#henry lovecraft

[lifeofkaze]

Where All Stories End

Warning: mortal injury, major character death

The wind was howling around the ancient walls of Fraser Hall. The storm that had been building over the Scottish Highlands had broken earlier in the evening, the leaden clouds looming so close to the ground that it looked as if the sky were caving in on itself.

The man in the library wasn’t aware of the clattering raindrops against the windows. He was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, as he had been for hours - back and forth, back and forth. His gaze was directed inwards, his fingers toying with the chain of the pocket watch adjusted to his waistcoat, quietly mumbling to himself as he went.

Presently, Henry Lovecraft stopped at the heavy oak desk the lady of the house had moved there for his convenience. Picking up the quill and dipping it into his inkwell, he set the feather to the paper. Before the tip could touch it, however, Henry paused. Frozen, he watched as the first jet-black drop formed on the quill’s end, growing bigger, heavier, laden with all the words of all the worlds. Eventually, it fell, landing on the pristine parchment with a quiet thud. It was a soft sound, nothing compared to the beating against the glass outside, but to Henry’s ears, the impact sounded deafening. 

With a sigh heavier than the mountain on his heart, Henry dropped the quill again, turning away from the desk and the empty parchment staring at him. The whispers, which had been quiet for the time he’d stood at the desk, returned, begging him, luring him, asking him to tell their story - no, their story - no, their story.

Henry shut his eyes, too weary to keep the whisperings at bay. He didn’t know what was happening; as long as he could remember, the stories of the past had talked to him. They had always invited him, like friends, lovers, making the past his playground and the present his stage. It was his gift, his singular talent, the one thing that had set him apart from everybody else. Lately, however, his gift had turned into a curse. The stories wouldn’t stop haunting him, calling for him louder than ever before, but every time he tried to put them to paper, they would vanish like the ghosts time had made them. The words slipped through his fingers like fog, only to return and envelope him again as soon as he turned his back. 

Henry let himself sink into the chequered armchair close to the fire, stretching out his long legs with the worn, slightly too big slippers Selene had given him on his feet. He took out his pocket watch and flipped it open, studying the familiar face of the token that had once belonged to his father. It had stopped working earlier in the evening, and Henry fiddled with the button on top, watching the hands of the clock turn at his will. He brought it to his heart, but, of course, there was no sound. The clockwork wasn’t ticking, as if the watch was stuck in an eternal moment in time. 

A smile flickered across Henry’s face. A strangely comforting thought. 

“Uncle Henry?”

The sound of a small voice made Henry break from his musings. Looking up, he saw that a little girl had slipped into the library. She was dressed in a nightgown, her dark hair held in place by a haphazard plait and the bow Henry had brought back from his latest trip to Greece. 

“Caitlin,” Henry smiled. “Why are you up at this hour? It must be close to midnight. It’s far too late to wander, especially in a storm like this.”

“I know,” Caitlin Fraser sniffed and shuffled closer, “but I cannot sleep. The wind is howling so loudly. Will you keep me company?”

Henry hesitated. “I shall if you wish it so. But wouldn’t it be better if you found your mother?”

Caitlin made a dismissive noise that made her sound more grown up than a girl of five. 

“Mother is in one of her moods tonight.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial manner. “She locked herself in her study again, and I swear I can hear her pacing. What is the matter with her, Uncle? Why must she always be like this?”

Henry suppressed a sigh. Storms had always made Selene feel restless, trapped inside without a means of escape. And it wasn’t only that; it had been almost six years now since…

“Come here, little Cat,” Henry said, closing his arms around Caitlin, who rested her head against his chest. “Leave your mother be. She has her own ghosts who haunt her.”

“There are no such things as ghosts,” Caitlin wrinkled her nose. “Everyone knows that, Uncle Henry.”

“I think Alan would like to disagree.” 

Caitlin frowned, as if she hadn’t even considered her mother’s undead pet ferret up to this point. 

“That’s different,” she declared eventually. “Alan was always like this.”

“Was he?” Henry had meant it as a joke, but somehow, the thought made him contemplative. “What do you think ghosts are, Caitlin?”

“I don’t know,” Caitlin said, looking at him quizzically. “Do tell, Uncle Henry.”

“Judging by the ghosts I’ve met,” Henry said, ignoring Caitlin’s doubtful look, “ghosts are a little like memories. They linger in our world because something’s keeping them. Something that’s too important for them to let go.”

“Like what?”

“It depends. Some have unfinished business to attend to. Some are too scared to move on. And some… some just don’t want to be forgotten.”

Caitlin hummed thoughtfully. “That sounds dreadfully sad, don’t you think? Why wouldn’t you want to go to Heaven when it’s your time?”

Because some people die before their time, Henry was about to say but held the words back; Caitlin was too young to learn this dire truth. 

“I don’t think it’s sad at all,” he told her instead. “For some, maybe, but there’s something beautiful in getting to pass on your story, don’t you think?”

“But that’s what you are for, Uncle Henry. You and your books. It’s what you do.”

“It’s what I do,” Henry echoed, trying not to think about the empty parchment on his desk, “but a thousand lifetimes wouldn’t be enough to tell all the stories of this world, little Cat.”

Caitlin giggled, sheepishly covering her mouth with her hand. It was one of Henry’s favourite sights; it made the stern little girl look more like the child she actually was. 

“You will need to become a ghost yourself, Uncle Henry. Then you’ll have all the time in the world. Oh, just imagine! The first proper ghost I would know. Apart from Alan, of course.”

Henry laughed quietly. “Of course. I do hope I shall be here for a while longer, though.”

“But one day, maybe.”

“One day, maybe.” 

The two of them sat silently for a while, listening to the fire crackling and the wind beating against the window panes. 

“I asked Mother about Father today,” Caitlin whispered presently. 

Henry exhaled slowly. “What did she say?” 

“Nothing, like always. She forbade me to ask about him again.” She raised her face away from where she had snuggled against Henry’s chest. “Sometimes, I wish you were my father.”

There was a dropping sensation to his stomach as Henry gently adjusted the bow on Caitlin’s hair. “Don’t say that.”

“But why? Why can’t you be?”

“I am your Uncle Henry, am I not?”

“I wish you were it, though,” Caitlin stubbornly insisted, her jaw set in the same way her mother always did. “I don’t even know my real father, and I bet Mother doesn’t know him either, or else she would have told me. How can you not know something like this?” 

Henry shook his head. “The story of your father is not mine to tell.”

“How entirely unfair.”

“It might appear so, but there is nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid.” Taking Caitlin by the shoulders, he lifted her to the ground. “But there are other stories I could tell you. Do you wish for me to read them to you?” 

Caitlin’s face lit up. “Will it be one of a princess in a castle and her handsome prince?”

“If you wish it so.”

“And you will stay to wait out the storm with me?”

“Of course, little princess.”

“Thank you.” Caitlin flung her arms around Henry’s waist. “You and your stories are the best.”

“There’ll always be a story for you with me,” Henry smiled, biting the insides of his cheeks as those big eyes, which reminded him so much of her mother, looked back up at him. “Hurry along now, Your Majesty. I’ll select a book and be right with you.”

Caitlin smiled and flitted away, her light footsteps drowned out by the thunder rolling outside. Henry stared after her for a moment before gathering thoughts and turning toward the bookshelves lining the walls. He knew exactly which book to get for Caitlin; he could already feel it calling to him. Its lure was oddly strong, much stronger than Henry knew it to be. He trusted the feeling to guide him deeper into the darkness of the room, not bothering to take a light. He knew where he was going. 

An almost dreamlike smile on his face, Henry climbed the ladder to reach the top part of the bookcase he had been headed for. He thought of how Caitlin’s face always brightened at the part where the prince would rescue the princess; she would look exactly like her mother then, only that Selene had always preferred the dragon to the knight in shining armour. 

Thinking of the two women he considered family, Henry extended his hand. A shudder ran through him as his fingers brushed the worn edge of the storybook. It felt strange, like a cold whisper breathing down the exposed skin of his neck.

Caught off guard by the sensation, Henry’s foot in the too-big slippers lost hold on the rack of the ladder, and suddenly, there was nothing beneath him but emptiness. Sudden panic struck him, making him cling to the first thing Henry could get hold of - the upper edge of the bookcase. His feet kicking against it, the ladder fell away, and for one horribly long moment, Henry Lovecraft hung there, his fingers slowly slipping off the polished wood. The thought of his father’s watch flashed in his mind, set for one moment in time, forever and all eternity.

Then, the bookcase began to topple, pulled forward by Henry’s weight. He screwed his eyes shut and let go as he rushed towards the ground, spinning around as books and whispering pages rained down around him. As the thunder rolled outside, the bookcase collided with the back of his head with a final-sounding crush. 

Raising his eyes one final time, Henry saw the book he had wanted to bring Caitlin just beyond his fingertips. He reached for it, his vision already fading, fingers just so grazing the old spine. Another shiver.

Then, darkness.

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 33

A/N: With the celestial ball fast approaching, the fifth years are on the lookout for romance.

Warnings: mild angst/pining.

OCs featured/mentioned: Siobhan Llewelyn @kc-and-co, Gwen Archeron @thatravenpuffwitch, Primrose Gray and Jesse Seymour @endlessly-cursed, Nadia Erbland @gcldensnitch, William Devlin @unfortunate-arrow, Reuben Willows @that-scouse-wizard, Leila Hellebore @whatwouldvalerydo, Winona Rosewood @usernoneexistent, Nolan Miller @hogwartsmysteryho, Henry Lovecraft @lifeofkaze

April 1897

The Easter holidays had come and gone both all too quickly and far too slowly. With no classes to attend, the two week break had been spent reading books, browsing the shops in Hogsmeade village, and eating copious amounts of chocolate. Anyone would have thought that the idea of returning to a normal school routine the following morning would have cast a dark cloud over the final night of the break, but the fifth year Ravenclaws remained in high spirits. After all, the end of the holidays meant that they were closer to May, when the Celestial Ball would be taking place.

The ball was all anyone had been able to talk about since the Headmaster had made his announcement at the end-of-term feast. Héloïse was half-bored by the endless discussions of dress robes and dance cards and music and escorts. She had never enjoyed spending time in large crowds of people, and so dances and balls had never been exciting prospects to her. And yet…

Perhaps it was because she was now sixteen, no longer a mere child and only a year away from being a grown woman, but each time she heard someone mention what they were planning on wearing or who they hoped to dance with, she felt her heart lift slightly and begin to beat faster in her chest, as if it were already trying to dance. She watched boys asking girls if they might escort them to the ball with fascination, paying attention to the nervous ones’ shaking hands and hopeful eyes, and the confident ones’ polished manner of talking, and the giddy giggles of the girls and their friends after they made their responses. She had read all about the peculiar alignment of stars that the Celestial Ball celebrated, and each night had stolen away to the Astronomy tower in order to see the stars’ progression, as they crept closer and closer to the positions they would hold on the night of the ball.

She was looking forward to the Celestial Ball, really looking forward to it, and that surprised her.

With the return of the school locomotive engine earlier in the evening, the Ravenclaw common room was busier and louder than it had been in the previous two weeks, and the students who had spent the holidays at home were quickly being filled in on what they had missed during the break.

“Oh, I’m so glad that Jesse asked if he could escort you. I’d have felt so guilty being escorted if that meant leaving you to go alone. Now I can attend with William and a clear conscience!” Primrose Grey, who Héloïse had come to realise always knew everything about everyone, was telling her friend Nadia Erbland. Primrose’s blue eyes scanned the room as she continued, “I do believe that most people have arranged to be escorted by someone now. Reuben asked Leila Hellebore straight away, and I think Nolan has now asked Winona Rosewood, as well. In fact” - her eyes settled on Héloïse and her dorm mates - “I know who everyone is going with except for you three.”

Siobhan cocked an eyebrow at her. “Oh, aye?”

“Yes indeed,” said Primrose, with a nod. “So, then. Do tell. Will you all have escorts, or are you going to fill your dance cards on the night?”

“I’m leaving it to the night itself,” Gwendolyn answered. “I think it’s more exciting that way, somehow. Shiv is going to be escorted, though.”

“Who by?”

“Galen Stagg.”

“Really?”

“I don’t see why you are so surprised,” said Siobhan tersely. “Everyone and their granny knows we are friends.”

“Friends, yes, but-”

“Well, then. We shall attend the ball together, and that shall be that, and we shall hear no more on the matter.”

There was a finality to Shiv’s tone that made even Gwen raise an eyebrow and share a glance with Héloïse. Prim pursed her lips slightly, but she turned to Héloïse looking nonplussed.

“Et toi, Héloïse?”

It took Héloïse a few seconds to decide in which language she should reply to Prim’s question. Once she had opted for English, it took her another moment to pick her words.

“I am to go with no one,” she told Primrose, her voice sounding almost defeated in her ears.

“No?” Prim asked. She tilted her head, and Héloïse shook her own.

“No one is asking me.”

That was the problem, Héloïse realised. That was why she sounded and felt so disappointed. She wanted someone to ask her - she wanted Jim to ask her - but now that was seeming an increasingly less likely prospect. And even though Shiv told her that there were stil days to come before the ball, and Gwen said that he may even ask to partner with her on the night, in her heart she knew that he would not do so. There had been plenty of opportunities in which he might have asked her, and yet he had not. With the Celestial Ball now less than a week away, there was only one logical conclusion that Héloïse could draw: that he did not want to attend with her.

The very idea filled her with a deep, unshakeable sense of melancholy, one that accompanied her through the remainder of the evening, until eventually she retired from the Ravenclaw common room and escaped to her usual meditation spot in the Astronomy tower.

She had intended to rest awhile under the light of the moon and wallow in her self-pity alone, however, she soon found herself being interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared, and an elongated shadow of a wizard appear on the ground beside her. She sat up straight, her chest lifting with her heart. Could it be…

“Jim?”

“I am afraid not,” the newcomer replied, his peculiar accent making his identity known before Héloïse turned to see his face. “Alas, you seem disappointed by the fact.”

Héloïse smiled sadly as her friend Henry Lovecraft approached and sat down beside her.

“Yes. No. I am not…” she sighed. “I do not wish to be rude. I am sorry.”

Henry shook his head. “It is no bother. What is wrong? Are you homesick?”

“No.”

“Then whatever is the matter?”

“I… It is the ball,” saiid Héloïse. “It is so close, and so many girls have been asked by boys if they can to go with them, and no one is asking to go with me.”

“No one at all?” Henry asked, one eyebrow raised as if he knew that there was only one person who mattered. Héloïse shrugged wordlessly in response. “Well, I am certain that it is not for lack of wanting.”

“But I think that it must be for this reason. What other reason would there to be?”

“What reason would there be for someone to not wish to attend a ball with you?”

“I do not know,” Héloïse said. “No. I do know. It is because I am too strange, I am thinking. Too different to others.”

Henry laughed quietly. Héloïse frowned at him.

“Quoi?”

“All people are different to others, Heloise,” Henry told her. “And yet, at the same time, we are all the same. It is a paradox, and that paradox is what makes people so very interesting. And the more different a person, the more interesting they are.” He smiled. “I would not describe you as too different, I would simply say that you are extraordinarily interesting.”

Héloïse looked up at the stars, her lips twitching slightly.

“Merci, Henri,” she half -whispered.

“It is but the truth.”

The air was still and silent for a few moments. Eventually, Héloïse turned to Henry and asked him:

“Who are you to go with to the ball?”

“I am not attending with anyone. I do not… I have no wish to attend with anyone in particular, or at all.”

“But it is so romantic, no?”

“Yes, and that is the problem. I prefer to read and observe romance, rather than to partake in it myself,” replied Henry. He sighed. “I do believe that I am rather different to others, too.”

“Perhaps you would like to go with me,” Héloïse suggested, “as my friend.”

Henry frowned. “You do not need to do that, Héloïse. There is still time for the person you…”

“No, there is not. And if I am too different for him, then I prefer to go with someone who is also different.”

“You mean interesting,” Henry corrected her, and she giggled.

“Interesting, yes. So, do you wish to go with me?”

Henry nodded, and the two of them sat together in companionable silence for only a short while before returning to Ravenclaw tower. They may both have been different to others, but their punishment would have been the same had they been caught wandering the castle at night.

[whatwouldvalerydo]

For July's surprise prompt hosted by the brilliant @hp-12monthsofmagic we have Gareth and Cledwyn.

Initially I wanted this to be a mini series but since my brain is scattered everywhere and nowhere, we get this. Cled belongs to the darling @that-scouse-wizard.

Characters mentioned here belong to @lifeofkaze and @kc-and-co. so sorry for not telling you beforehand, it sort of happened as I am trying to get some things done before my next work trip.

Tagging: @endlessly-cursed for the Gareth content <3

The book club was one of the events Gareth actually looked forward to. He could be alone with his favorite book, with no one to pester him, getting lost between the pages or his own thoughts. That was something he could not have in general, not even in the library because sooner or later at least a few girls would try to chat him up, try to get under his skin and hopefully his heart.

However the young future duke was not interested in them. While he did play around in his fifth year, it was mainly for show, a way to pass the time or to annoy the hopeless romantic Oliver Gerard. By the time year six came around, he was tired of the show, wanted to make time matter and Oliver was actually dating Victoria Summer.

But he did not lose the previous year entirely. He came to a daunting realization, initially being conflicted by such feelings. Once he settled himself, he admitted it, he was different, wanted someone different.

And the stunts he pulled to try to get the attention of taciturn Cledwyn were no easy feat, at one point reaching a sort of inner exasperation when the young man did not even wish to spend too much time talking to him. He initially figured he was interested because someone actually told him off and was brutally honest which was refreshing. Then it was more, a second glance, lingering and if it was something Gareth did, it was to commit everything to memory and read into it.

And when he leaped off the wall after asking him to go out with him and shared a kiss, one that was returned, much to his surprised, Gareth knew he had him. He was as interested, curious at least, Gareth told himself as he arranged his hair in the mirror.

Steps took him to the library, finding Cledwyn in a corner engrossed in a new book “Just the person I was looking for.”

He rolled his eyes, but apart from that, he looked bent on ignoring the obnoxious royal until he stuffed a book on advanced potions under his nose “What do you want?”

“Help obviously. Can you please not act like I have the plague? I actually have impeccable hygiene.” Gareth mentioned grabbing a bouncy curl from Cledwyn’s head between his fingers, the later smacking away him with the book “You cannot possibly be upset about the kiss. I can take it back you know.”

“Really now?” he glared, eyes widening when Gareth shieled their faces with the book in his hand, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Stepping back he stumbled in the book case, Gareth smirking “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Then tell me why you pulled me in for another kiss back then.”

“I didn’t.” Cledwyn countered quickly, Gareth just rolling his eyes “You’re imagining things.” Pushing him aside, he stormed out of the library, the royal watching him intently.

During the book club, Cledwyn refused to raise his eyes from the book he was reading, Henry paying attention to his text, Jin reading something in Latin to them, Gareth paying attention to Cledwyn.

Clearing his throat, Jin looked over at Gareth “Do you wish to add anything?”

“Apologies, I keep finding myself distracted as of late.” Cledwyn scoffing at his words, making Henry look at them in order to survey the room. Looking over at Gareth, he nodded politely as he finally settled back to his own text.

Jin however smirked as he looked at Cledwyn, picking up on his heartbeat “Most interesting.” Causing the boy to look at him, Jin smiling, gesturing with his head towards Gareth “Not one to judge.” Cledwyn feeling as if the room was closing in on him.

“Now that I have you here Jin” Gareth said drawing his attention to him “you mentioned a fascinating read about the temples in Japan. I would very much like to get my hands on that book myself. Is it true  Mahoutokoro school is close to a lot of historical sites?”

“I see what you are doing, but I will indulge your faux curiosity my friend.”

Contrary to what Cledwyn believed, Gareth did not try something that night, him deciding to linger close to Henry because for some reason, the royal douche was on his best behavior around him. And once Gareth understood what he was doing, he decided to skip a few club meetings out of spite.

But missing those made him bitter, as if he lost his sanctuary, his drive for debates and stories.

During a Quidditch party celebrating a win for Gryffindor, Gareth joined, stripes on his face red and golden, Cledwyn rolling his eyes yet again when he approached. Lifting his hands he stopped in front of him “Just wanted to congratulate you. Nothing more.”

“Honestly what do you want from me?”

He did not miss a beat, answer coming out on the spot “I want to get to know you. Spend time with you.”

“Then ask. Don’t go pulling your stunts on me.”

Sighing, Gareth wiped away at his face with his sleeve “If you are truly mad at me I can understand. However, if you are mad at yourself and your feelings, I can understand that as well for I have been there, just as confused. But if it is the latter and you are taking it out on me because you cannot look within yourself, then we have nothing more to discuss. Do you understand me?”

Looking down at the cup he was holding, Cledwyn pushed it into Gareth’s hand “Just enjoy the party. Talk if you must, but don’t expect anything.”

“I’ll take that.” Gareth said, sitting next to him, taking a sip from the cup “You know this is an indirect kiss right?”

“Sod off Farr.”

However that was enough for Gareth to go back to his small shenanigans, stealing kisses, coming out of nowhere, Cledwyn being on alert all the time. As if he did not have other better things to do. However, despite himself, he found himself talking more to Gareth when he actually chose to contemplate life and be honest about everything. He listened to stories about his family, the pain he reluctantly wished to admit, Cledwyn opening up more to him as well.

Which felt alright, yet strange as he had a hard time believing his intentions.

And after a visit to his parents during a weekend when Gareth acted more obnoxious than normal, Cledwyn was adamant on ignoring him.

But he still watched him during class, or club activities and noticed something was wrong, Gareth’s mask slipping from time to time when he thought no one was paying attention to him. And there was more sadness behind those eyes, far more than usual.

So one day after they finished the book club, Cledwyn stayed back, Gareth taking the opportunity to invite him for drinks at Hogsmeade “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, stop being odd. I am merely…”

“You’re lying.” Cledwyn quickly stepped in, all up in his face “Something happened and you’re trying to hide it. Tell me and I’ll go with you this weekend.”

Shaking his head, Gareth leaned against a wall “Are you bribing me? Everything is fine.”

“Lying once more. Again and again the same thing with you. Fine. Go ahead, lie. Feel better about yourself for a moment.” Once more that false masked slipped for a moment, Gareth looking away, eyes unable to find a focus point. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Cledwyn felt the tension underneath his robes, but he remained silent.

“They found someone for me, after I graduate school, showed me her pictures and everything. I hate her, I do not wish for this.”

There it was, that small collapse, when he was honest, when he would look back at him, emotions radiating, cascading off him in small ripples, before his gaze would widen, a power inside his eyes pulling him in. Leaning in, Cledwyn pressed his lips against his, Gareth’s mind needing a moment in order to understand everything that was happening.

Parting from him slightly, Gareth sighed softly “Well, that was certainly a brilliant surprise.”

Bumping his forehead against his slightly, Cledwyn spoke “Don’t ruin it.”

“I would not dream of it.” He leaned back in, smiling as he kissed him back.

[nemeyuko]

Trans Autistic Mad Scientist Spectrum

[yeoldecryptid]

Are you an archetype mad scientist?

It’s more likely than you think.

Do you:

Live in a gothic location that is unusually old?

Find your belongings often glow in the dark?

Have secret longings for a child?

Are prone to mysterious ills?

Marry the only member of the opposite gender you know?

Secretly in love that one friend from school?

Uh oh!

[bancaishi]

he said, ‘it is new, indeed, for i made it last night in a dream of strange cities; and dreams are older than brooding tyre, or contemplative sphinx, or garden-girdled babylon.’

illustration for "the call of cthulhu" by h.p. lovecraft

[lifeofkaze]

8 for Ava and 6 for Selene… one of your choice for the timelessly chic Henry?

Omg, somehow this slipped by me. Sorryyyyyyy! Apology coffee date? 🍷

I'm fully aware that this is not a coffee emoji.

6: What is one clothing item your character couldn’t live without?

Her friendship bracelet and - ironically - her golden Fraser signet ring.

8: What accessory does your character pair with every outfit?

A sharp wit goes with every outfit - same as an even sharper knife.

10: What does your character wear when they stay home all day?

Timelessly chic Henry used to wear Selene's grandfather's old and worn slippers when he stayed in at Fraser Hall all day. He did so on the day he died, and thus is stuck with frayed, too-big, chequered slippers until all eternity.

[the-al-chemist]

💜 Ghost

[ellie-e-marcovitz ☺️]

Thank you for the ask! Here’s a little story about Cleo Hexley meeting @lifeofkaze’s Henry Lovecraft.

The Secret to History

The school bell echoed in Cleo’s ears, pulling her out of her slumber. She lifted her head from the desk and blinked. Around her, the other students were packing their quills and books away and starting to leave the classroom. Cleo sighed heavily and followed suit, leaving Professor Binns to continue his lecture alone, not having realised that his lesson had ended and his students had all gone.

She walked through the halls of the castle in the direction of the library, her annoyance growing as she put more space between herself and the History of Magic classroom. She had assumed that with being such an old school - centuries older than Ilvermorny - Hogwarts would be a far better place to study when it came to history. Instead, she spent the majority of her time in her History of Magic classes trying and failing to stay awake while Professor Binns droned on in his monotone voice, and the hours following the class attempting to teach herself whatever it was that she was supposed to have learnt in that time.

While her peers - those who presumably didn’t want to be Runologists when they were older - settled themselves into the Great Hall for the evening feast, Cleo settled herself into a quiet corner of the library, surrounded by piles of books.

“Well, hello there,” said a voice. Cleo turned her head to look either side of herself, but could see no one there. “I don’t believe that we’ve met before.”

The voice was not disembodied for long. Cleo stopped frowning in confusion as a ghost floated through a nearby bookcase.

“No, we haven’t,” Cleo told him. “I’m new here. Sort of. I’m an exchange student.”

“From Ilvermorny, I expect. I recognise that accent,” replied the ghost, and Cleo thought she could pick up a trace of an accent in his voice, too. He held out his hand to her, and Cleo instinctively reached out to shake it. Her fingers went straight through the ghost’s, and he chuckled. “My name’s Henry. Henry Lovecraft.”

“Mine’s Cleo, Cleo Hexley.”

“But of course it is.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I should have known that you were a Hexley from looking at you. After all, I’ve watched generations of your family walk these hallowed halls in the time I’ve been here.”

“I see.” Cleo’s teeth grazed her lower lip. “If you don’t mind my asking… How long have you been here, exactly?”

“Only a hundred years or so. Not as long as some,” said Henry, and he looked curiously at the book open on the table in front of Cleo. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, nothing much. It’s just a history book.”

“Just history?”

“I’m trying to teach myself the curriculum,” Cleo explained, and Henry’s lip twitched slightly. “It’s really not that interesting.”

Henry looked aghast. “Not that interesting?”

“I just mean that it’s remembering lists of dates and facts, that’s all.”

“Miss Hexley. Cleo. May I call you Cleo?” Henry asked. Cleo nodded, and Henry hovered over the seat opposite her. “There is far more to history than dates and facts. It is the secrets and stories of times gone by, of people who have lived through such times. If you look and listen closely, you can still see and hear these stories etched and echoed in the present.”

“That’s great. Real great,” said Cleo. “But I don’t see that echoes of stories of days gone by are going to help me pass the end of term exams.”

“You are missing my point.”

“Okay, so what is your point?”

“That history isn’t supposed to be learnt, it is supposed to be explored,” Henry told her. “Yes, it can teach you things, this is true, but what it teaches are not the sort of things you should - or even can - be tested on.”

“They aren’t?”

“No, these lessons are too great for that. I’m talking about learning about yourself, and about the world around you and people in it, both as they were and as they are now.”

“I guess that kind of makes sense,” Cleo nodded.

“I should hope so. I’ve had a century to consider the subject, after all, and access to all the books I could ever want to read about it. I could help you find some that you might find more interesting, if you like.”

Cleo smiled at Henry before closing her book and rising from her seat. She followed him through the labyrinth of shelves that made up the library, her fingers running over the spines of the books they held, listening to him tell her a story of a time long ago.

[whatwouldvalerydo]

Rebel year - ch 4/6 - Storyteller

Since Gareth cannot participate in an event due to his family, he opts to hand the task over to his friends.

Henry belongs to the lovely @lifeofkaze , Marigold to the amazing @that-scouse-wizard

Leila’s words that he was chasing ghosts stuck and dug deep in Gareth’s mind. However, despite the burn of them, he chose to march in a different path and continue his mindless search for information. By that point he knew it was not about Ruby Taurus and it never had been.

It was exactly about ghosts. About losing family, himself and all his dreams in the process. He had imagined that all his life he would be the “what if” card, the “in case of something goes wrong” child. Free to live his dreams, marry someone of semi-important status and just enjoy a privileged life, following his own hobbies.

But no, instead he got everything destroyed right before his very eyes, in a short amount of time. Lighting up a cigarette from a pack procured with far too much money than it was worth, he lit one, sticking his tongue out as he puffed “Awful.” He frowned, yet still placed it between his lips a second time as he took a deeper drag, coughing the very next second. Calming down, he tried again, adjusting his posture in the mirror, trying to replicate what he had seen at parties. Surely the men he had seen smoke knew what they were doing and it just took some getting used to.

With a fuzzy head and robes smelling of tabacco, Gareth made his way to the library in search of a familiar face that used to give him peace of mind with his stories or selection of books he placed in his hands.

Managing to locate Henry Lovecraft in the distance, his attention fell on another face, though granted not so familiar. Recalling the name, he approached the girl stealing glances at Henry “Can I help you miss King?” Jumping, Gareth placed a hand over her mouth before she let out a startled scream “So tell me my detention friend, who are we spying on?”

Her eyes widened at the accusation, cheeks coloring. Initially he figured it was embarrassment, however he soon discovered it was anger. Angela scrunched her nose, imitating spitting underneath her blouse three time, no more no less, before she collected herself “I will have you know that wasn’t my fault. Peeves locked me in the bathroom and before I was out it was already pass curfew.”

Lifting his brows at her peculiar display, he pointed over at Henry, brining her back to where he wanted “Fancy him?”

“What? No.” she genuinely appeared shocked by the accusation “If anything I’m fascinated by his mind. Have you ever heard her tell stories, or talk? I was just interested in what he was reading. Nothing more.”

Lifting his hands up, he smirked “I believe you. I know him, can introduce you to him.” His eyes squinted as her gaze travelled to the books next to them “Get you in the books club, recommend you.”

Her eyes instantly shot up to him, Angela shaking her head “Nonsense, what good would I ever do there?”

Pulling a face, Gareth leaned against the bookcase “Ummm, read? It is what is generally done. That and some discussions, however mostly are too engrossed in their own books to actually participate. Do you not like reading?”

“I like stories.” She sheepishly admitted, the only admission Gareth required.

“Perfect, you help me, I help you.” Placing his hand on her lower back, he guided her over to Henry who half expected for someone else to interrupt him. Glancing at the odd pair, he inhaled deeply, not even asking.

“Henry meet Angela, she is quite fascinated by stories, admires your brilliant mind.” Managing to get Angela to sit down at the table, Gareth leaned in “She is just a tad shy.”

“I can speak for myself.” She mentioned, eyes lowering when the attention was on her.

“Would you mind showing her around the book club one day?”

Offering a small smile, Henry nodded “Of course, it’s always a pleasure to have new members. Is there a particular writer you are fond of?”

Looking over at Angela, Gareth intervened seeing as she was not answering “Perhaps you can guide her, show her what is best to read before diving into the unknown vastness that is knowledge.” Receiving a nod from Henry, Gareth went on ahead to the reason of his visit “Now that I have two wonderful story aficionados, how would you feel about helping me with a task?”

They needn’t know how he spent the last month, two weeks and five days planning for it. How he learned, barely, about the ball taking place. How he managed to convince one of the ghosts to let him take care of the arrangements. How he could not get the smell out of his nostrils from the rotten meat he stole from the kitchens. How he was about done with everything and everyone until he received an invitation and was told he could bring a friend if he wished. However his father sent a letter, requesting his presence in that weekend for a ball they were hosting.

A perfect opportunity for his family to flaunt him to all the ladies.

Yet he could not say no, he required them on his side if he was to hold his end of the bargain and what better way to do it than face to face with his father?

So he needed allies on his missions, even offering his invisibility cloak in order for them to sneak around properly. And who better than two people enamored with knowledge, stories and the prospect of learning more from people who had lived long ago yet still haunted the halls?

And they agreed, on the task, on the late night rendezvous, on them also asking questions about Ruby.

However that was not the only task Gareth had to perform. Learning that Angela had no proper dress for such an event, he had to use what little time he had left to coax one of his Slytherin colleagues to help. And who better than Marigold Sterling herself?

“What’s in it for me?” the redhead looked over at Gareth who appeared to be about done with everything.

“The gratification you would feel upon helping a not so fortunate soul?”

Lifting her brows, she smiled “Try again.”

“Fine. One of my mother’s dresses. Hand delivered by yours truly.”

Looking at him, her lashes fluttered as she went through all the garments she knew the duchess of Grafton wore.

“Perfect, however I have a specific dress in mind.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, he agreed to deliver, Marigold happily shaking his hand, promising to dress Angela to the very best of her abilities.

And so it was, on the night of the phantom ball, Angela paced the lower level corridors, waiting for Henry, feeling as if the corset was far too tight and her hair far too stiff. She bit her nails listening in to every sound, hiding when she heard footsteps making their way to the agreed location.

“Miss King?” a voice whispered from under the invisibility cloak. Revealing herself, she ushered him over to her corner, Henry revealing himself.

She nodded, nervously tugging at the dress as he placed the cloak in a secure location “Angela please. So just a couple of hours right?” she asked eyes the door they were supposed to walk through.

Seeing how nervous she was, he offered her a small smile offering her his arm, Angela taking it.

A gentle soul Gareth called her when they were left alone in the library. A wise soul was what the royal called Henry. A curious one was what he called him.

While doubts existed, once they entered the high room, they both stood in awe, both watching the silhouettes levitating above them to a song none of them heard, yet somehow could catch on as they witnessed the dance taking place. Beacons of untold stories right above their very heads, whispering, each and every one of them as they sway in their unperturbed dance. And yet they exist among the living. Ghosts.

“Do you think they’re sad? To be stuck like this between life and death I mean?” Angela’s grip on his arm tightened a fraction before she relaxed “Or do you think they are happier being like this?” she asked watching in fascination the graceful silhouettes. Looking at him, she gently tugged at his arm, Henry appearing to wake up from a daze “Did you hear what I said?”

“Apologies.”

Shaking her head, she smiled letting go of his arm bowing as a ghost greeted them “It’s fine. I was saying that…” her eyes widened when another one of the apparitions approached them, a curious stare directed at both of them. Waving her hand, Angela greeted the young man, Henry closing his eyes for a moment, inhaling softly, forehead creasing slightly “Are you alright?”

Opening his eyes, he nodded “Perhaps we should mingle.”

Taking a seat at a vacant table, Henry watched, listening to the whispers guiding his mind, letting them settle, at one point a ghost floating next to him, the young boy looking in his eyes “Do you wish to talk?” the ghost nodding.

By the time they left, both were dealing with different emotions, however they remained silent as Henry walked with Angela up the old stairs “I don’t have time to join extra curricular activities.” She admitted as she glanced down at her dress, noticing the dust she managed to gather from the room “But I would like to come around if I can. When I can.”

“Of course.”

Looking up at him, she smiled, eyes filling with worry a moment later “Are you alright, you didn’t move from your spot tonight.”

Contemplating on his answer, he nodded before speaking “It was still an eventful night.”

Both of them stopped walking, realization hitting them. While inside the room, both forgot to ask about Ruby Taurus.

Inside the Grafton manor, Gareth had just finished securing the dress for Marigold. Not like his mother would miss it, she had not wore it for five years. However what he had to do next required his father’s seal on a specific letter.

But above all that, it was spite. He detested being at the ball. So when he entered the office, he told his father everything he had been up to since the beginning of the fifth year alongside the demand of a letter towards headmaster Black, requesting to bring back Quidditch before the end of the year or else he would not be providing anymore funds.

A hard slap followed, Gareth’s cheek burning, however he still looked at his father “I would be careful if I were you, after all you would not wish to damage the face of your only heir.”

It was further spite refusing to heal his bruised cheek. However he walked with his head held high and the letter in his pocket. After all he was right, his parents could not deny him. And as long as he played his cards just right, they could not disown him. They would consider he was just rebelling, being a teenager and that he would fall in line eventually.

Walking inside the library, he witnessed Angela running towards a table, the librarian scolding her. Grabbing a book Henry extended to her, she hurriedly thanked him before she made her way past him, only offering a small hello.

Sitting down at the table, he asked about the ball, mouth swinging open when Henry told him there was no information they gathered on Ruby Taurus. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gareth sighed “Well, if not even ghosts know about her, I am truly a fool. Fool for pursuing this, for trying, for…” stopping himself, he breathed out “My apologies, I am not myself. Thank you for everything.”

Stopping him, Henry spoke “Perhaps it would be best to speak to someone about what’s eating at you.” He offered winching internally as he realized the royal might actually pour his soul out to him.

“I have nothing to say, but I will one day. No offence.”

“None taken.”

Marching inside his dorm room, Gareth slammed the door, cursing, his owl startling, dropping the letter in its beak. Opening the note, his brows knitted together “I heard you were asking about me. Meet me by the common room entrance tonight. Ruby Taurus”

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Little Longfellow War

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: By the shores of Gitche Gumee Longfellow: By the shining Big-Sea-Water Longfellow: stood the mighty Hiawatha Longfellow: in a coat he made from otter

King: wow, just wow Barker: incredible stuff! Koontz: gosh! so cool! Lovecraft: really gets you right here, don't it? Poe: Poe: [muttering] he's not that good

Poe: ugh, longfellow's poems are maudlin tripe Poe: you guys actually LIKE this stuff? King: it just makes you feel nice inside, edgar Poe: King: ya know all warm and squishy Poe: King: like you just ate a big pile of water balloons Poe: yes stephen i am familiar with the sensation

Poe: i'm gonna call this charlatan out King: oh edgar, don't King: dean really likes his poems Poe: dean is hardly the barometer of good taste, steve King: oh no edgar King: you don't mean that Poe: i'm sorry i just Poe: they're not good poems!

King: they're very popular poems, edgar Poe: popularity does not mean quality, steve!!! Poe: longfellow writes pap for the lowest common denominator! Poe: oooo i HATE that longfellow!! Poe: i hate him and his trust fund!!

Poe: [typing] call out post for henry wadsworth longfellow Poe: [typing] his poetry is maudlin tripe, fit only for children Poe: [typing] his work is complete squeecore Barker: damn, edgar, i never thought I'd say this Barker: but you got the soul of a true poster! Barker: honestly i figured howard was the only true poster among us Lovecraft: [typing on phone] DEBATE ME, FRED JACKSON YOU COWARD!!!

King: did longfellow reply to your callout, edgar? Poe: no!! he hasn't said anything! Poe: he's just ignoring it! Poe: he's ignoring the discourse! Barker: damn wow Barker: what a power move!

Poe: what the Poe: ooo! that longfellow! always two steps ahead! King: just let it go edgar Barker: haha don't tell him what to let go steve King: King: oh i guess i need to say it this time King: clive

Poe: i've got one last trick up my sleeve Poe: something that no writer can resist replying to! King: no edgar you can't mean Poe: yes! Poe: i'm going to write a one star goodreads review

Longfellow: [singing and playing electronic keyboard] To stop that discourse, one-two-three Longfellow: Here's a fresh new way that's trouble-free Longfellow: It's got henry longfellow's guarantee ... [winks] Longfellow: Just don't look! Just don't look!

[lovecraft-oc-and-canon-ask]

Companion of a famous occultist, brave and resourceful, willing to face danger alongside Crow in their quest to uncover the secrets of the cosmos and protect humanity from malevolent forces.

Allons dire bonjour

Henri-Laurent de Marigny

Henri made by @shapter-draws

[omercifulheaves]

Guy Davis’s concept art for The Cabinet Of Curiosities episodes “Pickman’s Model” and “Graveyard Rats.” (2022)

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

The next Subversive Progressive Retelling of an existing story should focus on horror media like The Dunwich Horror or Eraserhead and have the freaky child survive to adulthood in a community that learns to accept them

[cantsayidont]

June 1938. Aside from its Margaret Brundage cover painting and the Seabury Quinn story advertised on the cover, this issue of WEIRD TALES features, in no particular order: the short story "Slave of the Flames" by Robert Bloch; the first installment of "The Black Drama" by Manly Wade Wellman (under the pseudonym Gans T. Field); "From the Beginning" by Otto Binder (as Eando Binder, a pseudonym he shared with his brother); "Song of Death" by A.W. Calder; "The Doom That Came to Sarnath" by H.P. Lovecraft; "The Gray Champion" by Nathaniel Hawthorne; "Death Dallies Awhile" by Leslie F. Stone; the second installment of "Thunder in the Dawn" by Henry Kuttner; a Robert E. Howard poem; and various interior illustrations by Virgil Finlay.

[rattxtt]

when will the gays learn that reanimating the dead is not a sure fire way to get a boyfriend