#Detect Black Magic in House

[theastrotree]

Is It Possible To Detect Black Magic

These days, your enemies would not be happy to see you doing good and achieving the great things in your life. You can also determine many of your loved ones have bad feelings for you and they do not want to see you happy and smiling anymore. In the same concern, they can apply some tantras and mantras of the black magic on you. Once someone completes the black magic on you, it would be difficult…

[felassan]

Post on the Dragon Age website:

"Journal #2 The Voices of the Veilguard Get acquainted with some of the voice actors and join us for our upcoming character panel at SDCC! --- Hey everyone, We're packing our bags and heading down to SDCC this week and alongside that comes more Dragon Age: The Veilguard reveals! Today, we're excited to reveal some of the voice actors who bring our characters to life - a few of whom will be joining us for our character-focused panel at the convention. ICYMI, our SDCC panel "Dragon Age - Meet The Heroic Companions of Thedas” will feature Creative Director John Epler and Creative Performance Director Ashley Barlow as they discuss bringing the cast of Dragon Age: The Veilguard to life. Moderated by Lucy James, host and video producer at GameSpot, panel attendees will hear from Neve, Emmrich, Harding, and Lucanis’ voice actors as they discuss their motivations and inspirations that have lit up the personalities and uniqueness of each companion. The panel will be held on Friday, July 26 from 3:15PM - 4:15PM in Room 6BCF.  If the panel isn't enough to satisfy your Dragon Age cravings and you'll be at SDCC in person, join us at the Dark Horse Comics booth (#2615) where we will have swag to give away as well as talent & developer signings. Keep an eye on our social channels for more information on this. Discord members who drop by the booth and show us that they're a part of the server will receive a Romancer pin while supplies last. For those of you who will be keeping an eye on SDCC coverage from home, we'll have the full panel video available at a later date. Stay tuned. With that said, let’s get into our cast."

-

"Four Rooks are Better than One Featuring the most comprehensive character creator in Dragon Age yet, your character, nicknamed Rook, debuts with four different voice overs to make this story truly your own. Rook is Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s leader in the making who has to bring the Veilguard together to take down the threats on Thedas. Immerse yourself even further by picking your voice, with two options from US/North American personalities and two from the United Kingdom/EU.  Rook’s voices have been provided by iconic television, film and video game personalities Alex Jordan (Cyberpunk 2077, The Amazing World of Gumball), Bryony Corrigan (Baldur’s Gate 3, Good Omens), Erika Ishii (Apex Legends, Destiny 2), and Jeff Berg (Battlefield 1, NCIS). What even is Dragon Age: The Veilguard without the Veilguard? These 7 companions stand ready to join the fight to restore order to Thedas. We're happy to announce that our cast of companions includes: - Ali Hillis (Mass Effect 3, Naruto), returns to the fray as Harding, the dwarven scout, a Dragon Age: Inquisition hero with a big heart, a positive outlook, and a ready bow – as well as unexpected magical powers. - Ike Amadi (Mass Effect 3, Halo 5: Guardians, Insomniac's Spider-Man) as Davrin, a bold and charming Grey Warden who has made a name for himself as a monster hunter. - Jee Young Han (Perry Mason, Unprisoned) as Bellara, a creative and romantic Veil Jumper obsessed with uncovering ancient secrets. - Jessica Clark (True Blood, Pocket Listing) as Neve, a cynic fighting for a better future, both as a private detective and a member of Tevinter's rebellious Shadow Dragons.  - Jin Maley (Star Trek: Picard, Silicon Valley) as Taash, a dragon hunter allied with the Lords of Fortune who lives for adventure and doesn't mind taking risks.  - Nick Boraine (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, Black Sails) as Emmrich, a necromancer of Nevarra's Mourn Watch who comes complete with a skeletal assistant, Manfred, voiced by Matthew Mercer (Critical Role, Fallout 4). - Zach Mendez (Horizon Forbidden West, Married Alive) as Lucanis, a poised & pragmatic assassin who descends from the bloodline of the House of Crows, a criminal organization renowned throughout Thedas.  Last but not least, we’re excited to let you know Gareth David-Lloyd is returning as Solas, and Brian Bloom as Varric. We have so many more people to introduce you to, including some returning characters, but we’re not quite ready to reveal all those yet, because of you know - story spoilers.  While that’s all we have for now, we’re eager to meet those of you attending SDCC and to continue our summer filled with reveals from Dragon Age: The Veilguard. Talk soon. — The Dragon Age Team"

[source] [Twitter post]

[shy-sapphic-ace]

List of queer books I read, loved & recommend!

(There isn't any particular order, I wrote these as I remembered them)

Master Of One - Jaida Jones & Dani Bennett (mlm, fantasy, very cool worldbuilding and magic system, funny, cool characters)

Legends & Lattes - Travis Baldree (wlw, fantasy, very soft & chill vibes)

The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon (wlw, high fantasy, cool worldbuilding, kinda reminds me of LOTR but with more dragons and feminism and lesbians)

Even Though I Knew The End - C.L. Polk (wlw, supernatural noir, cool 1930s detective story with angels & demons, I loved this one!)

The Love Interest - Cale Dietrich (mlm, science fiction, very cool concept)

The Darkest Part Of The Forest - Holly Black (side mlm, fantasy, cool fae lore)

The Weight Of The Stars - K. Ancrum (wlw, not quite science fiction but space stuff is involved, lovely and complex characters)

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz (mlm, fiction, very nice in general, there is also a sequel)

The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue - Mackenzi Lee (mlm, historical and vaguely fantasy, nice story but I preferred the sequel honestly)

The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy - Mackenzi Lee (wlw, the sequel to the one before, more fantasy elements than the first, asexual main character!!)

Gallant - V.E. Schwab (no romance, but in the background one of the characters(?) uses they/them pronouns, very cool dark fantasy vibe)

Stranger Than Fanfiction - Chris Colfer (gay main character, trans main character, coming-of-age, nice book)

Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (yes it's the Love, Simon book, mlm, fiction, pretty nice)

They Both Die At The End - Adam Silvera (mlm, sci-fi ish but mostly fiction, cool ideas, but the ending is sad! Very amazing book though, I haven't read the prequel yet)

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - Taylor Jenkins Reid (wlw, bi main character, historical fiction, cool story, just a neat book in general)

This Is How You Lose The Time War - Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone (wlw, sci-fi, very cool time travel stuff!! and very beautiful, it felt like reading poetry most of the time)

One Last Stop - Casey McQuinston (wlw, background trans & pan & queer characters, sci-fi or fantasy idk, but time travel, I loooved this book, great)

The House In The Cerulean Sea - TJ Klune (mlm, fantasy, THIS BOOK oh my gosh you should read it!!, just cute and lovely and good)

Under The Whispering Door - TJ Klune (mlm, fantasy, this book is also sooo amazing, great character development and awesome relationships and stuff, it's been a while since I read it but it was so good)

In the Lives of Puppets - TJ Klune (mlm, ace main character!!, sci-fi, now THIS is found family, oughh feelings. argh, tj klune you’ve done it again, a human and his family of funky robots… I love them)

And They Lived... - Steven Salvatore (nblm, fiction, about gender identity and learning to love yourself, read it a while ago but it was very nice)

I Wish You All The Best - Mason Deaver (nblm, fiction, about finding your identity and people who care about you, very cute and sweet)

The Song Of Achilles - Madeleine Miller (mlm, historical, very good in general)

Carry On - Rainbow Rowell (mlm, background wlw in the third book, fantasy, it's a trilogy, basically Harry Potter if it was gay and also better)

Silver In The Wood - Emily Tesh (mlm, fantasy, very pretty, lots of fae stuff and lovely descriptions, it has a really good sequel too)

Pretty much anything by Alice Oseman (all cute and lovely and great, though I've only read Radio Silence so far I hear only good things, Solitaire is on my to-read list)

I Kissed Shara Wheeler - Casey McQuinston (wlw, fiction, it's been a while but I liked this book)

The Falling In Love Montage - Ciara Smyth (wlw, fiction, this book was so cute and funny and deeply emotional it made me Feel way too many things, I'd definitely recommend it)

What Big Teeth - Rose Szabo (a bit of queerness all around, fantasy, werewolves and monsters, this one was pretty cool!, lots of original ideas for the world/character building)

His Quiet Agent - Ada Maria Soto (mlm, asexual, fiction, about like spies but this book was so gentle and sweet I wanted to cry in the best way possible)

Some By Virtue Fall - Alexandra Rowland (wlw, historical fiction(?), theatre drama!! rival romance!! duels!!, a very good read in general)

Don’t Want You Like a Best Friend - Emma R. Alban (wlw, historical fiction, I’m not usually one for regency romances, but I really liked this!!, very cute and lots of drama, and there’s a sequel coming out soon!)

[scary-lasagna]

oh oh oh!! Yandere proxies with a darling who, in the escape attempt, damages the proxy marking thing?

If a marking is damaged, it still relays a weak signal. Lesser creatures won't be able to detect it, but higher beings will. But damn, is it painful. It's a direct link to Slender, and then it's severed, it's disobedience. Disobedience is punished.

Masky

It was a knife, the very weapon used against you to subdue your 5th escape attempt.

You were a fighter, and that's why he wanted you.

That's why he adored you.

But damn. You could really pack a smart faced punch when you needed to.

He was on top of you, with the handle of his knife between his teeth, struggling to fist both of your wrists at the same time. And in a quick motion, you snatched the knife, chipping his tooth in the process, and swiped down on the shoulder of his jacket.

He screamed, completely blacking out in pain and clutching his shoulder. You managed to quickly scamper away as Masky starts heaving and collapsing on the ground, spots clouding his vision from the pain alone.

You didn’t waste time pushing yourself off of the bloody grass, and almost slipped as you ran into the brush of the forest.

Time seemed to escape you as you pounded your way through the forest, not caring where you went as long as you were keeping distance from Masky, who was hopefully still writhing in the ground in pain and regret.

But then you came to the conclusion that you were lost. You didn’t know how long you’ve been in the woods, how many times you’ve passed the same tree (or at least you thought it was), and why it seemed like something was following behind you.

It might just be a squirrel, right? But no, foolish [Y/N] this is the Black Forest, there are no harmless squirrels. Any creature in here following a cute little human like you has no good intentions to your health.

You didn't even have time to react to your quick, painless death of a snapping neck.

Hoodie

Hoodie is usually a bit more smarter than this, he knows how to protect his weak spots, unlike Masky who tends to act on reckless anger.

It was only a simple scratch as you flailed under his grip, consistently dragging you by your ankles and eventually the rim of your pants, which you quickly learned was an easy handle that he enjoyed dragging you around with.

A game of cat and mouse can only go on so long before the mouse gets eaten. Freedom was only steps away into that dark forest, you didn't care if you could find your way out, because you'd have a better chance of survival against the elements and beasts rather than with this complete psychopath.

But a measly little scratch, just enough to draw blood was enough to drag him down.

He was more fortunate than the others, getting by with only a scratch that felt like a hot, molten nickel erupting from the wound.

Hoodie's grip released, and you quickly freed yourself, scrambling away while he hunched in pain, screaming through his gritted teeth.

Hoodie's body was entirely tense, focused on the sheer amount of pain wrecking his body in wave after wave.

You almost paused to stare at the sight, not quite sure if it was a trap or not. He tended to trick you with little tests.

But you tested fate that day, and sprinted into the forest, letting him watch helplessly as you faded into the brush.

Toby

tw: seizure

Toby doesn't feel pain, but magic will not let a bad deed go unpunished no matter the circumstance.

In Toby's eyes, you only needed a little coaxing to stay still while he attempted to shackle the handcuffs on your wrists.

He'd given you too much freedom to be comfortable with.

A knife stuck out of Toby's back, although it took a moment for him to realize the marking was split open from the blood running down his back.

He felt no pain, but the hallucinations started soon after.

He kept screaming your name, calling for help, it was too pathetic for you to feel sympathy for, even if you had stayed to help him.

His wretched voice echoed throughout the house as you rushed toward any door, any window you spotted. Your mind rushed faster than you could make sense of it, and even opened a pantry in the rush of adrenaline.

You had to try the back door, which was past Toby's body in the living room.

And it fell unusually quiet.

But upon tiptoeing into the living room, with eyes wide and full of primal panic and focus, you noticed Toby convulsing on the ground.

But you didn't have any sympathy for him, you reminded yourself. Every villain as their golden moments, and in his delusions he loved you. But people don't hurt someone that they love. And they certainly do not threaten to lock them in handcuffs, to shove them into a windowless basement.

Foaming at the mouth, Toby wasn't present anymore, and didn't pose a threat even if the seizure did stop before you left.

You grabbed the keychain from his pocket, and unlocked the multiple locks lining the back door, and you disappeared from his life, hopefully for good this time.

When Toby finally woke up, the back door was open, a stupid racoon was picking through his hair.

[kaitokitty19]

Pandora!Kaito/Hakukai

Au idea: the events in Magic Kaito happens 30 years before Detective Conan. Kaito found pandora and was fatally shot by the og Black Org. Hakuba used Pandora to save Kaito but the stone merged with him and he became immortal. Kaito is forever 17 while everyone around him aged. To avoid people suspicion, Kaito travel around the world with Hakuba (the only other people that knows the truth were Chikage and Akako - the later knew without wither of them telling). First they stayed in England, where Hakuba finish his law degree and Kaito interned for a Museum with his Tokyo University's Museum Study degree. Then they moved to France, Hakuba consult for Interpol and Kaito works for the Lourve. A few years later they moved to Spain, then Hungary, then America... All the while Kaito research in museum archives on ways to undo Pandora. They had a peaceful 20 years; however, Hakuba constantly felt guilty because he faulted himself for making Kaito immortal, thus, dooming him to a future of eternal solitude. On the other hand, Kaito also felt guilty because he felt like Hakuba is not living a full life because of him (constantly moving around in fear of surrounding people noticing Kaito's unchanging nature, hiding Kaito from the Black Org, etc). Instead of talking about it, Hakuba just slowly push Kaito away. Kaito still have free rein of Hakuba's property, his houses, his credit cards, the man was just never there. And this in turn make Kaito felt abandoned.

Just as that happened, there is rumor of another pandora in Japan. Kaito went back to his home country and continued moonlighting as KID. This is where he met the cast of Conan. However, his reappearance also drew attention of the now-restructured Black Org... and despite their estranged relationship, Hakuba still had intel on and keep an eye on Kaito...

It's only a matter of time before they have a final showdown with the mysterious organization.

[werezolft]

Pt. 2 of my Dead Boy Detective covers inspired by teen detective novels. More info and reference photos under the cut

I’ve continued watching this series on repeat while creating the novel covers. I really didn’t think I would get through all the episodes, I often stop projects part way through. I might do another post of the covers in chronological series order, as opposed to the order I drew them in.

Style, colors, and very often the actual poses are pulled from covers featuring The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, and The Three Investigators.

I don’t know if you can tell, but I struggle pulling the concentration to add details to make forests look realistic. Something about trees takes more energy than I normally have, haha.

I don’t really have a lot more to add, but thanks for all the love on the first collection, it’s been very fun.

Also, happy pride month 🌈🌈🌈

[ Alt Text

Image 1: An orange-red spiral staircase descends down into darkness. Charles Rowland is higher up, wearing his typical hero outfit; red shirt, black trousers and coat with pins. He’s holding a yellow lantern, and looking behind him anxiously. Edwin Payne follows behind, shrouded in shadow, wearing white nightclothes. At the top in yellow italics is “Dead Boy Detectives”, and in off-white bold caps “THE CASE IF THE VERY LONG STAIRWAY”.

Image 2: A blueish green forest at night, a full moon peaking over the trees in the top left corner. In the foreground to the right stands Crystal in her purple varsity jacket and floral turtleneck, hair half up in buns. Next to her Charles is wearing his hero outfit, polo shirt is fully black. They both look on hesitantly. In the mid ground Edwin, wearing his long brown coat is looking up at the furious glowing blue ghost of Shelby. At the top in yellow italics is “Dead Boy Detectives”, and in off-white bold caps “THE CASE OF THE TWO DEAD DRAGONS”.

Image 3: Crystal and Charles sit inside of a sigil circle on the blue floor of a green subway car. She’s wearing a red jacket, yellow shirt, and tan pants. He’s wearing his hero outfit. Charles is facing Crystal, while she’s angled away from the viewer, both are looking at sheet-ghost David the Demon, who is covered in the same sigils as the circle they sit on, running out the open subway door. At the top in yellow italics is “Dead Boy Detectives”, and in off-white bold lettering “The Case Of Crystal Palace”.

Image 4: A green forest, and brown earth, illuminated by the light of a magically summoned golden chandelier. Under it is The Cat King, brown hair angled into cat ears, wearing a white turtleneck sweater and sparkling black overcoat with red stripes. His arms are folded behind him, and his yellow cat eyes are gazing with feigned disinterest at Monty Finch and Edwin. Edwin is wearing his long brown coat, complete with brown vest and trousers, white shirt and blue bow tie. His cat bracelet is visible on his wrist. Edwin stands in an apprehensive crouch. Behind him Monty, long black hair, red scarf, and black coat, is glaring at The Cat King over his shoulder. At the top in yellow italics is “Dead Boy Detectives”, and in off-white bold caps “THE CASE OF THE CREEPING FOREST”.

Image 5: A series of covers on a white background. From left to right, "The Case Of The Dandelion Shrine", "The Case Of Devlin House", "The Case Of The Dandelion Shrine" (alt cover), "The Case Of The Hungry Snake", "The Case Of The Lighthouse Leapers", “The Case Of The Two Dead Dragons”, “The Case Of The Very Long Stairway”, “The Case Of Crystal Palace”, and “The Case Of The Creeping Forest”.

Image 6: A series of book covers on a white background: “Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators in The Secret of Skeleton Island”, “Nancy Drew Mystery Stories, The Ghost of Blackwood Hall”, “Nancy Drew, The Mystery at Lilac Inn”, “The Hardy Boys, While the Clock Ticked”, “The Three Investigators in The Mystery of the Coughing Dragon”, “The Hardy Boys, The Disappearing Floor”, “Nancy Drew, The Hidden Staircase”, “The Three Investigators in The Mystery of the Laughing Shadow”, “The Hardy Boys, The Secret Panel”, and “The Hardy Boys, The Haunted Fort”.

[ultimateissuessimp]

Could you do Cat King x gn reader, they are a mage that came to port Townsend and tried to warn Edwin about using magic on cats. As they escort the dead boy detectives to the King they try to have Thomas go easy on Edwin. Cat King gets a little jealous as to why his partner wants to let Edwin off easy. (Edwin reminds the reader of their younger sibling they haven’t seen in while)

I love, love, LOVE this request SO MUCH! Thank you for giving me the honour of writing it! I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

For me? For you.

The Cat King x GN Reader

Word count: 3,041

Warnings: A dead body appearing, but only for a second and without gruesome description, some jealousy coming from the Cat King and a mention of having a dead younger sibling

Y/N had known about the Dead Boy Detectives Agency for quite some time now. They had been watching the two boys' adventures the moment they heard about them, taking care of bigger problems when they encounter them from the shadows, taking on a role of a guardian angel. Well, guardian mage, but the point stands. The reason why they took such interest in those boys was because one of them, Edwin Payne, reminded them of their little brother who died quite a long time ago due to an illness that even magic couldn't cure. They stayed with their brother until Death showed up to collect them.

So the moment they felt their presence in Port Townsend alognside a very skilled medium, they had to finally show themself to the trio. A small lesson in dos and don'ts when it came to this town, something that would not only keep them safe, but also inform them about what could be hiding in it.

Y/N teleported themself into the little apartment that Crystal was renting, scaring the three people inside it to death. Well, at least one of them since the other two were already dead. Immediately Charles got into an offensive stance, ready to fight if needed while Edwin remained cautious and Crystal stood behind both of them, still a bit in shock, a fight or flight mode ready to go in a case of an emergency.

-Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?! - Charles asked, hand at the ready to reach for his cricket bat. At the same time Edwin was thinking of different exits out of the possible danger.

-Calm down, calm down. I come here as a messenger - Y/N said, raising their hands up in defense before crossing them over their chest and looking the trio over. - You could say I've been observing from the shadows what you've been doing for quite some time now. The difference now is that you're in a new place you have no knowledge of. There are dangers here. Rules even. If you like your peace, keep to them. Most important would be to stay away from the cats. Don't even think about using magic on them, you don't want to find out what will happen if you do - they stated, uncurling their index finger as they started talking about the first rule. Then the second one when they mentioned watching out for a witch that lived in Port Townsend, a menace to deal with. Then another one and another one until they were out of fingers to show and rules to tell.

-Why the hell would we believe anything you just said? - Charles asked, suspicious look on his face as he carefully observed Y/N, not even for a second dropping his guard.

-Because I saved your ass so many times you could at least try to trust me. Remember that nasty poltergeist in 30 East Drive, Pontefract? How you got cornered because he smashed all the mirrors and quite literally trapped you inside that house? Yeah, that was me. So have some faith kids. Alright, that should be it. Remember what I said and don't get into any trouble. If you dive, head first, into deep shit, then I don't know how well my influence in town could help to save you. Again - they said before doing a little wave with their fingers and dissappearing in a swirl of black fog.

You'd think that after such a warning, people would listen. Yeah, not Edwin. As much as Charles is stubborn, he's somewhat not dumb enough to not listen to someone who clearly wants to help them, albeit reluctant. Crystal doesn't even know much what to do, so she wouldn't try anything either way, but Edwin... Oh Edwin. Mr. Edwin, Know-It-All, I-Know-Better-Than-You, Why-Should-I-Listen-To-You?, Payne. Of course he would be the one so intelligent, yet so stupidly stubborn, to pull shit like that.

Obviously he just HAD to cast a magic spell on a cat. Now not only does Y/N have to save his ass from a harsh punishment, they also have to deal with a certain moody Cat King that was currently throwing a hissy fit, pacing around and cursing out everything in bloody existence. Y/N rubbed their temples as they listened to their partner rant continously.

-The nerve! Magic! On my cats! They'll be lucky if they walk out of here alive! - Thomas said angrily, running a hand through his hair as he did another circle in front of his throne.

-My love, will you take a deep breath with me, please? I'm sure there's a logical explanation to this. I know you're mad, I understand where that's coming from, I really do, but let's not make rushed decisions okay? - Y/N proposed, walking over to Thomas and stopping him gently by placing their hands on top of his shoulders, before sliding them down his arms to his hands, catching them in theirs and holding tightly.

-Sugar, I don't think there's a logical enough explanation to using magic on my fucking cats - the Cat King hissed out, before finally closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath to slightly calm down, not wanting to lash out on his partner.

-I'm sure there is. Will you hear him out at least? - Y/N asked, rubbing soothing circles with their thumbs into the backs of Thomas' hands, wanting to calm him down a bit more.

-Him? Kitty cat, it sounds to me like you know who it was - Thomas said, slight accusation in his voice as he looked at Y/N with his head slightly shifted to the side, eyebrows furred as a scowl started appearing on his face making Y/N cup his cheeks in their hands.

-I think I know who it is for almost a hundred percent, but I've warned them that they would be wise to stay away from your cats - they said, pressing their forehead against Thomas', hoping that they convinced him at least just a bit to go easy on Edwin without particularly saying anything.

-Yet they didn't listen now did they? - The man asked, huffing out some air before wrapping his arms around their waist. - I'll think about being less harsh, but there still must be a punishment. No one gets away with hurting or damaging what belongs to me - he added before planting a kiss on Y/N's lips.

It was finally time for the trio to have a little talk with the Cat King. He had already sent the cat Edwin used the magic on to go and fetch them, but Y/N wanted to be there too before they actually get there to give them another small advice. They promised Thomas that they'll be back soon before they departed in a swirl of black fog like the one before.

-You've done fucked up. What did I tell you, huh? Stay away from the cat and what did you do? You went and used MAGIC on one. Are you out of your mind, Edwin Payne? - Y/N asked with a certain edge to their voice, clearly very annoyed with, mostly Edwin, the group, because there was no guarantee that Thomas would actually go easy on all of them. Especially with all of their smart mouths that only get them into even more trouble.

-I don't see what's all the fuss about. It's just a bit of magic - the ghost teenager said, rolling his eyes sassily before placing his hands on his hips to add even more sass to his statement.

-Don't give me that attitude, young man, you have no idea in what deep shit you are and I specifically told you not to dive head first into any shit. It already took me some time to try and get him to calm down and not send out a swarm of cats to rip you to shreds. Talk any more shit and I won't be able to get your ass out of this one - Y/N said, crossing their arms over their chest as they stared Edwin down before Charles chimed in.

-Him? Who's him? And why is he so important that you speak of him as if he was about to send Edwin back to the pits of Hell? - he asked with a look of confusion on his face as he looked simultaneously at Y/N and the cat that was now sitting a few feet behind them, patiently waiting to continue navigating the group to the warehouse.

-You'll see soon enough. Now come on. There's no time to waste - they said before finally turning sideways and gesturing to their right as an indicator for the teenagers to finally move.

When they got inside the warehouse, Y/N couldn't help, but smile softly and shake their head at their boyfriend's antics. Of course he would put on a show. He wouldn't be the diva cat that he was if he didn't. As they approached the throne and the cats dispersed from before it, leaving only a very massacred body behind alongside three disturbed teenagers with an unfazed mage in front of them, the said teenagers behind Y/N observed the orange cat with confusion and caution written on their faces.

-We were invited to see the Cat King - Edwin said, trying not to let the shakiness in his voice after seeing the dead guy before the be heard.

The trio flinched when the cat disappeared in purple fire, making space for the gorgeous man that is Y/N's boyfriend to appear. They smiled brightly at him and bowed down jokingly, making the Cat King chuckle with endearment, just to get that fire back into his eyes that spoke of danger and anger at not only the disrespect of his rules, but also endangerment of one of his subjects after he saw the group behind his partner.

-Hi - he said as he observed the trio, a faux friendly smile on his face.

-Can all cats do that? - Crystal asked the boys quietly, yet not quiet enough that the Cat King didn't hear which only made him chuckle in amusement.

-"Can all cats do that?" Of course not, I'm a Cat KING - He answered, putting an emphasis on the 'king' part, going full on sass as he usually did. - I can tell you're not the brains of the operation. Sorry, I'm already bored - Thomas added, making a rather mean comment, which he didn't really seem to care about, wanting to get to the center of the problem quickly.

-No need to be rude, darling - Y/N said with a gentle pout to their face before they walked over to where Thomas was sitting and stood right next to the throne, putting their hand on the man's shoulder, a little sign that he could tone it down a bit.

-Hmm - The Cat King only mused before letting out a soft sigh and turning his head towards the cats gathered in the back. - Which one of them used the magic on you? - he asked the cat that fell victim of Edwin's antics.

-The scrawny one that just had the nerve to talk to you - the cat answered, clearly showcasing where the it's personality came from.

That brought out a little 'oh' out of Thomas, before Edwin spoke up again, trying to explain what they were doing and who they were until the Cat King interrupted him.

-Oh I don't care. Using magic on my cats is a total car crash on your part - He said with a cynical smile before lazily pointing with his index towards Edwin. - We... Should discuss your offense. Privately- the man added while standing up from the throne.

Of course Charles didn't like that and tried to stop anything from happening, but Y/N shook their head as a signal not to do it. It would only make the matter worse and they already had a plan of action, so he could screw it up with his little outburst. Edwin talked it out with the other two while Y/N walked over to Thomas and slightly fixed his messy hair, sighing softly as they thought over what to do when they actually go and sort this out.

When the trio came back, Thomas departed himself, Y/N and Edwin to the bedroom they both shared. Weird choice of a place to sort this situation out, but Y/N didn't really question it. Out loud at least.

-So... What should your punishment be? - Thomas said with a large amused grin as he stepped closer towards Edwin.

-How about something that wouldn't involve dangerous things that would result in Edwin going to the afterlife? - Y/N proposed an idea with arms crossed over their chest and eyebrows slightly raised as they looked at their lover with a, just a smidge, pleading look.

-Why not? I don't think that would really be over the top. Seems quite fitting in my opinion - the Cat King said shrugging his shoulders with a smirk as he looked back towards Y/N.

-Please? He just made a mistake. A dumb one, I admit, but it was a mistake. He shouldn't have to lose his ghost life for that - they said, straightening their pose before slightly tilting their head to the side as they kept their gaze only on Thomas.

Clearly he didn't like that constant defending of the boy coming from his partner, so he decided to have a small talk with them off to the side, excusing them both for a moment before guiding Y/N to the one spot he knew Edwin wouldn't see or hear much.

-Why do you care about this ghostly twink so much? What, do you find him cute, is that what it is? I've got to admit, he's quite cute, but I'm literally right here, hello? - Thomas began asking a series of questions, an aura of jealousy surrounding him as he loosely caged Y/N against the wall, his cat personality clearly kicking in as the respect for personal space completely flew out of the window in a matter of seconds when he leaned in so their faces were centimeters away.

-What? No! Kitty cat, he just... He reminds me of Alexander... They both didn't get to grow up and they are similar so much personality wise... I can't help but see Alexander in him, even though I know that he had moved on to the afterlife. Somewhere where I can't follow. Not yet - Y/N explained, letting out a sigh before turning their head and looking off to the side at the clear as day memory of their younger brother filled their mind.

-Shit... I'm sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions... - He said with a look filled with guilt before he rested his head against their shoulder, wrapped his arms around their waist and closed his eyes. - I'll go easy on him for you. Give him something not too hard to do, looking at the fact that he seems like a clever fella. He will have to stay here for quite some time to do that though - Thomas added after pressing apologetic, small kiss against the skin of their neck and then pulling away a bit to look into their eyes.

-Really? You'll do that for me? - they asked quietly, looking back at Thomas with a soft smile.

-For you. Always for you - he said and leaned it to capture their lips with his own in a sweet, short kiss.

After that they went back to Edwin who was looking around, more than likely looking for a way out, but even if he wanted to run, he would get lost, so that would be unsuccessful.

-Alright. I've got just the right punishment for you - Thomas said, stretching out his arms to the sides slightly with a large grin on his face. - Show me your arm. Come on, I don't have the whole night - he told Edwin, doing a little 'Come on' motion with his hand at the same time he said it out loud.

-For what? - Edwin asked cautiously, clearly not trusting the Cat King. Obviously so. After all he was about to receive a punishment that he had no idea what it was.

-Edwin, just do it - Y/N said, encouraging the teenager with a small smile and a nod of their head.

Finally, the boy agreed, although reluctantly, and stretched out his arm towards the Cat King before pulling it quickly back when a gold bracelet showed up around it.

-What is this? - Edwin asked with suspicion, immediately trying to take it off yet finding himself unable to do so.

-A little piece of jewellery that will keep reminding you of your punishment. All you have to do is count all the cats that reside in Port Townsend. It will also keep you in the town for that time. Until you finish counting of course. Also only the one who put it on can take it off, so I'd recommend hurrying if you want to go back to wherever you came from - the Cat King said, a cheeky smirk on his face as he observed the boy's flabbergasted expression with amusement.

When Edwin started lamenting and protesting that the task was unfair and impossible to do, Thomas explained why he received such a punishment before sending him back to the other two teenagers while Y/N and him stayed back in the bedroom.

Y/N walked over to the Cat King, wrapping their arms around the man's neck and leaning in to press a sweet kiss, thanking him without words while he wrapped his arms around their middle and pulled them close.

-That went well. Next time he pulls something stupid, then you won't be able to save his ass from the harsher punishment though - he said before burying his face in their neck and simply resting there.

-Yeah, yeah, we'll see about that - they said, both of them knowing how different the reality will be if such a thing actually happens. Y/N having so much control over Thomad without trying too much. After all, the Cat King was such a romantic and he hated it.

[misc-obeyme]

Okay. I decided to do a little headcanon post for Flufftober, so here it is. Except that it turned out to be CRAZY LONG. I did not expect that. I was gonna post all the characters in one post, but that seems excessive. So instead, I'm gonna post them separately as usual and just link to the other part. I will be posting the rest of the characters shortly!

The theme here is a masquerade party... well don't worry, there's an explanation about what's going on. I dunno I just got the idea and thought it'd be fun to write and then got carried away as usual. I tried to keep them brief, but here we are.

FLUFFTOBER 2023

GN!MC x the demon brothers

Warnings: none that I can think of??

It was an October night in the Devildom and the House of Lamentation was hosting a Halloween masquerade ball. The main hall had been decorated splendidly in oranges, purples, and blacks. An entire feast was laid out, the table full of dishes contributed to the party by Barbatos and Simeon. The room was dark, lit mostly by orbs of orange light, enchanted to float through the air by Solomon. On a small stage there was a live band playing a mix of lively and slow creepy music. The dance floor was filled with demons, all of whom were unrecognizable…

Due to the masquerade theme, special masks had been made for each attendee. They were made by Satan and Asmodeus, working together to create magical masks that would completely obscure each party goer's appearance. Once they put on the mask, a glamor fell over them that transformed them and made them unrecognizable. Every glamor costume was black and incorporated a look involving fancy suits, flowing dresses, and probably too many sequins.

The party organizers all knew what each other's mask-generated costumes looked like. Everyone had been present when Asmo revealed his designs. Everyone… except you. You had insisted on creating your own glamor and thus hadn't been present to see everyone else's.

Now you stood in the middle of this masquerade party, unable to recognize a single person.

And yet you knew that the person you wanted to see most was in the room somewhere. And after a small amount of time, you were certain you had figured out who it was. You made a bold move and asked them to dance. While you were in their arms, they told you to meet them somewhere specific later, when the party was winding down. You agreed and spent the rest of the night exchanging looks with them, anticipating the moment when you would be alone with them.

Had you chosen the correct person? Did you know them well enough that you could determine their identity when their appearance was so altered? And more importantly… did they know who you were?

Lucifer

It was his bearing. The way Lucifer held himself was undeniable. There was nothing about the fancy suit that tipped you off - no bits of blue or red, no feathers, no indication at all that it was Lucifer. Even his eyes were turned pure black by the glamor. And yet, when he looked at you, it was like you could feel the ruby red that hid beneath.

When he asked you to meet him in the music room later, you were even more convinced. Of course that would be Lucifer's choice. When you arrived, the sound of the party music still playing softly in the distance, he smiled and took your hand. A little piece of you doubted, wondered if he could truly detect you behind your mask.

His fingers ran along the edge of the mask that covered your face. "Do you trust me, MC?"

Even his voice was altered by the magic. You shuddered. What if it wasn't him?

Though, would Lucifer really make such a mistake? Would Lucifer let someone else lead you astray?

You let out a breath. "Yes."

Lucifer put his arms around you, pulling you close, and pressing his lips to yours. The masks bumped slightly against each other as you gasped into his lips.

When Lucifer pulled away enough to remove his mask, a relief flooded through you at the familiar curves of his face.

"How did you know it was me?" you asked.

Lucifer smirked at you. "You couldn't help yourself, could you? You were by my side most of the night. And when you weren't, I could feel your eyes on me."

You blushed, but Lucifer only chuckled and kissed you again.

Mammon

He didn't know who you were at all, but the minute you got close enough, you could feel it. A sense of protection that you could only feel in the presence of your guardian demon. He may not know who you were, but you knew him. He was in full on party mode when you asked him to dance with you. He seemed uncertain, likely thinking about you, but he accepted.

Something in his demeanor changed while you danced. His uncertainty fell away and he asked you to meet him out by the front door. You thought this was kind of an odd choice, but you agreed. Later, you slipped out the front door as requested and everything fell into place.

He was leaning against his Demonio 666 Lexura, mask still on, smiling at you.

You laughed a little at how pleased he seemed. You walked down the stairs to the street, stopping right in front of him and reaching out to remove his mask.

There was the familiar face you knew so well - blue-gold eyes shining, white hair bright in the darkness.

"Ya wanna ditch this party and go for a ride?" he asked.

You put your arms around his neck. "You didn't know me at first. How did you figure it out?"

Mammon put his hands on your waist. "Like I wouldn't recognize your dance moves."

Your laugh was smothered as he kissed you. He opened your door for you and you got into his car. He kept a hand on your thigh as he drove into the Devildom night, the yellow moon high in the October sky.

Leviathan

He gave himself away by bringing a handheld video game console to the party. It stuck out of his pocket when he wasn't using it and when he was, he was hunched over in a corner somewhere, the little bleeps and bloops adding a humorous quality to the music in the room.

When you came over to him, Leviathan looked annoyed that someone was interrupting him. He frowned at you for a moment and then became nervous when you asked him to dance. He tried to get out of it, but you didn't listen, dragging him by the hand onto the dance floor. You proceeded to incorporate some dance moves from the latest music video of Sucre Frenzy and suddenly Levi's attitude changed. He wasn't trying to hide who he was and asked you to meet him in his room.

When you knocked on the door later, Levi opened it, mask already discarded. He looked at you, still in your glamor and said, "Th-that's you, isn't it, MC?"

You removed your mask and smiled at him.

Levi sagged against the door for a minute before opening it wide to let you in. "I was so nervous! I thought maybe you were someone else who happened to be intimately familiar with Sucre Frenzy's dance moves!"

You laughed and hugged him, patting his back reassuringly. "I'm pretty sure we're the only ones who know those moves that well. That music video only came out a couple days ago."

Levi pulled back to look at you, pride evident in his orange eyes. "You did them flawlessly."

You blushed a little and pulled on his clothes to bring him closer. "You weren't too bad yourself."

Levi kissed you to hide his own blush, but you still saw it quite clearly.

Satan

You were standing among a group of demons, listening to their idle chatter. You had no idea who any of them were, of course, but they seemed to be discussing the merits of various cafes in the Devildom. This was a fairly benign topic until one of them brought up cat cafes. You noticed the minute the demon beside you began to ramble at length about the benefits of cat cafes. It quickly devolved into what sounded like a dissertation on the positive qualities of cats in general. As the others quickly excused themselves, you laughed and asked Satan to dance with you.

Satan seemed reluctant at first because he wasn't sure who you were right away. But when he stopped rambling and really took you in - your demeanor, the soft smile of fondness on your face - he accepted your request. During the song, he seemed to feel certain of your identity and asked you to meet him in the library later.

You had expected Satan to be deep in a book when you arrived, but instead he was watching the door. He took several steps toward you when you came in.

"I thought you might not come, MC," he admitted.

Your heart squeezed and you removed your mask. "Why wouldn't I?"

Satan took off his own mask. "I thought your attention might have been drawn elsewhere."

You closed the distance between you and looked into his eyes, now their usual mixture of greens and blues. "You say that as though I've been able to think about anyone other than you."

Satan wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in to kiss you.

Asmodeus

It was in the sensual way he moved, how he lightly teased everyone he came into contact with, the boldness he seemed to gain from the fact that nobody knew who he was. All of these things tipped you off, but when Asmodeus stopped to look at himself in a mirror, lingering a little too long than anyone else might have, your suspicion was confirmed.

To your surprise, Asmo already seemed to know who you were, too. You didn't even have the chance to ask him to dance because he asked you first. You thought maybe he was just asking anyone and everyone, that it wasn't because he knew you. But when he asked you to meet him in the garden later, you were suddenly uncertain. Did he know you or not?

When you arrived in the garden, Asmo was looking up at the yellow moon. He heard you approach and turned around, giving you a dazzling smile.

He spread his hands, the offer of a hug. "There you are, darling!"

You considered him. You still weren't sure if he knew who you were.

Asmo giggled. "Oh, do you think I don't know you? Silly thing."

Asmo walked up to you, placed his fingers on your mask, and leaned in close. "No amount of glamor could hide you from me, MC."

You shivered. Asmo took off your mask and removed his as well, tossing them aside. Then he opened his arms again.

You stepped into them easily, pressing yourself against his body, and meeting his lips with yours.

Beelzebub

The glamor obscured Beelzebub's size and height - the things that normally made him almost impossible to miss. And maybe it would have made it difficult for you to find him in different circumstances. But this was a party. And there was food. You watched the buffet table for some time, waiting to see who never left it or who ate most of it themselves.

When you asked Beel to dance, he accepted immediately, which surprised you. As the two of you danced, you tried to figure out if he knew you or not. He seemed comfortable with you, but it wasn't any different than how Beel was with most people. And then he asked you to meet him at the planetarium. Perhaps you had gotten it wrong? Was there another hungry demon at this party? Was it actually Belphie you were dancing with?

You arrived at the planetarium, feeling uncertain about just who it was you were meeting.

When he saw you, Beel took off his mask, completely eliminating your concern. He smiled at you, the same sweet smile that made your stomach flutter. "Hi, MC."

You shook your head slightly and took off your own mask. "Why did you ask me to come to the planetarium?"

Beel looked up at the planetarium and pointed at the moon. It had an unusual yellow cast to it. "Belphie likes the planetarium. And right now the moon looks like a big wheel of cheese."

You laughed. He wasn't wrong. You took Beel's hands and turned him toward you. "I should've known."

Beel smiled again and kissed you.

Belphegor

Belphegor was eluding you. You had already spent a significant amount of the party looking for a sleeping demon, but you couldn't find one. Everyone you saw was fully awake and nobody even seemed to be slightly nodding off. He must have found a small hiding place to fall asleep and that was why you didn't see him anywhere.

You nearly jumped when you felt a hand on your back. When you turned, a demon smiled at you and asked you to dance with him. There was something about this quiet demon's demeanor that made you suspect it was Belphie. Where had he even come from? And was it really him? You allowed him to lead you out onto the dance floor. He asked you to meet him in the garden later and you felt compelled to agree. If it wasn't Belphie, you could always just leave.

Once you were in the garden, you found him standing there, waiting quietly. He was looking up at the sky, which was full of the yellow moon and a dramatic scattering of stars.

"The stars are beautiful tonight aren't they, MC?" he asked.

All doubts fled your mind then. You stood beside him and looked up, resting your head on his shoulder. "They're lovely, Belphie."

Belphie turned to you, easily slipping an arm around your waist and removing your mask. He stayed still as you took his off, too.

"You weren't sure it was me," he said.

You shrugged. "You look wide awake, that's all."

Belphie smirked. "I was on edge waiting to do this," he said.

You were about to ask what that meant, but he cut you off with a kiss.

part 2 with the rest of the characters

flufftober | kinktober | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

taglist: @anxious-chick @t0tallycoolname @libidinous-weeb

[tiannasfanfic]

Auntie Ethel’s Cure

Astarion x Drow!Reader (Fluff)

| Astarion Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: Another promised cure for your tadpoles ends up being just another dead end when a powerful Hag is unable to remove it.

Rating: General Audiences

Author Note: Gender neutral Tav/Reader, they/them pronouns used (if any). Spawn!Astarion x Drow!Reader, but no descriptions of Tav/Reader's appearance. Fluff with Mild Hurt/Comfort. Takes place during Act 1 before heading to the Goblin Village during the "Investigate Kahga" quest. The dialogue between Auntie Ethel and Tav/Reader is taken from BG3 based on the dialogue options chosen in my current play through.

CW: Mentions of eye removal (no details, just that it happened); mentions of Astarion drinking blood (no details, just that he does it).

Word Count: 1,734

The party had been quiet ever since you and Astarion returned from the Tea House.

Morale was now lower than ever. Yet another lead on removing the tadpole had proven to be a bust. Not only that, but you’d lost an eye in the process.

But, even with her failure, Auntie Ethel had done something that no one else had been able to do thus far. She was able to provide you with more information about it.

“You little shit, you didn’t tell me it was Netherese!” the Hag had growled as she released the magic that held you for the procedure, resulting in you collapsing in a heap on the floor. “I’m not touching that!”

“Netherese?” you asked, sounding dazed as Astarion helped you up.

Auntie Ethel nodded.

“Filthy shadow magic - brings nothing but chains and misery,” she said, then grimaced in pain as she gingerly rubbed her right hand, the tips of her claws now black after the failed extraction. “How could I have missed that stink? It’s like blood and piss congealing on my tongue. Bleh.”

As if to emphasize her point, the Hag turned and spat in the dirt.

“Someone’s tampered with your parasite,” she continued, turning back to gaze again at you and Astarion. “That’s likely why you’ve not turned yet.”

At this point, the shocked daze you were began to lift. You shook your head rapidly as if to clear it, grimaced, then refocused your gaze on the Ethel.

“What do you mean, ‘tampered’?” you asked.

The Hag chuckled, an expression coming to her face that was reminiscent of an old lady looking at a small child who just said something silly.

“Bless us, you’re as slow as a wet week,” she said, almost affectionately, then pointed one of her singed claws towards your forehead. “That thing has been touched by more than Mindflayers.”

Then came the dreaded words that no one wanted to hear, the words that now echoed through everyone’s heads as they silently sat around the campfire.

“You’re a dead soul walking, petal. I can’t help you.”

Ironically, despite her nature, Astarion detected a thread of sympathy in Ethel’s voice. Not much, mind you, not like when she was still trying to sell her harmless little old lady act. Just a thread. She seemed oblivious to it though, and that made him believe her.

You were quiet on the walk back to camp. Once at camp, you told everyone what the Hag had said, word for word, then disappeared into your tent.

That was three hours ago. You had yet to emerge, even after Gale called everyone to dinner.

Generally, it wasn’t like you to sit in your tent and brood. That was Astarion’s job, and sometimes even Shadowheart’s. But you? You were the one that always pulled them out of their dark thoughts. You had a knack for snapping them out of the dark recesses of their minds, even if it involved just barging into their tents and dragging them out by force.

Looking around at everyone, Astarion could see they were all bothered by the day’s events. No one was eating much, not even Karlach. They were poking at their bowls of stew, with occasional glances of worry towards your tent.

After a while, he couldn’t take it anymore. The silence, the lack of jokes and laughter, the gloom. Even Gale was silent and that never happens. Normally he’d be going on about what technique he used to sear the meat for the stew or waxing philosophic about his collection of spices back home. Granted, Astarion normally tuned him out, but at least there was something to tune out.

Getting to his feet, he approached your tent. The flaps of your tent were closed and there was no sound coming from inside. He began to wonder then if you’d fallen asleep, but then he listened more closely to single out the sound of your heartbeat and breathing. Both were steady, indicating you weren’t asleep.

He paused just outside and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Tav? May I come in?”

Only a moment passed before you answered.

“Of course.”

You sounded normal, your voice its usual tone and timber. That was a good sign, or so Astarion hoped.

As he brought his hand up to open the flap of your tent, the sudden feeling of being watched washed over him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw everyone at the campfire was watching him with hopeful expressions. Karlach and Wyll both gave him an encouraging thumbs up. Astarion rolled his eyes in response before ducking inside your tent.

Once inside, he could see that you hadn’t been idle for these past few hours. You had gotten yourself cleaned up from the marsh and changed into your camp clothes. The muck and grime had been cleaned off your armor as well. It sat in a neat pile near the tent flap, ready for tomorrow’s adventures.

Presently though, you were having an idle moment as you sat on your bedroll, mirror in hand.

You were gazing at your reflection thoughtfully, looking at yourself one way for a moment before tilting your head to see yourself at a different angle.

If you were bothered by the change to your appearance, it wasn’t apparent, but that didn’t mean anything. Drow were nothing if not vain and you were no exception to this.

After watching you for a few moments, Astarion cleared his throat again.

“What are we thinking, darling?” he asked.

You tilted your head to the side a bit, raising and lowering your brows at the same time, like you were shrugging with your face instead of your shoulders.

“It’s not bad, all things considered,” you finally said, setting the mirror aside and finally looking up at him. “Did she leave any scarring? It doesn’t look like she did, but my vision on that side isn’t that good anymore.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up at that statement.

“Really, darling?” he repeated, an incredulous tone to his voice as he crouched down in front you. “Just, ‘not that good anymore’?”

You chuckled softly.

“I guess there’s no point in lying, huh?” you asked, looking up at him.

Astarion shook his head and you sighed.

There was no hiding it. While your eye was still wholly intact, anyone could see that it was as dead as the deer Gale had used in tonight’s stew. It was completely whited out now, with no trace left of its original color, the gaze coming from it emotionless and blank.

Gently taking hold of your chin, he tilted your head up towards the light so he could see that side of your face better.

To his amazement, you were right. Auntie Ethel had done excellent work as far as damage went. She’d left behind no scarring, no tissue damage apart from the obvious. The only blemishes and scars were the ones you already had.

“It’s not bad,” he finally said, letting go of your chin before smirking. “If anything, you’re an even scarier Drow now.”

A bark of laughter came from you at his words.

“True,” you said, and a grin came to your face. “Who knows? Maybe this will make things easier for us now.”

Now it was Astarion’s turn to bark laughter, which he did as he got to his feet.

“As nice as that would be, darling, our luck isn’t that good,” he said, extending a hand out in an offer to help you up. “Now, let’s get some dinner in you. You’ve had a long day and tomorrow will be even longer still.”

You quirked a brow at him as you placed your hand in his.

“Now now, Astarion,” you said as he pulled you to your feet. “Keep saying things like that and I might actually start thinking you care about me.”

Astarion felt a slight pang in his chest at your words, but brushed it off like he always did. It was happening more often now since spending that night with you in the clearing. He just assumed it was due to your blood. Even though he’d fed in a few human bandits since then, none of them had tasted anything like you. No doubt it was a side effect of you being his first, and he was sure it would go away in time.

But, even still, you’d placed a lot of trust in him by letting him drink from you again after what happened the first time. Whether intentional or a decision made in the heat of the moment, he wasn’t sure, but he was still grateful for it all the same. It was a nice, unexpected treat before the act he had to perform.

Presently, Astarion realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts, and shook his head to clear it.

“Of course I care about you, darling,” he said in his most charming voice, as he turned and walked away. “You’re my backup food source.”

Upon reaching the front of your tent, he swept open the flap with one arm and looked back at you as he gestured outside with the other.

“Shall we?”

Despite your excellent composure, Astarion could read the telltale signs of amusement on your face. There was a slight crinkle at one corner of your mouth, a very slight but brief lowering of your eyelids.

“I suppose,” you said nonchalantly, then came over to join him at the door. “Just remember, no more midnight surprises.”

Astarion opened his mouth to make a witty retort, but the words died on his tongue when you patted his shoulder reassuringly as you headed out of your tent. This gesture indicated that, despite your words and stoic tone, you were just teasing him. But what really got his tongue was your touch itself. His arm felt pleasantly warm and almost tingly where your hand had been.

It felt…nice.

Not as nice as waking up with you in his arms, but still nice all the same.

Astarion blinked, then shook his head hard as he quickly followed you from the tent.

He had no idea where that thought had come from.

It was a little bit alarming, but now that camp was back to normal following your departure from the tent, he had the ambient sound of people talking to tune out while he sat at the campfire brooding over it.

[perseidlion]

How the Cat King Got His Groove Back (Ongoing, soft E)

The sky over Port Townsend was slate gray as it often was for weeks on end in the winter. The air was damp and heavy, with the ocean breeze cutting right through even the warmest jackets. Winter was usually free of snow in the Pacific Northwest, but the endless stretch of gray and drizzle was just as depressing as any deep blanket of snow. Perhaps moreso, because at least in snowy climes, the sun occasionally came out to play. 

The Cat King’s cannery was drafty and cold. Even his loyal subjects had abandoned him for spots beneath houses and under staircases where they huddled together for warmth.

It had been about a month since the Dead Boy Detectives had come to town and stirred up everything like a whirlwind. Cat had felt more energized than he had in decades, and not just because one of said detectives was curiously handsome and fascinating. 

But in their wake, they’d left an eerie calm. Their time in town had been short, but they had a reputation for a reason. They’d solved nearly a dozen cases, small and large in their short time. Some of the cases had been outstanding for decades. They’d also vanquished Esther Finch, the powerful and vain witch who had been causing trouble in town longer than the Cat King had ruled. 

Esther was a scourge who crossed lines even some of the darkest creatures would not. Plus, she’d beaten him to death with her cane, taking one of his precious lives in the process. Which was just…so rude.  Cat would be lying if he said he didn’t miss her a little - if only for the chaos she brought. She was a piece of shit, but she was a piece of shit who kept life interesting. 

And things were just so…quiet without her particular brand of chaos. 

And without him.

Cat stretched his toes out and off the edge of the stack of palettes that served as his throne. He was draped in a heavy black fur coat to try and hold back the chill. When he exhaled a deep-chested sigh, his breath condensed like cigarette smoke. 

He felt numb. He knew he should get up and at least use his magic to kindle a fire in an oil drum or envelop himself in a protective haze of magic. But the cold that pricked his skin and the draft that trickled between the fur of his coat at least let him feel something. He’d been considering the possibility of moving for a good long while, but couldn’t will his limbs to do more than shift a bit to make sure his body was covered by his coat. 

Cat would swear up and down that he was an independent creature, one who went where he pleased and made love to whoever he liked. But the truth was, he was a profoundly lonely creature who covered up that loneliness with tricks and flirtations. 

He wasn’t fully a cat. When he transformed into his feline form to join the feral colony of Port Townsend, they all knew it was him. They treated him with deference and respect, but they also othered him. He could be human whenever he wanted, which set him apart even more than his position.

Cat wasn’t fully human, either. To the residents of Port Townsend, he was known as the town’s slutty weirdo who was always followed by feral cats. They were used to him by now, but just because they didn’t hassle him didn’t mean he was one of them. His dual form meant he was trapped between two worlds, only really at home with other creatures who had a foot in both worlds. And most of them, he’d already alienated or had some sort of beef with - or were just not creatures whose company he found entertaining. The result was, he didn’t really have any friends in town to speak of, which only added to his loneliness. 

Finally, Cat got up the energy to drag himself to his feet. He took a series of lazy, heavy steps down off the platform, his fur coat dragging along the dirty ground. As he walked aimlessly through the warehouse, he chased echoes of memories. 

First, he passed the stain of blood on the ground where his previous body had been beaten to death by Esther. The reminder of that pain made him wince involuntarily. But then he saw echoes of Edwin when he caught the first hints of lust in his eyes, followed by the indignant British snark of him protesting his punishment. He closed his eyes and remembered what a pair of ghostly lips brushing his cheeks felt like when Edwin came to say goodbye. 

Cat turned and caught his reflection in an old, half-broken mirror propped against one wall and partially covered by a dropcloth. Slowly, he turned to face the mirror head-on. He lifted a hand to summon his magic, paused, rethinking it for half a moment, then he swirled his wrist.

The purple fog that accompanied his transformations with an affectation - a magician’s trick to make the whole thing seem more impressive. His magic in its natural state was subtle and quiet, as befitted a creature of stealth. The shift to his body happened in a blink. 

Edwin’s reflection stared back at him from the mirror, one hand still held delicately in the air, clad in a brown leather glove that matched his brown overcoat. He was a perfect copy, save golden, slitted eyes. He stepped up to the mirror and swept the gloved hand across the surface to clear it of some of the dust. Then he tugged off his glove and caressed his own cheek. He closed his eyes and let his fingertips creep over his lips. He nuzzled his own palm and exhaled warm breath against his fingertips.

When Cat opened his eyes, it was Edwin’s green eyes gazing back at him. Edwin’s face full of sadness and longing. Edwin’s face aching with loneliness. He pulled off the other glove and held his own hand, tracing knuckles and fingertips. He held his own hand and squeezed it. 

Keep reading on Ao3

(This fic was originally a short called Ennui that just consisted of the first chapter. Now it's an ongoing fic with shapeshifting shenanigans and some light Catcrow elements, though the shapeshifting/identity swap stuff is the focus over the ship.)

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Blessed Be: Chapter 1

Pairing: Detective!Bob Floyd x Reader

WitchAU

Summary: You get to know Bob better, and your mother drops a bombshell.

Warnings: Witchcraft, Magic, Swearing, Sexual Themes, Smut, Alcohol, Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn, I think that’s it?

-Prologue Here-

————————————

You were flitting around your kitchen when you felt it again, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight. The goosebumps followed not long after, and you stopped what you were doing to look out into the dark garden. It was no use, the night was black and the new moon did little to illuminate anything. You snapped your fingers and the lanterns in the large garden flickered on.

Nothing.

“Moooom!” You called upstairs. Sally, your mother, thundered down the stairs, her reading glasses slipping down her nose.

“What Bree?” She hissed. You had clearly interrupted her spells, again.

“I have that weird feeling again, and I can’t figure out why.” You pouted.

Your mom sighed, and closed the distance to the kitchen, pulling her cardigan tighter around her.

“Ok do you think it was definitely that man-“

“Bob.”

“Do you think it was definitely Bob that made you feel that way?” She asked, arms crossed but her gaze tough but loving.

You nodded, “Yeah, I mean I think so. I’ve never felt anything like that before, so… it must have been.” You shrugged.

“Well maybe it happens when he thinks about you, the aunts said that certain witches have the ability to sense when they’re on someone’s mind.”

“Ok but then why hasn’t it happened before? I’d like to think he’s not the very first person ever that’s at least had a fleeting thought of me.” You smirked.

Just then a broom in the corner of the kitchen fell with a loud clatter on the stone floor.

You and your mom both looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Company.” You said in unison, and made your way to the front door.

It was only you and your mom now, your two sisters had moved away, Aunt Gillian had decided to travel the world, and the aunts had retired to a beautiful cottage in the French countryside. Your father, Gary, had sadly died not long after in a boating accident, and your mother blamed the curse that befell all men who loved an Owens woman.

You supposed that you should start your own life, being an adult woman and all, but when your sisters left and your father died, your mom needed you, and truth be told you needed her just as much. You took over the shop for her so that she could focus on her spells, something she stopped altogether when her world fell apart.

You reached the front door and you both stood on the porch and waited.

Waited for whoever was about to drive up to the big white house on the cliff.

You waited for so long that the soup on the stove bubbled over and hissed against the open flames, and you were about to chalk the broom falling over to a gust of wind, and go back to your cooking, when suddenly two headlights pulled up the drive and the car parked in front of the garden gate.

You held your breath for whoever was going to step out of the car, however you already knew it was him. You could feel it.

————————————

Bob had given up on sleep long before he grabbed his keys and climbed into his car. He didn’t know where he was going but the pull was too strong to ignore and he decided following it was his only option.

He drove through the darkness slowly, the quiet streets dotted with cosy houses, illuminated by late night tv watchers or new lovers talking at dimly lit kitchen tables into the early hours of the morning.

Bob knew it was nearly midnight, but he didn’t know what else to do. The only way to describe the feeling was that it was similar to an intense hunger, one that he couldn’t ignore, only it wasn’t hunger he was feeling. He was starved for something he couldn’t understand.

Before he knew it, Bob was pulling up to a big white house on a steep cliff side, glowing from the inside with soft yellow light, beckoning him, comforting and warm. He felt like he was in a trance when he parked the car, no longer in control of his actions.

He climbed out of the vehicle and stared at the giant house, not noticing the two women staring at him from it.

“Bob?” One of them suddenly called, it was you.

Bob snapped out of his trance and his eyes found you.

“Bree?” He asked, confused. “You… you live here?” He stuttered.

You nodded, a silence filling the garden between you as you both stood wondering what he was doing here. “Wanna come in for dinner?” You asked kindly, sensing his confusion was likely more than yours.

“Uh… it’s- it’s Midnight though?” He chuckled nervously.

“Ah! You’re right, I better get the midnight margaritas started.” Your mother clapped, running back inside.

Bobs eyes were as wide as saucers, his mind going a mile a minute. He wasn’t sure why he was here, or what had drawn him to you. He didn’t understand why you seemed so calm about everything and why you were inviting a total stranger in for dinner and drinks at midnight.

What confused Bob more than anything is that his feet began to move before his mind caught up, before he had even agreed to come in. He wondered if the internal force had suddenly overpowered him, or if he really just wanted to see you that badly that his body made the decision for him, but he wasn’t fighting it anymore.

———————————

You closed the door behind Bob as he smiled at you and took in the inside of the house.

“Your house is beautiful.” He mumbled, his large hand running through his hair in an attempt to neaten the unruly strands as he looked around the warmly lit interior.

“Thanks. It’s my moms. Let me introduce you properly.” You beckoned for him to follow you into the kitchen.

“Mom, this is Bob. Bob, this is my mom, Sally.” You smiled.

Bobs eyes went wide as he realised the woman beside you was your mother. She had barely aged a day since you were born and looked more like a slightly older sister. He realised he was being impolite and gave your mom a smile, sticking out his hand to shake hers.

“Nice to meet you ma’am.” He said.

Your mom chuckled and pulled him in for a hug. “Please, call me Sal.” She said, then released him and turned back to where she was stirring the soup.

Your face went a bright shade of crimson and you wanted to remind your mom that you’d only met Bob once, and not to get too comfortable, but something inside you stopped the thought in its tracks when Bob turned to look at you again. His soft blue eyes burned heat into your skin and again, he felt so familiar you were suddenly overwhelmed with comfort.

“Shall we go sit on the porch while we wait?” You offered gently. Bob nodded and followed you out to the back, the sound of the waves below and crickets chirping made for a calming ambiance alongside the still lit lanterns.

You beckoned for Bob to sit on the swinging chair and you took to a rocking chair next to it, close enough to see the freckles that dotted his tanned cheeks but still far enough to be deemed respectable for a stranger.

“So what brings you here Bob? Need more candles?” You joked, a soft smile adorning your lips. You wrapped your cardigan slightly tighter around you as a cool breeze wafted across the porch.

“I… this is embarrassing but, I don’t actually know why I’m here. The last few days… my heads been all over the place, you know? I just up and left my job, my home, and just drove. I ended up here somehow and something told me to walk into your store yesterday. Then tonight, I couldn’t sleep and I got in my car, and…” He chuckled nervously as he rubbed his stubbled jaw, fully aware of how crazy he must have sounded to you in that moment.

You smiled, “That’s not embarrassing. Sounds like you just have a restless mind and curiosity for things.” You shrugged, sitting back in the rocking chair. You downplayed what you really thought was happening, you weren’t about to scare the handsome man away with your spiritual ramblings. Surely a sane man such as himself wouldn’t actually believe in fate, magic and spells.

Bob smiled back at you, then shook his head lightly. “Thing is, both times I’ve ended up in front of you. Think that’s just a coincidence?”

You bit your cheek and thought for a moment on how best to word what you were thinking, “Ok, so you’re just a stalker then?” You joked, eliciting a loud chuckle from Bob, his eyes sparkling at your unexpected humour.

“In all honesty Bob, I think there are certain pulls and pushes in this universe that we can’t really explain. Who are we to question them?” You said earnestly.

Bob nodded, you had just summed it up perfectly, the feeling he’d felt his entire life. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Before Bob could say anything else, your mom popped her head out the door and handed you each a margarita. You both thanked her and she disappeared back inside to finish dinner.

“So midnight margaritas huh?” Bob laughed. “Is it a special occasion?”

You laughed back, “No, we just do this sometimes. It’s sort of a family tradition.”

Bob nodded and you spoke for a while about your family and his. You learnt he was a detective like your dad, and that he enjoyed the beach, gardening and actually wore glasses most of the time, if he couldn’t be bothered to put in his contacts.

He listened to you speak about your love for animals and botany, and that the store was a family business.

After a while your mom called you both in to eat, and the three of you chatted while you did so.

At about 3am you walked Bob to his car.

“Thank you again for tonight, it was… different, but I really really enjoyed myself.” He smiled that crooked smile, his eyes burning into yours.

“Thank you for coming. It was nice to have company for once.” You smiled, your arms wrapped around yourself to keep the cool spring breeze from freezing your skin.

“Drive safe, Bob.” You said, but it was more of a spell to ensure he really was safe. You turned to walk back to the house.

“Bree, what are you doing tomorrow?” Bob asked suddenly, a tinge on nerves in his deep voice.

You turned to face him.

“Not much, why?” You queried.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go to lunch, with me? I still don’t know the area much, would be nice to have a tour guide.” He chuckled.

You grinned at the night sky as you contemplated his offer, but it didn’t take you long.

You nodded as you looked back down at him, “Sure. Pick me up at 11.”

Bob tried to stifle his smile by biting his lip, and opened his car door. “See you then.”

You watched as he drove off, leaving nothing but dust and excitement in the air.

You walked back into the house and found your mom reading at the kitchen table.

“Hey.” You said with a grin as you sat down.

“You didn’t tell me he was a looker.” She grinned down at her book.

“Yeah, he is handsome as hell. He’s a detective like daddy was.” You smiled, your chin resting longingly in your palm as you rested your elbow on the table.

Your moms eyes lifted from her book suddenly and she shot you a look.

“What?” You asked, straightening defensively in your seat.

“You don’t remember?” She asked.

“Remember what, mom?” You mirrored her expression with your own look of confusion.

“Honey, when you were little you summoned a true love spell, just like I did when I was little.”

Your eyes suddenly lit up as you remembered.

“Amas Veritas.” You both said in unison.

“Oh no.” You breathed.

“You wrote down that your true love would be a detective just like your daddy was.” She confirmed, putting her book down and taking off her glasses.

Suddenly the memory came back to you, and you clasped your hand over your mouth in realisation.

“And that he would wear glasses, love the sea, and someone who would enjoy gardening with me.” You whispered almost to yourself.

Although you didn’t write your spell so that it would be impossible to find your one true love, like your mom thought she had done when she was young, you hadn’t expected your spell to actually have worked. You had written down the features and requirements of your dream guy at the time, a cute, shy, nerdy kid. Over the years your idea of the perfect man had moulded and changed, but at the back of your mind you had always preferred the shy bespectacled man you’d dreamt of as a kid.

“I guess that would explain why he’s in town.” She sighed.

“No, I can’t do this. Not with the curse, mom.” You suddenly wanted to cry when you realised what this had meant.

The curse on the Owens women was still very much alive. Your mother had thought she’d broken the curse when she met your dad, but sadly he still befell the same fate as all men who love a woman in your family. The moment the ticking of the deathwatch beetle sounds, their fate is inevitably sealed.

“So what do you think you’re going to do? Just live your life not knowing what great love you could have had?” She asked, sadness in her eyes and a disapproving frown on her lips.

“If that means I don’t cause the death of some poor unsuspecting man, then yes, mom. Especially Bob, he’s far too kind to be subject to something as horrible as that. Plus, we don’t even know for sure he’s the one.” You lied, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Bob Floyd was the man you’d dreamt of your entire life, the man you’d inadvertently linked to you for all of eternity. You knew him without knowing him, the familiar face of a stranger.

“Fine, suit yourself honey, but I was like you once. I told myself after my first husband died that I would never again subject myself or anyone else to something like that. But then your dad came along, and believe me when I say there’s no hiding from it. You will know when he’s the one, because you won’t be able to stop it.” She warned softly, flicking through the pages of her book.

You excused yourself and said goodnight to your mother, before ascending the stairs to your bedroom. You sat on your windowsill and stared down at the winding road below that led to the little town, some lights still aglow, and wondered if one of them was Bobs room, and if he was still as wide awake as you were. You had decided that after your lunch date tomorrow, you would say goodbye and make it clear that you could no longer see him. You were sure he’d be fine with this, as he was probably just a lonely tourist after a little friendship.

Little did you know that Bob Floyd was not planning on leaving any time soon, at least not without you by his side.

————————————

- Chapter 2 Here -

[milfzatannaz]

vertigo canon can be split into two groups: anything related to swamp thing, and Everything Else.

you see in the 1980s Alan Moore had a stint on swamp thing that pretty much changed comics forever. in issue 37 he introduced this asshole Sting knockoff named John Constantine, which led to his solo book Hellblazer. Neil Gaiman, in his 20s with little comic writing experience and no divorces yet, wanted to write Hellblazer but Jaime Delano was already hired. Keep in mind that he was being mentored by Moore and So Karen Berger (our lord and savior) was like, what else do you want to write? And Mr Gaiman, young and embarrassingly nerdy, was like. Oh maybe I’ll write something to do with the obscure DC character the Sandman. And well, by 1989, history was made. (Other good pre-Vertigo Gaiman comics are Black Orchid and the Books of Magic). We have Swamp Thing to thank for the birth of a lot of these groundbreaking stories.

In 1993 Berger was tasked with creating a sister label to DC that would house more adult oriented material that would deviate a bit from the standard cape comic. This became Vertigo Comics, and the first comic published by them was Death: The High Cost of Living. During this stretch of the 90s and 2000s, the shared sandman and Hellblazer canon (which is really just swamp thing’s world and we’re living in it) produced multiple spinoffs and related titles like Deadboy Detectives, The Trenchcoat Brigade, The Children’s Crusade, multiple volumes and spinoffs for Books of Magic, The Dreaming, Death: The Time of Your Life, and even miniseries for minor characters like Bast and Thessaly.

Everything Else includes titles like Preacher, Animal Man, Shade: The Changing Man, Transmetropolitan, and Moore’s other trademark works like Watchmen and V for Vendetta were published under Vertigo.

I think ppl don’t rlly get how impactful this era of comics history is. We wouldn’t have multiple movies and TV shows without it, and a lot of what was written during that time period is still used in modern DC storylines. Vertigo rlly is that bitch when it comes to iconic comics!!!!!!!!!!

[see-arcane]

Was Frankenstein Not the Monster? PILOT

A fire of too many colors swallows a manor in the countryside and descends into a pit.

An occult detective's prying leads to revelations far more volatile than the mere aftermath of a nightmare.

Men and monsters circle at the edge of a legend that should have died in the cold almost 100 years ago.

And in the dark beyond that edge, strange Creatures watch and work and wait.

…Such is the stage set for a new piece under the working title of Was Frankenstein Not the Monster? I make no promises—certainly none the size of Barking Harker—but at the moment, this project has been eating up much of the time I’ve spent while juggling the publication of The Vampyres. As it stands, I think I might be making another book.

If you’re interested, the preview is below the cut, but also available here and through a link in my website, here.

Was Frankenstein Not the Monster?

C.R. Kane

Every muscle palpitates, every nerve goes tense—then the body rises from the ground, not slowly, limb by limb, but thrown straight up from the earth all at once. He did not yet look alive, but like someone who was now dying. Still pale and stiff, he stands dumbstruck at being thrust back into the world. But no sound comes from his closed mouth; his voice and tongue are only allowed to answer.

—Scene of a necromantic conjuring by Erichtho, as depicted in Lucan’s Pharsalia.

“I see by your eagerness and the wonder and hope which your eyes express, my friend, that you expect to be informed of the secret with which I am acquainted; that cannot be; listen patiently until the end of my story, and you will easily perceive why I am reserved upon the subject. I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then was, to your destruction and infallible misery.”

—Victor Frankenstein, as penned by Capt. Robert Walton, edited and distributed by M. Wulstan, in the epistolatory document referred to alternately as The Legend of Frankenstein, ‘The Walton Letters,’ or, ‘Lament of the Modern Prometheus.’

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS! THE MANMADE WRETCH!

WHO IS THE MONSTER?

THE HORROR, THE HUBRIS, THE HAVOC!

ALL COME TO ELECTRIFYING LIFE IN…

THE NIGHTMARE OF DR. FRANKENSTEIN!

Based on the lauded literary terror penned by the late Robert Walton and brought to public light by M. Wulfstan, The Legend of Frankenstein.

The Apollo Crest Opera House presents the most harrowing take on the mad doctor and his marvel of creation to date.

Featuring up-to-date theatrical effects and the most stunning visuals ever seen on the stage, this is a show to whiten the locks and deliver endless shocks.

Come to GASP, to WEEP, to SWOON, and above all, ladies and gentlemen, to PONDER the century-old query beneath the fear in this tale of a creature crafted from the dead and the proud madman who dragged it into the world!

When the passerby corrects you, claiming the scientist is Frankenstein rather than the monster, remember to ask in turn:

WAS FRANKENSTEIN NOT THE MONSTER?

1

The Inferno of Erichtho

While Dyson’s was one of many heads turned by the events surrounding the housefire of Dr. Richard Geber, he was one of few interested parties who arranged a stay in Surrey’s countryside to ogle the site in person. The other who rode with him was, stunningly, Ambrose, one of his oldest friends and the staunchest recluse he had ever known. Dyson had suggested they try to wheedle Cotgrave, Phillips, and Salisbury all together for a full holiday, if only half in jest.

But where eager Cotgrave was anchored by familial obligations, Phillips and Salisbury were merely hesitant in matters of the uncanny. In truth, the latter pair had positively gawped at him. Their eyes asked wordlessly if the stamp of inhuman horror had magically been blotted out of his memory or if he’d simply abandoned sense altogether. Dyson laughed at the looks, especially Salisbury’s. He of the straight-lined life and the wincing insistence that Dyson keep all answers to himself when it came to the mystery of Dr. Black and the query of Q, only to come slinking curiously back with questions upon seeing Dyson’s haggard mien post-discovery.

As if reading the memory in him, Salisbury’s face flamed and turned away while Dyson continued, “My friends, I would no sooner part with the haunting of those experiences than a writer of penny horrors would relinquish the muse of his nightmares. Ambrose here will rightly call it perverse with you—he is the adept where I am the amateur—but he knows the worth of retaining the proofs of what he calls ‘sin’ and we politely deem merely the ‘weird’ or the ‘supernatural.’ Cotgrave, dear fellow, you at least have an open mind on the subject. If we can manage it, would you appreciate a souvenir of the strange ash for your desk?”

“Cotgrave,” Phillips had cut in with an aridity to dry the ocean, “has not been put into contact with anything more harrowing than some poor child’s grotesque diary. He and I,” he’d nodded to Salisbury who was muffling himself with the wineglass, “had the dubious fortune to play witness to the far end of your direct jabbing at the unknown, neither of which bore anything but blighted fruit. The sight of that miserable treasure hunter’s golden relic was more than enough for me. Salisbury, for his trouble, had enough poisonous proof poured in his ear as thirdhand storytelling to make him rightly uneasy, followed by wondering whether you had been struck by some ailment after prying too far.” He’d turned fully to Salisbury. “Has Dyson ever breathed a word of what it was that shocked that new white up his temple after chasing the scrap of a cipher and Dr. Black’s work?”

It was Dyson’s turn to look away. He had not told Salisbury about Travers’ shop. Certainly not about the opal and what it held. Nor would he ever. He knew even the most sublime prose would fail to do the spectacle or its horror justice. Salisbury would suffer for it, as most of his friends would, and so he burned his tongue with holding the story in. For the most part.

He’d broken enough to recite the event to Ambrose in tragically plain terms. Ambrose had nodded, recorded his statement in one of many journals kept for the purpose of notes and scrapbooking, and shelved it away with the rest of the flotsam that clogged the bookcases which stood in for his walls. The recluse gave his oath not to breathe a word of the case’s final act to another.

“At least not until you are too dead to speak on your own behalf,” Ambrose had added. Dyson found the terms satisfactory.

Yet the fact of his having an encounter so disturbing he’d not even shared it with his most sober of friends still managed to work against his invitation to the strange scene in Surrey. Even Cotgrave shook his head.

“No need of the ash, my friend. I will settle for a description of whatever you dredge up in those hills.” Dyson noted the sickish pallor that washed over him as he pronounced the last word. Phillips shifted uncomfortably in his own seat. Salisbury ran out of wine to nurse and set his glass aside.

“I will be curious of whatever account you bring back,” came his intonation, “if only to know whether you are treading on more tangible toes than some unseen wraith’s.” Salisbury had canted his gaze sharply at Dyson. “No, you have not told me what it was you did upon following the trail of breadcrumbs I mistakenly revealed to you. But I would be a fool not to assume you went and did something unwise regarding the business of those strangers in the note. Q and friends and whoever else. They are real people. Just as Dr. Steven Black was. Just as Phillips and the whole of London recalls the late Sir Thomas Vivian being quite real, and more immediately dangerous than any bogeyman lurking beyond our respective brushes with the so-called supernatural.”

“Sinful,” Ambrose corrected over the rim of his own glass.

“Indeed,” Salisbury sighed. Dyson did feel a trifle apologetic toward the man. He seemed to have aged a decade since he’d stepped back into his life. “But be they supernatural or sinful or just plain mad, human monsters are the more prolific villain of the world, and far easier to cross paths with. Dr. Richard Geber was a man of considerable notoriety with, I would wager, any number of watchful vultures in the branches of the family tree and as many serpents playing patron to his less savory works at the roots.” He’d leaned in, regarding Dyson and Ambrose in the same plea. “Do your sightseeing if you must, but be wary of what prying you do whilst playing occult detectives. A man seeing a nuisance is far more likely to take action against it than any monster.”

Dyson sadly lost his opportunity to assure Salisbury and the rest of his planned caution, as Salisbury had used the word ‘occult’ and set off a fresh avalanche from Ambrose. Talk plunged into proper distinctions of the extraordinary and the eerie, somehow managing to trip into a round of storytelling that marched through the suicide epidemic of certain well-off young men who he theorized had each encountered the same unearthly stimulus whose knowledge could not be lived with, around to an ugly room in a rented country house with a habit of seeding a mirrored insanity in wives and daughters who spent too long in the sight of its irregular damask walls, and all the way to the facts in the case of the pseudonymous M. Valdemar, that mesmeric scandal that might not have been half so sensationalized as cynics might declare…

Salisbury had put his head in his hands while Dyson, Cotgrave, and Phillips settled in for the monologue, feeding the orator only what flints of dialogue were needed to roll him further on. Were he onstage, Ambrose would have deserved a lozenge, a bouquet, and ten minutes’ applause.

That was then.

In the now, Dyson and Ambrose sat in their car, preemptively swaddled against the first drifting motes of snow. November seemed only to have warmth enough left with which to give Geber’s estate its theatrical sendoff with its roiling thunderheads and dancing lightning. With that performance done, the sky handed its reins off to winter’s sedate styling. The train drew itself along under a ceiling of gauze and into the broad country whose rumpled hills and evergreen treetops were already hiding themselves in caps of cold white. Not that such seasonal flurries would have been any more help to the roasted manor than the downpour of the incendiary night had been.

Dyson riffled out the sections of newsprint he had brought along for the trip.

Headlines bellowed across the earliest of them:

STORM-STRUCK IN SURREY!

SPARKS FLY OVER GEBER’S BLAZE!

BLINDING FIRE DEVOURS MANOR OVERNIGHT!

          And so forth.

          The sum of these pieces was a remarkable series of witness reports from the staff who’d escaped the building before they could burn with it. Miraculously, every member of staff had made it out with barely a scorch mark between them. Even the horses, hens, and hounds of the estate were unscathed. It was only Dr. Geber and, the staff declared, a number of colleagues who had remained inside. Corroboration from the nearest towns confirmed that Geber was indeed housing several ‘learned gentlemen’ under his expansive roof for the purpose of some private experiment being undertaken in his home laboratory.

          All that saved the staff from especially sharp scrutiny was the likewise-confirmed evidence of just where that laboratory was located.

          “Geber had it all built underground,” claimed more than one servant. “He up and abandoned the one he kept at the top of the house half a decade back. Had a whole little nest of catacombs hollowed out lower than the cellar, moved in all sorts of equipment and chemicals and such. We saw it all go through the big double doors he had set in the back of the house. Figured him and his fellows would come up by that way or the little stairwell indoors. Whoever wasn’t eaten up by the blast, at least.”

          The blast which had not come from the heavens by way of the frantic lightning that night, but from right under the floorboards. One poor girl, Elsa Godwin, had gone down to fetch a jar of preserves and been the first to hear a series of what sounded like detonations rattling up from the ground. A distant crackle, a hair-prickling hum, a string of boom-boom-boom, all muffled by earth and concrete. That, and men screaming. There was barely time to hear as much before she also got to play first witness to the memorable fire; a blaze that begun at once to eat holes through the floor and western wall of the cellar.

          “I thought I was dreaming at first,” to quote Miss Godwin. “It all felt too impossible to be happening while I was awake. The fire only made it seem less real. Real fire isn’t supposed to work that way, you see? Real fire, it meets a solid wall of dirt or rock and that’s as far as it goes. Singes it, maybe, but it can’t just go burning through everything like it’s a paper dollhouse. But that was just what it did. While it was eating its way up the stairs to the doctors’ laboratory, it punched on through to the cellar. And even that I may have accepted as real enough, but for the look of it.”

          The look of that fire was described by her, by her coworkers, by those who rode up to gawk in person or make a feeble attempt at playing fire brigade, and even by a number of technical witnesses who could see the glimmer of it from their far-off windows, all in varying states of poetry or dumbstruck curtness.

          The fire had not been orange.

          The fire had been black. And white. And yellow. And red. All of these at once, every flame throwing its improbable light as if it fell through some nebulous crystal. Its palette might have been more enchanting if it weren’t for the fact that it was, as Miss Godwin and many more would claim, a fantastically voracious thing. So much so that Miss Godwin had scarcely made it back up the steps to shout the alarm before tongues of fire were poking up through the floor.

          It truly was a miracle that everyone aboveground had fled in time. The second miracle had come from the fact that, even lightning-struck as the roof was, it remained mercifully solid while the multihued fire ate up the lower floors. So solid that Fate kindly used it as the hand to snuff the monstrous blaze. The walls turned out to be so quickly enfeebled by their change to ash that they could no longer support the heavy slants and shingles. So the roof had crushed the creeping flames under its lid, dousing the fire with sheer speed, weight, and luck. It was as unlikely a thing as a man crushing a viper’s head flat with his fist before it could bite.

          Another bittersweet bout of good fortune came from the positioning of the laboratory itself. Whatever state the subterranean workings had been in post-explosion, they apparently made for an efficient ashpit. When the roof slammed down, it compacted everything below directly into the waiting pocket of hollowed earth. What could have been a conflagration was tucked tidily away almost as soon as the proverbial match was struck. Though it had doubtlessly come at the cause and cost of the very men who had sparked the fire with some experiment gone awry.

          “Some manner of chemical flame, a catastrophic bungling of electrical tinkering, or both,” professed numerous experts hunted down in their own labs and campuses. Dyson imagined they were perhaps a bit put out that Geber had done them the simultaneous mercy and unspoken insult of not inviting them to join whatever it was he and his colleagues had been dabbling with. An experiment of such secrecy and apparent potency that the man had not only tunneled out a buried laboratory for it, not only erected new stone walls and double-locked iron gates around his home, not only scoured fields across the scientific spectrum to people its undertaking—for chemists, engineers, technologists, surgeons, and sundry in-betweens were numbered among the missing and/or immolated dead—but even hired on a number of ‘attendants’ that the surviving staff recalled as having staggering guardsman physiques.

          All this to keep the experiment hermetically sealed and shielded.

          All this, only for a number of ears at the nearest pubs and markets to catch wind of the thing’s name anyway: Project Erichtho.

A secret experiment named for the necromancing witch of legend could only be yet another spur to the public imagination, turning a noteworthy housefire into a potential hellish horror story. Requisite headlines included:

FRANKENSTEIN’S ACOLYTE, ERICHTHO’S ECHO—DR. GEBER’S UNHOLY HEROES!

PROJECT ERICHTHO’S PARANORMAL PYRE!

SORDID SECRETS AND A DOCTOR’S DEADLY DESIGN: THE KINDLING FOR THE INFERNO OF ERICHTHO?

“It could be he’s gone on to join his heroes in a sordid afterlife,” some would say in tones that alternately scorned or cooed. “Faustus and Frankenstein may have a place waiting for him in a deeper inferno. It’s the sort of thing one gets from prying too far into Nature’s business, after all.”

So on and so on. Dyson had clipped everything of interest and strung the whole thing into a sort of haphazard file in contrast to Ambrose’s tidier pasting. Ambrose was even polite enough to feign renewed interest in the piecemeal newsprint despite the information being doubtlessly memorized already.

“Not memorized,” Ambrose said over a headline declaring Geber had conjured the Devil in his cellar. He opened his coat as if displaying illicit wares, flashing the holster where he kept a waiting notepad and pen. His was an especially tailored overcoat with a number of buttoned and hidden pockets for all his necessities. One might think he hardly needed his luggage but for a change of clothes. “My cheats are simply copied out and kept close like a good pupil’s before an exam.” He patted the lapel back in place. “I am not a man made to leave his cave often, Dyson. Therefore I must wrap myself as much in my mobile cave as I can.”

“Would that not make it your shell?”

“I suppose it would. It is a difficult thing for a snail or tortoise to be robbed of his home. Unless the thief is some errant bird after the homeowner, of course. But for all that I have my faiths and proofs in the uncanny, your Salisbury was right. Men are the most common threat to a man. They rob one of goods and life at a moment’s notice far more than any aberration.”

“Ah, that begs a question I’ve meant to ask.” Dyson waved his helping of papers as a baton. “You know the reality of seemingly unreal things. What you call your sinful, wrong, not-meant-to-be sort of phenomena and entities. Were you to find yourself cornered in the proverbial dark alley with an ordinary mortal cutthroat at one end and an unearthly bogeyman at the other, which villain would you risk?”

Ambrose offered a sliver of a smile and turned his attention back to the snow flitting by the window. He passed his helping of newsprint back blindly.

“You have only listened to my rambles with half an ear,” he said. “It’s true that what you would dub the supernatural I would call sinful, but I have yet to declare such things innately villainous. Otherworldly, yes. Eldritch is a decent term. Unwelcome too, at least in what we deem sane and right by the laws of Nature or our manmade structures. Or, to satisfy the macabre itch, yes, I would deem the whole breadth of it horrific. And yet, for all that we have assembled a fair collection of events that ended in death or worse as a result of crossing bizarre influences—indeed, enough to condemn many in, say, the demoniac terms of evil—the fact remains that even a living horror is not guaranteed to be villainous. To that end, let us look at your scenario. If I knew for a fact the ordinary man at one end of my alley intended absolutely to kill me, knife ready for my throat whether or not I handed over my money, whereas the horror at the other end was a complete enigma? I would simply have no choice but to remain still.”

Dyson lost himself to a laugh and crowed, “That is no answer! The scenario was a choice. Who do you risk pushing past? The common murderer or the uncommon enigma?”

“The threat,” Ambrose pronounced carefully, “of a horror is in the uncertainty of what it is and what such a thing is capable of. The cutthroat means to kill me, yes. But the horror? It may mean to end me as well, but in a far more hideous way. In fact, it may intend to inflict something far more unthinkable than the mercy of mere execution, such that the cutthroat would be a blessing of euthanasia by comparison.”

“Ah,” Dyson jabbed his paper baton again, “so you would take the cutthroat for the certainty of him.”

“No. I would remain still.”

“Ambrose—,”

But Ambrose held up his hand.

“I would remain still until one or the other proved himself the lesser evil. For the horror at the other end of the alley may have no ill design whatsoever. Being frightening does not immediately qualify the monster in question as a villain. After all, how many legendary monsters of old have we revealed as mere animals? How many unfortunate souls are there in the world, born with off-putting ailments or disfigured by circumstance, who possess the purest of Good Samaritan character? By the same measure, how many are there with the faces of Venus and Adonis who scatter only petty cruelties in their wake? Even creatures as humble as the common spider will terrorize some of the hardiest men as much or more than their wives. Yet the spider is there to help, tidying flying pests from the home just as the pretty housecat unsheathes her teeth and claws only to bloody her keeper’s hand.

“In short, a horror will horrify, naturally. A horror is capable of far worse things than any human effort. But a horror is not inherently a villain. I am happy to keep things in the hypothetical until I am faced with the awful choice in person, but should I choose to wait, to remain still and force one or the other to make his move, I am certain the motives of the inhuman party would be made clear. It would strike, or retreat, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or it would do as the first horrors of Creation did and be as an angel. Fallen or otherwise.” The topic clipped there as the station came into view.

Fighting the frost and the numb-faced arrival at their rented lodgings sponged up the rest of the day’s energy between the two of them. A hasty dusk and a heavy supper knocked both men back in their chairs and soon the ruddy comforts of the inn dragged them down into an early night.

Ambrose, Dyson was unsurprised to see, had turned into an insomniac so far from his preferred den. He was at the window puffing at the little ember in the clay bowl and staring out at the dark when Dyson finally surrendered to his bed midnight. Come morning, Dyson found he remained at his perch, puffing still.

“I did sleep,” Ambrose assured before the other could speak. “On and off. My dry eyes played traitor and made me lose watch for a few hours at a time.”

Dyson stilled in the effort of lacing his boots. He saw that the faint pouches that had been under his friend’s eyes last night had only deepened. The ashtray set on the windowsill was full.

“Geber’s housefire notwithstanding, I can’t imagine there’s anything worth spying on in these parts. Especially not on a moonless night.”

“It wasn’t moonless,” Ambrose said as he rubbed crust from either eye. His head gradually creaked away from the window to face Dyson. “I saw it come out in cracked clouds here and there. It helped somewhat, but I could still make out a little of the show either way.”

“What show was that?”

“I’m not certain. Some kind of domestic dispute? It involved either a very mad or a very sad individual on a rooftop.”

“What?”

“He got down alright. A giant came to gather him up and bring him indoors.”

“…How much did you have to drink after I went to bed?”

“Not a drop. The whole of it took place with that little house out toward the east there. You see?” Dyson followed where Ambrose pointed. There were numerous petite houses sprinkled along the crest of a far cluster of hills. He was about to point out the issue when his gaze caught on one that stood out from its siblings. Ambrose defined it at the same time, “It has its fresh cap of snow all ruined by their footprints. The man’s little pinpricks and the giant’s awl marks, so to speak. It happened that as I was woolgathering, a yellow light came on in the upper window. The shape of a man blotted it for a moment before the window swung open and the fellow climbed out.

“It wasn’t a pleasant sight even at a distance. He didn’t move like any climber I ever saw. More like,” Ambrose made a face, “I don’t know. An animal? An insect? Something like that. Whatever he was, he made it up there. So I assumed by how the darkness erased him when he skittered up. The first crack in the clouds helped me here, for it dropped a yellow beam on the house and showed the man standing on the very top of the roof. This he did while wearing no more than a pair of trousers and a coat that hung on him like drapes. A lone stick figure balanced on the ridge. Then a moment later, the giant came.”

“Not bounding over the hills, I take it?”

“No. He blocked the entirety of the lit window before he contorted himself out and climbed up after the man. His motion was a far more fluid thing, if likewise strange in how he placed his limbs. Were my eyes a little poorer, I might have mistaken him for some massive panther scaling a mountainside. But he was human enough seen from my seat. Just outlandish in his size and proportions. A hulking figure, yet corded and angled in a way you seldom see with men we might take for a contemporary Goliath.”

“I see. And what happened when he reached David?”

“The moon ducked out of sight for the first moment. It took a minute before it peeked through again to offer a silhouette of the meeting. Man and giant were facing each other with the giant seeming the most animated of the two. He gesticulated first with frantic violence, then as if he were beckoning the man like a stray from a gutter, and ultimately coaxed his frailer counterpart to extend a twig of an arm. The giant clamped onto it and seemed prepared to yank the man from his perch. But the man pointed with his free hand at the moon. This made the giant pause. The boulder of a head turned up. They stared together at the great ivory ball. But sense eventually overruled wonder and the giant maneuvered them both back in the window. The curtains were drawn. I figured that was the end of it.”

Dyson had by now fully dressed and packed for the day. He paused to raise a brow.

“Was it not?”

“No. Some while later, a light glowed in a lower window. David and Goliath walked outside. At least I assume it was David with Goliath. The spindly figure was erased in a massive clot of coats and blankets, it seemed, and so almost passed for a full-bodied individual. The giant shadowed him and forced a cup on him that I imagined must be steaming as it rose and fell from the man’s face. The moon was polite enough to show itself a few more times through the filmier clouds. Even the stars made some appearances. By dawn much of the clouds had broken up so that they skimmed across a half-clean sky. I saw the Morning Star hover in the horizon. The man pointed to this or the molten sunrise. The giant nodded and looked with him, patient as anything. Then David was herded back inside and I saw no more.”

Dyson hummed at all this and eyed the little house again. It really was a fair space away.

“Are you certain you saw a man and a giant? At this distance could it not have been some fevered child and his father?”

“If I were using my eyes alone, I might concede the possibility. Except.” Dyson watched him dig in his coat and produce a collapsed spyglass. “I have brought the full accoutrement of the hermit along, my friend. Its details were few, but far crisper than our sight alone.” A specter of mingled thrill and discomfort twitched along his lips. The former won just enough to pin the mouth up at one corner. “Though I wonder if that was a mistake.”

“Afraid they spied your spying? The threadbare David sounds like a stargazer. Perhaps he swung his lens around to find you in the dark.” Dyson spoke only to rib him. Instead he seemed to strike Ambrose like a lead weight. A greyish tinge passed in and out of his face as his gaze flicked back to the window. “Come now, there was no light on in here. Even if the pair had an astronomer’s lens between them, they’d never know you’d spotted their nocturnal theatre.”

“They had no lens at all,” Ambrose said. His lips still held in the unhappy upward curl. “Yet they did turn to look at this window. David first. Then Goliath. I cannot say whether they saw me, but…” Ambrose rolled the spyglass in his hand before replacing it in its pocket. “I saw a hint of their faces. Just the eyes. I may have imagined it. Some illusion of moonlight or sunrise. But the illusion was very crisp.”

“The illusion being what?”

“They were yellow, Dyson,” he almost chuckled. “Like the stare of animals caught in firelight. Bright as the lamps. And they did not turn from their staring in this direction until after I set the spyglass down.” Ambrose looked up at him. The whites of the man’s own eyes had gone rose-pink. “We’ve not yet set foot on Geber’s ash pile and already I have something for my notes.”

“Perhaps,” Dyson nodded carefully. “Perhaps you do. Or else a late night played on your conscience and sharpened your subjects into things that could chide you at a distance for spying. I have no such conscience on that subject and so might have missed their flashing eyes. Still, it is something for the diary. But only after breakfast.”

2

Dead, Buried

Breakfast came, breakfast went. Ambrose’s state barely loosened from its troubled knot. By the time they set out to poke around the week-old ruin under a dusting of snow, Dyson noted only a half-return to the man’s usual ease. He thought to remind him of the unhappy adventure involving the cruelly departed Agnes Black, to commiserate over the difference between the aftermath of the strange compared to meeting eyes with it, but swallowed it all down. Such talk would only rip up the scab, not plaster it.

In this mood, they took their way to the housefire’s wreckage with thin conversation. It only thickened again as the coach let them out at the site’s gates. They had been locked over again by the authorities and yesterday’s powder had made the surprisingly tidy mound and its rooftop cap into an anonymous lump of debris. Hardly worth the trip. But the sight of the ruin was only a fraction of their purpose there. 

Dyson instructed the coachman to return in an hour to the same spot to retrieve them. The coachman eyed the two warily. He’d no doubt seen more than his fair helping of journalists and policemen in the past seven days than any soul ought to deal with. But pay was pay and he seemed content to reappear in roughly an hour’s time, sirs, give or take another customer’s route. Dyson and Ambrose waited until the horse-drawn speck was almost out of sight before they began their march around the the high stone wall that passed for the ex-manor’s fence. Their breath trailed after them in white streams.

“He really had the place made up like a fortress, didn’t he?” Dyson observed. “Look here. Even the ornaments along the top are like spires. No one could go hopping in or out without undoing the seams of his skin in the attempt.”

“Project Erichtho was a thing to covet as much as conjure.” Ambrose dug again in his coat, this time bringing out his notepad. He thumbed to one close-scribbled page. “Do you know, this manor was his for less than a decade? He took the place seven years ago and left behind a far more metropolitan estate. A handsome spot, but not half so private or titanic as this.” Ambrose knocked his knuckles against the stonework.

Dyson knocked his shoulder in turn, “I see you go a-haunting places other than your home while our backs are turned. You are a fraud of a recluse.”

“On special occasions, yes.”

“And the timeline of Geber’s road to the freakish blaze meets your standards.”

“Very much so. You see, he had his career in the city, for all its lauded highs and scandalous lows. And his one trip out of that area was also his first and last trip out of the country. I was told he took a holiday up to Switzerland.”

“Told by who?”

“Former staff. All the ones in the manor were local hands. The original workers say he returned home from his holiday with a wild new passion—,” Ambrose paused to catch Dyson’s eye, “—and a souvenir. One that they never saw removed from its massive box. The nearest guess anyone could make was that it must be one of those majestic Swiss clocks or perhaps some statue bought on a whim. None would it put it past him to purchase a likeness of his spiritual muse, or maybe a rendering of the latter’s infamous creation. But no one ever saw the contents in person. He had this thing moved into his upstairs laboratory, locked the door, and neither butler nor maid was permitted to set foot in the room for the rest of the year.”

“Mysterious enough,” Dyson agreed while shaking a snow clump off his boot. “Though I can hardly picture Switzerland as possessing any equivalent to Pandora’s Box.”

“Nor could the staff. But they never did wring an answer from Geber. No more than they ever confirmed what all his latest experiments were in that locked room. Whatever they were, the staff thought there must have been some noise to muffle. Geber started playing his phonograph whenever he set foot inside, letting the opera warble over whatever din went on in his work.” Ambrose tucked the notepad away and tugged at his glove. “When it came time for his sudden exodus to the far-off manor, the movers discovered the box was nailed shut again, offering no one even a parting peek at the treasure.”

“And what is the import of this crate, exactly?” Dyson asked, even as he guessed. It was hard to avoid, keeping his steps aligned with Ambrose’s as they circled to the rear of the estate. The trees loomed with their snowy crowns sawing against the blue-white sky. They were close to where the acreage sloped into woodlands.

“None of the new staff mentioned its arrival or its being toted down with the rest of Project Erichtho’s flotsam. In fairness, the interviewed parties likely had far more on their minds than the exact nature of their employer’s bric-a-brac. Especially when the project appears to have begun in earnest four years ago.”

“But,” Dyson intercepted, “the staff in the city dwelling remembered his fixation with the thing seven years prior. And if the manor’s fresher workers could remember that his other scientific oddments were loaded underground, surely they’d recall him fussing about the box.”

“Such is my guess,” nodded Ambrose. He stopped them both short as the exact back end of the stone wall came into view. “Geber likely would’ve clung like a shadow to the movers whether they brought it by the inner stairs or through the back entry. Yet there was no mention of it in their accounts. Almost as if he couldn’t bear to have more eyes upon it than absolutely necessary. And, naturally, there is the issue no other paper or ponderer has mentioned regarding the novelty of a subterranean workplace.” Here, at last, Ambrose began to grin. “One that even the miner or a digger of catacombs needn’t bother themselves over.”

“Because the men in the mines and catacombs don’t have to work within a hermetic seal,” Dyson concluded, beaming back. “They have a way constantly open to the air. The staff claim that the entryways into the laboratory were always shut and guarded by a boredly vigilant set of guards. A tricky area to provide ventilation for with no opening. Unless there was a third threshold somewhere that Geber neglected to mention to the house staff. Say,” he waved a glove at the waiting woods, “hidden in some convenient cover of wilderness.”

“It’s where I would hide a second backdoor in his position,” Ambrose agreed as he ogled the rear of the stone wall and the adjacent trees. “If the back of the manor was here,” he marched with measured steps to the back gate, likewise locked, and regarded the ashes beyond the iron, “then the broader outdoor entrance was likely slotted there with it. A tunnel connected to the underground work area would not be situated far off. So…” He turned and traced an invisible line from the ashes to the woods and away to the west. “A straight route from here on is likely to bear fruit.”

“Would it not be simpler to circle around?” Dyson asked this of the waiting trees as much as his friend. “If Geber’s precious crate was also moved in by this hidden corridor, surely it would be someplace near the edge of this tangled patch. It’s no narrow copse, but I’d rather amble around it rather than risk the trudge inside.”

“Normally I would agree. However.” Ambrose stomped purposefully along the slope, leaving clear tracks as he went. “If we want better odds against our own amateur detective work being spied on, we must take advantage of what little cover we can. Salisbury would tell you so.”

“Salisbury would be down with a skull-cracking headache over the prospect from any angle,” Dyson countered. But they went through the woods just the same. The snow had come in lightly through the coniferous canopy and it traded their softer snow-plush tracks for a brittle thudding along frozen earth. A quarter of an hour’s search and a number of brambles later they came upon a clearing cluttered with large stones. Dyson felt Ambrose bristle at his side. Not from the cold.

He had read the precious and painful little green book Ambrose regarded as one of his truest treasures. The book that contained the child-ramblings of a lost girl, of strange white figures, of stones carved and twisting with ancient unholy influence. Mercifully, the mystique was soon spoiled.

The clearing had let in a little more of the snow through the gap in the canopy and when the powder was brushed aside it revealed nothing but moss and bird droppings on every rock. Another glance showed a number of stunted logs also strewn about. A makeshift sitting area. Ambrose took a spot on one of the logs and set to picking burrs from his trousers. Dyson thought he looked a little ruddier for having seen the rocks were plain.

“Well, convenience dictates that a secret entrance would be around here.” He pointed to what would be a few minutes’ walk to where the open light of a meadow waited. “Any closer to the edge and it wouldn’t be hidden at all.”

“True, true,” Ambrose nodded, removing his hat to shake off the frost and pine needles. “But even if we were on top of the thing, there’d be the second trouble of spotting it while it’s disguised. There was likely one or more guards on duty. On the off-chance that some wanderer came by they’d need to have some way to mask the opening.”

Dyson thought as much too and had been scrutinizing the ground. He’d found a good stick to claw up the dirt with. So far, no convenient trapdoor presented itself. As he prodded, he caught himself mulling over the hypothetical guards themselves. Surely they couldn’t have been caught in the blaze. Even if they’d been struck by a heroic urge, there wouldn’t have been time to rush to the manor and attempt a rescue. Yet he recalled no interview with any such person in the aftermath of the pyre, only those domestic staff who minded the house itself. So where had they gone?

The answer was hidden under a rock.

Specifically, the largest of the rocks in the clearing. Dyson’s stick came to a stop in its shadow as the branch suddenly dipped an inch into the ground where he’d dragged it. The snowfall masked it, but not well enough.

“Ambrose.” He patted the broad rock. “This stone isn’t supposed to be here.”

“What?”

“Look here.” He dragged his stick back and forth over the hidden groove beneath the powder. “It was moved out of place.”

Dyson and Ambrose eyed this only a moment before taking position on the stone’s opposite side. Together, after many a shove and as many curses, the rock budged. Not all at once, but in bursts. Between lurches they agreed that it had to have been put in place by far stouter strongmen than themselves. Their thoughts broke away at the same time when their next push dropped a leg from each of them down into the earth. There was much floundering and flopping aside to save themselves from slipping entirely into the hollow. When they’d recovered themselves, they peered down into the new opening. A wisp of daylight revealed hints of the interior. Shards of wood. The angles of a short staircase. And there, laying at the foot of the steps—

“Oh,” Dyson breathed. “Oh, God.”

“I fear He isn’t involved here,” Ambrose murmured back.

They lurched the stone the rest of the way, moving with caution until the entire hole was revealed. A square of earth had been cut away for the tunnel’s mouth. A set of heavy mangled hinges showed where a crude but sturdy door had been bolted into place. The door itself was the source of the wood shards, the largest of them showing they’d had a covering of dirt, leaves, twigs, and pebbles all pasted on to mask it. To judge by the frame, the door was meant to be pulled up rather than pushed in. As the stone was flat on the bottom, it could only be surmised that someone had smashed the timber in rather than bother with the lock.

Perhaps that was why the guards had died. They hadn’t been quick enough to offer a key.

Two men of powerful build were left crumpled at the bottom of the steps like ragdolls. One had his head wrenched entirely around on his shoulders. The other had his head crushed in like an eggshell. Whoever had done the work, they’d also seen fit to strip the broken-necked man of all but his underclothes, even down to his shoes. The man with the pulped skull had lost only a coat.

“I believe this is where our investigative ghost story hits a snag,” Dyson said, if only because someone needed to speak. The words did little to settle the chill now twining up his back. “We need to have the police up here.”

“We will,” Ambrose said, digging in his coat. Out came his matches. “But first.” He struck a light. “Recall that we are not here in search of ghosts. Ghosts are vapor. Their only weight is given to them by the storytelling.” He flicked the match into the tunnel so that it soared over the corpses. Dyson followed its glow with wide eyes. “Whereas the party responsible here exists with or without fireside theatre.” Dyson was already inclined to believe him. The sight revealed by the match merely forged faith into knowledge.

On the night of the fire there had been a positive torrent to go with the thunder and lightning. Once the guards and door were brutalized out of commission and left broken on the tunnel steps, a river of mud had dribbled in after the intruder. In the carpet of now-dried muck were smeared remnants of footprints. Most were colossal and led two ways, going forward and back. Whoever had made them was large enough to dwarf the dead men. A second set of footprints tramped back with these first massive soles, the barefoot steps looking far closer to human dimensions.

Beyond these smeared prints and just out of reach of the match’s light was the outline of a wide cart.

“Spare another?” Ambrose passed Dyson the matches. Dyson descended and made a rush to the cart. A match struck and showed the contents was discarded linen tarps all mottled with stains dark as rust. In the very center of the rumpled sheets, pointing to him, was a single rotten human finger.

The match went out.

Dyson raced back up to the daylit earth and rattled off the find to Ambrose.

“It does line up. An experiment named after Erichtho could hardly earn the title without doing something unwholesome with corpses.” Ambrose inclined his head at the tunnel. “It’s certainly not the kind of material Geber would want the house staff spying on its way down to the lab.”

“I wonder about that.” Dyson righted himself and squinted up at the sun behind a veil of new clouds. “Who’s to say that the finger was already rotten when it lost its owner? Surely the towns would have something in the news about graverobbers pillaging their cemeteries for convenient goods.”

“True.” The word was small. Dyson looked to Ambrose as the man paused in jotting something in his notes. His gaze was suddenly very far, hooked on some unknown point in the trees. “Quite true. After all,” he slowly closed the notepad and tucked it away with gloves that trembled, “it’s only worthy of newsprint if the dead go missing. The living disappear every day.” Dyson watch his throat work strangely behind his scarf. His breath came in very brisk puffs. “Such is hardly worth a blink these days. What’s the time, Dyson?” Dyson checked his watch. They’d eaten up most of an hour and he said so. “Then we’d best head down to meet our coach. Now.”

“Should we replace the stone? What if some animal gets in and—,”

Ambrose seized his shoulder. His head still hadn’t turned away from the trees. His voice came out so low there was almost no breath to whiten.

“Dyson. Now. Quick, but—but do not run.” His Adam’s apple seemed about to leap up through his mouth. “Now.” Dyson tried to follow Ambrose’s line of sight, but his friend was already dragging him like an errant sheep. Rather than take their original route, Ambrose shepherded them towards the nearest edge of the woodlands, out to the open snow.

“What happened to discretion?” Dyson asked in his own low pitch. Ambrose shook his head without fully taking his gaze away from the abruptly-fascinating patch of trees.

“We’ll be bringing authorities around here anyway. It hardly matters. Go. Just go. Once we get out in the open, we should—,” Behind them, a heavy branch snapped. To Dyson’s ears it sounded loud as breaking bone. Ambrose’s clutching hand became a vise. “Run.”

They did.

The gloom behind them snapped and rustled in a straight line after their heels. More, the ground itself twitched with the bounding of some unthinkable weight. Dyson thought ludicrously of bears or lions somehow migrating their way to this mild crumb of Surrey’s landscape. Yet he heard no animal snarl. Only the unimpeded breaking of the trees’ quiet as something titanic loped after its quarries.

Ambrose and Dyson broke out into the open meadow after a minute that felt like half an hour. They raced across the slope and around toward the fenced-in ruin of the manor at a frantic pace. Relief barely flickered in them as they saw the coach trotting up to the front gates. Their own tread was too wild to register if their pursuer was still galloping after them, but Dyson now felt the presence of eyes on him as surely as he’d feel the trundling of beetles along his neck.

The dead men flashed in his mind. Twisted and mashed and tossed in a pit. There was plenty of room to spare down there. New tenants welcome. And the coachman was so far, so far—

He stepped on one of his own bootlaces and went sprawling. When he moved to catch himself on his hands, his palm landed on something slicker than the snow, fumbling him so that he landed with elbow and cheek in the frost. It really was a pitiful layer of powder, he noted as his arm and face throbbed against the stiff ground. Ambrose skidded to a halt with him, almost falling as he scrambled on the frost. He might have shouted Dyson’s name. Dyson couldn’t be sure as he was peeling up the thing his hand had slid with. A leatherbound book with its cover lacquered in congealed mud.

“Dyson,” he heard Ambrose puff again. His breath was labored, but no longer a shout. “Dyson, can you stand?” Dyson looked up to see Ambrose’s attention was split between him and the trees. Nothing else was behind them. Dyson fixed his laces and regained his feet without releasing the book. “I think we can go at an easier pace now.”

“Yes. Possibly.”

Their new gait was not a sprint, but still a fair way ahead of anything leisurely. The driver looked at them oddly as they jogged over, at least until they gave him pay and directions for a trip to the nearest police station. Then his caterpillar brows shot up.

“Come across some trouble up there?”

“The human trouble has been and gone,” Dyson told him. “But they may want hunting rifles at hand for whatever creatures are roaming around in there.” The driver snorted at that.

“What creatures are those? Worst we’ve got in these parts are the damned foxes and a few snakes. Biggest thing I’ve seen was a buck that ran around last year. Had antlers two men wide.”

“It was no deer,” Ambrose assured him even as he craned his head again to face the trees. Dyson saw him fondling the part of his coat that held the spyglass. “In any case, it is a matter that would be helped by having a marksman ready.” The driver got no more from them as Dyson and Ambrose bundled themselves inside the coach. Ambrose hastily fumbled out the spyglass and watched the woods through his window until the treetops were out of sight.

“Not a deer, you say,” Dyson spoke as much to his mud-crusted souvenir as to the back of Ambrose’s head. “What then? I had no time to catch a glimpse.” Ambrose let out a breath as he collapsed the spyglass, fidgeting with the cylinder rather than tucking it away.

“Speaking frankly, I didn’t either. All I could spot in the gloom was the flash of bright eyes.” His throat twitched. “A gleam of yellow.” Dyson paused in his picking at the shell of hardened mud.

“Last night’s Goliath?”

“I don’t know. I cannot say with certainty whether the eyes belonged to a human shape or a creature on its haunches. Only that it was still as a statue in the gloom back there. Staring at us.” Ambrose shivered either from memory or cold and tucked the spyglass away in favor of his notes. He sketched rather than wrote. Scrawled across a clean page was the impression of two huge coins floating in a scribbled ink-shadow. The eyes featured pupils of a distinctly non-human make. “I am no artist, but this is roughly the look I caught watching us. They turned in the dark when we started for the trees’ edge. Then the eyes came forward.” He clapped the notes shut. “I found I was far more eager to be out of reach than to wait and see the eyes’ owner.” Ambrose gave him a tired smile. “I feel I’m halfway to a hypocrite after this. True, there was no alley and no waiting cutthroat, but I did run from the unknown when it came running.”

“Nonsense,” Dyson huffed. “Those eyes no doubt belonged to some exotic beast that escaped its pen in a zoo or some fool’s private menagerie. Nice open country like this is just the place you’ll find people with deep coffers and shallow sense hoarding pretty predators as though they were collecting pedigree hounds and cats. You wait, we’ll see something in the papers about somebody’s missing leopard or tiger prowling around the hills. Now, if that beast had cleared its throat in the dark and shouted at us in plain English to get out of its woods, there might be grounds to point and go a-ha! But as it had nothing to say and neither of us was polite enough to stand still and get mauled, the matter remains unsettled. Say, have you got a handkerchief you don’t mind ruining?”

Ambrose handed him one, his face finally regaining some tint as he puzzled over Dyson’s prize.

“It would be an opportune thing to be in a ghost story,” he sighed while Dyson scraped at the mud. “If we are, that will turn out to be a conveniently abandoned diary illustrating every move Geber made leading up to the fire, replete with his devilish experiments and all the lost spirits it conjured up. At the very least it will contain the chemical formula that led to such a unique blaze.”

Dyson scoured away most of the muck and frowned.

“Not a diary. Not even a tome of unholy scripture.”

“No?”

Dyson held the book up for him to see. Ambrose frowned back at him.

“No.”

The book was a leatherbound copy of The Legend of Frankenstein. What had been a luxurious volume had apparently been mangled by elements, animals, or else someone with a distinct loathing of the tale. Dyson had wondered at the lightness of the book and found that much of the pages were either shredded or torn out entirely. The inner cover alone had been spared attack, though it still boasted a minor bit of vandalism within:

There are not words enough to voice proper gratitude to the Muse, the Master, the Miracle. For lifetimes to come, even the finest poets of the world shall struggle to meet the task. Here and now, the most that can be said is thank you. Thank you for all that you have done, all that you are, all that is yet to come. A toast to the teachings of Prometheus, to Prima Materia, to the Magnum Opus realized!

—R.G.

Below this, a single line:

Mortui vivos docent.

“The dead teach the living. Interesting choice of postscript.”

“That isn’t all of it.” Ambrose took back the handkerchief and chipped further at a smear of muck still gripping the cover. It crumbled away to show words that had been stained into the board with a different pen. Almost carved.

Prometheus had nothing to teach. He stole the lightning for Man’s fire. The only worthwhile lesson of his myth was taught by the Eagle.

Erichtho might have had teachings to spare. The gods were wise enough to harken to her and know to quail. Yet mortal men care only for the dead’s secrets and the boons they might grant. These you will have. May the knowledge serve you as well as it has me.

No initial or signature was jotted with it, though some rough symbol was gouged below. A thing that curved and went straight at once, vaguely serpentine and somehow unpleasant in both its shape and the depth of its coarse engraving. As though the artist had been both incapable of finesse and insistent on carving the image regardless. Dyson and Ambrose each had a good squint at it and decided it was something related to a caduceus, the sign of medicine.

“The alchemic variant seems just as likely, if we’re to chase Geber’s words to their logical end,” Ambrose said in a tone that heartened as much as frustrated Dyson to hear. It meant the man’s nerves were settling, but also that his mind was now wandering down avenues several leagues away from the present, no doubt combing an internal library of references. Dyson flattered himself to know that he too had some scraps of intel to turn over. He recognized the Magnum Opus as referring to a ‘Great Work’ just as prima materia was a term for a sort of primal matter from which life and the universe was meant to be concocted. But no more than that. He’d need to dust off some old books or wait for Ambrose’s own ramble before he could scrounge up any deeper details.

As it turned out, Ambrose had sealed himself up in his head for the moment.

A moment which lasted long enough to get within talking distance of the police. They described the tunnel and what was in it. There was scarcely time to stretch their legs before they were riding along with the uniformed men, each thankfully armed. Sunset was almost racing them to the horizon by the time they trudged back to the clearing with lanterns in hand. Both men froze upon discovering it. When asked why:

“We didn’t leave it like this,” Dyson heard himself croak.

“How so?”

“The stone. We left it pushed aside when we left. The tunnel was still uncovered.”

Now the boulder was planted right back where it had been.

A hasty examination was made for tell-tale shoe prints, to little avail. New snow was fluttering down and filling things in with an accomplice’s speed. Giving it up, the group of them carefully shouldered the rock aside. Their caution’s reward was a column of acrid smoke that wafted up and plugged every unfortunate nose in reach. The last embers of a fire were dying down inside the tunnel.

The two corpses were roasted. The cart was a cinder. The tunnel’s floor had been glazed with oil and set alight until the whole bottom of the chute was a long black stream at least halfway to the underground entry point of the manor. Investigation to that farthest end revealed a pair of melted metal doors with burst windows. Beyond them there was only packed-in ash.

Dyson made no more mention of his hypothetical escaped animal.

Ambrose was not only silent about the Goliath seen from the window, but went so far as to draw his curtains before bed.

[envies-writing-corner]

Hello, Stranger

Genre: (F, A)

Includes: Mysta, Kyo, Shu

Word Count: 650

TW: mentioned Death, Meet-Cute cringe?

Concept/Title explained: Soulmate AUs

---------------------------------------------------------------

Mysta Rias: Red String

Mysta would not believe you if you told him he would wake up to find a red string attached to his pinky and it would lead here. He wouldn’t believe it for a second. Maybe that’s why it was so difficult to grasp the fact that it was true.

As the detective stepped out of the car, he looked towards his hand, the string growing tighter, leading into the graveyard in front of him. Every fiber of his being was begging that it wasn’t what he thought, that his soulmate was just visiting someone. Everyone knew soulmates were something important, that only one person was meant to be with the other end of the red string. He’d heard of how it’s supposed to be a magical moment when you meet your forever partner for the first time, his own friends Fulgur and Uki having tried to explain how it felt when they met in person. This moment was anything but a joyful fairytale scene as his string went taught, pausing in front of a grave.

Shock pierced through Mysta as he fell to his knees, unable to comprehend the words on the tombstone in front of him, desperately trying to pull the string from the packed dirt, giving up as it wouldn’t give. This was reality, his soulmate was dead… and he had found them too late.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry you died without me...”

Kyo Kaneko: Colorblind

For as long as Kyo could remember, the world had been dull and void of life. He had believed it to be because of his illnesses, that because of his constant hospitalizations the world just didn’t seem as it once did to him. When he was accepted as a member of Iluna, he quickly realized that wasn’t the case. His friends bustled with life, joy and excitement, just to make their fans and each other feel happy. They had always spoke of the colorful world they’d lived in, how Ren’s world was all black and blue, how Aster seemed to shine in his purple outfits, how soft Maria looked with her pink accents. Kyo wondered if he’d ever experience the beautiful world his friends kept gushing about.

Nothing prepared him for that day though, when a new student had joined the Iluna institute, his world bursting into color like an explosion, his eyes immediately landing on you and your beauty.

"That stranger...”

Shu Yamino: Timer

Shu’s timer always confused him. It never seemed to tick down, not by a second, minute, hour, or day. The clock on his wrist never changed. It didn’t help when he was thrown years forward into the future. In fact, when he did get transported, he forgot about the timer, not once checking it since he joined Luxiem.

When the topic of timers came up on stream a year later during a Zomboid collab, everyone had revealed what their timer said. Some, like Nina’s and Ren’s had already gone off, while others like Alban’s and Wilson’s had years to go. Shu could feel his heart in his throat when he noticed his only had a few more minutes. He wracked his brain, trying to think of who was part of the collab he hadn’t met, who was running late. His answer came a minute later, his timer down to under a minute when his doorbell rang. Muting his stream and running to the door, he saw you. You hadn’t noticed your timers going off as you looked at your phone, seemingly confusing the house with your friends as you look up, slightly annoyed.

Everything was in slow motion when you looked up, eyes locking with purple as your phone fell, quickly looking at your wrist then Shu’s as everything became clearer. He smiled, picking up your phone and handing it back to you, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Hello, stranger...”

---------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: thank you for your patience regarding new fics, I would like to state that due to recent news regarding Mysta Rias’ graduation, I will no longer write for Mysta unless requested, similar to how I write for Yugo. Until his graduation date, please support him and the rest of Luxiem through this difficult time, and stream Detect My Love. ~Iris

[seriouslysam8]

Brumous Sneak Peek!

I offer you the first part of the scene that is making me rip my hair out and scream at my computer keys.

Chapter Sixty-Five: Little Hangleton

Harry walked along the cracked pavement of Little Hangleton with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket. He kept his head bowed, his gaze focusing on his trainers. There was something about being back in Little Hangleton that made Harry’s stomach churn with anxiety. He was well aware that it was silly. Voldemort and his Death Eaters hadn’t been detected in the small town. They would know given the fact that Remus had been staking out the town for nearly two weeks.

Glancing up, Harry realized that he had fallen behind Dumbledore and Remus. Although, he had not fallen behind Sirius. His godfather matched his stride next to him, his head held high and his features hardened. For once, Harry was grateful that his godfather had stayed annoyingly close to him, hovering like the broomstick parent that Harry had grown accustomed to. Harry hadn’t thought being back in Little Hangleton would affect him as badly as it was.

Harry’s stomach clenched as they walked past the graveyard. As though sensing Harry’s discomfort, Sirius took a step closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Sirius looked over Harry’s head at the graveyard but said nothing. Harry could only think of Cedric. It was hard to ignore the flash of Cedric’s body falling to the ground every time Harry blinked. The image burned onto the backs of his eyelids. Harry tried to focus his attention in front of him and keep his eye wide open.

Their group stopped outside of a dilapidated house, one Harry recognized from Pensieve memories that Dumbledore had shown him. Harry squinted at the house as he heard a soft noise emitting from the home. Taking a step out of Sirius’ arms, Harry strained his ears to figure out what the noise was.

“Protect. Protect. Protect,” multiple voices hissed over each other.

Harry pushed up his glasses with his fingers as his eyes roamed around the building. There were no signs of any snakes on the outside. Even craning his head to look through the broken and dirty glass pane, he saw nothing. Oddly enough, there was just blackness beyond the glass.

“Harry, are you all right?” Remus asked, pressing a hand onto Harry’s shoulder as he stepped up to his left.

“Can’t you hear that?” Harry pressed, his body turning around to see Sirius and Dumbledore standing shoulder to shoulder.

Sirius stared at the house in front of him, a stoic expression set hard on his face. Harry doubted his godfather had even heard him. Anything Gaunt related seemed to send him reeling in a way Harry didn’t fully understand.

“I believe you are hearing the snakes,” Dumbledore supplied. “Are they saying anything interesting?”

Harry swallowed, his gaze snapping to Dumbledore. “They’re all talking over each other, but they’re all saying the same thing: protect.”

“Can you tell how many?” Dumbledore inquired, his bushy eyebrows raising above his moon-shaped glasses.

Harry shook his head. “No, but it sounds like dozens.”

Dumbledore turned to Sirius. “What are your thoughts, Sirius?”

Sirius’ jaw feathered, his gaze finally tearing away from the house. “I don’t have any thoughts,” he said in a short tone. “I’ve never been here nor do I sense anything.”

Dumbledore nodded, making his way up the splintered and creaky steps to the front porch. Everyone followed him. Sirius stood close to Harry, their shoulders pressing together as Dumbledore ran a hand down the front door. There was no doorknob, like most magical homes.

“There needs to be an offering,” Dumbledore mused out loud. “Sirius, I believe yours would be the most welcoming.”

Harry furrowed his brows, wondering what Dumbledore was talking about. Even though he was confused, Sirius was not. He stepped forward, pulling his wand from his jacket pocket. Without a moment of hesitation, Sirius sliced his palm wide open. Harry’s nose wrinkled, watching his godfather’s hand turned red as drops of blood seeped between his fingers and dripped on the rotten wood beneath his feet.

“You are far more versed in the workings of blood magic,” Dumbledore explained. “I would assume Tom would use something that an ancient house would.”

Sirius stepped forward, his palm smearing runes on the wooden door. Harry really wished he had even a speck of knowledge about runes, because he hadn’t the foggiest idea what his godfather wrote. When he was finished, he took a step back and dangled his bloody hand at his side. The hissing ceased their mantra in favor of a new one. The heir, the heir, the heir chanted in Harry’s head and he wired his lips shut. He refused to even acknowledge what he heard in fear of it causing Sirius to reel. The wood swirled and formed a doorknob. Squinting at it, Harry realized it had formed into a snake eating its own tail.

“May I inquire, Sirius?” Dumbledore asked, appraising the runes.

“Bound by blood and honor,” Sirius said in a gruff voice. “It’s the Gaunt family motto. Phineas Nigellus’ portrait loved to ramble on about it, given his mother was a Gaunt,” he explained as he sealed the wound on his hand but didn’t bother to clean the blood off. “Like every other pompous pureblood house, they feel the need to put their silly little saying on everything.”

[cha-melodius]

2023 Writing Roundup

Thanks to @welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @kiwiana-writes, and @orchidscript for tagging me for this one. I'm also going to say thanks to everyone who tagged me in the ao3 wrapped or other round up type things; I've been putting off doing my annual writing year-in-review because I always post it on the 30th or 31st. This one is new to me and I figured why not, I'll do it now. I published 31 fics this year (so far!), so safe to say I'm putting this partly under a cut to save your dashes.

JANUARY

How’s About Cookin’ Something Up With Me? (TMFU, T, 4k) Teachers AU, Napoleon helps Illya bake cookies for a holiday party.

Love is a Deserter (TMFU, T, 3k) Post breakup getting back together fic.

True Hollywood Romance (Lokius, M, 8k) Actors AU, fake dating, Mobius and Loki have a PR relationship that turns real.

It's Been a Bad Day Lately (Lokius, T, 17k) Time loop, Loki has to try to figure out how to defeat a deadly Kang variant and save the man he loves all at once.

FEBRUARY

All for a Taste of the Honey (RWRB, E, 6k) FBI Agents AU, Henry goes undercover as a stripper and Alex has a lot of feelings about that.

MARCH

All Comes Crashing (TMFU, E, 5.6k) Illya has one night left to live and is forced to admit the feelings he's been holding back.

Nova, Baby (RWRB, E, 67k) CIA/MI6 AU, forced to work together by their respective agencies, Alex and Henry take on high-stakes missions and fall in love.

APRIL

Kiss Me Like You Mean It (Firstprince, Napollya, Lokius, T) Various T-rated ficlets featuring kisses.

MAY

All the Old Showstoppers (RWRB, E, 20k) Canon-divergent AU where Alex and Henry compete in the Great Celebrity Bake Off.

The Sky is Open (RWRB, E, 5k) 1970s Pan-Am pilots AU (with a twist!).

Just a Shot Away from You (TMFU, T, 4k) Five times Napoleon and Illya were ordered to kill each other, and one where everyone decides they’ve had enough.

JUNE

Tiny Little Movies (RWRB, various ratings) A drabble collection based on drabble prompts from the Brownstone discord server.

JULY

Always Where I Need To Be (RWRB, T, 5k) Alex's new roommate has a puppy with a penchant for stealing his glasses.

AUGUST

Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood (RWRB, E, 20k) Couples Therapy AU, Alex and Henry are workplace enemies and accidentally end up in couples therapy.

Black Moon (TMFU, E, 6k) For All Mankind AU, Napoleon and Illya are astronauts living on moon bases.

That's My Trouble (RWRB, M, 6k) Detective/ME AU, aka 'Rizzoli and Isles AU', Alex shows up bleeding on Henry's doorstop.

Theory and Practice (RWRB, T, 4k) My 100th fic! Grad students AU, former hookups turned enemies to friends to lovers.

Getting Clinical (RWRB, T, 2k) Non-famous AU, Alex and Henry meet at a sexual health clinic.

Cold Light (Lokius, M, 4k) Human AU, Loki and Mobius meet in Norway and their relationship grows under the northern lights.

Step Into My Office, Baby (RWRB, E, 2k) Office AU, friends to lovers, three scenes in a corner office.

The Harrowed and the Haunted (TMFU, T, 3k) Paranormal investigators AU, Napoleon and Illya visit a haunted house.

SEPTEMBER

Will You Brie Mine? (RWRB, T, 6k) Non-famous AU, Henry sells cheese at Harrods Food Halls and Alex is his best customer.

Lessons in Foreign Diplomacy (RWRB, E, 5k) Post-American Revolution AU, Alex and Henry are ambassadors to the court of Versailles from their respective countries.

Something To Be Proud Of (RWRB, M, 3k) Non-famous AU, Alex volunteers at Edinburgh Pride and Henry makes an embarrassing email typo.

Enemies of the Ocean (Lokius, T, 3k) Human AU, Loki and Mobius are stranded at sea on a life raft together.

OCTOBER

Falling Down the Stairs of Your Smile (RWRB, M, 4k) Canon divergence AU, Alex stays another night after the hospital trip and their relationship gets a jump start.

In the Dog Days (RWRB, T, 6k) Modern magic AU, Alex is jealous and suspicious of Henry's shapeshifter boyfriend, David.

NOVEMBER

Taste the Way You Bleed (RWRB, T, 4k) WWDITS AU, the Super Six are all vampires living in the same house, and Alex and Henry still hate each other (until they don't).

DECEMBER

This Hell of a Season (RWRB, E, 21k) currently posting Nova-verse missing scenes and sequels, 3 times Alex & Henry spent Christmas on missions and 1 when they didn't.

[Redacted] (TMFU) My fill for the annual TMFU winter holiday gift exchange.

WHEW. Ok, tagging! @cricketnationrise, @heytheredeann, @mirilyawrites, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @dewdropreader, @celaestis1, @myheartalivewrites, @14carrotghoul, @clottedcreamfudge, @indomitable-love, @dumbpeachjuice, @indestructibleheart, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @inexplicablymine, @sherryvalli, @iboatedhere, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @leaves-of-laurelin, @three-drink-amy, and anyone else who wants to play.