE just melts

So that's the end of that.

It's very awkward for everyone, but the paperwork isn't too bad. It's very easy to write "incidental fire began during late-fugue experimentation, resulted in fire spreading through six rooms and several casualties, including Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvoraus."

As per @atagotiak​, “I feel like if we’re going in any way dimensional weirdness with thing, Tarvek got so good at exploring bc he could just clip through walls.”

With image provided by @thisarenotarealblog​:

Tarvek in Paris: My dead mother keeps showing up in my dreams to tell me I need to seduce my way out of my problems and also she looks like Satan. Tarvek's Voltaire-Appointed Therapist: I still don't know what that means. Just like the last five times. Tarvek: I keep telling her that I can’t seduce Colette, if seduction is that important she should get Anevka to do it.

Like he probably wouldn’t say most of that in front of any Voltaire-approved individual, but still.

Tarvek is still very good at self control but there's a Special Edge to his rants.

(Derailed in the moment to me thinking about Anevka in a sfw-but-concerningly-deadly succubus getup, because... yeah.)

Aaronev dies and goes to hell and his dead wife is just there like "hi! Time to be tortured for eternity!" He wasn't a good husband so. He can't exactly sentimentalize his way out.

“In the sexy way?” “... not for you, no.”

Mostly I just want the BULLSHIT that is "Storm Mom was actually just Satan getting bored and going on vacation as a retconned Valois girl, the kids are half-demons and sometimes it Shows."

To clarify: the Satan bit isn't the retcon. Grandma used to have one daughter. Now there are two. (Seffie and Martellus's mother doesn't remember being an only child, but sometimes...)

Satan retconned a new daughter in, which included a Valid Valois Venusian Vestment, so the blood tests play out.

The subtle signs of wrongness would be fun too. Anevka tends to smile a bit too wide and sharp for a human face. Inexplicable uneasiness, here you can’t point at any specific thing that’s wrong but it’s uncomfortable. Uncanny valley prettiness, almost like the porcelain she became in other timelines. Skin isn’t supposed to be that smooth.

My brain's pre-nap contribution at that point was "Satan's pronouns when not pretending to Human are sin/sinself" which is! Certainly a thing.

Tarvek, at some nebulous future point: I mean, your ancestors were monsters, but my dad was a serial killer and my mom was literally Satan, instead of just figuratively like Lucrezia, so. I mean. I kind of get what you're going through.

Per @firebirdeternal: Tarvek and Anevka growing up with "you're allergic to holy water" and not questioning it until a little later because What.

And then they test it and it's like "yeah, no, there's a rash now. That stung. What the fuck."

It INFURIATES Gil in Paris when Tarvek tells him that's a thing, because there's nothing chemically different about Holy water and regular water. But no, this is somehow happening.

It gets logged in medical journals as a Valois genetic thing because, well, Mom was like that too, right?

One time they both go into a church for an Adventure and Gil is very annoyed to find that Tarvek is like. Faintly smoking. It smells like burnt hair in here.

Gil: What smells like burnt hairgel? Tarvek: [glares]

Gil decides that it must be something particular to the church, like a fungus or something in the stone, contaminating the air and water so it only LOOKS like the holiness is what's setting off reactions.

It is not.

Tarvek once got into an argument with someone and ate a slab of raw, completely uncooked meat as a power move.

SVV seems to work perfectly. Everyone is fine. We get the ‘you fight like ducks’ moment.

And then Tarvek bursts into flames, and everyone panics because no they fixed this what the fuck is he still infected with Hogfarb’s oh my god... and then everything settles down and he's perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him, no longer turning funny colors. Completely unharmed. He's in a nicely tailored suit and looks faintly stunned

"I just met my dead mom, who's apparently Satan. She told me that after I died the first time just now, I should be harder to kill later, especially with fire, because now there's more demon and less mortal and guys I think I'm going crazy." "Is that a martini?" Tarvek looks down. "Apparently."

Tarvek starts just. Randomly setting things on fire by glaring too hard and has to tone it down. Meanwhile, Agatha and Gil are having crises about how he's somehow getting PRETTIER.

Is he faintly glowing? Maybe!

Gil handles it by angrily sniping at Tarvek about how of COURSE he's an evil little rat with a background like that.

Tarvek just wants a nap and to forget this ever happened. Many people are sworn to secrecy. It's very awkward.

Still, SVV did something, for handwave-y reasons, and so they're linked now. Gil and Agatha both getting tiny flashes of the same shenanigans.

They get none of the powers. They just keep getting Weird Shit.

Other characters with divine influence are like "Did you.... did you make a pact with a demon?" "What no that's our boyfriend."

Tho tbh I wouldn’t be surprised if a Heterodyne did sign a contract with a demon at some point in exchange for like. Materials. A hundred souls sacrificed in exchange for some succubus blood. Thanks!

Tarvek and Othar: Falling out of CW as in canon. Tarvek: WHAT THE HELL SINCE WHEN DO I HAVE WINGS HIDE THIS BEFORE I GET BOOTED FROM THE LINE FOR THE THRONE

IDK where Anevka is during all this. I think she might have decided to go sleep her way through the courts of the Ice Tsars. Vacation, y'know?

Othar after he's decided to make Tarvek his new Heroic Apprentice: AH, my poor afflicted young friend, it's noble of you to go against the dark nature of your tragic heritage like this. Tarvek: I hate you. I wish I could hate you to death. But you have a point. I shouldn't let my father's blood limit what I strive for in life. Othar: I... I thought your mother was... Tarvek: I know what I said.

Tarvek: Also you can't tell ANYONE about that, I can't have them thinking I'm not actually in line for the Storm King's throne.

He does admittedly have to like. Explain things to Grandma.

Terabithia is Tarvek’s maternal grandmother so this is supremely awkward. That said...

Grandma fondly remembers her pregnancy cravings; bone marrow and sulfur.

"Yeah so, my mother, your daughter, was... maybe actually Satan? But retconned into your life?" "Tarvek, darling, please. I figured that out half a century ago."

TARVEK ACCIDENTALLY FINDS HIM HIMSELF WEIRDLY INTENSE AT CONTRACTS

I mean that honestly just Tracks about Tarvek anyways? But like moreso.

He just. Writes something up and there's things getting signed or shook on and then the person tries to break the contract and either suddenly catch fire or are deeply unlucky for a set amount of time.

And Tarvek's just standing there like "how in the FUCK did I do that?"

Severity of infernal punishment depends on the severity of the breach of contract.

Tarvek finds out that Anevka's been convincing rich people to sign their souls over to her. It's a fun challenge. She keeps them in jars.

They can still remotely pilot their bodies but like. They can't TELL anyone what happened.

Satan: I'm going to go make babies and now everyone else has to deal with the consequences.

Anevka's living up to that whole "princess of hell" vibe. Tarvek's just like "nope nope nope I want the storm throne, not the hell throne, BYE MOM."

Satan's just feeling sinself down in hell like "awwww look at my babies go, aren't they adorable?"

Tarvek: Anevka, what... first off, how did you figure it out? Anevka: Well, I temporarily died when father put me in the machine, and... I can't say that hell kicked me out because they were afraid I'd take over, but mother DID say she'd rather I play about with human governments instead of Hell's. Tarvek: Okay, cool cool cool. What after you planning to DO with all these souls? Anevka: They make for some lovely reading lamps, don't they?

(Anevka absolutely sets herself the goal of acquiring new titles that rival her old ones, or even surpass them. She just black widows her way through Europa.)

I just want someone (probably Snackleford) to ascend, take one look at Tarvek, and run SCREAMING.

Tarvek still needed to be anchored to Higgs, because Tarvek is Baby.

Gil is eventually in a relationship with an Eternal God Queen and the Literal Son of Satan.

Family dinners can include ALL the in-laws if you duck down to hell! - You borrow Bill from... probably heaven, maybe purgatory. - You have Lu and Aaronev and Satan already there, though the first two... well. Aaronev and Lu get invited to dinner but they have to eat by themselves at the kiddy table and nobody talks to them or acknowledges their presence. After all, this is hell, and what better punishment for Lu than to be completely ignored, and for Aaronev to see Lu at her worst and be reminded that he gave everything for this horrible, horrible person who isn't even pretending to care about him anymore. - Zanta and Klaus get invited via portal. - Anevka saunters in with a blood-soaked dress and a complaint about militant demon-hunters refusing to let her go shopping for a new pair of shoes. - Zeetha tagged along with the OT3. (She can't wait to see this situation explode.)

Oh God, Satan is actually second place as far as good parenting goes.

Well, actually, fourth. Because Adam and Lilith. But second as far as bio parents go. 1. Zanta 2. Satan 3. Klaus 4/5. Lu and Aaronev N/A. Bill

Someone (Anevka) decides to stir the pot and invites Von Pinn, Terabithia, Bang.

Bang is basically Gil’s older sister, right? Right.

This is Zanta meeting Bang for the first time! Zanta is just: "It's so nice to meet my husband's adopted daughter." Klaus freezes. Bang freezes. Gil is the only one who is just. "Yeah." Meanwhile Zeetha is crying with laughter off to the side because both of them deserve this. (Zanta would legit love Bang though.)

Agatha: Tarvek, I think DuPree is-- Tarvek: Hitting on my sister? I know. Agatha: On your mom, actually. Tarvek: NO!

Also I do love the idea of like. Nobody tells Bang they're inviting her. She just wakes up in Hell like. "Ah. Yes. Fair enough."

Satan: Oh no no no my dear, you're here as a guest. Besides as well as you'd fit you're not one of mine, you've got other things waiting for you. Bang: Okay, but I love the decor. And is that Cheesecake?

Bang’s family has their own evil god in the novels, but! Bang DID pick on Tarvek a lot in Paris. Satan cares more than Anevka does. Bang might get the sexy punishment.

I feel like the fact that no permanent damage was done and it taught Tarvek a lot of things means Satan isn't gonna be all that upset about it.

And let's be real, if there's a character in GG who could look the literal Christian devil in the eye and be like "Yeah I tortured your kid, what're you going to do about it?" it's Bang.

Even Satan doesn't know what to do or think about Othar.

He sure is here! As Anevka’s arm candy! Nobody knows what to do except Anevka herself, who just wants to be Smug.

(What's that scene from Phineas and Ferb that's the mad scientist trapping the platypus within the rules of polite dining at a fine restaurant? Like he can't make a scene because that would be rude?) (That. Othar would dearly love to start a fight, but it's a Family Dinner. You're only allowed to fight verbally at those.)

(Othar isn't even fighting Satan, he just wants to argue with Klaus.) (And maybe fanboy in Bill's direction a bit).

[smallblip]

Deep sea baby

Levihan | Rated for mild swearing and mild deed-doing | This is a secret santa gift for @hanji-zoe103  💕

It’s on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/28429827

Hanji is born of white foam, where the heavens collide with the sea, and Levi loves her with a fierceness that would make the tides jealous. Levi knows little of poetics, but Hanji promises to find him in the next life and the ones after.

And sure as the waves crashing into shore, she does.

 Hanji is the sea. Uncompromising, untamable, painfully beautiful. Levi thinks she’s poetry in motion, the way she dances, barefoot across sandy beaches, the way she walks down towards the place where the sea meets land, unafraid amidst white waters. 

  He sits, like the shores, and watches her. Watches her bend towards the ground, hands dipping beneath foam, searching for shells. She holds them up against the sun to inspect them when she finds them. Treasure, she calls them. 

  When she’s waist deep in salt water she turns back to look at him. 

  “Come on Levi! The water is warm!” 

  ≋

  Hanji is born of white foam, where the heavens collide with the sea.

  And Levi is the most beautiful boy to have walked the earth, so beautiful he puts the gods to shame. And Hanji fears whatever love they have will be short-lived, because he loves her with a fierceness that would make the tides jealous. 

  It’s a long way from heaven, but Hanji comes to see him every day. She sits with him in a clearing in the forest while he works and he’s sceptical at first. Nothing good comes from associating with the old gods. But the hem of her dress is caked in mud, there’s earth under her nails, and she swears exactly like a sailor would. He teaches her to climb trees and she names all the sheep in his flock. 

  “Maybe it would be nice to stay here forever...” she says to him one day, and Levi understands the gravity of what she’s suggesting. The heavens would not allow for it. They would cut her up piece by piece and she would be returned to the sea. 

  But there’s a conviction in Hanji’s eyes, a severity that justifies the cult of mortals at her feet. The same determination that Hanji has when she’s pulling splinters from her fingers, when she picks wildflowers for Levi, when she holds him against her chest and challenges the gods. She balls her fists and curses the greys of the skies, yet she dances in the rain, giggling, pulling Levi to join her. He surprises himself when he relents.

  So Levi tells her she has his heart. 

  Each night he holds her close, and each night she falls into a deep slumber and she dreams of running barefoot through a field of white roses to reach him. She pierces her foot on a thorn and the field is stained red. A field of red roses. Each one blooming and dying at Levi’s feet. 

  ≋

  In a kinder life, they are childhood friends in a sleepy seaside town. Levi has a popsicle in his mouth, the last of it melting on his tongue. Hanji has long finished hers, and her fingers are sticky from the syrup. But it doesn’t matter because Levi is burying her in the sand so she can keep her filth to herself. He contemplates covering her mouth with sand too, but they’re going to turn thirteen soon and he’s tired of pretending that her talking annoys him. 

  “When I’m older I’m going to sail all over the world!” Hanji grins. Levi thinks it’s funny that now she’s just a talking head in the sand.

  But his heart sinks a little. He doesn’t know if his future is on a vessel bound to nowhere. But they’re still young and their plans have little structure and bearing, so for now Levi pretends he’s going to be there with her, sailing across the ocean.

  “Did you know it’s a myth that lobsters mate for life?” Hanji says, absentminded, part of her trying to distract from the heat, and another part of her already thinking about that ice cream they have waiting for them in her freezer. “Sad huh... Who knew you can’t trust everything on TV...” she laughs. 

  “Seahorses mate for life...” Levi says. He tries to stay nonchalant, but he’s a little embarrassed he spends his free time googling facts he thinks Hanji would enjoy.

  And Hanji knows. Of course she does. She has known him her whole life. In this life and the next he is her Levi. Her Levi with an endless capacity for kindness. She smiles. 

  “Seahorses huh...”

  ≋

  They meet on a ship sailing through uncharted waters. Levi joins the Royal Navy when it feels like he’s exhausted all other options. There's a hunger for power that guides their ship to foreign lands.

  It’s the middle of the night when hears shouting. He jolts awake and already the rest of the crew are reaching for their weapons. There’s no time to change out of their night clothes. The ship spirals into a frenzy. He spots the warning of black sails and white crossbones from afar. The ship is gaining on them. It’s clear they have to stand their ground and fight. 

  The pirates board their ship, and there’s a wild clash of knives and swords and the smell of blood in the air mixing with the metallic taste of gold and bronze and silvers. Levi lunges but his sword is halted midair by a cutlass. 

  “Not so fast Officer...” the pirate says. Past the eyepatch and greasy hair he sees her- he feels her. There’s a white rush by his ears calling for him to come home. 

  I found you, she whispers in his ear as she brings him aboard her ship. 

  The sea promises gold and riches beyond imagination, and Levi promises to follow her to the ends of the earth. 

  ≋

  Levi works in his uncle's bakery a small town in the middle of godforsaken nowhere. It's a family business, and they've been getting good reviews from travel blogs online looking for spots off the beaten path. 

  Levi is on a date to the aquarium and Kenny yells a “don't come back tonight if you know what's good for you!” after him. There are still customers in the bakery and everyone is staring at him. The teenagers in the corner snigger. 

  His date doesn't show, but he's not surprised really. The first date had gone by in a way that could be considered painless. But beyond nice pleasantries, there’s nothing much to look forward to. So Levi completely understands. Then again she could’ve at least had the courtesy to drop him a text. In any case, Kenny will be disappointed. He enters the aquarium anyway. Might as well. He had already purchased the tickets, and he hasn’t been since he was a child in elementary school. He watches the sharks swim laps behind the thick glass. He wonders if they feel unfulfilled, living in a tank, watching as people from all around take family trips to visit the aquarium. 

  “That one’s Bean!” Levi switches his attention from a particularly small shark to the person beside him. 

  “What?” He replies.

  “That one!” She points to the shark making its way past them, “she’s Bean. We rescued her from a fishing net.” 

  Levi watches her grin with suspicion. Maybe he should introduce himself. He's not usually one to introduce himself to strangers with wild hair and gleaming eyes behind thick glasses, but there's a first for everything, and before he knows it, he's telling her his name.

  "Date stood you up?" she says, and Levi glares at her. "Oh... Wait... That really happened?" she apologises, and the stranger with the wild hair and gleaming eyes becomes Hanji. There’s something about the lights in the aquarium, the blues and violets that reflect off the auburn in her eyes in a way that’s almost ethereal. 

  The things that conspire after are tricks of the light then, surely. Hanji invites him back to her apartment, and they talk and they polish off a six pack of beers and a few bottles of cheap wine between the two of them. "This is fun! I haven't gotten shipfaced in a while!" Hanji chuckles. 

  “No.” Levi says, he has little tolerance for bad nautical puns. But it only encourages Hanji to tell him more. There's a mix of "where ya fin all my life" and "you're whaley cute", and finally, when she's absolutely smashed, a "nice boat, wanna fuck?" 

  At that, the dams break and Levi laughs. 

  Hanji wakes up the next morning, killer headache, she shoots up and the headache splits her skull open. Too quick. 

  “Ouch...” she says, eyes blinking through sleep and haze. She grabs at the bottle of water by her bedside and shuffles through her drawer for ibuprofen. 

  “You idiot...” 

  Hanji snaps her head up, looking for the owner of the voice and there Levi is, leaning against her door, hands folded across his chest. Hanji’s jaw slackens. 

  “In case you were wondering, no, nothing happened...” 

  “But... but you’re here... in... in my room...” 

  “Tch...” Levi rolls his eyes, “you passed out and I stayed just in case you choked on your own vomit and died in the middle of the night...” 

  Oh...

  “Wait did I?” 

  Levi raises a brow, she’s still not all there. “Still alive aren’t you?” 

  Hanji shrugs. This could be hell for all she knows. “Fast acting pain relief” proving to be the biggest scam of the century. 

  "What a fucking shipwreck of a person..." Levi says and it takes Hanji a minute before she's doubled over in laughter, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. 

  Levi half expects to never see her ever again, but there she is the day after, as promised, finger pressed to the glass, ordering herself a Pain au Chocolat, an Americano, and his number on a piece of napkin. He sighs, but he's writing it down for her anyway.

  "You really followed me home that night huh... Didn't it cross your mind that I could be a serial killer?" She says, examining his handiwork. 

  Levi scoffs, "you invited a complete stranger you picked up at the aquarium into your house, and then proceeded to get very wasted... Didn't it cross your mind that I could have been the serial killer?"

  Hanji laughs, and it startles her when it echoes throughout the bakery, "touché..." she says, "guess I am a shipwreck of a person..." she winks.

  The corners of Levi's lips betray a smile as he watches her take a seat by the window to read. 

  "That's not Petra..." Kenny comments. 

  "Who said I went home with Petra?" Levi answers.

  Kenny's face pulls into a smirk and he lets loose a deep rumble of laughter, “Levi you absolute dog!”

  ≋

  The sea is a passage. To a new life that Hanji can only pray will be fulfilling. She is the princess of a port kingdom- a people favoured by the sun and raised by the sea. 

  Her ships carry her to a distant land of frigid waters and snowfall, where her betrothed is king. When she sets foot on land, she's greeted by faces paler than hers and a mannerism befitting the heartiness of Northern kingdoms. There are skins being made into pelt, fish hanging out to dry, wines made from preserved fruit. Already, Hanji misses the white sandy beaches and the heat of the midday sun, but she's to be queen now, and she remembers this when she walks past the heavy doors into the throne room. She comes bearing gifts of glass beads, fine porcelain, and dried fruit and nuts- a reminder of Summer. 

  She takes her place beside her husband, and she smiles at the people who have come to see her- the princess from the other side of the sea. They are her people now. 

  And that's when she sees him.

  His expression doesn't change even when he kneels in front of her and kisses the back of her hand. He vows to protect her. 

  She calls for him later, and he tells her to call him Levi- he has never been too keen on formalities. Besides, Sir Levi doesn’t suit him quite as much. And she's Hanji, just Hanji. 

  It's Winter when they take a ride through the forest. She's not used to the heavy furs and wools and Levi has to remind her that the sun doesn't shine the same here. But Hanji knows. Her golden skin now mellowing. She hikes her dress above her knees and toes through the snow. The ground caves beneath her feet like powdered sugar, and Hanji thinks maybe there's beauty in her new home. She thinks maybe there's warmth to be found, as Levi catches her before she slips. 

  He shows her the lake, now frozen over, and they slide over thick ice like children. She pulls him down with her when she falls and they laugh. There's something in his eyes that Hanji recognises as fear. She feels it in the beat of her own heart, warning her against falling. But they’ve been treading on thin ice around one another, and falling seems inevitable.

  So Levi presses back against her and kisses her. Hanji feels a warmth coursing through her- the same fire she's promised in the lullabies her mother used to sing her. 

  "We should come in Spring. The lake is beautiful then..." Levi says as they make their way back to the castle. And Hanji promises to show him her home. The crystal waters; gentle waters. She knows it's a promise that may never be fulfilled, but nevertheless, this is a moment in time, and promises offer a glimpse into possibility. 

  Come Spring, they make love by the lake, under the cover of the sea of trees. Everything is beautiful in the Spring. 

  ≋

  In another life, the sea promises protection. 

  There’s only one rule out at sea near the white rocks-

  Beware the Siren’s song.

  Levi lives in a little house by the sea. Everyday he sails out near the white rocks to catch fish. 

  Hanji circles his boat. Her iridescent tail catching the light and reflecting deep purples and green. She sings her best song for him- the beautiful fisherman with the grey eyes. 

  "Don’t swim into the nets," he scolds and Hanji is taken aback. She thinks about her beautiful fisherman when he sails for home. And there's a familiar tugging that she feels in her gut. But the weather has taken a turn for the worse and she doesn’t see him near the white rocks. Not the next day nor the days after. She seeks the council of the waters and the waves carry her to shore. 

  There’s a storm raging. The windows are rattling against their frames. Lightning illuminates the skeletons of his house and there’s a persistent knocking that weaves in and out of the thunder. Levi takes the screaming kettle off the hobs. 

  He opens the door to her. She’s standing in the rain, hands wrapping around herself to shield from the cold. Levi’s gaze skims from the tip of her nose down to her bare chest, down to her long legs. He swallows thickly. She’s leaning against the frame of the door, shifting her weight from one unstable leg to another. Like a fawn learning to walk. He frowns but nevertheless, he leaves the door ajar for her to enter.

  “You’re gonna get the floors all wet...” he mutters. Rainwater he can manage. But seawater makes the floorboards a little sticky, and that annoys him deeply.

  “I told you I’ll come for you.” She says. 

  Levi shoves a towel in her face, “Dry yourself.” He pauses for a moment, taking in the shock on her face. “Please.” 

  Surprisingly, she does as she’s told, and when she’s done, she hands the towel back to him. 

  Levi finds her dry clothes, and she pinches and pulls at them, inspecting after she puts them on. 

  “I’m here to eat your heart lover boy.” 

  He considers her. It’s colder this time of year and the sea is relentless. But her skin is gold like honey, sun-kissed in a way that reminds Levi of summers and homemade jam and the grass beneath his feet. 

  “Levi.” He replies.

  Levi. she says, smile spreading across her face like butter on warm toast. 

  He shares his stew with her and she tells him her name is Hanji when her hands are warming by the fire. She looks at Levi, gaze washing over him like a wave. And there’s familiarity in the way his eyes soften when he looks at her. He looks at her like he's trying to call forth a string of memories tying her to him; him to her. But all he has is an affection for her that ripples through his consciousness. It's accompanied by the sounds of laughter- her laughter- and the pale shimmer of moonlight.  

  So she returns to him the next day, and the day after, and the days after that. 

  Hanji brings him little pieces of treasure. A conch shell, a dead sand dollar, bits of sea glass. Her legs grow stronger each time. She dances around his house. She pulls him flush against her chest and rests her chin atop his head and sways to a tune she’s humming. 

  Beware the Siren’s song, they say. 

  But they’re far from the white rocks and she’s laughing exactly like a lover would. The floorboards are creaking under their toes.

  He looks for her when he’s out at sea, and listens as she tells him stories of the depths, about the men who hurt her, about dying at sea, and about the promise of protection and rebirth.  

  When she wakes again, there's water in her lungs and she learns to breathe. To call the sea her home. 

  But maybe it's not by accident that she falls asleep in his arms one night, cocooned in white sheets that remind her of sea foam. 

  She kisses his nose in the morning and he blinks an eye open to look at her. “I’m gonna eat your heart lover boy...” Hanji teases, hair tickling his skin, the sight of him crossing the boundary between sleep and daybreak takes her breath away. 

  Levi smiles, pulling her closer, "stop moving so much..." he groans. It’s still early, they can still afford a little shut eye. He cradles her in his arms- a promise of protection. “You already have my heart,” comes his reply, in a moment of tenderness, and Hanji doesn't return to the waters. 

  ≋

  In others, the sea forces distance between them. 

  They don't meet in this life.

  But sure as waves reaching towards the shore, they meet in the one after.

  ≋

  They're in their second year of college but nothing really changes. 

  Except when it does, it happens so fast that Levi doesn't have time to breathe. The next time he takes a breath he's lying beside Hanji. They’re both sated and sleepy and Levi stills his breathing, coming down from his high. And Hanji thinks this life is nice. It's effortless in a way that reminds her that they are meant to be.

  The Marine Biologists have gathered for a nights out- a pub crawl to be specific. The entire course is decked in ridiculous outfits. There’s a merman somewhere, and a manatee, there’s even a sea snake (moray eel, Hanji clarifies). And Hanji is dressed as a shark. 

  Levi is there because he gets dragged along to everything that Hanji is a part of and he gets asked one too many times what his outfit is supposed to be. Because he’s in his jeans and a black top and he just looks- normal? 

  “He’s my next meal!” Hanji says and Levi pulls a face, he chokes out a, “shitty four eyes...” and he’s blushing a little more than he should because does she even hear herself?

  Halfway through the night Levi wonders why he’s so tipsy. This is really unlike him. He remembers meeting Hanji’s friend Moblit, whose Aquaman sends Hanji over the edge with laughter. He remembers hearing a round of “oh hey Levi!” (They all know who he is, after all, he’s often hanging around Hanji). Then the beer bong challenge. Oh right. The beer bong challenge... that’s why. Hanji won, at least he remembers that. 

  And he also remembers dancing with Hanji at the back of one of the pubs. “This is a good song...” he murmurs in her ear and she visibly shivers. But everything is spinning and the music is delicious, touching is also delicious, and they do just that. And at some point Levi must have just gone for it, because Hanji’s mouth is hot and inviting and Levi thinks he’s delirious so he surrenders to the feeling. 

  They’re back in Hanji’s room, only because it’s only a flight of stairs up and Levi is unzipping her ridiculous costume that surprising does little to ease his raging hard on. And Hanji, god forbid, isn’t wearing anything underneath. 

  His top comes off once they make it past the main door to her flat. Levi doesn’t even notice the mess in Hanji’s room as they navigate the narrow space and soon they're on the bed, hands moving in what is best described as a frenzy. 

  It feels so good and Levi finally admits to himself that he has been thinking about this for a while. And he’s almost relieved when Hanji kisses him and lets her want slide down his throat. 

  Levi wonders if they can still be considered friends. Last he’s checked friends don’t scream each other’s names the way Hanji is saying his name right now as she bites down on his shoulder. Plus, the whole best friends to lovers trope is just one big cliché. And yet, Levi doesn’t hate it. He has to admit it’s actually really nice. 

  The next morning Hanji finds Levi rummaging through her sink cupboard. 

  “My extra toothbrushes are the drawer.” She gestures towards the bottom drawer with her toe. They brush their teeth and they're sitting on the bed again, it's the only place for two to sit, really. 

  “So... Was it good for you?” Hanji says, a little amused with how the entire situation unfolded.  

 Levi clears his throat, face going red. “Would’ve been better if you weren’t wearing that stupid outfit...” He wants to say he's never felt this way with anyone before, but he doesn't. 

  “But hammerheads are cool!” Hanji protests and she’s pouting. Levi wonders if now’s a good time to kiss that stupid look off her face or if that’s too much.

  “Fucking one isn’t...” Levi mutters. Hanji throws her head back and laughs. 

  “So... What do we do now?” Levi asks. And Hanji shrugs saying a "admit we love each other and carry on with our lives?" like it had been obvious. 

  "Sounds good..." he says, smiling, and he thinks they deserve this effortlessness. 

 ≋

  Hanji comes back to him like ship returning to port. She thinks about meeting him when he's six and building sandcastles on the beach. He had ignored her attempt at conversation and Hanji had been a little annoyed.

  "You don't remember me do you?" She huffed, pout on her face, arms crossed. 

  Levi was confused, that definitely caught his attention, "do we know each other?" he asked. 

  "No," Hanji confessed, "no but... I know I'm supposed to meet you." She said with all the confidence a five year old can muster. Levi bickered with her. How can a five year old be so smug? He was a whole year older and he was by no means as confident. He didn't even know whether to pick sushi or pizza for lunch. 

  And she thinks about the night before she left. 

  "I like you Levi..." she had said. She willed herself not to cry, so there's a moment in which she's just chuckling humourlessly to herself. And Levi's scowls at her. "Inconvenient huh..." she added. She had to cross the ocean the next day on a voyage bound somewhere far away and this makes it that much harder.  

  Fucking inconvenient indeed...

  They don't make promises, but Hanji wishes they had. She wishes they would have at least addressed her little confession, because it's been eight years. Eight years of it gnawing at her brain and now it's just a little awkward. 

  Hanji takes a deep breath as she disembarks at port, her feet a little unsteady on dry land- like a fawn learning to walk again. But she sees him. And the knot in her chest unravels. Eight years. It's been too long. She takes tentative steps towards him, but soon she's running and enveloping him in a sweaty embrace. 

  He's whispering something, muffled because he's pressed into Hanji's clavicle-

  “Did you know seahorses mate for life?” 

  She smiles. Sure as the sun, he’s in her arms again. 

  Seahorses huh...

  ≋

  Hanji knows whatever life they've led, this is her favourite. 

  The one in which her and Levi see the sea for the first time together. 

  The one in which she’s the Commander, and him, her Captain. And between them, a river of words left unsaid threatening to break the banks. 

  One day they must cross the ocean, but today they visit the shores again, without the kids this time. And Levi learns why when he watches her peel at her clothes. Her harness comes off first, then her blouse, then everything else, like a little dance for an audience of one. Levi tries not to stare, but he’s already seen her by candlelight in the dead of the night. And yet she never fails to take his breath away. 

  She makes her way to where the white foams dredge the past up the shores of the present. 

  "Come on Levi! The water is warm!" she says, and he hears it like a call to come home- where the heavens collide with the sea. 

  He takes off his clothes and folds them in a neat pile beside Hanji's mess. He swims out to join her.

  The moonlight caresses her skin and this scene- this moment- is opulent. Levi unties the patch over her eye and lets the waters carry it away. She chuckles. "I'm never going to get that back am I?" she says, holding his hand and guiding him to shallower waters. 

  And Levi knows there's some poetry to the way she's kissing him. She tastes like saltwater and Summer all at once, and Levi thinks that he has never felt this way with anyone else. Will never feel this way about anyone else. Instead he glowers at her-

  “Hanji don’t you dare fucking die... I’ll never forgive you if you do... I swear I’ll-“ 

  Before Levi can continue, Hanji is laughing, sputtering as her head bobs below the surface of the water. 

  “Even if I do, you don’t have to say goodbye. I promise I’ll look for you in the next life... And the ones after...” She says, brushing the pad of her finger against his nose. The heavens and the sea bear witness. And Levi promises to follow her to the ends of the earth. 

  Treasure, he calls her, when the sound of white water crashing provide refuge for words that have little place in this life. Levi knows little of the words lovers say to each other, and even less of poetics, yet here he is with Hanji, sitting on the shores now, and watching salt crystal in her hair. He falls asleep that night to the sound of her breathing. And amidst dreams of roses and white foam,

  Levi is home. 

[a-student-out-of-time]

Twisted Sister Aftermath Review Part 1

Hai hidey do everyone, it’s your friendly neighbourhood Review Anon here! Another Arc has come and past us and as such it’s time to review it! Hopefully I don’t end up with 5k worth of words here and have three megaton submissions here (and from now on I am not going back to using asks, why the heck I used asks beforehand is beyond me) Speaking of, I have a question, do you want me to go back and review previous arcs? Probably won’t do this until we have any kind of break or hiatus so to not break flow? But that’s enough time being wasted, we have the Twisted Sister Aftermath Arc here, and this review isn’t going anywhere so let’s get right into it!

Relationships and Reflections

So, when we last left off, Hajime passed out from inhaling too much smoke while saving Tsurugi from the bomb explosion and as it turned out he has been asleep for a good 8 hours! Its Monday but despite that the school is shut, which is understandable given that we had criminals running around and a serial killer attacking the school the previous day, Hope’s Peak seems to be more sensible than my previous school which didn’t shut down even when one of the main buildings got flooded (long story there). But the good news is that nearly all the criminals were captured by the QC and the police and are back where they belong. The bad news is that 3 criminals are still at large. 2 of them are petty criminals that have nothing to be concerned but there is one criminal who IS a big concern. You have 3 guesses who that person is and the first 2 don’t count. Yep, its Maverick Storm alright.

So, time for a bit of a confession here, Maverick as a character…isn’t all new to me. For some of you old timers here there was a blog called ‘Despair Kids’ which started out as Class 78 asking questions and then it evolved into an AU with lots of OCs, so many that it got too overwhelming and I lost interest in it. But there were a few I generally liked, and Kyoji’s and Maverick’s characters really stood out to me. When I started to read the enormous backlog of this blog, (I wish the best of luck to all newcomers and try to not binge it, even if you are a fast reader), and Umeko showed up during the Practical Exams arc, I got a sense of Deja vu, as I recalled hearing that character’s name before. But I didn’t think much at the time, not helped by the fact that Umeko was a pretty minor character in the Despair Kids, even when Maverick was on his self-imposed challenge to kill all of his class, Umeko evaded him by just dimension travelling to another universe, so her character didn’t have much impact. But as soon as I heard Kyoji and Maverick mentioned I thought ‘Oh…OH IT’S THE SAME PERSON WHO MADE THOSE CHARACTERS!’. And as mentioned, I really liked those OCs anyway so that as well as using Another characters really got me invested into this blog. And with all that said, let me reassure you guys that Maverick is a bastard with a capital B. The stuff he gets up to in Despair Kids, where he was a member of Despair, but secretly plotted to overthrow Junko, even the other Mods/Role-players were disgusted by it. Now Maverick is probably going to be going through some changes as the Mod’s OCs in this blog aren’t the same as the characters from the Despair Kids. To give some examples Kyoji’s backstory doesn’t mention Mikan, Kyoji isn’t into Mikan, he’s more into Miaya, Maverick got jailed etc. So, I won’t be surprised when Storm starts pulling shit, probably not as bad as Despair Kids as he isn’t under Junko’s thumb here…but hard to tell at the moment. But yeah, you have been warned, I consider Maverick a villain as bad as Junko and Mikado, and you will soon see why.

But enough about a character who hasn’t officially shown up yet, let’s focus on a reformed villain and that is the new and improved Kanade! I feel mixed upon this new Kanade as part of me wants to love her as in this state she is so sweet and innocent, which is what people probably thought of Kanade when they first saw her in SDAR2, and I did at first, my thoughts about Kanade at the time were ‘It’s almost as if Hiyoko and Mikan are siblings, let’s hope Kanade doesn’t go crazy like Mikan did’ and that statement aged like milk. When Kanade became suspiciously smart and helpful during the Class Trials I was kinda sus because normally with the Trial Point Getters there is normally some logic to why said character is good in the Trails, like Koroko being a Psychologist can analysis people’s feelings and deduce who the culprit, and Syobai’s background means he has to use his brain quite a bit, but Kanade is supposed to be a Guitarist in a Pop band, she shouldn’t be this good. But my theory was she was lying about her talent, because that’s nothing new in Danganronpa, but ho boy was that a mistake. But at the same time as much as I want to hug this new Kanade, I’m also hyper conscious that the mindwipe might not be a permeant solution as well Junko got mindwiped in the OG timeline and we all know how well THAT ended. Then again, the relapse didn’t fully occur until Yasuke decided to kill Ryoko so as long as nobody tries to strangle Kanade, we should be good. It also means that Hibiki gets the little sister that she thought she had back, and you can tell this a new stage of development for her. Hibiki has grown as a person since back in July but while that part of her character development has finished, a new part starts as she tries and rebuild a proper healthy relationship with Kanade because Hibiki wasn’t completely innocent in the reason why Kanade became a monster. Granted, a lot of it was Kanade being twisted to begin with but had Hibiki been kinder and not been a total bitch to her, I don’t think Kanade would have gone fully down the deep end as it seems her psychopathic behaviour is more of a nurture rather than nature thing. Something I believe will be explored a bit more once Junko enters the scene because well…Kanade is basically Junko on easy mode. The real deal will be a lot harder to handle. And naturally Kyoji has offered to take care of her…I don’t know why Kyoji has turned into the guardian of reformed little girls, but it’s a welcome surprise to be sure. I just hope Kanade doesn’t get wrapped up in Storm’s schemes because given that Kyoji is his arch-enemy…

We can make sure Kanade is a good girl now but there’s still the small issue that she escaped from jail and the police are looking for her so one needs to fake her death. This is a joint operation by Kyoji and Nikei as Kyoji cloned some of Kanade’s body parts and left them near where a bomb went off to give the impression that Kanade got killed during the Prison Break, and judging from Tsurugi’s reaction, it seems to have worked. Speaking of Tsurugi, he is resting and due to his injuries is desk bound for a couple of weeks and receiving care from Mikan. Mikan caring for Tsurugi helps in two ways, as firstly being the Ultimate Nurse, she would be qualified to help make sure nothing serious happens to Tsurugi and Tsurugi doesn’t know that Mikan is part of the Quantum Crew and working with Kasugano, so it means someone is near Tsurugi who can relay information to Kasugano and co. That’s two girls with ties to Kasugano that Tsurugi has interacted with and he doesn’t suspect a thing. Okay to be fair with Akane when he first met her, she was an independent force and wasn’t working for Kasugano at that point but my point still stands. Not much to talk about our police boy here aside from Mod confirming that Tsurugi x Kouhei is going to be a thing in this blog. To be fair everyone could see the sexual tension between those two and that’s why people felt funny when Kanade mocked their relationship as they wanted to ship the two but it meant siding with a demonic guitar child. But said demonic guitar child is no more so no need to worry about shipping! And as for Nikei, he is writing up an article detailing Kanade’s demise as to throw the media off Kanade’s scent and then it’s just waiting for all the media hype around Kanade to die down and once that happens, she can be transferred to one of the many care facilities that Kyoji knows. How many does he know at this point? And while we are on the subject of Newsie here, it’s time to discuss a growing friendship, and possible relationship that is developing between him and Akane.

I had my suspicions for some time by their interactions but it was Akane’s and Nikei’s interactions in this Arc which solidified my viewpoint on their relationship. And that is Akane is more or less a foil to Mikado. Think about it for a second. They weren’t founding members of Void, they both grew up in hellish orphanages, got out of said orphanages thanks to Utsuro, ended up meeting the man himself at some point and inherited his Divine Luck at various points, though Mikado only succeeded in a Bad Ending. But at the same time, they both have different motives for going after Utsuro, Akane wanted to thank him for what he’s done for her and when she did successfully meet him, dutifully served under him, even when Junko came and corrupted them both. And while Utsuro had his crippling trust issues and constantly worried if Akane would betray him at some point, the fact that he gave Akane Divine Luck after she took mortal damage protecting the other survivors from Monokuma, showed that at some level he did care for her. Mikado desired the Divine Luck for his own personal benefit, burned down several orphanages to trigger another encounter and upon meeting with Koroko, hatched a horrible plan to ‘revive’ Utsuro, then Mikado would kill him and steal the Divine Luck for himself. Only reason it backfired was firstly because Mikado (both real and AI) didn’t realise Utsuro gave the Divine Luck to Akane, who was then later used to create Sora, and secondly Syobai betrayed him by siding with the Kisurugi Foundation. Their clashing roles can be no better illustrated then with their relationship with Void’s leader, Nikei. We don’t know how Nikei reacted to Mikado initially because it’s still a lot of unknown factors until the Onmake mode comes out canonically, but while wary at first because of how extreme Mikado’s plan was, was probably willing to trust him. And then as Mikado undermined him and usurped the role of leader from Nikei, that relationship quickly soured and a rotting despairing sense of hatred and revenge grew within Nikei, eroding away his humanity (from reading LINUQ’s blog, where he goes into detail regarding the various characters from SDAR2, he states that Nikei used to be a lot more warm-hearted before Mikado came along, but his hatred for the wizard made him much crueller) And it got to the point where the lines between Nikei and Mikado got blurry, and I’ll say that Nikei ended up being no different from Mikado in the end. And thus, he died a broken hateful mess. Now as for Akane, she and Nikei got off on a bad note; she kicked Nikei in the stomach, he responded by almost blowing Akane’s brains out, fun stuff like that. But once the misunderstanding and proof that Akane was good arose, a friendship of sorts started to develop between the two. The first signs we saw of this is *sigh* Oncoming Storm Arc. Among the hot pile of shit that Arc was, one of the VERY, VERY few good parts about it, was that when some Anons unintendedly hit a trigger phrase for Akane, which was mentioning older men, she went into a panic attack and out of all the people who could have comforted Akane during this moment, it was Nikei who did so. And now in this arc, we are seeing that Nikei is a bit more open with Akane then he is with other non-Void members of the Quantum Crew. He’s not taken the news that he snapped back to his old self during the Massacre timeline well, and bemoans that it shows he hasn’t changed, but Akane reassures him he has and that the timeline can serve as a lesson to improve oneself from and mentions she had trust issues initially but thanks to Utsuro, she is very much a people person now. And of course, we get the cute wholesome scene of those two cuddling each other, can someone please make fanart of these two cuddling, we need it. Mikado brought the worst out of Nikei and eventually led to his death, whereas Akane brings out the best in Nikei and would possibly help him into living a full refreshing life. Sora is more or less the third wheel in this relationship.

Annnnddd…I have talked for way too long. That’s part 1 of the review where I talk about relationships regarding all the characters but when we come back its when the plot comes back in when Class 77-B gets debriefed on the truth and a shocking new discovering on Time Travel is revealed. Stay tuned as we won’t be away for long! - Review Anon

[deerlyloved]

oh baby, don’t fear the reaper

below cut: writing about my ocs, the grim reaper and the serial killer he fell in love with

Sacrifice was something Reaper knew from the very start of his life. Always giving up things he wanted in favor of his siblings being happy, always sleeping less so Ebony could share a room with him in their small home, always running errands for his mother so Jake could take a day to himself. 

He never thought it was a problem, he liked helping out. But maybe sometimes being nice, helping out, wasn’t the right thing to do.

Reaper had been stuck in this new state for what seemed like a decade now, maybe more, all because he was nice. All it took was one look at Ebony’s face, so young and yet so terrified at that moment as they were close to being caught. They wanted to escape, to leave the bright Heavens and find some semblance of freedom on the mortal planes, and Ebony was just a child… So Reaper put a large, clawed hand on her shoulder, pulling her into a soft side-hug before he stepped away.

Jake whispered after him to come back, Cerb tried to follow with a hand outstretched before Jake pulled him back. Their little sister was silent, but Reaper could feel her eyes burning into him, though it did nothing except encourage him to keep walking until he was in the open, staring out into the infinitely confusing body of the angel looking for them.

And he ran.

The angel followed, asking in a voice impossibly loud and yet so sickly sweet, ‘Where are your siblings, little one?’

The other three never saw him again. Oh, but Reaper saw them. Reaper saw everything after that. The angels said he was aptly named, said he was the only true mixture of his parents that was completely half-and-half, neutral. The best of both worlds, they said, new training in order now that we only have you.

It made him feel worried at first, but afterward… He just felt nothing.

The Grim Reaper’s Neutrality. To be uncaring and unworried was much needed in his job, sorting people as Death commanded despite the begging and pleading.

Grim stood tall, bathed in the dark falls of his cloak, black nothingness enveloping where its face should be, where it once was. Once soft, tan hands were now gaunt and grey, cold as ice and gentle as the wind, used mostly to clutch his scythe and guide people to their fates.

Uncaring, unbothered, neutral.

They saw their siblings after it all, though they didn’t see it. Ebony, now going by Death full-time, never interacted with the Reapers she commanded, not even the one who ultimately decided where the souls she allowed to pass over went. Jake never looked too hard in the shadows, investigated into plains beyond his reach. Cerb didn’t seem to care, never looking at the Reapers he could see if he wanted.

Uncaring, unbothered, neutral.

Even if they didn’t worry about their lost brother, Grim didn’t care, and they couldn’t care if they  tried. The neutrality gifted to xem leaked through everything, even memories, thoughts, xir very past as an older brother and loving sibling. The memories, once colored grey and lifeless, were easy to forget, fading away into its mind with nothing to keep them weighed down. Much of Grim’s past was a mystery, no matter how much others asked.

Narthy was a short, curious soul doomed to conduct the train to Hell for eternity, though what he had done to deserve it was anyone’s guess. A long, gnarled left arm that would hang far lower than any arm should, black and clawed and impossibly hot. Liquid ash dripped from his right eye, colored grey, his right eye colored purple and blue with a broken, irregular pupil staring into the face of the souls he loaded onto his train. The train in question was cramped, just a little too hot, with ceramics that rattled the whole way.

The soul asked the most questions of Grim, even more than the other two who guided souls to their destinations.

Marisu and Rikiel, Purgatory, and Heaven respectively.

Marisu was the favorite of Grim, just as neutral as he was (well, maybe a little less), ever vigilant. She drove what looked like a van from the mortal plane, loading up a mortal or two these days to go take a look around Purgatory. She had dark skin, though not like Grim did, bright green hair and her left arm took the form of what seemed like mist. It wafted and waded in the windless crossroads that represented the meeting point of them all, the train in the station, the van situated on a barren dirt road with nothing for miles around, and the bus that was positioned to go up a nicely paved road, leading towards a mountain that glowed and burst with life towards the top.

Marisu was kind, curled hair tied back, sitting on the hood of her van and staring at the empty sky. The van ride was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. It had A/C, but no music played and the drive was especially unremarkable, the seats were slightly sticky but there were cracker snacks in the bags on the back seats. Balanced. Just like Narthy, one of her eyes dripped an unknown substance, one of her pupils just as irregular and confusing, but more in a defined shape. 

They were all standing around, Narthy in his train, Marisu on her van, Rikiel inspecting his bus.

Rikiel was the last of the trio of souls, the deliverer of souls unto the Heavens. Grim held an unknown and confusing distaste of Rikiel, though it was buried and hidden within his forced neutrality.

Rikiel was the nicer looking of them all, eye dripping pure golden ichor that smelled of vanilla, arm in the form of a soft-feathered wing with a feathered hand at the end, a pupil in the distinct shape of a heart. They dressed in soft yellows and pinks, cloaked in flowers and sparkles floating around them as they glowed with nothing but holy energy. The bus they drove was nice, far nicer than Narthy’s train or Marisu’s van. The perfect temperature, comfortable seats with soft music playing in the background-- Though the souls heard what they wanted.

They sat like this, silent yet enjoying the others company, for as long as it took for Grim to gather together the souls they needed. Along the way, the souls pleaded begged Grim to not do it, to send them to Heaven. They always begged.

Xe arrived with the souls, though they took the form of small, glowing lights that Grim held on xir hand, holding them out and dropping them down one at a time. As they fluttered to the ground, sprouting up into the shapes of humans, Grim spoke in a voice that chilled anyone who heard it, its very presence unsettling everyone around it.

“Heaven,” Grim announced, pointing towards the bus behind the souls. They turned, the bulk of them looking on with relief as they walked towards the bus with one looking particularly shocked, and once their form solidified it could be seen that they wore a vest with several buttons on it, including a large pronoun button. Rikiel smiled at them all, opening the doors and letting them pile on. The angelic soul paused to wave towards the other two souls, and Grim, before they too got on the bus, waiting quietly for any last-minute decisions.

The next bulk of the souls fell quickly, and Grim was quicker to speak this time, “Hell.”

They looked more disdained this time, though most trudged off towards the train, unable to do anything else. Pleads fell on deaf ears, begging did nothing, accept your fate. Narthy was hanging half out of the window in the front of the train with a grin, “Hey, always love to meet new friends!” He called with a malicious cackle.

Finally, Grim held out its grey hand, now clutching only three softly glowing souls, and dropped them all down at once. With a look over them that just seemed like staring thanks to the darkness that was the spot where Grim’s face should be, it spoke loudly, no uncertainty in their words, “Purgatory.” A pointed and grey finger motioned towards the van, where Marisu was sliding off the hood of her van.

“I didn’t expect anyone today.” She said, moving around to the driver’s side of her vehicle.

“I wasn’t sure where to put these three,” Grim replied, looking over the souls. “A middle-aged woman who devoted her life to her religion, but used it to hurt her children. A repentant criminal who spent his life making up for his crimes. And…” Grim noticeably turned his head down to stare at the smaller figure among them all, a child no more than twelve, “This one. A child just past the age of automatic admittance to the Heavens. I ask for input.”

Rikiel seemed to also see the child, clamoring over towards the group, “Children,” They began to say without stopping to read the room, “Are allowed into Heaven.”

“They are past the age.”

“They are a child.” Rikiel said, moving to put a winged hand on the small soul’s shoulder, “Children are not considered evil, and Purgatory is for those who are too evil for Heaven and--”

“I know what Purgatory is for,” Grim spoke, fingers tapping against xir staff as they tightened xir grip to reposition it. “I will allow them to go with you. Do not dare to question my knowledge again.”

Rikiel leads the soul back towards their bus without another word, leaving just Grim, the souls, and Marisu to discuss. There was a momentary silence as the air was allowed to clear, and Marisu spoke as she walked towards the group, away from her van.

“The first one, the middle-aged woman. How devout was she?”

“Oh, very,” Grim replied.

“How badly did she treat her children?”

“One of them died on the streets.”

“That is murder.”

“She did not do it herself.”

Marisu suddenly seemed as conflicted as Grim, turning to look at the soul, now in the perfectly seen shape of a woman, long hair, and a silver cross around her neck. “I understand your difficulty in sorting her. What did she do with her devotion?”

“Opened charities for the homeless.”

“But not her child?” “Not her child, and no one like her child.”

“Sympathy with conditions nullifies the original goodness of intentions.”

Grim made a small noise of consideration, looking towards the soul as well, fingers clicking against the wood of the scythe once more before it spoke, words just as chilling as before, “You are right, guardian. The balance has been tipped in favor of evil, it seems.”

The soul looked shocked, eyes wide, and she opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out no matter how hard she tried, and Marisu looked towards Grim, “Can you hear her?”

“Yes.”

“What is she saying?”

“She is calling us monsters and saying she deserves to be in Heaven.”

Marisu looked as stoic as ever, though she moved to place a gentle hand on the second soul, the soul of the criminal, “Come with me.” She said, leading them towards her van. It seems the decision was understood through them all, as even Narthy paused to reopen the doors on his train, looking towards grin with a manic smile.

“Hell.” Grim finally spoke, pointing towards the train. Compelled to walk despite her want to do anything else, the soul turned and marched towards the train, where Narthy giggled, shutting the doors right behind her.

The guardian gave a wave before he started up his train, grinning before the train took off, slowly but surely. Grim did not care either way about the idea of being on the train for as long as the souls would be, but for them it was torture.

Marisu was loading up the soul in her van, pausing to hand him a small plastic wrapper of peanut butter crackers before she turned and gave a wave to Grim, climbing in and starting up her van. It sputtered a bit but did start, and the guardian turned around and drove off. Rikiel left long ago, realizing they would not be needed, and soon enough Grim was left very alone at the crossroads.

Uncaring, unbothered, neutral.

Grim turned, looking at all the exits the guardians had taken and found no one there. With a quiet tapping against xir scythe, a grey hand raised it into the air before bringing it down on the ground with a thunk, and then they were somewhere else.

Quiet, warm energy filled the room they were in, soft light covering everything in the room and making Grim stand out more than it would in general. The very absence of anything that peaked out from under their cloak swallowed up any light, quite the alarming sight in such a quaint living room. Earth toned furniture and paintings of cats and flowers hung everywhere, a blue and white rug just in front of a brown couch on the far wall and a large TV on the other wall across from it. An archway led to the kitchen, though right now the lights were turned off and only the soft blue light from the coffee maker shone in the darkness.

Grim turned, spotting the exit into the hallway and moving towards it. To anyone else, it would seem like he was floating, and in a way he was, floating into the hallway and stopping by the door to gently rest his scythe by the door. A soft jingling drew his attention, and Grim looked down to see a cat staring up at him with big eyes before it slowly sat, another jingle from the bell on its collar sounding, and gave a soft meow.

The cat was a soft golden color that faded into white, a simple black collar around her neck. She meowed again, and Grim felt compelled to lean down, putting a cold hand on her back and petting her slowly. The cat purred before she stood and meowed again, trotting off.

Grim liked the cat.

There was a silence in the house, curiously enough, and Grim found themself curious as they moved forward, looking into the dark bedroom on the left to find no one, following suit with every other room in the home. They… knew he was home, which was where the slight confusion came in, and with a begrudging thought, they moved towards the bookcase in the office. The office followed suit with the rest of the house, warm lighting, accepting energy. Books littered the surfaces of the tables and desks within, the computer on the main desk on with links open to an online store. 

Grim paid no mind to the computer as it moved to the bookcase, curling grey fingers around the edge and pulling it open with inhuman strength. The wall behind the bookcase looked normal, though to anyone who had a skilled eye there was a noticeable difference. The paint here was just slightly newer, a tint off, and Grim pulled on it as well, sliding the false wall to the side. It led to a room far more different than the rest of the house, the lighting bright and LED-based rather than warm and inviting. The walls and floors were tile and concrete, a small staircase leading down into the basement. Mementos from an unknown past were scattered around on tables, a stolen ATM in the corner and a stained baseball bat leaned against it, bags, masks, and gloves on a table, with far more in the room that Grim didn’t care enough to investigate as xe moved towards the stairs.

Floating down without a noise, Grim came upon the scene of a man standing in the middle of the basement, staring at a tiled area in the corner that took up a rather considerable part of the small basement. The basement was similar to the room upstairs, cold and harsh lighting, an empty cement and tiled space that was the direct opposite of the rest of the home. 

Grim was known for being silent, and just as xe was about to announce xir presence, the man spoke.

“You bring a chill into the room when you arrive, have I told you that? It would be unnerving to others, but since I know it’s you…” The man turned, smiling at Grim, “I think I like it.”

“Hello, Neil.”

“Hello, Grim.” The man replied, smiling as he moved to walk towards the reaper, “How was your day, love?”

“Long.”

It was… different around Neil. When it was around Neil, it felt… No, it just felt. That was shocking in its own right, though it didn’t start like that. It took many, many meetings and a fist-fight before Grim ended up realizing there was some sort of bubbling feeling within them when they were forced to reap with souls of the victims.

Neil was not a good person. He would most definitely be sorted to Hell when he died despite Grim’s personal feelings, that was their job after all. They didn’t have to like it, they didn’t like it, but it… had to be done.

But Neil wouldn’t die for a long while, surely, and he hadn’t killed since Grim began visiting regularly. Surely he had an entire lifetime to make up for it…? Purgatory was better than Hell. That was a conversation for another time, Grim considered, as Neil reached him and grabbed his cold hands without a hint of hesitation.

Grim wasn’t sure what it felt, it had been longer than they remembered since the Reaper’s Neutrality had no hold on an aspect of them. Was it love? Perhaps. Enamoration? Maybe. But they liked it. They liked it a lot.

“Let’s go upstairs, alright?” Neil said, smiling again.

“What were you doing down here?” Grim inquired, pausing before it lifted a hand to cup Neil’s face, “Are you bothered by it again?”

“I guess it sort of dawned on me who I used to be.”

“It was acts of what you perceived to be justice.”

Neil didn’t reply, how could he? He just offered another smile, tugging on Grim’s hand, “Let’s go upstairs, love. I don’t want to be down here anymore.”

Grim nodded, following after Neil up the stairs and out of the false wall, closing up the bookcase behind them. Neil walked out of the office, speaking a bit louder for Grim to hear him, “I know you can’t eat, but do you want something to eat?”

“I dissolve it within the shadows.” Grim responded as he followed Neil into the kitchen, watching the lights turn on as Neil hit the switch, lighting up the homey kitchen. It was just as warm as the rest of the house, tan tiles, and brown cabinets with spices and coffee mugs on the counter.

“Well, would you like something to dissolve within the shadows then?”

“I would enjoy a bagel.”

Neil gave a soft chuckle, moving to open the bread box, “As you wish, dear.”

The reaper took a seat near the bar, not that it needed to sit at all. It was… just something it saw Neil doing and took after. Most of its behavior here was just mimicking its boyfriend, following what the mortal did to make him more comfortable.

Grim would truly like to understand the feelings he held for Neil, but with no past reference, it was hard to tell. The others would condemn him for becoming so entangled with this mortal’s life, and Grim knew that Heaven would most likely banish him if they found out, that was to say nothing of what the entire otherworldly plane would do. Would his decisions be called into question? Reversed? Reviewed?

Perhaps, xe thought, that was a problem for another time, a time when Neil wasn’t toasting a bagel for a being that couldn’t eat and looking over his shoulder at xem, smiling. A time when Grim could focus on something else other than the soft brown of his hair, and the way he always wore the same white button-up, black pants attire even though he had a variety of clothes in his wardrobe because it ‘suits my personality’.

Another time, when Grim could go back to being what it was always supposed to be. 

Uncaring, unbothered, neutral.

9/9/19

But maybe neutrality was dangerous, maybe Grim didn’t want to be what it was supposed to be anymore. These feelings always crept up on him when he visited Neil, pushed their way to the front of xir mind, and stayed there, eating away at them until they finally excused themself and returned to the crossroads.

The crossroads were truly the only places they were truly, fully neutral. The Grim Reaper’s Neutrality extended throughout it’s life, into it’s memories and thoughts and feelings, but at the crossroads it was different, it was more so. The neutrality wasn’t just some blanket feeling of uncaring, some numbness that made the world feel fuzzy and thick-- at the crossroads, it was clear, the ability to think and reason came easier than in other planes, and it was a wonder Grim ever left the crossroads to visit Neil anymore. At the crossroads, Grim could reason that they were bordering on wrongness, that the enamoration it held for a mortal wasn’t right, and yet… At the end of every day, after collecting souls from around the world, answering the orders of a sister that would never notice him and he barely remembered, Grim found his way back to Neil.

Back to warm lighting and the smell of cinnamon, back to soft cats and softer mortal hands, back to the one thing that Grim has felt in a long, long time.

[penninstitute]

CASE #9200529

Statement recovered from a journal of an unnamed author, claiming to be the Axeman of New Orleans. Statement recovered May 29th, 1920, original date unknown.

I love the sweet sound of jazz. It relaxes the gnawing and pressure inside my head to pick up an axe and swing. Dear reader, do you know the sensation? The pounding of your own heart in your ears, this building pressure that if you don’t relieve your head will explode? I feel it so very often. You may not, of course, considering that you are mortal and I.... am not.

I used to be. I used to be a mortal, small and weak such as yourselves, but always had an urge. One that drove me to find the enlightenment that I eventually reached, creating the monster that you, dear reader, may know as the Axeman. 

I like that name, it is rather intimidating. It instills a fear in your hearts whenever you hear it- the Axeman of New Orleans, although that is not where I hail from. I hail from far away- somewhere you may have never heard of. Or maybe you have, in your books about Hell and whatnot. 

You may wonder if I feel remorse. My answer is simple- no. I feel no such sadness for slaughtering you humans, in fact, I find it quite rewarding. Fulfilling, if you will. It gives me a purpose on this plane so that I may not die out of utter boredom. But I cannot die, not anymore, for I am not mortal, and I am quite close to the Angel of Death. You should know if you read my letter, it was published everywhere.

When I gave my life to the Violence I was weak. Weak and human, barely able to fend for myself, bullied and beaten for a lot of my childhood. Was it even a childhood? Can one who was never truly human have a childhood?

But I started feeling the urge, the pressure, and I killed for the first time in my life. It felt good to slam the axe into my mother’s brain, her skull cracking and caving under the sharp blade of my weapon. Her brains spilled out all over the pillow. She didn’t even scream. She whispered my human name and something in her native Italian, though, in horror, when she saw me above her. There was a glint in my eye and a grin spread across my face. 

My father was next. He woke up when the spray of his wife’s brain and blood hit his face from the spot in the bed next to him. The drunken bastard was the one that yelled at me. I didn’t want any of that, so I swung the axe into his mouth, unhinging his jaw and slicing through the tongue. I slammed again, and eventually the top part of his head was detached from the rest of his body. It was quite the sight to behold, my dearest reader. It was beautiful.

I cleaned up after that and went to a local jazz club where I came down from my murderous high. I love that music. It would be a shame to kill someone who created it, you know? I mean, a saxophone player without any hands isn’t much of a saxophone player. 

That night, when I slept in my bed so soundly for the first time in ages, a vision was beheld to me. It changed me into the person I am today. A monster, a demonic spirit full of all this rage against you humans. It was only a year later when I found myself in New Orleans, a place full of the music that I love, but also of so many idiotic people.

And the pressure in my head grew. The Violence was speaking to me, telling me I must kill, that I must feed it. Feed it with the violence and the murder. And that’s what I did over some nights in this gorgeous city. I killed six people. I almost killed more, but it can be tricky sometimes, when you’re in a frenzy. But they will be dead soon. 

As I write this, I’m heading to Satan knows where. The unbridled anger inside of me desperately calls for me to kill, kill, kill, and I will do that. The United States of America needs a monster like me. I can kill so much, I can bring so much horror and rot and blood and death into this world. The Violence says that I must transform this world into another living Hell. I will do what I must.

If you are reading this, you found my journal. Congratulations. Who knows how or why you may have it in your possession, but I hope you love this token of the Axeman, the bringer of Slaughter...

See you in Hell.

FOLLOW-UP NOTES

- For obvious reasons, this statement is... incredibly difficult to do follow-up on. The Axeman of New Orleans was a real figure, an American serial killer active in New Orleans, Louisiana (and surrounding communities, including Gretna), from May 1918 to October 1919. He was never identified, and the murders are unsolved to this day.

- A majority of the Axeman’s victims were Italian immigrants or Italian-Americans, leading some to believe the killings were ethnically motivated, but if this statement holds any truth to it, that may not be the case.

- It’s questionable if the Axeman was a demon, though this statement claims he was human... once. He seems to believe that he became something else, and it is assumed that that something else is a demon. I can’t exactly disprove this aspect of the statement.

- There is a famous letter written by the Axeman that was published, which is also in our files and can be found here. It is interesting how, oftentimes, statements will tie music and violence together. I wonder if there’s something more to that.

[brinteylovesaliens]

100 Followers!

Woooo!!

Okay, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I’ll tell you all a bit about me, 100 things.

1: my name is Britney, which took me 3 tries to spell correctly

2: got a humanoid alien? I’d like to date them

3: I’m 5 feet tall. 1.52m for non-Americans

4: I’m Canadian, born and raised

5: I’ve never traveled outside of Canada, but would like to

6: I’m a misanthrope

7: I’m the youngest of 6 biological children

8: I also have a younger brother, we adopted him when he was an adult

9: it basically went “you’re my brother now” “oh, okay”

10: I play tabletop RPG

11: one of my characters once burned her own face killing a rat

12: another one ended a war using her bra as a slingshot

13: I sang in my highschool choir, alto

14: we had one performance and then disband

15: I’m an avid reader

16: I have curly hair, ringlets curls

17: I have 11 nieces and nephews

18: this doesn’t include fur babies in the family

19: my oldest nephew was killed at age 18

20: my dad died when I was 13

21: I didn’t meet my maternal grandparents until I was 17

22: my paternal grandmother was murdered when my dad was a teen

23: I’m related to the longest-running Prime Minister of Canada, through my mother

24: I’d consider myself a socialist

25: I have had quite a few dreams that could be described as premonitions

26: I’m not a fan of seafood

27: I’m Bi

28: still not out to my mom yet

29: I’ve an unhealthy obsession with serial killers

30: I never want to meet one, but I read about then as much as I can

31: I consider myself a goodish person

32: my bestie is my brother-in-law

33: I auditioned for a theater program for collage

34: I got in!

35: I went into a law program instead

36: I didn’t finish the program

37: I’m the one my friends go to for relationship advice

38: his is hilarious because I’m horrible at romantic relationships

39: I can’t say the word cinnamon unless I say it slow

40: comes out as “cimmanon”

41: I used to be really good at maths

42: and spelling

43: not so much now

44: I once, recently, used a math formula to determine the penis size of a celebrity

45: no, I will not share the formula

46: I coloured by hair for the first time at age 12

47: I have 2 tattoos, both shooting stars

48: I need more tattoos

49: I dream in colour

50: whoaaaaaaa we’re halfway there

51: I once dreamed of my death, it was very violent

52: I now refuse to go to a specific town because I want to avoid that death

53: I love online shopping

54: my first boyfriend cheated on me with a friend of ours

55: I stayed friends with him for almost 10 years after that

56: my first, middle, and last names all have 7 letters each

57: I have a voice kink

58: I got to meet Lance Henricksen, who is one of my voice crushes

59: my bestest friend in the whole world is my immediate older sister

60: she’s my non-romantic soulmate

61: I learned how to control my dreams when I had night terrors

62: I most definitely love Star Trek

63: I forget my age on the regular

64: I’m 34 as of March 2020 (currently September 2020)

65: I suffer from chronic migraines

66: I’ve been wearing glasses since I was age 2

67: I’m a console gamer, Playstation mostly

68: when walking stairs, I have to end on my right foot

69: giggity

70: I eat candies in groups of 3

71: I’ve only ever returned an item to the store once

72: it was traumatic due to horrible customer service so I’ve not done it since

73: I’m right-handed

74: I prefer to watch the movie/TV adaptation before reading the book

75: hockey is life

76: I avoid conflict like the plague

77: I have a whole lotta weird trivia roaming around in my brain

78: are we there yet? Geezus

79: I’m a Marvel girl

80: for someone who isn’t great at spelling, I’m an excellent proof-reader

81: I feel weird when i have a crush on a guy a few years younger than me

82: I have no problem having a crush on a man closer to my grandfather’s age though

83: I use “Daddy AF” to describe a lot of my crushes

84: and “Santa AF” to describe Roger Taylor

85: Maximus Catimus is the name of my cat

86: the year I was born

87: I once got to spend the night in Science World, a science museum in Vanvouver, B.C.

88: I wanted to sleep in the bat cave but my friend was too scared and begged me to stay with her elsewhere

89: I wanted to be a volcanologist when I was younger

90: Machu Pichu is where it’s at, yo!

91: gawd this list is long

92: I

93: Fucking

94: love

95: Merch!

96: I really wanna know why Tribbles are mortal enemies of the Klingon Empire

97: I have a scent allergy

98: I once followed a guy walking his dog for 6 blocks out of my way

99: worth it

100: the idea of being married kinda scared me

Well, that’s it. Thanks for sticking around!

[bisexualstokes-archive]

Hellbound

Rating: Teen+ Word Count: 11,827 Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Suicide mention Characters: Nick Stokes, Gil Grissom Summary: Nick has been acting increasingly reckless after Warrick’s death, and Grissom tries to approach him about it, but Nick is too distracted by his determination to bring a dangerous serial killer to justice. Notes:  I just want to send a thank you to everyone who supported me, listened to me, provided feedback or even just “liked” posts I made about this fic. You all kept me going, this fic probably wouldn’t have happened without all of you! <3

Set in Season 9, after "Say Uncle."

@impossiblepluto, @altschmerzes, @dickgrysvn, @chasingeverybreakingwave, @hands-christian-handersen, @letswaitforme, @underdefined67, @deltajackdalton, @dannilea, @lyingthroughwhispers, @midwrites, @hawaiianohana15, and anybody else who has been eager with anticipation for this fic...IT’S HERE.

Read it on A03

He didn’t hesitate to chase after the so-called “police officer” that ran out of the liquor store with a woman’s purse. Part of him knew it was a stupid idea, to chase after the pseudo-cop without backup. He had even sent his backup away. But some deep rooted instinct had told Nick Stokes to run into the eye of the storm, and he wasn’t going to drag Riley Adams into that storm without knowing she was capable. He told her to call it in, to go help the woman that was pushed by the suspect. He heard her speaking quickly into the radio as he began to sprint.

He didn’t hesitate to pursue the suspect, even as shots were being fired back at him. He’s stared down the barrel of a gun far too many times to be intimidated by a few stray bullets whizzing past his ear. He had only taken a few pauses, to catch his breath, to gather his bearings, to convince the suspect that it was over, and to hear Riley call out to him from the alley, telling him that the now deceased suspect had company in the dumpster turned grave.

He did hesitate, however, as he stared down into the dumpster, staring at his multiple reflections in the shards of broken glass, illuminated by the neon sign in the alleyway. In this moment, he realized that he easily could have landed in that very dumpster. He walked back through the building, the sweat on his skin cooling down his body, the adrenaline surging through this veins slowed to a stop as he spotted every single bullet that he had dodged. He met up with Riley in the alley, nodding before she could even ask the question, “are you okay?” Riley began to talk, to hypothesize on what may have led that poor woman to this dumpster, before offering to walk back to the car and grab their kits so they could start processing.

Nick was only half listening, still panting, the sound of police sirens ringing loud in his ears. He once again stared into the broken shards of glass, and he saw a very distinctive expression in his eyes. An expression he had seen in other reflections; in a suspect’s house, in the one-way mirror of the interrogation room, in a plexiglas box six feet under the ground. It was the expression of a man who was painfully aware of his own mortality, and how easily his time on this earth could come to an end.

But that didn’t stop Grissom from reminding him anyway.

“You know, Nick, you’re lucky you’re not in here, too.”

He could hear the anger and concern in Grissom’s voice, but what stung the most was the notes of disappointment. It was in an alley, just like this one, where Nick had strolled by. He was in the midst of a daydream, of waking up next to a beautiful red haired woman. His hand clutched a piece of paper with a name and a phone number.

A piece of paper which dropped, and that he had forgotten all about when he saw a man sitting on the ground next to a parked car with the engine still running. The man was sobbing, clinging onto a body. Out of instinct, he had began to run towards the scene, shouting immediately to the man. He dug out his phone from his pocket, ready to call 911, but he saw another man, previously hidden in the shadows. The man was speaking in a loud, rushed voice, barking out orders. It was then that the sirens that his mind had previously filtered into white noise connected to the bloody mess that lay ahead.

To this day, he still can’t connect the sobbing man to Gil Grissom. The man, clinging to Warrick’s body as if he was about to fly away at any minute, had a certain darkness, a sadness unlike anything Nick’s ever seen before. He’s met with the parents, the siblings, the lovers of victims before, and seen this look of despair, after losing someone so important to them that they just can’t deal without. It’s a look he never thought he’d see on the face of his mentor, and it just did not suit him. Nick’s stomach had churned as Warrick’s body was covered, and he finally got a good look at Grissom, at the massive amount of blood on his shirt, his hands, even his face, which had transferred onto him as he clutched onto the lifeless body of a colleague, a close friend...a son.

But that broken man, sitting on the ground, clutching a bloodied jacket like a lost child holding a blanket, was not the same man that Nick had looked to when he was in need of a leader, someone to give him guidance. When he needed to get approval on something, to solve a case and bring justice to the victim and their family. When he was in need of support, as he cling onto a human arm, desperate for connection...when he he needed a father.

The bloody mess, however, he had no trouble in connecting to the lifeless body of his best friend, Warrick Brown. It was an image that stayed with him even after the wake, after the funeral. It was another image that haunted his nightmares, but it was a nightmare he didn’t particularly mind, because it was a way of seeing him again. He would always try to talk to him in his dreams, but Warrick would just be still, blood oozing from his mouth.

“Understood,” Nick responded, knowing that Grissom suffered the same, if not worse nightmares.

Super Dave arrived to the scene a couple minutes later, releasing the entire dumpster to be transported back to the lab. Nick collected his kit and stared up at the window, where the liquor store thief had fallen through. It was peculiar to Nick, because that part of the building had seemed abandoned when he chased the suspect through it last night. He told Riley not to wait up and headed towards the shadow, but nobody was there.

He found himself leaning against the window, contemplating on how maybe he was just tired, Halloween night is always a long shift, overtime is guaranteed. He even considered the possibility that maybe he saw a ghost. He can still hear the screaming of the man who fell through the window, after all.

He looked down at the spot where the dumpster once sat, and for the second time that day he could have sworn he saw another ghost standing in the alley. This ghost looked like Warrick, staring up at Nick and shaking his head. But he didn’t look like the Warrick in his nightmares. There was no blood, his clothes were clean.

Nick’s mouth gaped open, he pinched himself to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. Warrick was still there, putting his hands in his pockets before turning away.

Nick blinked, and Warrick was gone.

———————————----

The Strip never had a nighttime. Neon flooded the buildings, the street, even the air, giving tourists the illusion that it was still early enough to spend some time exploring the various casinos and restaurants. Swarms of tourists and locals alike frequented this adult playground in the middle of the desert, and Nick was no exception.

He was wandering aimlessly, having just parted ways with Greg Sanders. They had gone out for a drink, after a particularly rough case, in which Nick had yet another brush with a suspect and a gun. The case initially started as a gun store robbery, and escalated into a hostage situation. They had tracked down the troubled teenager, who was threatening to shoot up an entire office that his abusive dad worked at. Nick thought that he could talk down the suspect, because that poor kid just looked so scared. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy, especially once he found out that the abusive dad had let the kid’s mother die of an overdose without calling the police.

So naturally, he went into the office, alone with no gun, and instantly the suspect freaked out, pointing the gun at Nick. Nick remained calm, faking a story to try and talk down the youth who was starting to put just the slightest amount of pressure on the trigger. The cool and calm approach didn’t work. The suspect was yelling at Nick, telling him to “stay away” and was threatening to “blow his head off.” Nick decided to try some scare tactics, describing what it’s really like to shoot a gun, describing what really happens when someone’s head is shot at point blank range, which definitely scared him alright...into shooting one of the hostages.

It was then, that Nick decided enough was enough, batted the gun out of the teen’s hand, and pinned him to the ground.

Everyone considered Nick a hero, and the entire crime lab and police department went out to celebrate, but Nick’s heart just wasn’t in it. An innocent man died because he goaded the suspect into pulling that trigger, and it’s a sheer miracle that bullet wasn’t fired at him instead.

He didn’t know what time it was, but it must have been getting late. Many of the night shift crew were starting to filter out, although some of them, Nick included, were given the night off. He had sulked into the bathroom, to wash his face, and he could have sworn he saw Warrick in the mirror, standing behind him, but when he spun around, Greg was there instead.

“Hey, man, you all right?” Greg asked him, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why aren’t you out celebrating?”

“Just...needed a minute,” Nick mumbled. He turned the sink on and splashed water onto his face.

“Too much to drink?”

Not nearly enough, Nick thought to himself.

“Yeah, something like that.”

There was silence, disturbed only by two streams of liquid, flowing in the same direction, in the same pace, but in two separate worlds.

Nick turned the flow off, cleared his throat, and headed towards the door, giving a slight nod to his friend, who gave him a quick, confused look.

“Hey, uh, I was about to invite some, uh...friends back to my apartment if...you wanted to--”

“Nah, G, I’m beat, I’m probably just gonna head home. Why don’t you ask Riley? She’s been giving you looks all night, man.”

Nick did his best to plaster an encouraging smile on his face. Greg chuckled, as he zipped up his pants and washed his hands. It was the first time Nick saw Greg crack a smile in a long time.

“Not really my type, if you know what I mean. Besides, inter-departmental relationships don’t, uh...don’t seem to be going so well lately.”

The smile slid off of Nick’s face, and he nodded, holding open the door. He paused, his lips parted, he took a breath in, as if to say something. But instead, his tongue poked out and licked his lips and he gave Greg a half-smile.

“Yeah...I’ll see you around, Greggo.”

“Hey, Nick--” Greg began, but the door swung shut behind him. Nick found himself wading through the crowded bar. The bar had been dimly lit, a thin layer of smoke flooded the air. There were voices, too many voices for Nick to focus on, he heard mixtures of both serious and irrelevant conversations alike. There was loud music, pounding at such a high volume through the speakers that Nick’s ears felt like they were going to bleed.

He leaned onto the bar counter, to pay his tab, but the bartender told him it was taken care of. Nick didn’t bother asking who paid it, because in that moment he felt a thousand eyes staring at him. He felt everyone closing in on him. He felt everyone patting him on the back, telling him, “good job!” He felt the admiration and support from all of the Crime Lab and Police Department, and yet, he felt so alone.

He also felt like he couldn’t breathe, and ran out of the bar.

He checked his watch, it was half past midnight. After pulling a double to finish that robbery case, he wasn’t expected back at work until much later that night. He knew he wasn’t going to much, if any sleep in that time, so he decided to stay out a bit longer.

Nick remembered the first time he came to Vegas, during his college years, his frat house took a trip to celebrate the start of their senior year. Due to those celebrations, his memory of that trip was hazy, but he’ll never forget seeing the Strip for the first time. He had explored every casino, checked in to every hotel, ate at every restaurant. It was during a taxi cab ride back to the airport when he realized that this was a place he could call home.

For some reason, he also can’t seem to forget that taxi cab ride. He barely spoke to the driver, as he was suffering from one of the worst hangovers he ever had in his life, even though at the time he had zero regrets about it. He remembered the driver asking him why he came to Vegas in the first place, and he remembered the back and forth about college and majors that followed. The driver said he was studying in the same field as Nick, mentioned something about a lecture in San Francisco he was thinking about going to. Perhaps the driver stuck out to Nick because he inspired Nick to spend a weekend in San Francisco, more for educational purposes than pleasure.

Perhaps the driver stuck out to Nick because he’s never quite realized that he met that driver again a few years later, when both men had graduated college, and when Nick transferred to the Las Vegas Crime Lab.

He wished he could feel the same joy and wonder the he once felt, that first time he came to Vegas. He had somehow always managed to keep at least some of that sensation, even with all of the crime scenes he’s had to work on this street. Maybe the Strip had stayed as bright as the smiles on his friends and family’s faces, as he toured them around Vegas. Maybe he was able to still see the vibrance, as he walked side by side with the team, chatting about cases and non-work related topics alike.

But as he walked past tourists who were in awe, he found that the Strip just wasn’t as bright or vibrant. The curtain had been pulled away, he saw the Strip for its true artificial nature. There is nothing that can capture the youthful joy that the Strip attempts to convey. He’s watched relationships and families fall apart because of the gambling addiction that the Strip doesn’t just act as a home for such a terrible thing, it encourages it.

He came to a crosswalk, and ignored his mother’s warning in his head, “look both ways before crossing the street.” He nearly tripped as he stepped down onto the street pavement and lifted his head up to the other side of the street, contemplating entering one of the casinos and hanging around the slots or blackjack table for a bit.

He stopped, in the middle of the crosswalk, when he saw a man standing on the sidewalk in front of him, making direct eye contact with him. The man didn’t look like a tourist, and was dressed in a green jacket. A tall, handsome man with a short afro and shining eyes.

It was Warrick.

He blinked, and Warrick was still there. He pinched himself, and Warrick was still there.

“Warrick?” Nick blurted out, he was about to take a step forward when a horn blared loudly in the air, keeping him glued to the spot. He barely had time to register the car that sped past him--which would have hit him had he moved forward. He spun his head to the left, and followed the colorful blur nearly grazing his feet to his right. He could hear voices from all directions, yelling at him, “get out of the street, you moron!”

He filtered out the shouts, and instead directed his focus back to the man in the green jacket, who had already turned away and was walking away.

“WARRICK!” Nick shouted. The world felt tilted, perhaps an effect of the whiplash from his most recent near miss. He broke into a short jog to try and catch up with the man, but the sidewalk was more crowded than ever before. He waded his way through people as swiftly and politely as he could, but Warrick was getting further and further away.

He kept shouting his name, but Warrick never turned to look back at him. He briefly wondered why he was even in pursuit, Warrick Brown is dead. He saw his body. He carried the casket. He buried him.

Finally, he caught up to the man, and startled him after grabbing onto his shoulder, spinning home around.

“Rick?” Nick panted, but the confused civilian, who was not Warrick Brown, gave Nick a confused look.

“S-Sorry, you...you look like someone I knew,” Nick stammered, quickly removing his hand from the man’s shoulder. The man gave Nick a rude gesture and walked away.

Stupid...He’s dead. Warrick’s dead and he’s not coming back.

He thought he was past this. He thought he was done seeing ghosts. It’s been weeks since he said his final goodbye to his friend. The time for grieving was over, and he knew that Warrick wouldn’t want Nick to live in this kind of misery for the rest of his life.

Besides, the team needed him. Grissom was having a rough time with all of this, between what happened in that alley and Sara leaving him...again. Catherine needed someone to help her focus, she was one of the strongest women Nick has ever known, but he knows her well enough to know she’s been working far too many hours as of late...then again, they all have. Greg needed some guidance, though he’s come far from his lab rat days, Nick noticed him volunteering to work in the lab,  lingering in DNA, still holding onto days of old where he didn’t have to face the horror displayed in crime scenes. Riley...well she’s new, but she was thrown into a situation that’s...tough to say the least. She didn’t know Warrick, but she works in void of his shadow.

He needed to be strong. The rock of the team was gone, the threads were slowly unraveling and he felt it was his responsibility to keep everything together, before he unravels, too.

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose, and decided maybe he should head home after all. Or, he could walk into this casino, have a drink, play some cards before heading home. He was just about to enter the revolving doorway, when his phone began to ring.

“Stokes,” he answered. Why didn’t he check the caller ID? His head was throbbing. He should have let it go to voicemail. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now.

“Nick, I’m sorry, I know it’s your night off, but we just got a call, we got a 419 at a hotel on Fremont Street, and Catherine and I are tied up right now.”

“I can handle it,” Nick sighed. “Just me, or--?”

“Nobody, you’re solo on this one. I just called Riley, and Greg’s maxed out on overtime.”

“Night of the pifflings, huh?”

There was a pause from Grissom, Nick could almost hear a short huff on the other line, the beginnings of a chuckle, perhaps?

“Thanks, Nicky.”

Nick closed his phone and walked away from the casino doors, yet another connection to Warrick lost on him. He had visited that same casino a couple years back, to play cards, with a friend.

———————————----

The scene was a bloodbath. There was no other way to put it, and although Nick has seen plenty before this one, and will most certainly see more in the future, there was something just so...disturbing to him about this particular scene.

The victim was young, far too young, as they always are. A young red-haired woman, stabbed to death. Her entire body was covered in cuts, in varying lengths and depths. Her body was splayed out on the ground, her arm reaching for something that wasn’t in front of her. They found her phone kicked underneath the couch a few feet away, perhaps that’s what she was reaching for.

They didn’t find any prints, knives, hairs or fibers. Nick had searched the room inch by inch, looking for anything that could direct him to finding out who did this. The deranged murderer who did this knew how to work clean, despite the mess of blood he left behind.

Which usually means it’s the work of someone who has done this before. Someone who gets off on the act of the crime, but knows how to ensure they won’t get caught doing it.

Nick thought he had reached a dead end, once he had gotten back to the lab and assembled all of the pictures on the layout table. The victim’s parents claimed they didn’t know anything about their daughter getting into any sort of trouble--they didn’t even know she was in Vegas. The elevator footage for the hotel she was found in was a bust, she entered the elevator alone on the final night of her life. No orders for room service. She was employed by an office in Houston, Texas, she had taken a week’s vacation. She didn’t have any angry co-workers, and her boss spoke highly of her and her relationships within the office. No threatening emails or text messages.  

All signs pointed to this crime being completely random. The poor woman came to Vegas, presumably for a vacation, and ended up escaping to her doom instead.

“Whoa,” Catherine exclaimed as she stood in the doorway, staring at Nick’s gallery of pictures laid out on the table and bulletin board. “Need any help?”

Nick stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, he hadn’t slept in over a day. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the massive amounts of blood on the floor of the hotel room, of the woman’s arm extended out, reaching for help, of all of the stab wounds on her body. He hadn’t heard her voice before, but he can’t help but imagine her cries and screams as her assailant sliced her.

“Nah, I think I’ve reached a dead end. Trail went cold.”

“Have you gotten any sleep lately?”

Nick frowned and shook his head. Catherine stepped into the room and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe you should get some rest, Nicky.”

“I’m...I’ll be fine. Still adjusting to the shift change, you know?”

Catherine looked back at him with a small twinge of sadness in her eyes.

“Sometimes you just need to look at it with fresh...eyes…”

Her voice trailed off, and she picked up a picture of the victim, a full body shot.

“This looks exactly like a scene I worked last month,” Catherine told him. She ran out and came back minutes later with a file of crime scene photos.

“Alexis Williams, found in a motel room. We didn’t find anything at this scene, either.”

Catherine set her photos next to Nick’s. Both women were laid out the same way, the same position, one arm extended outward, reaching. The other arm wrapped underneath their stomach. The knife slices were different, but as Nick kept staring he noticed a striking similarity on the victims’ back shoulder.

“Hang on...you see that? These cuts are different, like the skin was being peeled back. It almost looks like...an ‘M’ shape...I think we got a serial on our hands.”

“You mean, you got a serial on your hands. I wish I could help, Nicky, but I’ve got too much on my plate. Besides, I bet you could handle it.”

The corners of his mouth raised into a smile.

“A solo serial case? You think so?”

“I know so. You’ve been a CSI 3 for what, five years now? You got this, Nicky.”

Catherine handed him the case file, and left Nick to work. During his investigation, he had found another case file on one other victim, a male, found in a previously four star hotel that closed shortly after his body was found. Hotel, motel, hotel...a pattern, perhaps?

Nick suspected that wasn’t the only pattern in play, as two years later, a male was found in a motel, followed shortly by another female in a different hotel. He had a hunch that the next victim, if they were unable to catch the killer by that time, would be another female.

“I hate being right,” Nick sighed, walking into the break room and throwing down a stack of files and a map onto the table in front of him. He pulled up a chair next to Catherine, who was texting someone on her phone, and drinking coffee.  Before exiting the room, she gave Nick an encouraging pat on the back, though he couldn’t help but notice the bags under her eyelids, and the same twinge of sadness in her eyes. It wasn’t just a look of misery, it was a look of loss.

Nick tried to muster up a charming smile, to try and impart some of his strength to her, but he could only just nod back before returning to work.

Six victims, five different crime scene locations, spread all over the city. This last victim was found in the same motel as the second victim. Another pattern, perhaps?

Nick was circling all of the crime scene locations on a map, when he was disturbed by an annoying whistling tune. He didn’t have to look up, he knew it was Hodges.

“You mind, Goose? I’m trying to concentrate here, man.”

“What are you, King of the Break Room? Get a desk, Stokes.”

“Would if I could,” Nick muttered.

“Speaking of Kings, I heard he’s been looking for you.”

Nick looked up from his papers at Hodges, and gave a brief glance at the man as he stood by the microwave, waiting for his food. Smelled like garlic.

He didn’t say a word, and continued staring at the map, having finished marking down all five locations. He already knew what Grissom wanted to talk to him about, and he wasn’t particularly thrilled to engage in that conversation.

Hodges sat down across from Nick, with a freshly warmed up container of spaghetti. Nick could hardly look at it without imagining the noodles as disembodied limbs, the meat as brain matter, the red sauce as blood.

“He looked a bit pissed,” Hodges continued, as if trying to elicit a reaction out of Nick.

“He always looks pissed,” Nick scoffed, and focused back on his map, when he noticed a third pattern. Connecting the dots between the five locations, he noticed that the locations formed the same exact “M” shape found on the victim’s backs.

“...I thought he was going to break something,” Hodges voice trailed in as Nick brought himself back to the world around him.

“Yeah, sounds good, Dave, I’ll-I’ll talk to you later,” Nick rose from his seat and gathered up his files and map, walking on auto-pilot to Grissom’s office.

Grissom was sitting at his desk, rubbing his forehead with a hand, holding his glasses with the other. Nick knew something was up, even beyond the conversation he knew was coming. Maybe it was another migraine. He gave a quick knock on the doorframe, and licked his lips. He could feel his body tense, his chest puffed out a little, ready for a battle.

“Hey, boss, I think I finally got somewhere in my serial case--This last vic was found in the same motel as the second vic, so, I connected the dots on a map and look at this--”

“Close the door, Nick,” Grissom told him as Nick kept talking. His voice was weary, but firm.

“It’s an ‘M’ shape! Just like the knife wounds. There’s been six victims, but five different crime scenes--each point on the ‘M’ is one of the scenes. It looks like the killer’s going back, now that the ‘M’ is completed.”

Nick watched as Grissom looked at the map, and nodded for Nick to take a seat.

“I was thinking, maybe I could go back and check all of the scenes out, compare a list of all the employees, there’s gotta be another connection that maybe will lead us to the killer.”

“Good work, Nick. I’ll look into it. Here, I’m going to need you to handle this arson on Clark Avenue. ”

Nick’s mouth gaped open as he took the stack of Nick’s files and map away from him, and handed him the assignment slip.

“What are you--You’re not taking me off the case?” Nick asked. He could feel his jaw clench, his heartbeat increased.

“I’m not taking you off, I’m just taking it over.”

“I thought we were past this, man. Catherine assigned me to this case, solo, four years ago.”

“Catherine is no longer your supervisor, I am. But...this isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Nick gulped, and his heart sank. He braced himself, for the conversation he knew was coming, but had desperately hoped they wouldn’t have.

“You...didn’t go to counseling after the office incident.”

“It wasn’t mandatory,” Nick retorted instantly. “Besides, I was working on this case and finishing my reports on a few other ones, I didn’t have time.”

He had rehearsed this conversation in his head, but Grissom veered off of the script, catching Nick off guard.

“Are you okay?” Grissom asked. Nick skipping out on therapy was nothing new to either of them, he had explained to Grissom a long time ago that it just doesn’t work for him. What does work, is eating healthy, getting as much sleep as he can, going to work.

But the levels of concern in Grissom’s voice sent a shiver down Nick’s spine. He had only been this soft towards him once before, when he had come back after his abduction a few years ago. Lots of things had changed that first day Nick came back to work, but the newly discovered emotional side to Grissom was the thing that had shocked him the most.

Nick was confused. As far as he was aware, he hadn’t been abducted again. He hadn’t been through some traumatic event to add to his already endless list of nightmares. He had made his peace with Warrick’s death, with Sara leaving for the second time. Why was Grissom being so...not Grissom?

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Nick shrugged.

“Last week, you nearly broke your arm trying to obtain evidence in a garbage compactor.

“We caught a murderous pedophile because of that evidence,” Nick pointed out.

“‘No investigation for the dead is worth hurting the living.’”

Nick scoffed and leaned back in his chair. He felt like he was being tested, like Grissom was trying to impart some wisdom through a quote or silly riddle.

“What book did you get that from?”

“I got it from you.”

Grissom made full eye contact with Nick for the first time since he walked into his office. He kept looking at Nick, directly in his eyes as he got up from his chair, and sat in the one next to Nick. Nick’s right hand was clutching onto the seat of his chair, his knuckles were growing white as he tried to maintain a casual posture, leaning his left arm over the back of the chair. He was putting on the best poker face he could muster, knowing what happened the last time Grissom approached him like this, which also happened the same day he saw the softer side of Gil Grissom.

“Your behavior recently...it...it concerns me, Nick. Between the office situation, the compactor, the two bodies in the dumpster...Riley said she even saw you smiling when you had a gun pointed in your face--”

“That woman wasn’t going to pull the trigger, Griss. She was just scared.”

“So was Mrs. Hendler.”

Nick ignored that last comment, licked his lips and continued, “If anything, Riley escalated the situation--”

“That’s not the point, Nicky. This...this recklessness isn’t you. You’re better than this. It’s not acceptable.”

“So? Write me up, then.”

“I’m not addressing this as your supervisor. I’m approaching you as your friend.”

Nick averted his eyes to the floor, a short silence hung in the air. Grissom was waiting for Nick to speak, but he had nothing to say.

So Grissom continued on, tilting his head to try and get Nick to look at him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I know that...I know things have been tough lately. I’ve...We’ve all lost so much in a short time. And I can’t lose anybody else. Especially not you.”

Nick sniffled, releasing his hand from its grip on the bottom of the chair to wipe over his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably, missing the days of old where Grissom would communicate his feelings though a short glance or a single word. This openness felt foreign, coming from him. It didn’t feel right.

It didn’t feel right in the alley, and it didn’t feel right at the funeral.

Nick tried to smile, the true, heartfelt smile that he would give Sara when they talked about their abductions, during her own rough days. The smile he would give Greg when he needed encouragement. The smile he would give Catherine, to put her mind at ease and let her know she didn’t need to worry. The smile he would give Warrick, so many times for so many reasons, as part of an unspoken pact between them. He lent them his strength in every instance, and it was Grissom who needed that strength now.

That didn’t feel right, either.

“And I’m...I’m worried, Nick, that you….that you’re…”

Nick was distracted in his attempt to smile at his mentor by his newfound confusion at Grissom, who was no longer looking at Nick. He seemed lost in his mind, which was a familiar sight to Nick, but what wasn’t familiar, was the particular redness around Grissom’s eyes. The way his lips curled up, when he was in thought, was familiar, but not the slight quiver of his bottom lip as he bit down. He seemed like he had something to tell Nick, something really important, but seemed like he didn’t want to say it.

“Just spit it out, man, c’mon,” Nick drawled in a heavy accent. He silently cursed himself for his rudeness, but Grissom didn’t seem to hear him anyway.

“I’m worried that you’re losing regard for your own life, Nick.”

Nick let out a cold, cruel laugh and stood up, knocking the chair off of its feet. He thought about leaving the office, but he had more to say. Grissom remained seated, and stared back at Nick with more patience than his real parents ever had with him.

“You think--You think I’m suicidal, or something? Me?”

Grissom opened his mouth, but Nick didn’t let him respond.

“I’ve been there before, Gris. Sometimes...Sometimes I can still feel that gun against my chin--”

Grissom had stood up and placed both hands on Nick’s shoulders, grounding his shaking body to the spot, speaking in that soft, gentle tone that was making Nick grind his teeth.

“I know, I was there.”

Grissom increased the pressure on his grip of Nick’s shoulder, to keep him rooted in reality, but it didn’t help. Nick floated back into a time he thought he was past remembering.

“Not the second time, you weren’t.”

Nick couldn’t stop the single tear from rolling down his cheek, but he didn’t care about any damaged pride at this point anyway. His body was rigid, his blood was boiling so hard and fast he thought it was going to evaporate through his skin. He could feel his breathing intensify as he wriggled himself out of Grissom’s grasp. The office felt smaller than ever, the walls were closing in. He paced back and forth, trying to control his breathing, counting down from ten in his head, mentally singing a song he hadn’t heard in years.

“It was the first night I was home after--after the hospital. I guess I...slept-walked or somethin’ and...I thought I was...I thought I was back in the...I wasn’t adjusting too good.”

Nick gulped down his tears, he did his best to reign in his voice, to speak clearly, but his accent just got thicker, words were getting harder to form.

He closed his eyes, and he was back in his bedroom, on that night he began to describe. He was on the verge of falling asleep on his bed, which felt just a bit too soft. His body was still covered in itchy, small welts, though they weren’t as intense as they were days before. There was a few of them that were open and bleeding, because he couldn’t stop scratching. He was simultaneously cold, from the lack of a blanket, which he had shoved off of himself because it made him feel like he couldn’t move, and hot because he was sweating profusely, oscillating between two worlds; his bedroom, and the box.

The television had been on in the other room, soft bird noises were chirping through the speakers as a british narrator talked indistinctly about the birds and why there were chirping. But the television turned off (later he would find out the tv had been set on a sleep timer) and the lack of noise in the house triggered something within him, because now the house was as quiet as it was when he was in the box, covered with ants, wondering which breath would be his last, and he couldn’t take it any more.

He had kept a gun in the nightstand next to him, having moved the location of his spare gun when he moved houses after his previous brush with death. In his waking nightmare, he must have opened the drawer and pulled it out, and prepared it so that all he would have to do is pull the trigger, before he pressed it against his chin, because if they weren’t going to find him now, they never would--

“Warrick...Warrick was with me, that night. He, uh...He…stopped me.”

Nick took a deep, shuddering breath, rubbing both hands against his eyes. As the stars faded from his vision, he could still see Warrick standing in front of him, telling him to “breathe” as he clutched the gun he had taken from a sobbing Nick Stokes. He kept reminding Nick that it was over, that he was with him now, that he was safe.  

“But I’m still here. And Warrick isn’t,” Nick said to the invisible ghost.

Grissom hadn’t said anything, he stood, intent on listening to Nick pour his heart out in front of him. He again placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder, his lips parted to say something, but for the second time in the last couple minutes, he was lost for words. Nick’s head throbbed as he looked into Grissom’s eyes one last time, they were filled with...shock? Anguish? Helplessness? It reminded him of the man he saw in the alley, and he looked away.

He felt stupid for saying what he said, and was full of regret. This wasn’t a therapist’s office, this was his supervisor’s office. Surely, Grissom was going to send him on mandatory leave, tell him to go get his life together.

He couldn't let that happen. It was bad enough he took the serial case from him, he couldn’t let Grissom take a few days of work away from him, too. His work was all he had, at this point. Some scumbag has been murdering people for over four years now, and he keeps getting away with it.

“So trust me when I say, that I am not suicidal, Gil.” Nick spat out in a suddenly harsh tone. “I’ve been there before, I know what it’s like, and this isn’t it. All this so called ‘recklessness?’ I’m just trying to do my damn job.”

Grissom still remained silent, but his face hardened. He almost looked angry, but also a little...disappointed? Nick couldn’t help but smile, though his smile wasn’t necessarily sincere. No strength to be transferred, only spite. Finally, this was the Gil Grissom he needed right now. This was the Grissom he was used to seeing.

This was the disappointment he always feared in this moment, he couldn’t care less.

He headed towards the door, crumpled assignment slip in hand.

“I’m not in that damn box anymore--It’s over. Sara left, again. Warrick’s dead, and I am moving on. Why can’t you?”

He threw the door to open, with such force that it bounced back against the window, nearly hitting Nick as it slammed shut behind him.

———————————

Nick muttered every curse word in his vocabulary as he drove towards the arson he was assigned to investigate. His anger wasn’t subsiding, but he was starting to feel just a bit guilty at the way he left things with his boss. He was growing less angry at Grissom, and more angry at himself, because he knew Grissom only had his best interests at heart, and on some level, he knew Grissom was right, to call him out on his behavior as of late.

He was at a stoplight, over halfway to the scene, when he noticed a familiar-looking hotel to his right. It was one of the hotels from the serial case, the one that was shut down after the first murder.

It was shut down, and yet, there was a light on in the sixth floor.

It wouldn’t take long to check and see why that light was on, and as he got to the front entrance, he noticed that one of the tampering seals was broken.

“Control, this is Charlie Oh-Three Stokes, I got suspicious activity at the Sierra Boulder Hotel off Clayton Street, I’m going to check it out.”

Nick drew out his flashlight as he entered the dark building. He could hear something, sounding like music, playing in the distance. The music was getting louder, as he ventured further into the hotel lobby.

“Charlie Oh-Three Stokes, situation advised. Nearest patrol unit is ETA ten minutes out. Is backup needed?”

“Control, no backup needed, over.”

“This is Captain Brass, Control, please send back-up to Stokes’ location. Stokes, wait for backup.”

Nick rolled his eyes as he reached the elevator. Great, now Grissom’s got Brass in on all of this, too.

The previously quiet hotel was suddenly filled with the sound of an elevator’s descent. Nick saw the meter above counting down from six to one, and he slowly drew out his gun from its holster.

“Stokes, do you copy?”

Ding! The music was at full blast now, the elevator doors opened, and Nick lowered his gun and flashlight as he came face to face with the occupant of the elevator, a radio, playing some pop song from the eighties.

He was reaching for his radio when suddenly, he heard the sound of metal clanging together. It sounded like it was coming from the hall past the dining room behind him, the kitchen, perhaps?

“LVPD!” Nick shouted, ignoring the voices on his radio. As expected, nobody responded to his announcement. The kitchen fell silent, but he could still hear the music from the elevator. He walked past the dusty chairs and tables, noticing footprints in the dust on the floor, heading through the swinging door.

He peered through the narrow window, straining his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He couldn’t see any signs of movement, and slowly pushed the door open…

Wham! His gun and flashlight flew out of his hand as something impacted the side of his head. Dazed, he stumbled backward, reaching his hands out in front of him blindly, as there was a loud crash of metal to his left. He felt someone grab him by his vest, shoving him into a wall. Nick tried to push the mystery assailant off of him, managed to swing at the figure’s face. The figure swung back, hitting Nick in the side of his face. Nick heard a scraping noise on his right, and then felt intense pain in his left shoulder as he was sliced by a sharp blade. He cried out, kicking a foot in front of him to try and push the attacker away, while also applying pressure on the wound. The attacker fell back, and Nick took the reprieve to take in the surroundings. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, his flashlight, which landed across the room, was providing a small amount of light, shining on his gun. The person attacking him seemed to be an older man, he could just barely make out a name tag on the man’s chest in a cursive font--“Marvin.”

“Nick, do you copy?”

He was about to grab the radio, tell them he needed backup, but before he could, a hand grabbed his throat, and he felt a sharp prick against his chin. He grabbed at the hand with both of his own, trying to push it away, but in doing so, the knife started to push deeper into his skin. He could feel a tiny trickle of blood pour from his chin.

The room settled into silence, broken only by ambience of Nick’s heavy breathing, the sound of distant music, and the distant whooping of police sirens. He felt hopeful, the corners of his mouth twitched into smile as he could sense the anger from the man in front of him.

“You hear that, asshole? Y’ain’t getting away with this.”

“Tell them everything’s okay,” Marvin hissed at him. “Or your head will be impaled on this knife.”

He gulped, and the cheeky smile slid off of his face. Nick knew he had very little options, if he truly wanted to get out of this alive. He was unarmed, injured, cornered with little room to run away. He was starting to panic from the all too familiar sensation of this entrapment, but it gave him an idea for escape.

He cleared his throat, feeling very conscious of the vein throbbing in his neck, and pressed the button on the side of the radio clipped to his chest.

“This is Stokes, false alarm, just some punk ass kids. Everything’s clear here, Pancho.”

Please Jim...please get the message.

There was a pause on the other end, Nick’s heart fluttered in anxiousness. He had felt slight embarrassment in using such an intimate, personal name as a codename, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Copy that, over and out.”

Marvin began to laugh, goosebumps bubbled on Nick’s arms as he sliced his other shoulder, still holding Nick by his neck. Nick could feel the front and back of his vest flop away from him. He gritted his teeth down in pain as the attacker started to hum along to the distant song, unzipping the front of Nick’s vest with the tip of the knife. Nick’s vest slid to his feet, the cord of the radio drooping along next to him. Marvin noticed this, and cut the coiled cord. He ripped the radio from its clip on Nick’s belt and crushed it with his foot.

“Quit yer squriming,” Marvin growled.

Marvin’s hand tightened around his neck as he began to poke the knife all over Nick’s body--his arms, his chest, his thighs--which made him squirm even more. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the stinging all over his body, but there were no teeth attached to his skin like there was before. His lips were becoming dry as he kept his mouth open, trying to inhale as much oxygen as he could. He was running out of air, he could feel his heart beat fast and hard against his chest. He was still gripping Marvin’s wrist with his one of his hands, using the other hand to grip onto the surface behind him as he tried to kick his feet out of his vest, so he could try to kick at Marvin again--

Marvin stopped prodding with the knife, holding it in place at Nick’s abdomen. He twisted the tip of the knife, cutting into Nick’s shirt. The sudden coldness in that region of his body sent a shiver down his spine, and he suddenly remembered seeing a stab wound in the same exact spot on the two male victims.

“I think we’re alone now,” Marvin whispered to Nick, and Nick felt the knife move away from his skin. For a split second, he was relieved, maybe Marvin was going to do something stupid and Nick would get a chance to fight back--

But before he could even come up with that scenario, he felt something impact the tear in his shirt, the tear grew larger, the edges of the tear felt wet, clinging to his skin. He felt like he was burning, like hot lava was pouring out of his body. A loud noise, almost resembling a scream, escaped his body, countered by a deep laugh from the man in front of him.

The pain was so intense he almost felt numbed by it. His breathing stopped momentarily as his body tried to reboot itself--his limbs felt limp and heavy, his hand released from Marvin’s wrist, and fell to his side. His other hand, shaking, was trying to plug the hole in his stomach, but he could feel blood oozing between his fingers.

He stared at Marvin in the face and as he let go of Nick, a wide smile spread across his face. Nick slid to the floor, and gasped, trying to inhale oxygen into his body, regain control over his breathing, but he couldn’t. He started to hyperventilate as the world began to spin, blurred by hot liquid flooding his eyes. Nick’s head fell forward, he blinked out his tears and squinted his eyes between Marvin’s legs, trying to focus on the gun a few feet ahead of him.

Marvin bent down, and pulled the knife out of Nick, drawing out a loud groan from his victim along with the bloodied blade. He then sliced Nick vertically down his torso, tearing his shirt in half. The knife was just barely touching his skin, but Nick could feel the slight sting from the blade. He reached Nick’s pants, paused, and stood up again.

“Gonna need s’more light in here,” he grumbled. He stepped away from Nick’s slumped body, stepping on top of Nick’s leg forcefully on his way to presumably find a light switch.

Nick took this opportunity to roll onto his uninjured side, and he began to sideways crawl towards the gun, one hand still gripping his bleeding abdomen.

He heard more banging, more scraping, Marvin was still humming, although a new song had begun to play in the distance. Nick did the best he could to filter out the sounds, but with every scrape of the knife against the metal counters, every thud against the metal as Marvin drummed along to the music, every inflection in Marvin’s voice, he grew more and more nauseous.

He tried to hold back everything that was rising up in his throat, tried to shove down the fear, tried to remain focused on the gun in the spotlight.

For a second, he thought he could see a pair of legs behind the gun. He forced his eyes shut as he tried to muffle another groan. He blindly pulled himself across the floor, but when he opened his eyes, the world was flooded with white light, and he let out a haunted scream, not from the pain of the stab wound, but from a memory of a systematic torture that lasted over half of a day.

“Where do you think you’re going, boy? We’re just getting started!” Marvin chortled, slicing the back of Nick’s leg. This stopped Nick from crawling for a moment, as he winced at the sudden sting in his left leg, but as soon as the stinging was tolerable, he resumed his crawling.

“C’mon, Nicky, you’re almost there,” a voice called out to him. Nick shook his head, he couldn’t be distracted by the ghost, not here, not now.

Marvin let Nick get a couple inches further, before slicing open his other leg. Nick started a tally in his head, to compare to the amount of wounds on the other victims, to have an idea of when the pain might stop...but his counting was disturbed by three more additions to the total, on three separate places on his body.

He was starting to cry fully, tears burned down his cheeks, but his skin felt cold. He could see a pale white blur in the metal cabinet next to him. How far did the knife go into his abdomen? He must be going into shock.

“Cause of death will probably be exsanguination...Do you really want to go out like that, bro?”

“N...no…..” Nick stammered, his arm reaching out to the gun, still itching slowly forward with his legs, still trying to keep the stab wound closed. He could feel something that definitely wasn’t just his skin up against his fingers.

Where the hell was his backup? Did Brass forget the significance of the nickname? He knew he was there that night, he remembered seeing him next to Warrick, before they abandoned him. Did he communicate the message to Grissom, thinking it was weird to be referred to as “Pancho?”

Nick felt something push him off of his side, onto the ground. He felt a slow, burning sensation on his back, Marvin was now slicing down his shirt, penetrating his skin with the knife deeper than the previous slices. Nick screamed, half crazed, he thought his body was being sliced in half.

But instead, it was just his shirt that was torn in half. He felt blood seep out of his new wound, but he kept crawling.

Marvin stopped humming, the music was gone. He walked on top of Nick, stepping on his head as he walked around the kitchen island, hissing at Nick to “keep quiet.”

Nick kept moving, he couldn’t stop, especially now that the psychopath was distracted, but he also couldn’t stop the sounds of his pain.

“I said, keep quiet!” Marvin shouted in a whispered voice, slicing at Nick’s forearm while stepping on his legs.

“How...how the h-hell can I keep quiet, if y-ya keep cuttin’ me?” Nick grunted in a low voice, not caring if Marvin heard him or not.

“Smooth, Nicky. Now’s probably not the best time to be a smart ass…”

“Wh-what kind of stupid name is ‘Marvin’ anyway?” Nick kept muttering.

He was just inches away from arm’s reach of the gun…

He heard soft curse words just as he was thinking of them to himself, followed by the loud, scraping sound of a table being pulled across the floor. Marvin must have been pulling the table to Nick’s right in front of the door, as a barricade.

Nick let out a short, quiet laugh. Unless Marvin had a different reason to try and close himself in the room, his paranoia could only mean one thing, they came for Nick. They came to get him after all.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to cut our play-date short,” Marvin huffed. Nick’s ears pricked up, his heart sank. Fear spread through his body like wildfire It gave him just enough strength to inch himself further as quickly as he could. He felt like he was moving through water, his hand blurred in front of him in slow motion as it waved for the gun.

“Hang in there, Nicky, they’re coming, they got you…”

Nick’s fingers wrapped around the grip of the gun, he lifted it up, but his hand was shaking so tremendously that he dropped it on the floor again.

Marvin laughed, he was now crouching down next to him, pulling the hair on the back of his head. Nick kept flailing his arm around, hoping to grab back onto the gun.

“Now what in the world do you think you’re doing?” Marvin asked him in a disbelieving tone. “Huh? LOOK AT ME!”

He shook Nick’s head violently, Nick felt like he was being shaken inside of a snowglobe. He couldn’t even focus on Marvin’s face if he tried, everything was hazy, like the room was covered in fog and then moving at fifty miles an hour.

“Worthless piece of shit,” Marvin spat at him, a wad of saliva landing in Nick’s eye. He stomped on Nick’s hand, Nick heard the sound of crunching, squelching. He cried out in pain as his hand was guided towards the gun under Marvin’s foot. The gun was kicked just out of his reach. Even if he could reach for it again, his broken hand wouldn’t be able to hold it.

He let out a scream so loud it curdled his own blood, as a new pain developed on his back...on his shoulder. It started as a small sting, poking slightly into his skin, before the knife began to slice vertically upwards, peeling back a half of inch of skin as it dragged across. The knife stopped, stinging him at another point, and began to slice diagonally, lifting up another half inch of skin along the way.

On some level, Nick was aware of what was going on, Marvin was branding him, just like he branded all of his other victims, engraving what Nick now understood to be his initial into his skin.

But on another level, all Nick could think about was the pain, and how he just wanted it to end. His throat was becoming hoarse from all the screaming. His sobs faded as he realized, there was no point to it anymore. Maybe backup had gone to the wrong hotel. Maybe they figured Nick was as good as dead, anyway. There were other people out there, other potential victims that needed their help. Grissom sure as hell wasn’t going to come help him, after the way Nick treated the man after Grissom offered a shoulder to cry on. Why did he push Grissom away? It was the biggest mistake he’s made in a long time.

“Almost there, almost there, just lie still…”

Marvin was on the second diagonal, when suddenly, he stopped. He stepped on top of Nick again, pressing down on his back with his foot before crouching down, wading his way around the other side of the kitchen island.

There was an eerie silence, for a length of time that simultaneously felt like a few seconds and a few hours. Nick wondered if he was already dead, or if some part of him was still conscious, still holding onto a shred of his survival instinct. He wondered if Marvin crawled out of the room and his body would be left to rot in the assumed barricaded kitchen for all of eternity.

The world felt like it was rumbling, shaking. There was a loud banging, clanging sound that was intensifying with every beat. A few things fell on top of his motionless body. Maybe he would be buried alive once more as the building collapsed on top of him.

The building noise finished with a loud CRASH, followed by shouting—a gruff voice that gave Nick the ultimate relief.

“LAS VEGAS POLICE, PUT YOUR WEAPON DOWN!” Brass shouted at Marvin.

Nick couldn’t see what was happening, but he was cheering on the inside as he heard the clatter of metal falling to the ground.

“Get him the hell outta here, and get the paramedics immediately!” Brass barked out. “Gil, he’s in here!”

“Nick? NICK! Oh, God, no!”

It was the man from the alley. The man sat on the floor beside Nick. He gently lifted Nick onto his lap, putting a hand on Nick’s abdomen, cradling him in the nook of his free arm. Nick could just barely make out his face, but the man’s skin was reddened, wet. He could hear anxious gulps and panic in his voice.  

It was Grissom.

“Gri…sssssss...ommm,” Nick moaned, his eyes fluttering, he was trying not to slip into the darkness that was calling out to him. He reached his functional hand upwards, grabbing onto Grissoms shoulder. He had something important to tell him. Something really important, what was it? “Tell...ou--”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Don’t move, I’m here, I got you.”

“We got you, Nicky.”

Nick couldn’t stop the rising in his throat, he heaved upwards and something drooled down his chin. He had shut his eyes, and when he opened them, he could see a mixed look of anguish and disgust on Grissom’s face.

“Sssss--orr…y...f-for eeeeev...everythin.”

Nick moved his eyes to the side, and saw the ghost crouching next to him. His vision blurred again, another flood in his eyes preventing him from seeing the ghost.

“M-m-m faaaaault.”

Grissom spoke first, the ghost spoke immediately after.

“No, it’s not.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Not...strong ‘nuff.”

“Nicky, don’t you dare say that. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. Certainly stronger than me.”

The ghost laughed, which made Nick want to laugh too. He tried, but all he could muster was another cry of pain. He could feel his body trying to shut down. He could feel his eyes begin to rollbackward.

“No. No, no, no, no, stay with me, Nicky!”

He looked at Grissom in the eyes, as Grissom grabbed onto his hand firmly, but he relented on his grasp as he quickly realized the hand was broken. Nick could just barely see his reflection in Grissom’s glasses—scarred with that familiar distinctive expression, but this time, the corners of his mouth were twitching upwards. He saw the determination in Grissom's eyes, and nodded at him, the transfer of strength had worked.

He turned his attention to the ghost next to him, who was fading away. He did his job, he didn’t need to stick around any longer.

“B-bye...Ri...rick.”

Nick blinked, and Warrick was gone.

He blinked again, and Grissom’s previously shocked face had turned into one of great bewilderment.

He blinked again, and now Grissom was looking where Warrick has just sat.

He blinked again, and now Grissom was pushing him away, handing him off to someone else.

No...Don’t leave me…

He blinked, and he was strapped down on a gurney. Seeing this sent his body into an involuntary spasm, he could feel something within him telling to fight the straps, but his body screamed at him as he tried to move. Grissom was jogging beside him, covered in blood that wasn’t his.

He blinked, and there was a light above him, which did nothing but piss him off. But the hand—his good hand, that would have ripped it right out of the ceiling was occupied. Grissom was holding it.

He blinked, but his eyes wouldn’t open again.

———————————----

“It could have been a lot worse,” Grissom’s voice echoed in the back of his mind. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he could picture Grissom standing in the doorway to the hospital room. He could hear soft sniffling beside him.

“Really, Gil, that’s all you have?” Catherine spat angrily. She sounded deeply disturbed, disgusted with Grissom.

“Well, it could have. He’s lucky to be alive.”

The dialogue sounded familiar to him, what year is this? He wondered.

“You’re--you’re acting like this is just another victim! This is Nicky, we’re talking about here, our Nicky!”

“Yes, I know.” His tone remained the same, but the volume of his voice increased, Nick imagined he was entering the hospital room. “And that’s how I know he’s going to be okay.”

A surge of affection waved over him, he wanted to smile at Grissom’s belief in him to make it out of this in a sound, mental state.

“I’ll call his parents,” Catherine sighed. Her voice sounded further away, perhaps she was leaving the room.

Nick tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt so heavy, like they were tied to his cheeks.

“No, I will,” Grissom responded. His voice sounded heavier, older, drained. He almost sounded uncertain, as if he doubted that he could make that call.

He could hear the retreating steps of high heels, and a long, deep breath from Grissom.

“Nicky, my boy...the hell you got yourself into...how did we get here?” Grissom asked, speaking so lowly that Nick had to strain himself to hear him. “You...you almost died, thinking that it was your fault. Thinking that I was...disappointed in you.”

He felt something grab his hand, which felt...smooth. Not bumpy, like he expected it to be. He noticed the lack of itchiness, the lack of burning. It startled him, he wanted to fling it away, he wanted to run, but his body couldn’t move. After he got over the initial shock, he felt comfort as his cold fingers were intertwined with warm ones.

“You never, and I mean never did, Nick. Okay?”

Another hand pressed on top of their enclosed hands.

“You’re going to survive this, just like you always do. Consider it an order.”

Grissom fell silent for a few moments, and slowly, his hand was released.

“Judge Stokes, this is Gil Gris--I apologize, I didn’t know it was so late….No, he’s, uh...well, he got injured.”

He could hear distant shouting, his father’s voice, when angered, was the loudest noise in the world.

“Injured? What the hell happened now?”

“He got stabbed, multiple times, in an attempt to bring a serial killer to justice...He’s in the hospital now, but he’s...he’s not…”

A hitch, in Grissom’s voice. Nick could hear him inhale and exhale deeply before continuing.

“He’s not doing too good.”

Nick’s heart sank, hearing the waver in Grissom’s voice. Whatever was going on, he had to fight it. He couldn’t let Grissom down, not here.

“He was diagnosed with peritonitis. He just got out of surgery, but he...he hasn’t woken up yet.”

Wake up, Nick. Wake up.

Nick tried to open his eyes again, and he was in his childhood bedroom. His mother was knocking on the door, telling him to wake up.

“No...five more minutes,” he moaned, shutting his eyes shut again.

Wake up, dammit!

He opened his eyes, and he was on the ground, staring at a broken tree, a broken window. He tried to tell Warrick that his attacker was still in the house, watching the scene from the window, just as Nick had stared down into the dumpster from a different window.

The pain was too overwhelming, being lost in time this way. He shut his eyes again, trying to focus…

Pancho, wake up!

He opened his eyes, and he was in darkness. Not total darkness, no, there was just the slightest of green glows, illuminating the cramped space around him. This was the hell he got himself into, this was the hell he was doomed to be trapped in, forever.

He shut his eyes tight, but when he opened them again, he was still there.

A scream started to rise up his throat, but his throat was so damaged it didn’t sound right.

“Nicky?” Grissom asked, breathlessly. “Nick, can you hear me?”

He wanted to cry, but now his eyes wouldn’t close. The ceiling of his prison was rising, he was left staring at an endless void. But he realized the ceiling wasn’t rising, he was falling. His limbs began to float upwards, he struggled and flailed to regain control, but he kept falling faster and faster...his back felt like it was on fire, his stomach felt stapled shut. His breath couldn’t keep up with him, it was growing faster and shorter.

A hand pressed against his chest, and he stopped falling. His body felt grounded, he was rooted back in reality.

He shut his eyes and opened them again, and he was in a hospital room. Grissom was sitting next to him.

“Gris?” Nick asked. His body still felt heavy, exhausted. The room was spinning, slightly, but he wasn’t nauseous. He must be on some sort of drugs.

His hand slowly reached towards Grissom, he needed to make sure he was real.

“Yes, Nicky, I’m here.”

He closed his hands around Nick’s again, and stared at him intently.

“I’m sorry,” Nick blurted out, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“So you’ve said,” Grissom smiled. “Multiple times.”

Nick lowered his head and began to examine himself, to figure out where the pain was coming from. He was dressed in a hospital gown, his arms were bandaged. His hand was wrapped up in a cast. He had an IV hooked up to one of his arms. He could hear the monotonous beeping tone of the heart monitor. Grissom said something about a surgery, he lifted up the blanket and gown, and suddenly remembered the stabbing.

“We got him?” Nick asked. He had many thoughts running through his head, but words couldn’t seem to form beyond a few at a time.

“Yes, thanks to you.”

“Was stupid.”

“Yes, it was.

“Anoth...Another pattern,” he breathed, looking at the bandages.

“Male, then two females,” Grissom nodded. “In fact, you interrupted Marvin’s attempt to kill another victim. We found him on the sixth floor, unconscious.”

“Stupid name…”

Grissom let out a small chuckle, and his smile faded as he cleared his throat.

“I, uh, called your parents.”

“I heard.”

“Oh…”

Grissom’s turn, to hang his head in shame. He sniffled, and released his hold on Nick’s hand. He could sense that Grissom was uncomfortable, that he was about to leave, and Nick’s eyes began to burn. He didn’t want him to go, not yet.

“Saw him,” Nick told him. “Warrick.”

Grissom gulped, and suddenly his brow furrowed, a frown etched on his face. He recognized the expression, he had it at the funeral, when he was giving the eulogy. Nick found Grissom’s hand again, pulled him closer, to bring Grissom back into reality, to make sure their eyes met when Nick addressed him.

“Helped me. So did you,” Nick added, to try and impart the importance of Grissom’s presence to the man himself, because he wasn’t a ghost. He was real, he was alive, he was Nick’s friend, one that he needed more than ever.

“You were there.”

[comicreliefmorlock]

So here's a fun game. What are, let's say...10-15 pieces of media (books, tv, movies, whatever) that seem to have been made JUST for you? why?

*cracks knuckles*

Surprisingly, not all of these will be Tanith Lee.

…however…

{And this goes under a cut because this is going to be a very long, verbose post. A really long, verbose post.}

1. “Tales from the Flat Earth” by Tanith Lee

These books are essentially like sitting by a crackling fire on a cool summer night beneath the glimmering night sky while a smiling crone cards wool and tells you the stories that come from a time aeons before your birth. I have never in my life found a quartet of books–let alone one book–that have so completely and absolutely captivated me. From the first page of “Night’s Master,” I was gone.

Not only the language–breaking the fourth wall and referring to “words lost when the world reformed itself in the chaos”–but the characters… Azhrarn, the personification of Wickedness who saves humanity with love. Uhlume, the personification of Death who faces a form of mortality and is forever changed by it. Chuz, the walking embodiment of Madness, who is gentle to those under his domain and understands that he cannot understand why he does what he does.

Ferazhin and Narasen and Sivesh and Simmu and Jornadesh and Kassafeh and Zhirem and Azhriaz and Dunziel… Names I have never forgotten because they all but sang to me. A flat earth that holds the best and worst of humanity, often balled into a single person, with Underearth and Innerearth and Upperearth holding gods that have grown so distant they no longer recall humans were their creation at all. 

I have always loved mythology and these books? These are myth.

2. Pan’s Labyrinth -dir. by Guillermo del Toro

I’m not from Spain or know Spanish. I knew nothing about the Spanish Civil War when I first saw this movie. And this was the first film I saw that cemented del Toro for me as the only man I would ever trust to turn Tanith Lee’s books into cinema. 

I love fairy tales, mythology and folklore. And when you read enough of it, you see how bloody it actually is. How terrifying it is to realize that you’re not the only one in the world, humans aren’t the only ones, there are creatures on the midnight side of reality that share space with you. 

And I never really liked the Disney version of fairy tales with “happily ever after” and weddings. 

This movie was literally like watching something I’d imagined for myself. The acting was fucking phenomenal, the sets and costumes were off the hook and the comparison of “fairy tale horror” and “real horror” that overlapped just blew me the hell away.

And Doug Jones… Doug Fucking Jones. I never respected mimes until him and now I give all the respect. Being able to act, to breathe real life into a concept and a costume until it becomes a character you could picture walking through a forest or peering around a corner while not being able to use your own voice OR your own facial expressions is a kind of magic I think does not get enough appreciation.

DOUG FUCKING JONES, LADIES, GENTS AND GENDER REBELS.

3. Fatal Frame - Tecmo

I’m a writer/reader, not a gamer. When I have downtime or I want to relax, I almost always gravitate towards a book instead of a video game. The few games I’ve played purely for my own enjoyment have usually been MMOs and involve roleplaying.

Except for the Fatal Frame series.

Survival horror is my favorite game genre and I lamented when Resident Evil became more “survival action” than survival horror. (Fuckin’ lickers in the original Resident Evil game oh my god.) I wanted a survival horror game that had some meat to it, had something really compelling about it.

And I found Fatal Frame.

I love Japanese mythology. I especially love Japanese ghosts. For some reason–maybe out of sheer novelty because I, being an ignorant American raised near the US-Mexico border, have had little exposure to it–Japanese ghosts are my absolute favorites. Yurei (and the other subclassifications) just have something to them that I haven’t found in other mythologies. I’ve read and reread Oiwa and Okiku’s stories, been fascinated by the concept of the Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai and wanted more of what I found.

Which Fatal Frame provided.

Not only do the game mechanics work beautifully for someone as easily startled as I am, but the story behind each individual game is achingly intense. The intricacy of the interwoven histories, the rituals, the underlying question of “was all this really necessary or was this a priesthood trying to stay in power”… I love absolutely everything about these games. 

4. “The Blue Sword” by Robin McKinley

I’m not going to lie–this book took me forever to actually read. The first two pages were so achingly boring that I had no fucking clue why my mother had recommended it to me.

And then one day, bereft of anything else to read, I flipped through it. I still distinctly remember the line that made me stop and go “wait, what?” – “…your horse tells me where you’ve been…”

me: wait what horses can talk in this? wtf? *flips to the beginning and sits down to fuckin’ read it*

Slogging through those first few pages? Worth it. Because Harry/Hari/Harimad was the first heroine I’d ever encountered that I could imagine myself being. She was too gangly and not particularly pretty and kind of clumsy. She didn’t draw admiring eyes everywhere she went, spent a lot of time going ‘I can’t do this wtf’ and had aches and saddlesores.

Meeting Harry felt like seeing myself on a page for the first time in my life. And seeing someone with flaws like me going through adventure and fighting and succeeding and failing and getting a happily ever after felt like a warm blanket. Like someone had written a book just to tell me: “It’s okay that you’re not beautiful or graceful or soft-spoken and elegant. It’s okay that you’re clumsy and a goof and your hair is fuzzy as fuck because you can be a heroine, too.”

5. “Whoever Fights Monsters” by Robert K. Ressler

No, I’m not a serial killer. :D Nor am I an FBI profiler.

However, after reading “The Silence of the Lambs” by Thomas Harris for the first time in ninth grade, I was fascinated by serial killers. Like… how did they do it? How did they get away with it? WHY did they do it? What kind of person did things like this? I wanted to know so much more and I started grabbing every book on serial killers that I possibly could find.

And the reaction of classmates and teachers who saw my reading material was… less than stellar. Even my mother was vaguely worried about what I was getting out of reading all…that.

It felt like my fascination with serial killer psychology was a flaw in my character that no one else seemed to share. Until I read “Whoever Fights Monsters” and saw Robert K. Ressler talking about the exact same thing. He wasn’t a “sicko” or a “freak” or a “lunatic” or a “killer-in-training” for being fascinated by the psychology of humans who could treat other humans like a moment’s disposable entertainment. 

And suddenly, neither was I. 

6. American Horror Story: Hotel - FX

‘American Horror Story’ is entirely my thing. Interwoven narratives of fascinating (and often awful) people combining “American horror history” with interpersonal storylines? Yes, thank you, I’ll take a dozen.

This season in particular, however, is just more for me than any other. 

Maybe it’s the vampires that are self-obsessed and not particularly powerful but end up with petty grudges and complaints. Or the ghosts that bitch and whine at each other, find consolation together, use Twitter and spend their long, long days doing little more than drinking, smoking and obsessing over their lives and deaths. Maybe it’s the single location with so many years of history weaving together like a book of short stories. 

I love ‘Hotel’ because it feels like Brandenburg to me. I could so easily see the entire season taking place in my fictional city and mentally insert my own characters into the show without losing a single step.

Also Kathy Bates is absolutely glorious and I desperately wish to be a tenth as glamorous as Liz Taylor. 

7. “The Butterfly Garden” by Dot Hutchinson

Books about serial killers? Yes, please.

Books about serial killers told by a victim who barely survived and understands what trauma really means? Yes, please.

What especially got me about this book is my thing for dioramas. The first one I ever remember seeing was in the El Paso Museum of Archaeology (yes, I’m from El Paso, Texas) and it always both frightened and fascinated me. 

^ This one in particular would keep me motionless for ten or twenty minutes at a time, kind of terrified at a house within a building and then absolutely enthralled at a house inside a building.

And the dioramas mentioned in “The Butterfly Garden” were akin to those in “The Cell” –some terrible, awful glimpse into someone’s mind that was visualized and externalized in a permanent way. 

8. “War for the Oaks” by Emma Bull

I love the fae. 

And I also have read enough to know that those sprightly little fucks are terrifying and humans are rarely left unscathed by them.

This book was my introduction to “urban fantasy,” much as Charles de Lint was my introduction to what I consider “mythic fantasy” and a city that felt so much like my own. 

And what was so quintessentially, absolutely me about this book–other than the main love interest being the Phouka :D :D :D–was the underlying theme about creativity.

It’s a driving force, a magic that humans have. It’s uniquely human (as far as we know) and often the only talisman against the dark that we’ve got. With creativity, there’s magic. There’s a spark of something beyond the mundane realities of survival. Creativity is a sword and shield all in one, complete with a lure to bring others along with you.

Whether it’s through music, art, poetry or graphic design, creativity is the actual drive for immortality that pushes us to reach beyond ourselves and touch those we have no possibility of seeing or speaking to in our own short, real lives.

9. Good Omens - Neil Gaiman/BBC

I loved the book when it came out. I didn’t expect to love the mini-series. I especially didn’t expect to love the mini-series for the #IneffableHusbands.

I won’t belabor the point about why this is on my list. The #IneffableHusbands tag on my OOC blog is enough. :D

10. What We Do in the Shadows - Jemaine Clement, Taika Waititi

Vampires who are as absurd, incapable and oblivious as me? Yes. All of my yes. 

Having played the old World of Darkness tabletop games for years--and absolutely fallen in love with them--I found this movie and was in absolute heaven. These are vampires I can actually imagine hanging out with. These are vampires (and werewolves) I can envision walking around a city.

Noble creatures of the night don’t seem real to me (aside from the obvious reasons.) The supernaturals in this movie? They felt like people I knew. Like people I could meet or characters I’d written myself. 

I like the fantastical being put into the mundane--which is why my genre is ‘urban fantasy’ although I have such an eye-twitch about it being all supernatural detectives chasing various pieces of ass now--and I especially love it when the fantastical doesn’t outweigh the mundane.

Imagining vampires vacuuming and riding the bus fits in nicely with my desperate belief (and hope) that the fantastical isn’t JUST imaginary but actually exists. 

{And there, I’m restricting this to 10 or we’ll be here all NIGHT.}

[cromulentbookreview]

What We Do in the New Orleans Shadows

♪ Long before the Superdome / Where the saints of football play / Lived a city that the damned call home / Hear their hellish roundelay / New Orleans! Home of pirates, drunks and whores / New Orleans! Tacky, overpriced souvenir stores / / If you want to go to hell, you should take a trip / To the Sodom and Gomorrah on the Mississip / New Orleans / Stinking, rotten, vomiting vile... New Orleans! / Putrid, brackish, maggoty, foul / New Orleans! ♪ 

And by that, I mean: The Beautiful by Renée Ahdieh!

My sincerest apologies to the city of New Orleans, which I hear is quite lovely. I’d like to go there someday, but only when I can be assured that I, as a female, am considered a human being with rights in the State of Louisiana. Anyway, whenever I think of New Orleans, all I can hear in my head is the song from A Streetcar Named Marge. And then I think about beignets. Mmm. And how I never learned French, instead I spent all my time learning German, which is useless, unless you’re hoping to eavesdrop on German tourists (a note to German tourists: Rede keinen Scheiß, es gibt Amerikaner die dich verstehen können. Ihr kränkte uns...)

Anyway, on to The Beautiful. 

New Orleans! 1872! The crinoline is out and bustles are in! Corsets continue to be the worst! The Gilded Age is just getting started (even though the book won’t be published for another year) and Belle Époque is big in France! Imperialism is everything! Ulysses S. Grant is drinking whiskey under his desk! Meanwhile,  seventeen-year-old Celine Rousseau has fled her life as a dressmaker at one of the finest ateliers in Paris to join a convent in New Orleans. As you do when shit happens. Luckily, Celine made a friend on the boat ride over - Pippa, another girl fleeing shitty circumstances in favor of life in a convent. Once in New Orleans, both girls are enchanted by the city, and I absolutely have to hand it to Renée Ahdieh for knowing how to capture a setting. The way she describes it, you can practically smell the city of New Orleans. Especially the food. Dear God, the food. Mmm. 

I missed ALA Annual last year when it was held in New Orleans (and by “missed” I mean “couldn’t afford to go”) and just reading this book made me kick myself for not going. 

Back to Celine, though. The whole point of going to live at the Ursuline Convent of New Orleans is for her to lay low and find herself a good husband so she can escape the aforementioned shit that went down in Paris. Pippa has the same goal, though she is way more focused on the “finding a good husband” thing than Celine is. One day, while selling bric-a-brac to raise money for the convent, a strange woman named Odette compliments Celine on her sewing skills. Once she learns that Celine is a dressmaker, Odette immediately commissions Celine to make her a dress for a masquerade ball. Because, of course, it’s Mardi Gras. In fictionland, it’s never not Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

Anyway, Odette is high up in some shady New Orleanian society called La Cour des Lions which seems to be full of hyper-beautiful people with all sorts of special skills. La Cour des Lions is led by the mysterious and largely absent Comte de Saint Germain, and is rumored to be embedded pretty deep in local politics and business. While on her way to fit Odette for her dress, Celine, accompanied by Pippa, encounters the comte’s nephew and heir, the absolutely gorgeous Sebastian St. Germain, as he mercilessly beats an unarmed man in an alleyway for reasons that are never made clear. (Seriously, we never do find out for sure why he was beating up some dude in an alley, at least, not in the ARC text). 

Also, I like to imagine that Bastian looks like Taika Waititi.

Also I’d like to imagine he has Taika Waititi’s accent. 

When Celine encounters Bastian again at Odette’s club, they quickly go from being complete strangers to head over heels in love. Because teenagers. But that’s all interrupted when Pippa stumbles upon the body of a girl drained of all her blood. Suddenly the police are involved, led by rival love interest, Michael Grimaldi, who happens to be a former childhood friend of Bastien, and thus, the future love triangle is established.

Also, if you haven’t already guessed by now (I mean, the presence of the Comte de St Germain is a pretty big hint) La Cour des Lions are vampires. Because somehow, even though New Orleans averages a total of 216 sunny days per year, vampires live there.

Maybe Laszlo is onto something, there.

Still, vampires live there, sticking to the indoors and shadows (or managing to daywalk like Colin Robinson or something. Not sure as the book does specify that sunlight does kill these vampires...).  La Cour des Lions are in a centuries long feud with something called the Brotherhood, who are....I’ll let you guess.

Did you guess?

Oh, come on.

You know. 

I’ll give you a hint.

Yes, because warewolves and vampires go together like...warewolves and vampires, honestly why not.

So we’ve got all this going down with Celine smack dab in the middle. Now there’s a serial killer on the loose and they seem to be fascinated with Celine in particular...

So! The Beautiful. It’s a return to the YA vampire genre, so...yay? I dunno, vampires just aren’t my thing. Twilight was huge when I was in high school and college and I tried reading it, but...euch. No. Honestly, outside of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the O.G. Dracula, and What We Do in the Shadows, vampire stories just don’t do anything for me. I never bought into the idea of exchanging a mortal life with sunshine and never committing murder for one in which you can never go out during the day and have to murder people for food. Plus, immortality sounds like it really sucks. Who wants to outlive their whole family? Their friends? Literally everybody you’ve ever known? Immortality means having to watch all of your pets die, over and over again, forever. Yeah, no thanks. Not to mention the fact that, after a few decades without aging, people will start to notice. “Hey, it’s been thirty years, why do you still look like you’re 18 do you have a disease or something?” 

Yeah, I’d rather have my limited time and then be reincarnated. I like that idea way better than being ageless and alive forever and ever. Didn’t any of you read Tuck Everlasting? Winnie made the right choice, you guys.

So while the setting and the writing for The Beautiful are fantastic, as soon as the story brought vampires in, my brain just switched into “eeeehhh” mode. I also have a hard time with romances where the two love interests go from “hey person I just met” to “I love you and will die for you” very quickly. Again, not really my thing. Most of the problems I had with this book just stemmed from my own biases. YA Vampire romances just aren’t my thing. What We Do in the Shadows (movie and TV series!) is more my thing. 

HOWEVER.

Just because something is not my thing, doesn’t mean it’s not your thing. If YA paranormal romances featuring vampires and warewolves running around late 19th century New Orleans sounds like your jam, then in all likelihood, you will really love The Beautiful and I recommend you go and get it when it comes out. Remember: I’m just an idiot with a tumblr account, just because I’m meh on a certain book doesn’t mean it won’t be your new favorite thing ever. I’ll admit, if Renée Ahdieh wrote a New Orleans travel guide, I’d read it in a heartbeat because holy shit she knows how to transport you to a time and place. 

Have at it, YA Paranormal Vampire Romance fans. I’ll be over here, watching What We do in the Shadows. 

RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone fond of YA Paranormal Vampire Romances (see above), fans of historical fiction, anyone looking for something cool set in New Orleans

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Anybody not fond of YA Paranormal Vampire Romances.

RELEASE DATE: October 8, 2019

RATING: 3/5

VAMPIRE RATING:

[cyancees]

salty ask meme answers

ok im awake now hehe so here’s all my answers for that ask meme

WARNING FOR SPOILERS IN, LIKE, EVERY DANGAN GAME PROBABLY

@adoggodude asks:  5, 7, 14, 16, 20

5: Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

yes. none i can think of for danganronpa, but .... mch/anzo....... but tbh, it was also partially me realizing it’s such a boring ship and they’re only paired because they’re both hot

7:  Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?

see above - nah i’m kidding i don’t hate it that much. a lot of animes i used to like have lost my favor because of things i’ve realized as i got older, mostly pedophilia. namely kill la kill i used to adore until i realized how many characters were underage. i used to really like attack on titan too but the creator is fucking bonkers.  i also liked koma/eda during the first chapter of dangan (as im sure most people did lmao) but i then hated him when he went nuts

14:  Unpopular opinion about your fandom?

[deep breath] KOMA/EDA AND OU/MA BOTH SUCK, THEIR SHIPS WITH THE PROTAGONIST SUCK, AND NEITHER OF THEM ARE GAY

16:  If you could change anything in the show, what would you change?

a lotta things, but if i had to choose one, i’d either let juuzou live :( (or maybe i’d make asano from drg end up with the sleepy chick because her ending up with hijirihara pissed me off sooooooooooo bad you have no idea)

20:  What is the purest ship in the fandom?

naegiri uwu

Anonymous asks:  6, 16, 19?

6:  Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?

hmmmmmmmmmmm..... i can’t really think of anything for danganronpa. i’m a huge multishipper after all! well, when i was back into one piece, i hated zoro x sanji. but now i like it - however that wasn’t because of the fandom, i’m long gone out of that hahaha. more just me being nostalgic and watching clips of the show and realizing the sexual tension that little me didn’t 😔

19:  What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?

people will call you out for liking the good guys because of one or two “problematic” things then kin sociopaths and serial killers

@sparklygems asks:  eyoo this is for the salty asks list and I was curious about if you could change anything in the DR games what would you change? (You have some Good opinions, i like hearin your thoughts~)

hehe thank you! i already answered this one, but, i guess i’ll give a different answer this time.

less weird borderline pedophilic things coming out of yumeno’s mouth :) (borderline because she’s technically of age but she’s total lo/li bait) and i guess just a bunch of other things regarding the weird unnecessary sexual shit lmao

@oxonicrab asks:  22 and 23! for dangan ofc

22:  Popular character you hate?

pretty sure it’s very well known that i hate koma/eda and ou/ma by now, soooo.... fucking MON/ODAM! he’s by far the most popular cub, i cannot stand him and i never could

23:  Unpopular character you love?

HAGAKURE!!!!!!!

@chainedintimacy asks:  If you could change anything in the show, what would you change? Also purest character? Popular character you hate? Unpopular character you love?

welp, almost every one of these has been answered, im gonna have to get creative!

16: If you could change anything in the show, what would you change?

mukuro-junko incest. totally ruined a perfectly good character for me (mukuro)

Purest character?

fucking usami.... nanami and naegi also are perfect and pure!!! 

22:  Popular character you hate?

hmmmm... shing/uuji

23:  Unpopular character you love?

i adore angie but it seems like a lot of the fandom hates her so;;;

@fly-fool asks:  Unpopular fan opinions 2, 4, 5, 8, 9, 14, 17, 24, 25, 26, and 27 please

[rubs hands] here i fucking go

2: Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?

toukomaru :x not that i hate the ship or anything! it can be pretty cute! just.... one is a minor and one is an adult haha

EDIT: i now know that komaru is only a year younger than fukawa, but, this ship still counts for the question!

4:  Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?

fucking. KOM/AHINA. OUM/ASAI. wayyyyy too popular for my liking. also oum/ota

5:  Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

fuck i really gotta think of something for dangan huh? cus the pairings that i hate, i already hated... if it counts for anything, i only disliked oum/asai at first but the fandom made me loathe it so incredibly?

8:  Have you received anon hate? What about?

nothing too serious that i can recall. a couple funny little things about my CONTROVERSIAL SHIP/CHARACTER OPINIONS but nothing else really! oh, and some of that wasn’t even anon, so...

9: Most disliked character(s)? Why?

here’s ma top 3: 

3. koma/aeda. it feels dumb to have to explain why, but we’re in a fandom where he’s one of the most popular characters, so... just remember every bad thing he’s ever done, and that’s most of it. but i also hate the edginess surrounding him, the weird wheezy laugh, the self-deprecation done in such a weird creepy way, the appearance, the fact that he has the voice of my love, the fact that he’s the sans of the fandom... the sans before sans, if you will...

2: hai/ji. i shouldn’t have to justify this one since almost no one likes him, but. pedophile. even if you take away that totally unnecessary character aspect, he’s just... so fucking annoying. huge dickhead. ugly ratty hair. pissy pissy man. I HATE HIM

1. k*k*ch* **ma!!!! :)))))))))) again, just like kom/aeda, think of every bad thing he’s done. think of how the fandom treats him, amplifying my already-existent hate. think of his mortal enemy in the game who happens to my my favourite v3 (momota) and there ya go! his lying is only entertaining for so long, his stupid fucking shota face, the way people call him hot when he looks 12 and the fandom overlooks it because he’s a boy, the way people treat him like some canonically gay icon, some dickhead i saw who called him autistic once which offended me and my autistic brother deeply since the evidence they used was clearly a lack of understanding of autism... it’s a combination of the fandom’s obsession and his actual canonical character.

14:  Unpopular opinion about your fandom?

it’s fucking shite and everyone is a sheep - not to sound like some “intellectual” atheist who watches rick and morty but.... yall really do just latch onto what others say without looking into things yourself

17:  Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen…

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm... instead of gonta getting iruma killed and being punished for it, i’d rather iruma have succeeded with her plan and taken one for the team :)

24:  Would you recommend XXX to a friend? Why or why not?

i’ve gotten ummm... at least 6 people to play so far hehe

even back in 2013-2014 when i was first into dangan, i got a couple friends to watch the anime. so that’s a yes! :)

i recommend it because, primarily, i need friends to talk about my hyperfixation to - but also because it’s genuinely a great series in my opinion. it has its flaws, but overall i really love danganronpa !

25:  How would you end XXX/Would you change the ending of XXX?

i mean...................... they could’ve thrown a naegiri wedding in there at the end of dr3 i’m just saying

26:  Most shippable character?

souda hehe. no bias xd (but for real i don’t think there’s bias considering none of my other top faves have nearly as many cute ships as he does. i can ship him with sonia, gundam, nidai, hinata, kuzuryuu, ibuki, iruma, kiibo....)

27:  Least shippable character?

ou/ma because he deserves nothing. i mean at least i can ship kom/aeda with himself (amami) and himself (sans) :///

@holy-shit-dangan-ronpa asks:  salty ask #17

17: Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen…

shit lemme think of something else. uhhhh instead of... monaka going to space i want her redeemed too :( she may be totally evil and a bitch but they’re all kids!!!! i can’t wait for despair girls 2 i want the monokuma kids to be saved from their helmets and i want the warriors of hope to be adopted by good parents :((((

Anonymous asks: 10

10: Most disliked arc? Why?

i’ll probably have to choose ruruka’s whole character arc, what a bitch haha. she caused her own demise by trying to cheat in her exam, blamed her ‘friend’ for it who she only used, then killed her boyfriend because she didn’t wanna be ‘betrayed’ again. fucking christ woman get your shit together lol

Anonymous asks: 1

1: What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

besides the notps i’ve already mentioned earlier... i guess oum/eno? like... the whole thing seems either based on the fact they’re both pedo bait... or because in the 5th trial ou/ma says he likes her (WHICH ISN’T EVEN OU/MA SAYING IT? AND IF MOMOTA IS GETTING THAT FROM HIS SCRIPT THEN DON’T THEY KNOW YOU CAN’T TAKE ANYTHING OU/MA SAYS SERIOUSLY BECAUSE HE’S THE BOY WHO CRIED USO DAYO?)

thanks for those guys it was fun :D xx

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Luke Alvez / Always and Forever

As requested by anon for 500 follower celebration: 

I would like to request a Luke Alvez imagine but I cannot think of anything. Maybe one where he first meets his wife? Like love at first sight type of deal?

Ahhh I really love Luke, but I have such a hard time writing him! Warning slightly NSFW (really slightly) and super fluffy! 

“When did you first fall in love with me?” It was a question poised one early morning, after you had awoken to butterfly kisses against your neck and shoulders, prying you from the arms of Hypnos himself into a pair of much more comfortable arms. Or so he’d likely claim. But as you turned to face him, a finger running down his jawline, tracing the contours and crevices of his face, you had to admit he was right. His smile was more brilliant than Apollo’s sun chariot, his twinkling eyes more charming than Zeus’s himself, and he made you feel safer than any mere mortal or god had ever made you feel. But his question made you pause in your wanderings, before his hands skimmed lower, jarring you to reality.

“Luke,” You whined, as his head buried itself in your neck, starting another trail of kisses there. “I’m trying to think,”

“And I’m trying to help,” He murmured the words against your skin, making shivers reverberate up and down your spine.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

It was inaccurate to say it was love at first sight. Lust at first sight would be more accurate. And Luke Alvez was just that on the surface: sin incarnate, with his tanned skin and toned muscles, along with his killer smile (no pun intended). You had tried to stave off feelings for the “newbie,” the name so aptly dubbed by Garcia, who had been passive-aggressive (though more aggressive than passive) towards Morgan’s supposed replacement. She ranted and raved about the man, who had done nothing to offend her besides tease her, and to his credit, mostly in retaliation for her cold demeanor. You would often have to cut her rants short so the two of you could get back to work, instead of dwelling on her “burning, eternal hatred” for the man (her words, not yours). But you on the other hand felt quite the opposite.

Undeniably, the man was attractive (you weren’t one to deny absolute facts). However, you weren’t one to rest attraction simply on looks either. But Luke had quickly proven himself, in a difficult situation, supporting the team through Hotch’s sudden departure, helping to protect Reid through his time in jail, and even helping to find Prentiss in the wake of Stephen’s death. He had rightfully claimed his spot as one of the profilers, no one could deny that, not you, not even Garcia. But still, the fact remained that he was only a co-worker, nothing more or less.

Until he wasn’t.

It was little things at first, the way he would catch your eye when Reid would go off on one of his spiels about something or other, or maybe the times his hands would brush against yours when he reached for the coffee at the same time, or was it when he would laugh at your lame jokes before boarding the plane and still would be smiling at you on the ride back. And you couldn’t deny how when the two of you would work late, when one of you would spot something, and he would only stand a breath away. You would catch sight of his lips and think if you leaned a bit closer... But the moment would pass, and you both would return to your respective spots, and the little things continued to pile on, reaching a breaking point when the two of you were forced to share a room.

The team had arrived in a hick town in the middle of nowhere, where a serial killer was slowly murdering the residents over the course of a decade. Not only was the motel the breeding ground for the killer, but it was also ridiculously small, forcing the team to double up. Prentiss and J.J. were sharing, while Rossi, Luke, and Reid ended up together, leaving you alone with your own room. And although, you were the lucky person to end up with the room key, but you didn’t know how lucky it was considering there was a serial killer in the hotel.

And of course, you couldn’t sleep. You paced the room, looking over the evidence file, feeling your nerves grate on you as you took in the room. Nothing particularly special: it was a single king sized bed, a painting hanging over the bed frame, and there was a dresser and bookshelf across from it. You had already perused the bookshelf, setting one of the books back in its place, when there was a sharp rap at the door.

You frowned, grabbing your gun from the table. Didn’t hurt to be cautious, but you didn’t think a serial killer would knock. Though you never knew with this job. “Who is it?”

“It’s just me, Luke,” You pulled open the door to reveal that was indeed Luke, bag in hand, as your gaze went from to his bag back to his sheepish expression.

“There was only one bed and one couch in Rossi and Reid’s room, and no one brought a sleeping bag, so I was wondering if you would be willing?” His casual attitude wavered as he realized the implications of his words. “I mean...willing to let me share the room with you,” You hesitated, but as he flashed a pleading smile, what choice did you have? You moved aside, letting him in, “Well this has a lot more charm than the other room; it had looked like someone had died in it-” He cut off, walking into another faux pas, much to your amusement.

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with Penelope,” You gave a small smile in spite of yourself, and he returned it with a laugh, a noise that made your stomach erupt in butterflies. Luke had a aura about him, a way of making people feel comfortable around him. It made you want to open up to him, to make him your shoulder to lean on, the person you went to for help. And you couldn’t quite decide if that was a good or bad thing.

“Yeah, you might be right about that,” He jabbed his finger towards the bathroom, “You mind if I take a shower first?” You shook your head, plopping down on the bed, as an obvious fact finally slapped you across the face, leaving your cheeks burning. There was only one bed in this room.

Shit.

You considered your options, you could join Emily and J.J. in their room, but considering the late hour, they were probably asleep. You could offer to sleep on the floor, but you knew it would only end in contestment. Then there was only one option: sharing the bed. Your nerves were on thin ice, but for a completely different reason. You were no longer alone, but you weren’t sure how particularly beneficial that was to your sleep.

A few minutes later and he emerged from the shower, wearing a sleeveless shirt along with a plain pair of sweatpants. Your eyes roamed his form, staring a bit too long at the faint outline of abs that his shirt teased at, and when you found his face, he had a smile tugging at his lips. “Like what you see?” You immediately huffed, rolling your eyes, as he laughed in response. “Don’t worry, I was just kidding,” clapping you on the shoulder with a grin. And in spite of yourself, you deflated, as you stared as his back.You didn’t get time to contemplate your feelings, as Luke turned to face you, catching sight of your frown before you could hide it. Just as you always did. “What’s wrong?” Once a profiler...

You shook your head, hand brushing against the bed. He raised his eyebrows, as he thankfully though you were concerned with the sleeping arrangements. “I can sleep on the floor if you’re not comfortable,” He reassured you, “Or we could share the bed?” Your gaze fell to your feet, feeling your heart thump hard at his words, the slight lilt at the suggestion of sleeping in the same bed giving you a hope of romance that you couldn’t believe yourself.  “Y/N, what’s wrong?” He sat beside you, as you tucked a hair behind your ear, unable to meet his gaze. “You can talk to me,” His hand was brushing against your own, until you pulled it away, rising from the bed.

“That’s just it, Luke,” You couldn’t stop the words once they began to pour out, your heart couldn’t bear it. “I know I can, and I want to. I know I could tell you anything and you would be there for me, just like you have for the rest of the team, but I’m just...afraid,” The last word came out barely a whisper, in hopes it would make it less real. But it was, as real as the creak of the bed as Luke got to his feet, taking a step toward you.

“What are you so afraid of?” His touch was gentle on your shoulder, as he made you face him. “Of me?” The words were not said, but forced out, as he almost seemed hesitant to know your answer. You almost could laugh. Scared of him? It was an absurd thought. The man was as innocent as his own puppy.

“What was there to be afraid of?” As you met his eyes for the first time. Sadness and regret dwelled there, along with hesitancy and doubt.

“There’s a lot, actually, a lot that you know,” A frown tugged at his lips. It was no lie that Luke Alvez was intimidating on paper. A fugitive hunter, a former Ranger, and now a current FBI agent, but that wasn’t him, or rather all of him. The Luke you knew was one that was always offering a hand, the one always cracking jokes (often at Garcia’s expense), and the one who was someone worth the risk. He always thought he deserved to be alone, but there was nothing further from the truth. He deserved everything and more. More than you, and yet...

You stepped forward immediately with conviction, now you two only stood a moment away, another step and…  “Luke, I never could be afraid of you, but I am afraid of us,” You breathed, as a stray hair fell in front of your face. “I like you, Luke, but not just as a co-worker or a friend, more than that.” You spotted his eyes widen ever-so-slightly,  his breath hitching in his throat. “And I can’t share a room before I know whether you feel the same or not,” You had put it all on the line, your friendship, your work relationship, and your heart. And while words did not fail you, it seemed to fail him, as his mouth hung open for a half-minute, as you started to turn away.

It was a mistake, feeling disappointment spread through stomach like poison, replacing the butterflies with sorrow, as tears pricked at your eyes. You managed a shaky sentence, said in a single steady breath:“It’s okay if you don’t, I just needed to kn-” And that’s when he caught you by the wrist, fear freezing you in place, but, ironically, as he pulled you close, your hand resting on his chest, you felt a heat radiating from his touch that spread throughout your body. And as he pulled you to his chest, you never felt more safe. And as his lips met yours, a wide grin against your own, you knew.

“That’s when you knew?” Luke propped himself on his elbows, giving a small shrug at your retelling of the first time you had kissed. “It sounds like you were in love with me a little before that,” His fingers traced lazy circles around your palm, and you shifted closer into his touch, leaning forward stare into his eyes, the small amount of light coming through the window illuminating the dark pools of brown along with his playful smirk.

“Well, that’s when I knew,” You sighed, pressing a kiss to his lips, before falling back on the bed. “I knew you would keep me safe,” As he pulled you against his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck, you could feel his words rumble against you. “When did you know?” And his smirk turned to a smile, as he pressed kisses to the top of your head, before pulling back to look at you. Even with your long locks falling here and there, your eyes practically sinking into the bags beneath them, and your unmade face, he still looked at you as if you were the goddess Aphrodite herself.

“I knew from the moment I saw you in the bullpen, you had a blue navy shirt with a pair of slacks, and the way you looked at me, I knew...” He paused to press a kiss to your lips, “I always knew,”

“Always?”

He smiled gently, as he did the first time he saw you, the same smile that made your heart thump each and every time, “And forever, Y/N.”  

Tag List:  @procrastdanation, @mypretty-weeper, @elle88531 @iworldlywriter @aspiringyoungwriter @supermoonpanda , @occamybarnes, @iammostdefinitelyonfire26, @laneygthememequeen @meganlpie @sweetsummertime99

[sparklyjojos]

Let’s Read & Suffer: Tsukumojuku by Maijō Ōtarō [part 18]

Today`s recap: We shift back in time to the beginning of the Fourth Story, or THE PART I KINDA HATE, in a “what the fuck are you writing Maijo and why are you suddenly so hell-bent on making me hate your protagonist” way.

[tw: csa, incest, dubious consent, gore, body horror, lots of nsfw, Just Plain Fucked Up]

STORY 4 PART 1

Tsukumojuku looked at the clock: 16:00. It’d still be a while before Umi (有海) came back from walking Moppy. [note: Umi’s name is written the same way as Moppy’s owner’s name from the Fifth Story.]

Earlier, he and Umi had decided they should solve a serial killer case targeting young women in Chofu. One of Umi's close friends was killed in that case two days earlier, and besides, the grieving families would pay ten million yen for whoever could help catch the culprit. Tsukumojuku didn't have a daily job, and since their baby triplets were born last autumn, they dreamed of having enough money to get their own place to live in. [He’s like 16 in this Story, btw. Which automatically makes me despise Umi and her mom for thinking this relationship is ok. As per usual in this book.]

So way before Umi with Moppy came back, Tsukumojuku decided to go out, telling the mother-in-law he’s only taking a walk. She asked him to swing by the bookstore when coming back, and buy some magazines for her [not sure if this will be important or not, but the titles are 群像 and 新潮 and すばる and 文學界].

Most of the cherry blossoms had already scattered, covering the street like a carpet. The people locked in the Castle didn't get to enjoy it this year, Tsukumojuku thought. There was but a single window there, in the highest of its seven towers, too far away to enjoy the last cherry blossoms in their life.

Tsukumojuku felt sorry for them. He liked cherry blossoms. And sakura mochi, just like Umi. It was comforting to know that even if they didn’t get ten million yen, sakura mochi would still be there to buy on the way back.

- - -

Let’s solve (”solve”) the case at hand: the serial killing of young women. Who could be the criminal -- who could he make the criminal?

Maybe Seshiru – he was missing, and did bad things already. Let’s say that after killing Junko and hiding her head, he and Serika also killed other women. It may be addictive or something to collect the body parts, right? So, Seshiru would do as “the culprit”.

Tsukumojuku entered Chofu’s Green Park. Behind the Inari shrine, there was a public toilet, and in a big underground room hidden beneath it, Seshiru and Serika had been living for three years now. They were in hiding, but surprisingly also took care of the place: the park got cleaner, all the weeds were pulled out, the shrine repainted, new cherry trees planted. Amusingly enough, there was also an urban legend circulating that there were people-eating monsters hiding in the public toilet, waiting for their hapless victims to enter, which probably had something to do with their unexpected presence.

Anyway. Tsukumojuku opened the secret entrance in the floor, and gracefully avoided Seshiru trying to swipe at his legs before realizing who he was. “What do you want, Tsukumo?” [He calls him Tsukumo for short, just like Mr Kato did in the First Story, and I may have a little feeling now -- after all, this Story comes chronologically (if this term is even applicable to this book) after the Third Story’s finale.]

“Brought you some vitamins and stuff.” Tsukumojuku passed a plastic bag to Seshiru, who thanked him and vanished back inside, Tsukumojuku following him down the ladder. The room was quite big, with repainted walls and a carpet, and comfortable furniture. (And also, Tsukumojuku noted looking around, a quite suspicious syringe, but right now he didn’t care for that.) Serika’s also around, doing her own stuff.

Tsukumojuku sat in the reclining chair, and announced that Seshiru shouldn't go out for some time.

“Ah, so I'm the criminal again?” Seshiru asked, unsurprised.

Tsukumojuku nodded, and said that this time the prize was 10 million yen, and they’d split it half and half like usual [oh wow, they actually had this system going on for a while, huh]. Seshiru bemoaned that it's hard to stay put, but Tsukumojuku said that it's safer this way – and besides, with too much movement Seshiru’s health could get worse.

Seshiru had been extremely lucky before - back when Tsukumojuku had stabbed him with the katana, it went in in such a way that Seshiru's heart still worked without any problems. They were afraid that taking the sword out would kill him, so they just cut off most of the tip and the handle and left the remaining piece of the blade in his body. There was stil a risk of injury and death if something caused that piece to move too much, though.

After sealing the deal, Tsukumojuku and Serika went out of the hidden room to “solve the case”. [...and then they have sex out of nowhere and then he finds a porno magazine out of nowhere, wtf, I’m NOT recapping this and have I already mentioned that I hate this book sometimes.]

–

ANYWAY, Tsukumojuku then explained what was going on in the case at hand. 12 beautiful women had been killed so far. All had their heads cut off and taken away somewhere, and three of them also had one or both hands cut off and taken away.

Soon after starting their investigation, Serika discovered that the seventh victim had been to Nishi Akatsuki's ski resort in high school. [I guess they’re happy about that because they can link it to Seshiru being from Nishi Akatsuki?] She went to talk with the victim’s friends and do some other stuff for the investigation [we’ll be back to it later], while Tsukumojuku headed to the house of another grieving family.

He was greeted at the door by Kusanagi Yayoi (草薙弥生), the older sister of the second victim, Kusanagi Ryouko  (涼子) [no pronounciation is given, so I’m just assuming it’s read “Ryouko”] . Tsukumojuku asked her if she had seen the dead body; she had. The funeral service hadn’t been held yet, though. It felt weird to see that body without the head, she said -- it was looking pitiful, and kinda... weird, even. Like not herself.

It's that phenomenon again, Tsukumojuku thought. If Ryouko’s face wasn’t there, then it “wasn't really” Ryouko. Without her head, the place holding her memories and wishes, it’s as if it wasn't her. Even if a person's soul wasn't the same as their brain – the brain was just a tool to make that soul, in a way -- the bereaved family still wanted that head back, and could even think that its absence wouldn’t allow Ryouko to go to heaven/whatever other afterlife. Surely they'd be ready to go through the funeral ceremony again if the head was found. So the problem was that there was a lost “soul” they had to look for.

Tsukumojuku understood that a little. Ryouko's soul has been lost, as if it fell behind the bookshelf in a child's bedroom and was left there in darkness and silence.

“I will now explain what’s going on,” he said.

- - - 

[He’s explaining all of the following to Yayoi]

If a person loses their head, they lose their social signal of “being themselves”. That's the criminal's reason: he didn't want the victims to “be themselves”, so he removed the heads.

However, a headless human body is still not just a piece of meat; souls exist. God made the world in six days and told humans to multiply, since “My Spirit will not contend with humans forever, for they are mortal; their days will be a hundred and twenty years.” [Genesis 6]

Let’s say it’s true, and that humans are meant to live for 120 years -- but there's no known human who would reach that age before dying, so maybe the rest of these 120 years would be then spent as spirits? Eg. if you die at 80, you'll still “live” for 40 years more in this world, but as a soul. That’d mean 21-year-old Ryouko would “live” for the next 99 years... lost in the darkness behind the bookshelf, in her childhood bedroom on the second floor.

Bodies also have another thing about them: blood. Let’s think that way: a headless corpse is like a decanter for wine (blood). Let’s think colors now. Wine: pink, white, red. Body: red blood, yellow lymph, transparent or white/silver cerebrospinal fluid.

What other connections are there here? These colors, red, yellow and white, are the colors of the flags of North Ireland [The Ulster Banner], Gibraltar, and Jersey. If you count silver, also Vatican. Those four flags all have similar features, too. North Ireland and Jersey – a red cross and a yellow crown. Vatican also had a crown, the Triple Tiara (Papal Tiara), that could indicate the authority of the priest, shepherd and teacher [ie. the authority of Jesus Christ; there's a lot of alternate meanings connected to the Triple Tiara, though]. Under the Tiara there are crossed keys, one silver and one golden. A key is also in the Gibraltar flag, under a castle with three towers. Okay, so we have a cross, a crown, and castle, all of which imply a “king”. We also have “keys”.

...Let’s go back to blood for a while. Blood flowing from corpses... maybe “blood” = “flood”. Like the Flood brought on by God after he saw the evil in people's hearts, that killed everything on Earth.

“But are we dead, right now?” he asked Yayoi.

Yayoi answered that of course they weren’t.

(But Tsukumojuku, for some reason, had a split-second though that this was a lie, that they were already dead, and just didn't notice it.)

“We aren't dead,” he told Yayoi, “because of Noah. The Flood rages on, but we're on a safe ship. The Flood will continue for 150 days, and everything around us will die. We're Noah's family, I'm the husband, you're the wife--”

He got closer to Yayoi, trying to seduce her or something [I’d consider throwing the book against the wall if it wasn’t an ebook because woah there, narrator, you’re being kinda an asshole right now]. And then she, uh, exploded with desire and pulled him down on the carpet and they did the do [and I’m just sitting there reading this like... really, Maijo? They were just talking about her dead sister? That’s not how women (or just people period) work??? Also he’s sixteen and she’s implied to be an adult, like when can we finally stop with this?!] Tsukumojuku noted that she was strong as hell and really rough, but it was alright, “she could hurt him as much as she wanted”. [...no witty commentary is left within me]

She then said she didn't understand why she was doing this and cried [which for every decent partner would be a sign to, y’know, stop and talk about it even if she claims she’s alright with continuing, but they don’t stop and Tsukumojuku says something like “well, maybe you just had an urge to have children with me” and I’m just sitting there like, uh, I sure hope Maijo meant for this Story’s narrator to be super unlikable, although of course she’s the one who started getting physical with a minor in the first place so it’s also bad and can I just stop at saying that this entire situation is extremely fucked up?] 

And then he, uh, puts a hand into her and what’d you know, there's something like a fucking plastic bag up there and he pulls it out and sure enough it's a book titled the Third Story and WHAT THE FUCK AM I READING RIGHT NOW, MAIJO?! DID YOU REALLY JUST WRITE THIS

Yayoi is understandably freaked out [yeah no shit, even if it apparently somehow didn't hurt I’m wincing in sympathy just at the thought]. Tsukumojuku considered making her faint and reading the Story right there and then [wow you really are an asshole, huh], but there was no time: Umi and Moppy would be back home soon, so he had to go return too. So he just told Yayoi to “Calm down, this was just a magic trick.” (She still tried to hit him, but finally calmed down a little.)

- - -

Just outside the house he met with Serika, who then introduced herself as Kirika Mai to the still freaked out Yayoi. The case would be explained soon, but first, a little question -- Yayoi wanted the head of her sister back, and to catch the criminal, right? Whatever it took?

Yayoi thought over that question for a long moment, and Tsukumojuku noted that hmm, even after the sex she still had enough boldness to consider refusing, huh? [Aaaaand here goes my leftover sympathy for the narrator. Fuck OFF.] But in the end, Yayoi agreed.

“Well, then let's pour the wine back into the decanter, so to speak.” Tsukumojuku said and opened the giant sports bag that Serika had brought, revealing Ryouko's corpse, still without a head.

...or bones, or internal organs, or blood. Just skin and meat.

[Good thing it's not just the skin, because knowing Maijo I'd expect it to fly its way out of there a’la Antonio Torres.]

Yayoi screamed seeing it. At the same time, from the second floor, there came a sound of someone stomping around. It seemed that Ryouko’s soul had noticed the presence of her body, and came out from behind the bookshelf.

Then, because that’s a good decision apparently, Tsukumojuku stripped and went inside the corpse, wearing it like a suit. Serika had earlier removed the bones and organs, and even put in a convenient zipper in the back.

[fuck I was just joking with the Antonio thing, Maijo please]

Ryouko’s spirit slowly walked down the stairs, saw him, and had quite a puzzled expression (“the fuck are you doing to my body”). She didn't seem to be aggressive towards him, but looked as if she wanted to attack Serika for some reason.

Tsukumojuku turned to her and said in a firm but gentle tone he’d usually use with Moppy: “No, Kusanagi Ryouko. No. No.”

And Ryouko quietly returned to her place behind the bookshelf.

There was still something left to do while he had the skin on: he closed his eyes and concentrated on the feelings around him.

STORY 4 PART 2

Human memory is not always left in the brain. The entire body holds it. There are stories circulating about people with new corneas who can see what the donors saw, or people with new hearts who can feel the emotions the donors did. Wearing Ryouko's corpse, Tsukumojuku could feel the memories contained in her skin as if they were happening to him.

Everything touching her. Every stimulus she had felt in her life. [And of course Maijo has to include sexual stimulation in this and it’s disturbing and I’m not recapping this in details, ugh.] And after that tsunami of feelings, there came skin memories from just before Ryouko’s death.

Somebody was touching her roughly with big hands, a man? She shook it off and ran away, but tripped -- the sensation of her hands hitting earth, small stones of the road digging into her knees. Then, the man turning her over, sitting on her chest, pinning her arms to the ground with his legs. But her ankles were also held down by someone (so there were two criminals!). Then a needle was inserted into her chest, and the memories faded to black.

Tsukumojuku gathered the facts together. The first person's hands were big and rough, the second person's – much thinner, with long nails that left ten clawmarks on the body. The first person seemed to only have four fingers on their right hand, with the ring finger missing.

Next thing: judging by the memory and the condition of the body, the victim had been killed by injecting some kind of detergent. The culprit used a syringe as their killing tool, so maybe it was someone relatively physically weak, maybe a woman--

That syringe he had spotted in the hidden room. Of course. Serika. That’s why Ryouko’s soul seemed angry at her.

Maybe that’s why the heads were removed: she knew that Tsukumojuku could access the bodies’ “memories”, and the presence of eyes/ears/nose would give him enough sensory input information to figure out she was the killer. And those hands of a man -- did she just cut them off of some guy and wore them like gloves to confuse the shit out of him?

As for the motive... aside from the Green Park, there was another park near his house, Ikoinohiroba, where he and Umi sometimes took the kids to play. And where he also secretly banged many women, apparently, which could lead to Serika being jealous [why would-- why-- God, I’m already tired of this part.].

When Tsukumojuku confronted Serika, she admitted that she did kill those women. At first she just dumped the bodies into the river, but then a certain person paid her for the last 12 murders.

That person would take the head and hands of the victim for themselves. They claimed to have come from the Castle through the old waterway running beneath it. No doubt that suspicious person was the culprit in the Castle case, as well, and used the waterway to bring new victims in. They introduced themselves as “Seiryoin Ryusui”, but their real identity seemed to be the “Great Detective Tsukumojuku”.

And they looked uncannily like our narrator.

--

IMPRESSIONS:

I. I don’t even know anymore, my dudes. I give up. I don’t even have the energy to rant.

Seriously, Maijo, what the fuck? You wrote the gut-punching finale of the Third Story where Seshiru finally recognizes Tsukumojuku as his kid brother and defends him with his life, you wrote the Fifth Story where Serika sincerely apologizes for all the abuse she inflicted and it’s implied she’d move on from the fucked up relations of her childhood towards a better life (even if the world is ending)... and then you make Tsukumojuku and Serika fuck? WHAT?! I know this is chronologically before the Fifth Story but come the fuck on. Somehow you made the already bad out-of-nowhere scene even worse by putting it here.

Since nobody actually knows who Maijo Otaro is or what they look like, with even that pen name being an artistic pseudonym, there are quite a lot of people who entertain the rumor that Maijo is a woman. I want these people to read this book, with all its female victim exploitation / having every female character want to throw themselves at the male protagonist / constant “that’s not how women (or people period) work” feel, then look me in the eye and try to repeat that claim.

While I love how mitate works in this universe and the thought processes involved, that fragment with flags was ridiculous even for me. Tsukumojuku sure can bullshit his way through anything.

BOOKS SHOULD NOT BE UP THERE. NO

If there’s something to defend in these parts, it’s the first “lost behind the bookshelf” comparison.

Also, I’m amused by the notion that the entire mess with Antonio Torres in Jorge Joestar could have been avoided if somebody wore his corpse long enough for his confused spirit to appear, and told him “no” in the exact tone of voice that an owner of a well-meaning but easily excitable cairn terrier would use.

>>>NEXT PART>>>

[theveryworstthing]

Rabbit Marriage Part 2

part two of today’s rabbit wedding post. warning, this one gets less fun dark, more ‘history sure does suck sometimes’ dark.

Terrible Mating And Marriage History: Rabbit marriage hasn’t shifted very much in the time that its been a thing. But when it did. Oh man.

The biggest mistakes are always the arranged marriages. They work fine for some races but rabbits just never had any luck with them personally.

Arranged marriages don’t even exist on the island anymore, as they were abolished after the fall of the Warren Kings. Rabbit history with arranged marriages is weird, it mostly existed as a blip of bad population control tactics in the far past before widespread birth control became a thing. When it did become popular it was because of the Warren Kings fucking stuff up.  Oh, and then there’s the mainland cult. They still do arranged marriages but. You know.

Anyway, here are some bits of history about all those things.

Population Control And Lotteries: Sometimes in the old old days things got cramped. This didn’t actually happen very often believe it or not. Between the predator mortality rates and modern medical practices just starting to get going, rabbits didn’t really have to worry about having too many rabbits around. Problems only arose in that tiny window where reliable birth control wasn’t a thing but life saving medical procedures were. Again, this was a very small window, probably like twenty-something years. Rabbits have been trying to stop having so many dang rabbits forever. Now all that life saving knowledge meant that all those lives were now just…hanging out. Living. So to combat overcrowding and the problems that came with it, some warrens instituted rules for mating and marriage.

Very little knowledge is left about these rules since there are very few necromancy-worthy skulls left from that era and the ones that are available don’t speak the form of lango known today. Plus these rules varied from region to region and some of them were only tried for a short period of time before they were given up on. A lot of population control seemed to be throwing things at the wall and seeing what stuck, and boy did very little stick.

From what historians have gathered, in some warrens does and bucks were simply segregated and only allowed the privilege to marry and mate by lottery. Anyone who disobeyed the lottery was banished outside the warren to fend for themselves. In other areas, if you were born in a litter over a certain number your parents were forced to pick one or two of you to carry on the family name. These chosen siblings would go out and marry/reproduce as normal, while the rest of them were either:

A: Marked as symbolically sterile, meaning any pregnancy they’re apart of or even suspected to be apart of turns into an abortion (plus a castration for any buck involved). This was only popular in regions with a lot of doctors and crowding and the mark was only given after a few months to make sure they didn’t accidentally take a Midwife out of the gene pool. (Bonus fact, if rabbits commit infanticide its usually a few months after birth unless they really really don’t want that baby because saving potential Midwives has been so ground into them socially that they have to be sure.)

Or B: Loose ‘match’ betrothals where the rabbit was allowed to choose their partner, but could only choose a rabbit of the same reproductive role. This was especially prevalent with second litters.  Much better than the sterilization thing but a stray pregnancy still meant banishment at best.

Needless to say, there were problems with all of these solutions and rabbits had a tendency to buck against the system just enough so that none of them really worked for long. The lottery systems were especially bad because it was a gamble if your chosen kid was infertile or even ever wanted to be chosen at all considering that all rabbits aren’t straight and all rabbits aren’t cut out for parenthood. Then you went into a weird population drop and people left and it was a mess.

Now fast forward a whole lotta years.

The Warren Kings Are The Root Of So Many Problems Jesus Christ: Holy crap these dudes. After the whole establishing a monarchy thing evolved from a few narcissistic jerks wanting a more rigid class system to terrible crushing dictatorship, Warren Kings straight up stopped having interest in allowing others into their empires. They didn’t quite truck with the usual cross-warren upper class alliance marriages anymore because even THEY knew you couldn’t trust Kings and their families. They needed to Trust the rabbits lucky enough to share their bloodline, and their inbred paranoia made it so they didn’t trust anyone outside of their warren lands. This made upper class courting prospects pretty slim, especially when  they couldn’t ignore the genetic downsides of the whole marrying first cousins thing any longer. So they started arranging marriages with the much more genetically diverse commoners, which was terrible for a couple of reasons.

Reason 1: These marriages held no benefit for the chosen rabbit’s family. When a warren king married your daughter they were mainly in it for the kits, those were the only relations of their mate that they would tolerate. As far as they were concerned, the rest of her family didn’t exist unless they were super useful in some way. Like, literally, it was not uncommon for brides or grooms being taken into royal families to be declared orphans.

Reason 2: The reason the commoners were more diverse is because some of them were secretly still traveling and interacting with other warrens like normal people. Trade still has to happen somehow. Now, the kings were very insular and very hyper focused on predator and enemy defense. Making sure they had the safest, biggest warrens is how they kept their power in a time of civil wars and weaponized wolves. This, combined with their paranoia, distanced them from the people. If they didn’t need anything from the commoners, then their actual day to day welfare wasn’t their problem. Strangely, this hands-off ruling kept them in power longer because the people dealt mostly with warren staff and only had to come in contact with the royal family’s awfulness during special events. This paranoia and ignorance about how people lived made it so if your royal suitor caught on that you had living family or friends outside the warren and you actually interacted with them, it would rock their entire world. Then it was a 50/50 chance that they would either murder  your family for treason, or imprison your family for treason. They would still marry you if they judged you appropriately sorry about all the treason, but you’d probably live out the rest of your life literally chained to either them or an escort at all times. It would be a nice chain. But still.

Reason 3: I’m sure you’ve caught on by now but the royal families were just awful across the board. They were dismissive of rabbit culture. They treated people beneath them like expendable assets. They kept civil wars going on purpose so that people would feel too unsafe to leave for other, possibly hostile, warrens. They almost wrecked the trade system. They tried to  destroy rabbit skulls and writing and anything else historians and necromancers could use to call them on their crimes. The only blessing about their rule is that it was short and survivors of it did everything they could to make sure it never happened again. I’m not gonna elaborate very much on how they treated their commoner spouses, but you can probably guess that it wasn’t great! Having a necromancer around specifically to watch over the harem and revive disobeying does who caught their king on a bad day so they could keep up appearances at dinner was a thing.  Straight up disappearing spouses who were never to be spoken of was a thing. Princess Lily the Pure was said to have had at least 120 husbands. They were all taken from a king-less warren her father had taken control of and historically most of them are just…gone. A few half-burnt skulls were found, each saying how many had come before them mixed in with a few broken phrases about blood on her hands. That’s it. No one is quite sure what went down, but evidence suggests that she was either the unluckiest girl in the world, or the most dangerous serial killer ever born. Choose your own horrible horrible adventure.

Reason 4: As stated before, one of the reasons the revolution wasn’t sooner was because the people had little to no contact with their kings. The marriages changed that. People were being torn away from their families, treason was being declared, the royals were demanding  inspection of all engaged rabbits just in case they wanted the future bride or groom for themselves. It was terrible. Marriage became less about love and more about protection. The royal family wouldn’t take anyone already married. Being with a commoner was bad enough, but what if there were commoner kits  related to their kits hidden away somewhere, ready to challenge them for leadership? Unacceptable! Can’t take that chance! So parents started marrying their children off earlier and earlier in what were known as ‘Snow’ weddings. Snow meaning they were impermanent, meant to melt away with age until they found their real partner and sought a divorce (a process which literally lasted the time it took to walk their Snow partner to their new beau on their wedding day, leaving a time gap any wider was risky) . This actually worked pretty well for a while. A few people were killed so their ‘spouses’ could be taken but the public uproar was enough so that it was very rare. Trouble really arose when the royals started kidnapping attractive pregnant couples and imprisoning them so that they could take their offspring and betroth them to their own young children. Luckily this was towards the end of the the kings’ reign. So when the revolution hit, a few of these couples and their children had lived long enough for rescue.

After all this, you can see how rabbits on the island might think that arranged marriages are Not On.

But wait. There’s more.

Lapindary Rabbits And Breeding ‘Perfect’ Hybrids On The Mainland: The Lapindary Order is a group thought up by two of the original rabbits involved with the inner circles of the Warren Kings. They were in charge of trade for the kings and didn’t really live on the island, preferring to stay on the mainland for business reasons (and because they wanted to see if the monarchy thing would work out before they had to face the rabbits they were helping screw over). Lucky them, they missed out on the whole guillotine business when the people rose up. Unlucky them, all their power on the island pretty much vanished over night and it was a good bet that they could never return without having a date with the aforementioned guillotine. So they started over with another power scheme, because that’s what power schemers do. With the help of a ridiculously wealthy 1/64th rabbit-blood widow named English Ivy, they began the Lapindary Order on the mainland. The original goal was a small secretive match making club, devoted to marrying hybrid mainlander rabbits into positions of wealth and funneling that money back to the founders. It of course got out of hand, as these things do, and quickly became a legit cult that believes in a future where rabbit/mainlander hybrids are recognized as The Best of both races, taking their proper place beside the King and Queen themselves.

Back in the day (not that much has changed), rabbits that married into mainlander houses were considered trophy wives/husbands. They weren’t usually involved in ownership of businesses or control of the estate unless their mainlander spouse was indisposed and no mainlander family members were around to take over. Only mainlanders really knew mainlander affairs after all. Hybrids didn’t have it much better, it was (and still is) a gamble of which way your features lean. Plus your class and your gender and where your rabbit parent was born and the mainland’s weird view of rabbit attractiveness…its complicated. And frustrating. The Lapindaries took advantage of this, and sought to enlist the most ‘perfect’ rabbit half-breeds (low or attractive mutations, good health, strong rabbit features, susceptibility to the spiel) for breeding stock in their society climbing plans. Long story short, the order continues today as a web of intricately arranged marriages, some meant to eventually gain access to the royal houses, some meant to simply hold attractive public positions and turn out the prettiest possible hybrid kits. They’re still a secretive and selective club with only a few chapters and most people believing them to simply be a religious order headed by wealthy rabbits. They’re mostly joked about, like an attractive and harmless Illuminati. No one outside the order knows their true purpose.  No one knows about the notebooks or the curses or the poisoned wine glasses or the unnamed kits who aren’t born up to ‘gem standards’ either. No one is ever going to know.

They’ve spent too many years making sure of that.

[deviantordivine]

The push and pull of fate is like the wave that carves the coast.

Leila

Leila woke up and immediately knew she wasn’t in her own bed. The itchy, cool feel beneath her body was not sheets.  She grasped at the unfamiliar bedding under her.

Grass, she recognized with shock as she twirled the blades between her fingers.

She opened her eyes to a blue sky. All she could see was endless blue-- it almost hurt to look at, it was so bright. She put a hand over her eyes to block out the sun’s rays. A breeze blew by and tickled her stomach and her hand flies from her face to the bare skin of her midriff.

Frowning, she realized two things almost simultaneously: the first was that she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on her. The second was that she didn’t actually remember anything before waking up.

These realizations, she knew, was supposed to be terrifying. She waited a few seconds for the fear and panic to seize her but they didn’t. Instead, a sense of peace surrounded her in all of the nature.

She didn’t feel scared. Confused? Very.

She sat up and covered herself as best as she could with her arms and legs folded around her. Her long, dark hair curled down her back and the sides of her arms. She raked her hair out of her face.

Why am I here? Why aren’t I at home, in my bed? She thought. Then, where is home?

Home for Leila felt like a blank space in her mind. She didn’t even feel homesickness, but then she didn’t think that she could feel homesick for a home she didn’t even know she had.

Leila felt the breeze whisper down down her body causing goosebumps to erupt down the back of her arms and legs. Taking a look around, she noticed she was in a clearing full of white flowers and soft deep green grass. Surrounding the clearing on all sides were trees that went as far as she could see.

She had never been somewhere so beautiful, so...peaceful. Well, she couldn’t remember, but she was pretty sure. The white flowers were bell shaped and looked like sugar dusting the grass. She gingerly reached out to feel the petals.

“Convallaria Majalis” she murmured. How she knew the flower’s name, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was a gardener? Or worked in a flower shop? Maybe she was just really well read?

Maybe I’m a botanist, and I hit my head while collecting samples...while naked.

The ideas of all of the possible lives bounced around in her head, but she couldn’t see herself as any of those things. The question of who she could be was a big empty-ended question at the end of a steadily growing long line of questions.

A warm breeze that smelled like pomegranate caressed her face and she turned her head to one side of the meadow where she spotted a break in the dense tree line.

There might be a path that can lead me out of here, she thought. Then she frowned. Lead me to where?

But she figured she couldn’t stay in the clearing for too much longer, especially without clothes.  She stood, the cool air causing goosebumps to erupt down the back of her arms and legs. Her long dark hair tickled her arms as it swished behind her with each step she took.

As she reached the edge of the clearing she looked over her shoulder. She didn’t want to leave without taking one of the delicate, bell-shaped flowers with her. Crouching, she grabbed onto one of the stalks of the flowers. A warm, tingling energy bloomed through her hand. it felt...right.

The breeze picked up and she heard, no, felt a woman’s voice.

 Of course it feels right, my sweet. The voice was soothing and too familiar, like a forgotten lullaby. She couldn’t place from where. It was like she could hear it in the wind and in her head all at once.

Another question to add to the list. Who is the lady in my head?

Holding the flowers in her hands she could feel the energy growing stronger. It stretched from where she touched the stem with her fingertips to her chest like a livewire. She didn’t have any pockets so as she started walking she gathered some of her hair tried to tuck it in as best as she could behind her ear. The energy traveled from her hands to the flowers, she felt each part of the flower from the stem to the leaves to each petal, and though she couldn’t see them, she could feel the flowers growing, threading their way through her hair. Her hands shook as she put them back by her sides-- from the mysterious energy or from the knowledge that she just grew a flower crown, she couldn’t tell.

One thing that she was sure of, she didn’t have that ability before today.

The forest floor felt soft on her feet. The earth was cool but not damp and the canopy of trees provided relief from the bright sun. It was quiet except for the occasional light rustle and song of birds. The path went on for a couple of minutes before the trees thinned out and she came upon a road. The forest continued on the other side of the asphalt, and the road curved away out of sight on both sides.

Leila gave a soft groan. Now what?

Which way was she supposed to go? The sun was blocked by the rise of evergreens and the breeze much cooler than in the clearing. She gave an involuntary shiver and was reminded that she was naked, and in the open.

Naked, no memory, and most likely not from around here-- she was a perfect victim for any serial killers that just happened to be driving around. Not to mention that the dip of the sun behind the trees meant that night was fast approaching.  She crossed her arms. Now was the time to panic.

She was almost considering turning around heading back to the clearing, the only place she knew she was safe, when a distant roar startled her. She froze as an eggshell colored Tesla came around the curve of the road and stopped in front of her.

The driver turned off the car, the low hum of the electric car silenced. The driver’s door opened and a beautiful woman got out, her heels clicking on the asphalt as she came around the car to Leila. The woman wore a white, flowing pantsuit, the bodice gold embroidery that was made to look like wheat stalks. The gold she wore matched her wavy, blonde hair. The woman paused and then stopped, her hand raising up to slide off the large tortoise shell glasses from her face, revealing gold eyes. They were bright and piercing and stuck on Leila, taking in every detail of her. She only paused a moment before she took the remaining strides to Leila  and pulled her into a tight embrace. Leila only briefly registered the fact that this strange woman was holding her as she was still fully naked before the woman pulled back to look at her. She smelled like freshly cut grass and something wild, something earthier.

“I’m just so glad you’re here. I didn’t actually think...” She trailed off. She spoke with a soft British accent. She wiped a manicured finger gently below her eyes and she sniffed. She let out a shaky breath and then seemed to compose herself. She gave Leila a brilliant smile. “You must be freezing! I have just the thing.”

Leila’s skin cooled quickly in the spots where her hands just were. She went back to the car and grabbed a bundle of white, neatly folded clothes in her arms and came back and handed them to Leila.

“There, honey, get dressed and then we can get going. I’ve never done a pickup before but they were really accurate. Of course they would be, but still, I’m impressed. Down to the time and mile marker and everything.” She said over her shoulder as she turned away for Leila to change. She wasn’t really sure why the woman turned away from her to give her privacy to change when she’d already seen everything, but she still felt grateful.

Leila half paused as she pulled the delicate dress over her head, careful not to ruin arrangement of flowers in her hair.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember, but who are you?” There was a moment where she forgot she didn’t have a memory--she forgot she forgot, which she guessed had to be worrisome.

The dress she wore was a white chiffon shift dress with three-quarter length sleeves and hit at her mid thigh. When she had finished buckling in the straps of her platforms sandals, she stood to find the woman had turned around and was watching Leila with a look of quiet awe on her face. The woman absentmindedly stroked the chunky gold bangles at her wrists.

She straightened the jacket that hung off her shoulders and cleared her throat. “Sorry, I know this must all be confusing to you, but it will all make sense soon...more or less. My name is Camille, I’m your...mother.”

My mother? Leila thought. Camille couldn’t be older than thirty at most and Leila  was...seventeen. She knew that, at least. Plus the fact that Camille had light blonde hair and cream colored skin and Leila’s hair was almost black and her skin was olive. Leila didn’t see a resemblance or felt recognition in Camille’s face. She must have looked as shocked as she felt because Camille let out a laugh.

“I’m not really, only technically-- sorry, I’m really rubbish at explaining all of this.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Camille is my mortal name and I’m a Vessel for Demeter, the Goddess of agriculture. And you...what is your name, honey?”

“Leila,” she breathed. Mortal name? Vessel? Goddess? Camille’s answers only stirred up more questions for Leila and she was starting to feel like the world she woke up in wasn’t one she knew anything about.

“Leila,” Camille said her name slowly, like she was testing out the flavor of it. “Leila, you are the Vessel for Persephone, the Goddess of Spring and fertility. And the daughter of Demeter.”

Persephone. The same woman’s voice from earlier laughed through the trees around her and the leaves swirled in little spirals of wind. Camille didn’t seem to notice.

Persephone. The warm feeling in Leila’s chest returned along with a momentary  pounding in her ears, out of sync with her own erratic heartbeat.

Camille reached for Leila’s hand. “I know it’s confusing, but we can’t be late. I promise everything will make sense soon, Leila.”

Camille squeezed squeezed Leila’s hand reassuringly. She let go and started to walk around to the car.

“Where are we going?” Leila asked.

“We’re going to the grand temple of Zeus, in New Olympus.”

“New Olympus?” The name was too familiar, like the woman in her head. Why did she feel like she’d been there but only in a dream?

Camille opened the driver door to her car and she looked up. A small smile spread on her lips like she was sharing a secret with Leila, one she was waiting to share for a long time.

“New Olympus: the home of the Gods.” She said before getting in the car.

Leila took one look back over her shoulder at the path between the trees and finally a little panic was starting to settle in her stomach. She did know who she was, but a pull in her chest at Camille’s words made her look back to Camille and get into the car.

To New Olympus.