#the fetch phillips series

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Luke Arnold: "There's a lot of me in Fetch, more than I'd probably like to admit".

Luke Arnold is an Australian actor, director and writer who rose to fame in 2014 for playing John Long Silver in the television series Black Sails. Throughout his career he has participated in various theatre and television productions that have allowed him to grow as a person and professional. In 2020, in the midst of the pandemic, he published his first novel, The Last Smile in Sunder City, which arrived in Spain a year later through Gamon Fantasy, the fantasy imprint of Trini Vergara Ediciones.

The work, winner of the BookNest Award for best first novel, places us in a world in which magic has disappeared and the magical creatures that inhabit it are gradually withering away due to the lack of magic. With hints of mystery, fresh, witty humour and light-hearted action, The Last Smile in Sunder City introduces us to Fetch Phillips, a private investigator with a drinking problem but a lot of charisma, who seeks to help any creature who requires his services, whether it be to find a missing person, solve a murder or ensure the safety of a client during an exchange.

Shortly after the publication of The Last Smile in Sunder City, Dead Man in a Ditch, the author's second book, arrived on our shelves as part of The Fetch Phillips Files that began with his previous work. Most recently, April 2023 saw the publication of With One Foot in the Abyss (One Foot in the Fade), which continues Fetch's adventures.

On the occasion of the release of this latest book, Luke Arnold has made a stop in the city of Barcelona, during his literary tour, to tell us a little more about his urban fantasy novels that are conquering readers from different countries. In Cuánta Cultura we have had the opportunity to interview him to bring you a little closer to this author who has arrived on the scene.

Photograph of Luke Aronld with two of his books (La última sonrisa en Sunder City and Con un pie en el abismo) in the Gigamesh bookshop (c) Pol S. Roca

Cuantra Cultura (CC) : In The Last Smile in Sunder City you dedicate the book to your father, who opened the doors to fantasy for you. I'd like you to tell us what fantasy means to you, how important it is.

Luke Arnold : I've always been drawn to fantasy since I was a child and it was this genre that shaped my imagination as a reader. I find that, as a writer and creator, I find the complexity of the real world too overwhelming. That's why I like the freedom that the fantasy genre gives me, a freedom that allows me to explore, also, very complex aspects of a completely invented world, whether social, cultural or political, without having the need to be tied to reality.

C.C : As an actor, if you had to play Fetch Phillips, how would you play him?

L.A : Actually I already do a bit of Fetch Phillips when I record the audiobooks in English and I think this is the only time I'm going to play him.

For anyone playing this character it's important to keep in mind that he has a lot on his mind: about the kind of man he thinks he needs to be, the kind of masculinity he should embody, what it means to do good and whether he's the one to do it… It's true that Fetch tries to project that vision he has (that he wants to have or thinks he should have of himself), but underneath it all he's just a nervous, anxious, repressed, fearful, sad, hopeless, guilty little boy.

However, there is a part of him that does like being the tough guy who gets drunk. It is very important for anyone who has to play this character to keep all this in mind.

C.C : We would like to know what made you take the leap into the world of literature. What was the spark that made you pick up your pen and create such a charismatic character as Fetch?

L.A : When I was a child, it was clear to me that I wanted to write. The first time I played something were stories that I had created. I would put ideas in my head, shape them and then act them out. That's when I started performing things in front of other people.

What tends to happen with these things is that, when you perform something, you tend to get called back for more stuff. They say "hey, we're going to do a play, we're going to do a short film, come and present this act" and as a teenager it's a lot more fun to perform than it is to be in your room alone, writing.

In that sense, life took me down that path, even though I was very clear that I was still a writer. It's been a process of finding myself as a writer again.

I remember, when I was young, I wrote a short story that was a prototype of both Fetch and Sunder City, but it was a very superficial vision. It was more of a typical tough-guy detective going around, investigating. There were some elements that still exist today, like the disappearance of magic, but the character of Fetch was more of a stereotype of what a young kid imagines that idea of the adult to be.

It wasn't until I got to a point in my life where I realised I had enough perspective to look at the vision of masculinity, maturity and growing up that I really started to get excited about writing this. I found myself able to set aside some of my time to dive in and sink my teeth into this world and this story.

"John Long Silver and Fetch Phillips have very different ways of dealing with their personal tragedies and their conception of the world as a dangerous place." - Luke Arnold

C.C : You talk about things you wrote a long time ago like the story that was the germ of Fetch and Sunder City, can you tell us, if you remember, what were the first stories you created?

L.A : I don't remember exactly what I wrote first, but I do know that a lot of the short stories I wrote as a kid were very much inspired by the comics I read. I would write my own comics or create stories based on probably whatever I was reading at the time, things with a lot of action. At that time I was already leaning very much towards fantasy and magical realism, in fact I have some of the comics from primary schools and they're all blatant plagiarisms of the Nightmares books or the X-Patrol comics.

Photo of Luke Arnold after the meeting that took place in the Gigamesh bookshop (c) Pol S. Roca

C.C : Writers tend to pour a part of ourselves into the story and the characters, both consciously and unconsciously. Is there anything of yours (way of thinking, any experience, lived feelings…) in the Fetch books that you have captured?

L.A : There's a lot of me in Fetch, more than I'd probably like to admit. In the end, I think books serve to explore a lot of things, they allow us to introspect and find out about ourselves. In this case, Fetch grapples with the idea of how to be a good person in a society that is broken.

When we conform and follow the herd, we become complicit in certain events that are happening in our society. At the same time, if we go against the tide, if we decide to rebel, the act itself has a cost, a price. And I think that in our world, whatever position we are in, we are all facing these same questions, the personal responsibility we all have for the society and the world we live in.

Many of us right now are in a dichotomy of whether to try to do good things for ourselves and our immediate environment (for our neighbours, family and friends), or whether to try to change the social fabric around us. This obviously leads you to wonder what the people you are rebelling against would do or how what you do will change society. The Sunder City books are a safe way to be able to explore, through Fetch, all these questions before you go out and start kicking things around.

C.C : For Black Sails you played the well-known fictional pirate John Long Silver, a character with a brutal evolution and a great charisma throughout the series. Those of us who have seen the series can't help but imagine Fetch a bit like Silver, although it's true that Fetch is a character with a great sense of guilt and a bit broken, but I'd like to ask you, first, if there's anything you took away from your performance as Silver and, of course, if there's anything of Silver in Fetch.

L.A : In my opinion, I think they are two very different characters, both in their view of the world and their place in it and how that manifests itself in their personalities. In the end, John Long Silver and Fetch Phillips have very different ways of dealing with their personal tragedies and their conception of the world as a dangerous place.

Silver is a very capable character, who knows how to take care of himself because it is clear to him that no one is going to do it for him. That's why he adapts so well and so well. It's also why his story starts out as a fish out of water in Nassau and eventually manages to cope. Not only does he get what he wants, but he also goes all the way to the top.

Fetch, on the other hand, has done terrible things trying to fit in. He did what the people around him told him what to do, what to say, what to think. In that sense I think they are very different from each other.

Photograph of Luke Arnold during the interview he gave me at the Gigamesh bookshop (c) Pol S. Roca

C.C : Who or what is your greatest inspiration when creating (films, theatre, actors, directors, etc.)? Tell me about your greatest idols.

L.A : I find it really hard to choose when I'm asked about top ten, favourites, etc., so I'm going to talk about more recent things. The first books that really caught my attention in that sense were Joe Abercrombie's books.

Lately I've been reading The Ultimate Revenge and The Heroes and I find it extraordinary how he, dealing with such big themes and ideas, is able to keep it all very much rooted in the characters and in the humour. Joe Abercrombie, in fact, I think I've only got a couple of books left to read. And then there's Terry Pratchett also for the same thing, for how he deals with these very complex ideas with humour and how he manages to stick with the characters. These two authors are very much reflected in Sunder City.

Another thing that Abercrombie has in common with Pratchett is that they both don't take themselves too seriously and that's very important when you're trying to deal with very big issues from a social-political point of view.

C.C : In an interview you said that one of your favourite fantasy books is Peter Pan. Everyone knows it from the Disney film, but there are many who have not read J.M. Barrie's work. What do you like most about this story? What would you say about it to encourage people to read it?

L.A : It's going to be difficult to answer this question because the first film I made as an actor was an adaptation of Peter Pan and I haven't read the book since. This was in 2002 and from then on I spent a lot of time working in the specialist department of fencing choreographers. Now what I have in my head, above all, is the film that I made and probably also the Disney adaptation. I think it's a good reminder that I need to pick up the book again and read it.

C.C : Would you be up for writing a pirate novel?

L.A : It would be super fun. The truth is that I don't see myself writing a realistic pirate novel, something from the Golden Age of piracy, a very historical work. It would have to be set in a fantasy world that takes the elements of pirates that we all love so much. What I'm still not clear on is how I would do it, what exactly that would look like.

In the Sunder City books, Fetch hasn't even been near the water yet, so that's a tough one, but my agent occasionally brings up the idea of pirates. I think my publishers would love it, it would certainly be a lot of fun, I just have to find a way to approach it.

Photograph of the three books by Luke Arnold (The Last Smile in Sunder City, Dead Man in a Ditch and One Foot in the Fade) published by Gamon Fantasy (c) Cristina García Trufero

The Fetch Phillips archives are not only urban fantasy noir novels to enjoy and pass the time with, but they also contain a reflection on what it means to grow up, to lose that innocence and see yourself involved in an adult world where the magic that existed in your youth is completely lost. It talks about the responsibilities one has towards oneself, but it also criticises today's society through a narrative with fantastic elements that lead us to ask ourselves certain questions about the world, its evolution and our role in it.

During his visit to Barcelona, in the meeting that took place in the Gigamesh bookshop, Luke Arnold announced that he was working on a fourth book of The Fetch Phillips Archives, so we will be able to enjoy a new adventure of this peculiar private investigator in the future. This is undoubtedly great news for all fans of his work.

From Cuánta Cultura, we will follow this author who has made us enjoy so much with Fetch very closely. We are sure that he will continue to surprise us not only as an actor, but also through his fantasy stories.

Photo credits to Libreria Gigamesh's Facebook official page and Cuanta Cultura

Translated with DeepL Translator

Source: Cuanta Cultura

[tiofrean]

So... who else has been crying like mad about that unicorn and Frankie fight in Sunder City series? And about Fetch? And the Dragon? And Hendricks!!?!??!??!

That unicorn didn't wanna leave me, so I'm making it everyone's problem xD

[thematicparallel]

IT HAS A TITLE AND A BLURB!!!! 👀

[vera-dauriac]

EEK!!!! I loooooooove the audiobooks of this series, but I'm incredibly excited to finally have the hard copies so I can make them sit still in that way that's easier with a copy you're reading instead of listening to. And I can make notes and add post its and all that sort of crazy shit. Now the only question is when do I start the reread. Book 4 has a UK release date of April, but no word of a US date. Don't want to start too soon or wait too long. It's rough being a fangirl.

[lichfucker]

[image description expanded from alt text: a full-body digital drawing of Hendricks from the Fetch Phillips Archives series. Hendricks is a thin, pale elf with long curly red hair, a mustache, and a short beard. he's wearing a long, gold satin robe with a ruffled collar and trim, puffy sleeves, and a billowing train. the robe is fastened at the neck, then opens to reveal his bare chest. he's also wearing green pants tucked into shiny black boots with a chunky high heel, and a pair of dangly emerald earrings. Hendricks is glancing to the right with a slight grin. his hair is billowing out behind him in the same direction as the robe, like they're both blowing in the breeze. the background is a solid pale yellow with a green rectangle across the center. end id]

drawing hendricks in clothes I saw on pinterest: 1/?

bonus close-up just because I like it:

[image description copied from alt text: a close-up of Hendricks' head and shoulders. end id]

[organisedbirds]

everyday i get closer to buying the entire fetch phillips series (but i'm also in the middle of my black sails rewatch and i'm worried i'll explode if i read them too soon after finishing)

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 18

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

4.7k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, angst with a happy ending, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Trigger warning for Jason Carver.

18

“Do you know a Chrissy Cunningham?” your father asked, filling his mug at the kitchen counter.

You paused in the doorway with a frown. The kitchen TV was off. Mom buttered toast instead of making pancakes or waffles for breakfast.

“Yeah…?” You glanced at the calendar to confirm it was Sunday. “We have Western Lit together.”

Mom set a plate of crispy bacon at the center of the table before fetching a section of the newspaper. She brought it to you, a furrow of worry between her brows. You took the section to read:

CHEERLEADER MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD A Hawkins High cheerleader was heinously murdered on Friday night by parties unknown. Christina “Chrissy” Elizabeth Cunningham, 17, class of 1986, suffered from fatal internal bleeding and multiple bone fractures in a trailer in the Forest Hills neighborhood of Hawkins, according to reports. There were no witnesses to the crime. However, the trailer owner has been cleared of any wrongdoing. “There is an evil here,” said Laura Cunningham, the victim’s mother. “It’s been growing and infiltrating this good Christian town.” The cheerleader had been beloved by teacher and student alike. Her father, Phillip Cunningham, said, “There was no reason for anyone to hurt our little girl. Chrissy was a sweet girl with a bright future.” Neighbors in Forest Hills are horrified. A resident who wished to remain anonymous said, “It’s that heavy metal garbage. It opens the gates for Satan. [It’s] real scary [stuff]. Kids these days blast it all hours of the day and night. That’s got to have consequences.” Responding officers have yet to locate the perpetrators. “Deputies are working with state law enforcement to collect evidence and statements concerning this case,” the Roane County Sheriff’s Department said. Cunningham was well known in her community and had a kind word for everyone. She volunteered at First Church of Hawkins and the Roane County Animal CARE Humane Society. As head of the Hawkins High Cheer Squad, she always participated in school fundraisers. Hawkins High principal, Paul Higgins, called Cunningham an “exemplary student and person,” and said her murder was a tragedy. “I think I speak for my staff and our pupils when I say Chrissy will be deeply mourned. Our hearts are with her family.” Hawkins High will hold a memorial assembly when classes resume March 31st. Forest Hills’ sign has been piled with flowers and other mementos since the murder. A Hawkins High student said Cunningham was “a tender-hearted girl and the most supportive friend anyone could ask for.” If you have any information which can help the case, please contact the Roane County Sheriff’s Department.

Your mouth went gummy as you finished reading. Now that Chrissy’s murder was in the paper and on the news, everyone would be scrutinizing the residents of the trailer park. The mention of heavy metal wouldn’t work in Eddie’s favor, either.

You’d called the Munson’s trailer earlier, but the call wouldn’t go through.

Mom stepped aside as you shuffled to the kitchen table. You flopped into the first chair you came to and skimmed the article. Chrissy Cunningham, a shoo-in for prom queen, died at Eddie’s place while Wayne was at work. It had been just the two of them.

What had she been doing there? Buying drugs? The cheerleader who volunteered at church buying drugs?

You looked at the grainy version of Chrissy’s senior-year portrait and questioned if anyone had known her at all.

Still, her buying drugs sounded wrong in your head.

Had Jason put her up to that? Was she the go-between? Jason barely tolerated Eddie, but the basketball team was sure to have partied hard after the game. Maybe he’d sent her to buy some pot or whatever.

That made no sense, though. You saw the same footage again on the news before Saturday Night Live. There’d only been Wayne’s truck in front of the Munson’s. Also, Chrissy didn’t have a car. She might have a license, though. If she’d borrowed a car, it would’ve still been there. Unless there had been a third party…

Then Eddie could’ve come home from Hellfire, found Chrissy’s body, and ran.

But why would someone want to kill Chrissy? And frame Eddie for it?

“—okay?”

“What?” you asked, shaking your head and looking from the newspaper. “Sorry.”

“You okay, sweetie?” asked Mom.

“Um… Yeah, just…”

You didn’t know how to end that sentence.

“We don’t have to do anything today.” She sat next to you and placed a gentle hand on your forearm. “Take the day, if you want.”

“No, it’s… I’m okay. It’s a shock, is all.”

Your father sat, mug in hand, and remained quiet. For once, he looked sympathetic.

Mom studied your face for a second before nodding.

“Okay, but there’s no pressure.”

You attempted a grin, but failed.

“Thanks.”

She gave your arm an affectionate squeeze before returning to the toaster. Your father remained quiet and snuck a piece of bacon. You stared at the article, still wondering why Chrissy had been at Eddie’s.

A terrible thought arose that had you heading for the powder room.

What if she’d been there because she and Eddie were involved? What if you were the side piece?

You shut the door, flipped the light-switch, and sat on the closed toilet lid. Your breath wouldn’t deepen. It stayed right under your throat. You stared at the blurring ceiling and willed your chest to loosen.

They could make sense as a couple in The Breakfast Club kind of way. Maybe that was why Eddie antagonized the jocks: because one of them had claimed his girl. Maybe during his drug runs he stopped by Chrissy’s…

Then you remembered New Year’s when he said he’d give you everything, that he was trying to give you everything. He’d said he wanted to be good enough for you. His expression had been sincere — too sincere for a lie. He might be a good DM and storyteller, but he wasn’t a liar. Not like that.

You breathed deep and exhaled. There was no place for doubt at a time like this. Eddie was innocent — and he’d never given you a reason to distrust him.

A soft knock at the door interrupted your meltdown.

“Breakfast is ready,” said Mom through the door.

.

After breakfast, you changed clothes and hauled the galvanized planters Mom had purchased yesterday to flank the front door. You felt a little smug about how good they looked despite the overcast sky. Once you filled the planter with gravel and soil and the bushy lavender, they would look even better.

As you carted the supplies you needed, you thought of The Veil of Undeath spell from last night. It called for dead pieces of a living thing. You couldn’t make sense of what had dead pieces yet remained alive. Not even the incantation clarified.

Dead from the living Dust from the dead I consume like the worm I keep the grave by my heart As I exhale this last breath, I accept the embrace from Death

Naturally, the instructions weren’t much help, either.

The practitioner is to gather graveyard dirt and two dead portions of a living thing. One part to accompany graveyard dirt, the other to ingest. Place graveyard dirt and one dead portion in receptacle to keep on person. Keep living thing alive to maintain charm. Daily consumption is unnecessary.

You understood the spell was centuries old. Also, the book had been written almost a hundred years ago. Some spells you’d read were so heavily coded, you needed a reference book to understand them.

It was times like these you wanted to translate everything in modern language. That was what your personal journal was for. Of course, the danger of translating and making it public was: 1. getting it wrong, 2. harm coming to those who used your spells, and 3. exposing yourself as a witch.

None of that solved your current predicament. You needed to figure out the spell before tonight.

Just then, a shiny black Jeep pulled onto the driveway. You straightened and dusted your work gloves on your legs. The Jeep looked familiar. Your suspicions were confirmed when none other than Jason Carver climbed out of the vehicle.

You stepped onto the front path as he crossed the grass. He was picture perfect in crisp khakis, a spotless polo shirt, and a letterman jacket.

“Good morning,” he said, amicable yet serious.

“Morning.”

You glanced at the Jeep to see multiple silhouettes. Something about him and his buddies waiting in the car had you on high-alert.

Trying kindness first, you said, “I’m sorry about Chrissy. I just read about it in the paper.”

He nodded with a reserved ‘thank you.’

“Is there—”

“You’re Eddie’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I occasionally talk to him in class.”

His eyes narrowed as his head tilted. Condescension suffused his appearance, raising your hackles.

“Yeah,” he said. “I heard it’s more than that.”

You snorted. “Or you’ve imagined it is?”

He moved closer as if to intimidate the answer he wanted from you.

“Like I fantasize about that freak and you.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped to the side, wanting to head for the back of the house where Mom worked. He caught your arm whip-fast, grip bruising, and yanked you near. A sneer marred his all-American face.

“I bet you two have done some nasty shit.” He gave you an oily look. “Yeah, you’re a little freak too, aren’t you?”

You closed the distance, because you weren’t terrified prey. Especially not for Jason Carver. Maybe he had intimidated Chrissy like this, but you weren’t Chrissy.

You glared into his eyes, finding his pupils wide.

“Tell me all about this nasty shit you’ve imagined, Captain of the Tigers. I’d like to hear you say it.”

“I’m not here to play into your crazy bullshit.”

“Then why are you here?”

His face darkened.

“Where’s Eddie?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you said.

He shook your arm to jostle and throw you off balance.

“I mean it, where’s Eddie?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“Is he in there? Huh!?” Jason nodded at the house. “Did you kill her with him?!”

“No, and he didn’t kill Chrissy!” You twisted your arm in his hold. “He was at school playing D&D!”

He shoved you away. Your heel knocked into the lowest porch step, and you almost fell. You steadied yourself with a hand on the railing.

He leaned in to hiss, “Not all night, you goddamn freak.”

He marched away, hands balled into fists and shoulders hunched.

“Better a freak than an asshole!”

When he reached the Jeep, he yanked open the driver’s side door. He scowled at you, which you returned. You kept scowling until he reversed onto the road and drove away.

Once his vehicle was out of sight, you sagged onto the porch and threw your gloves to the stairs. Your neck and shoulders were stiff from how tense you’d been. You stretched out the tightness and massaged with shaking hands. You could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. It rushed from deep in your gut and spread to your fingertips. Your heart was the hammer and the anvil, an engine in overdrive.

With a curse, you tried to think of where Eddie would hide. You had to warn him Jason and his cronies were after him. However, you didn’t know this town well enough. There were people and areas you’d never heard of. He might not even be in town anymore, which gave you a speck of hope.

Mom called your name from the open garage. You perked and replied. She came around the side of the house, then paused.

“You okay?” she asked. “I thought I heard a car pull up.”

“Oh, uh…” You thought quick. “Someone used the driveway to turn around.”

She hummed. “Perks of suburbia, I suppose.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, anyway, do you know where the garden shears are? I need to trim a few dead branches from the rosemaries.”

You frowned at her wording.

“What was that?”

“Garden shears?”

More to yourself than her, you said, “To trim the dead branches from the rosemaries.”

“Yes…?”

That was what the spell meant. You wanted to bonk yourself on the head. Plants can have dead pieces and still live. You could also consume those dead pieces without making yourself sick — as long as the plant was edible, of course.

You smiled at her, and said, “No, I haven’t seen them.”

She gave you a funny look, but accepted your response. As she disappeared into the garage, you wrangled your gloves on, stood, and returned to planting the lavender. You could eat lavender and roses and rosemary. It felt like fate to have bought them.

Before you planted both lavenders, you inspected them to find nothing wilted nor branches broken. Taking a cutting didn’t fulfill the spell’s requirement of ‘dead portion.’ Yes, it would die after you cut it, but it would be alive when you took it. That was very Grim Reaper, yet it wasn’t what the spell was about.

You neatened the porch, gathered your remaining supplies, and went to the pots of roses. There you found multiple dead leaves. You plucked a few and pocketed them before planting the roses in the ground.

Now all you needed was graveyard dirt. Unless there was a convenient cemetery down the block — which there wasn’t — you’d have to drive all the way to Roane Hill Cemetery. However, you had no excuse to be out. If you said your car needed gas, that would mean actually stopping for gas, which never took long. You could say you wanted to buy snacks at the grocery store, but again, that would mean actually shopping.

On top of that, it was Sunday. Everything closed early on Sundays around here.

You had to think of some excuse to leave the house that wouldn’t interest your parents nor rouse suspicions. And you had only a few hours to do it.

With hose in hand, Mom offered to water the new plants if you’d finish the last of the clean-up. You agreed, throwing out the empty nursery pots and washing the gardening tools. The clouds broke as you loaded the cleaned tools in the caddy.

You stood at the top of the driveway and breathed deep the scent of wet earth. Water droplets glinted like prisms on leaves and hung like crystal baubles. Sunlight danced between leaves. At one time, you would’ve sensed the flourishing life of each thing around you. Now all you had were ordinary perceptions—

“Strange day, huh?” Mom said, dragging the hose into the garage.

“Yeah.”

You trotted over to help her coil the hose and stow it with the other gardening supplies.

She said, “Doesn’t feel like a Sunday.”

“More like a Saturday.”

She hummed in agreement before perking.

“How about I make a cozy soup for dinner? That’s a good Sunday meal. There’s still some cheese bread from the bakery we could have with it…”

“Sounds good,” you said as you hit the garage-door control by the stairs.

You turned to go inside, but Mom stopped you with a hand on your upper arm.

“Sweetie, you know if anything’s bothering you, you can talk to me.”

You nodded.

“I know, but I’m okay.”

“Alright.” She patted your arm. “Good work today.”

“You too.”

She gave you a genuine and kind smile. You had the sudden urge to explain everything from the beginning, but she wouldn’t understand. You also had a deep dread she would see you differently if she knew it all. It was better for her not to know, maybe safer. In many ways, your perceived mundanity protected you both.

Up in your room, you pulled the dead rose leaves from your pocket and placed them on your desk. By a school library book. You barked a laugh. The public library was a perfect excuse to leave. You didn’t know if they were open, but there was a book return slot in the vestibule. It wasn’t as though your parents would recall if you had a library book due. There’d be no evidence, either, and the drive to the library was equidistant to the cemetery.

You went to the closet to search the storage box that held your spell supplies. There you found an unused sandwich bag that would work for the small amount of dirt you’d need. You folded that into your purse, grabbed the library book, and headed downstairs.

Mom was in the kitchen, browning chicken thighs in a dutch oven. You popped your head in the doorway to tell her you’d forgotten to return a library book. She glanced at you before asking if you needed money for the fee.

Of course, you didn’t. You told her it was due tomorrow, so it was no big deal.

She waved you off with a mellow grin and said dinner was chicken and wild rice soup.

You paused in the garage to consider taking a garden trowel. It would help if the ground was hard packed. With a shrug, you grabbed one you’d cleaned earlier and tossed everything on the passenger seat.

The drive to the cemetery was quicker than you expected, with hardly anyone on the road. You couldn’t tell if it was because it was a Sunday or because everyone was freaked out over Chrissy’s death. Or possibly both.

It turned out to be a backhanded blessing when you pulled into the deserted cemetery. You cruised to the back, seeing no one and passing no cars. In this section, the graves were abandoned, yet the grass remained tidy. Something told you the dead wouldn’t mind you removing a tablespoon or two of dirt.

Trowel and sandwich bag in hand, you headed for an old oak that shaded a few rows of headstones. Roots undulated through the earth like waves; the headstones were ships riding the swells. You knelt in front of a headstone and placed a hand on the ground. In hushed tones, you introduced yourself and explained your situation. You told them what you needed. Finally, you asked for their permission.

Then you waited.

A soft breeze rustled the oak’s leaves. Goosebumps trailed along your arms until they met at your nape, making you shiver. That was as good a sign as any, you supposed.

You thanked the dead and scooped dirt into the bag. After sealing the bag and smoothing the earth, you returned to your car.

Back home, you stowed the trowel, greeted Mom from the hallway, and hurried to your room. At your desk, you read The Veil of Undeath spell again. The spell’s annotation said it was for concealing oneself from an enemy. You assumed it hid you from curses — or what some referred to as the evil eye. While you didn’t know if you were being cursed on a nightly basis, you didn’t want to experience that level of pain until it killed you.

You laid out the dead rose leaves and the sandwich bag of graveyard dirt in front of the book. The only thing missing was a receptacle to keep on your body. You hummed in thought. A locket could work if you had one big enough, or a vial if you had one small enough.

You brought out the jewelry box you’d stowed next to your underwear. It held small trinkets along with old jewelry. Inside you found a silver locket from your late grandmother, but its openwork front wouldn’t secure the dirt. Beside it lay a plastic baby-bottle charm from a necklace you’d worn in middle school. It had a tarnished bell that now clacked instead of tinkled.

Placing the charm to the side, since it was useable, you continued searching. At the bottom of the jewelry box lay a small medicine bag an old friend had given you after a trip to North Carolina. She swore it was native made. The necklace part was long enough to hide under a shirt. Its leather was soft enough to tuck inside a bra cup, too.

Even though the medicine bag’s stitching was tight, you didn’t want dirt leaking out. You decided to cut a corner off the sandwich bag, putting the dirt and rose leaf inside, and burning the plastic closed. You could use a smaller portion and use the silver locket, but you would have to fold or tear the leaf.

No, you decided, better to use the medicine bag.

You fetched a candle and incense stick of frankincense. Once you set your desk as an altar, you inhaled the incense smoke and exhaled your fears in the candle flame’s heat. Your inherent magic might’ve been drained, but the energy remained in the tools of ritual. You had to trust them.

You held the medicine bag open over the incense smoke to cleanse it. Then the leaves. To finish, you swept smoke into the sandwich bag.

“Dead from the living,” you murmured, touching the leaves. “Dust from the dead.” You placed your hand on the mound of dirt in the sandwich bag.

“I consume like the worm.”

You brought a leaf to your mouth and put the brittle thing on your tongue. It tasted old and brown and dry. It fragmented against the roof of your mouth. The midrib crackled between your teeth. You gathered saliva and forced it down, swallowing with a shake of your head.

You said, “I keep the grave by my heart,” and held the medicine bag to your chest.

With a deep breath, you shook the dirt into one corner of the sandwich bag and snipped the corner off. You slipped the second leaf into the dirt before pleating the plastic closed. You kissed the pleat to candle flame and pinched it secure. The plastic cooled within seconds.

You then eased the packet into the medicine bag and looped the bag around your neck.

“As I exhale this last breath, I accept the embrace from death.”

You inhaled a stuttering breath, then blew out the candle.

The taste of the dry leaf vanished — as did the temperature of the room. Not that it went cold, but the temperature no longer affected you. When you went downstairs for dinner, the scent of the food didn’t induce hunger. And while the soup had a pleasing texture, it tasted lifeless on your tongue.

.

You’d forced yourself into bed during the small hours of the night and closed your eyes. When you opened them, it was morning. You weren’t rested, yet you weren’t groggy. Regardless, you lazed in bed to stare at the dim ceiling.

It had been a peaceful night with no pain. That didn’t mean you were safe without the spell. As they said, the absence of evidence wasn’t the evidence of absence. Something could still be coming after you.

As you sat up, you wondered if Eddie was safe and if he’d gotten any sleep. Perhaps you should try Wayne again. Eddie could be home. Or maybe Wayne knew where he was.

You went to the phone and dialed the Munson’s number. The line clicked a few times instead of ringing, which sounded as though it was being monitored. You hung up, letting your hand linger on the phone. If the Munson trailer was being monitored, the people doing it didn’t mean you or Eddie any good.

Pressing your other hand over the medicine bag, you prayed for the spell to keep them — whoever they were — from tracking you. Because it was obvious now Eddie was the prime suspect, and if you were going to find him, you needed anonymity. You didn’t want a visit from the police or the FBI or some shady government organization.

After going through your morning routine, you went downstairs. It was quiet with your parents at work. They’d left the morning newspaper folded on the kitchen island. On any other day, you’d throw it out, but the yellow sticky note attached to the front page caught your attention.

The newspaper headline read, ANOTHER FOREST HILLS MURDER. Mom wrote on the sticky note, Don’t leave the house.

You peeled the note from the newspaper to scan the article. It wasn’t just the location of this murder that copied Chrissy’s. This victim was a Hawkins High student who died from fatal internal bleeding and multiple bone fractures. You hoped it wasn’t Eddie. With the numbing effect of The Veil of Undeath, you weren’t sure you’d be able to feel if he died.

The article only identified the victim as an eighteen-year-old male. That detail had you relaxing, because Eddie wasn’t eighteen. That also meant the victim was in your class.

You frowned as you thought someone was targeting high-school seniors. That connection made no sense, though, unless Chrissy and this victim knew their murderer. Which didn’t narrow the pool of suspects, honestly. Everyone knew everyone else.

The article didn’t mention if the victim was a resident of Forest Hills, either. You had to assume he’d snuck into the neighborhood. To do what, though? Was he some dipshit looking to catch Chrissy’s killer? Did he want a souvenir?

With midday television news hours away, you returned to your room. Before leaving the kitchen, you threw away the newspaper, poured yourself a glass of juice, and grabbed a granola bar from the pantry. You weren’t hungry or thirsty, but you needed fuel.

In your room, you turned on lights and brought out all your spell books. There had to be at least one tracking spell. You spread the books across your bed, then drew one onto your lap. It didn’t have an index, and its chapter titles weren’t overly descriptive, but that was typical.

You tore open the granola bar’s wrapper, took a flavorless bite, and began skimming the book.

An hour later, your phone rang. You dropped the book you’d been reading as the phone rang again. Maybe it was Eddie. You scrambled off the bed, heart in your throat. Paper and pens and books clattered to the floor in your wake.

You picked up the phone in the middle of the third ring.

“Hello?”

“He didn’t do it,” said a young male in lieu of a greeting.

It only took a second to understand he referred to Eddie.

“I know he didn’t,” you said. Eddie was alive. “He’s not like that.”

“He told me to tell you she was a customer — and she was attacked.”

You nodded and steadied yourself with a hand on the desk. You’d known deep down he wouldn’t have hurt Chrissy, but it was nice to have the confirmation.

“I believe you.” The tight coil in your chest loosened. “Is he okay?”

“As okay as you can get while being on the lam.”

A small laugh bubbled out unbidden, and you closed your eyes.

“Where is he?”

“He swore me to secrecy.”

You snorted, because, yeah, that sounded like Eddie. “Oh, like he’s the brains of the operation over there.” Eddie was smart, but he wasn’t using every resource at his disposal, i.e. you. Instead, he relied on his little sheepies. “You’re one of the freshmen, right?”

The other end of the line went silent, which was answer enough. Your gut said this particular sheepy was Dustin Henderson, the clever smart-ass.

“Is he the leader there, Freshman?”

“No, but—”

“Look, I have access to things! Resources. I can protect him.” You waved a hand in the air. “I have a car! I can get him out of town!”

“Do you happen to have a gun?”

In the background, multiple voices shouted, “No!”

Dustin cleared his throat. “Never mind. You can’t get involved. He’d kill me.”

You didn’t want to threaten a freshman with a horrible, slow death if he didn’t tell you where Eddie was hiding. That would be wrong on so many levels. Dustin might be a pain in the ass, according to Eddie, but he was a good kid.

You took a deep breath you knew Dustin heard.

“Tell me, or I’ll track him down myself.”

“He’s on the move.”

Whether that was true or not remained to be seen.

“Makes no difference to me,” you said, hiding your uncertainty about your abilities. “I’ll find him.”

“Please, don’t. He doesn’t want you hurt or in trouble.”

Your eyes flooded as you shook your head. If Eddie thought you’d sacrifice him for your own comfort, he had another thing coming.

“I’ll see you around, Freshman. Be careful, okay?”

You hung up before Dustin could say more.

[eveningalchemist-art]

Baxster Thatch from the Fetch Phillips Archives series: my fav character who uses they/them and has horns and an internal fire and wears a suit and is therefore designed for me to love them forever

[ID: a character in a cartoon chibi style, with red ram horns, dark purple-toned skin, and eyes and long hair coloured in a gradient like they are lit by a fire inside. They wear a black and grey suit and are holding two rolls of parchment under their arm. A friendly smirk is on their rounded face. End ID]

[narastories]

what we can have

I want to say ‘this is a weird one’ but let’s face it: when have I ever written something that’s not?

That said… this is: a) a crossover b) wizardbaron

Fandom: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, The Fetch Phillips Archives Series - Luke Arnold Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone, Thurston Niles/Fetch Phillips Tags: Crossover, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dimension Travel, POV Alternating, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Marcone POV, Fetch POV, in terms of the Dresden Files it's set after Fool Moon, in the FPA universe after OFITF, pining Wizardbaron, established Philes, because I said so, somehow Philes ended up being the emotionally more mature couple in this which is hilarious, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Fae & Fairies, Niles & Marcone bromance, Fluff

Summary:

John Marcone has a bad start of his day when he manages to get his favorite wizard to help him, only for them to be transported to a different city. Fetch Phillips also faces trouble when a self-proclaimed wizard and a trigger-happy mafia boss enter his café unexpectedly.

The story of four men grappling with the unpredictable nature of magic and their impractical crushes.

Read on AO3

To answer a few questions you might have in advance:

Can I read this if I haven’t read the Dresden Files?

Yes, totally! There are a few minor spoilers from book 1 & 2 but nothing big. If you are familiar with the general premise of the Dresden Files, you should be fine.

Can I read this if I haven’t read the Fetch Phillips Archives?

Technically, yes, but from the FPA perspective, this takes place after the third book, and there are some pretty significant spoilers alluded to. If you have no intention of reading the FPA or don’t care about the spoilers, you should be fine. However, I think if you like the Dresden Files, you should really give the Fetch Phillips Archives a go, and maybe save this fic after you read the first three books ;)

Nara you never seemed like a huge Wizardbaron fan, how come you wrote this ship? Can we expect more Harry x Marcone fics in the future?

GODS I HOPE NOT

I’m sorry for being so antagonistic about this. I have a real love/hate relationship with Marcone and this ship.

I get everything I ever wanted from enjoying Harry/Nic and Fetch/Niles. The reason why this fic ended up being Harry/Marcone is because they are much closer in vibe to Fetch/Niles, and I thought Marcone and Niles would get along pretty well. These ships and characters mirrored each other nicely so Marcone fit my idea better.

If I could have gotten away with making this Harry/Nic I would have, believe me.

I will always respect Wizardbaron enjoyers as the backbone of the DF fandom. And I also liked the idea of writing something that they could realistically enjoy without having to descend into the rarepair hell with me lol

I have no intention of writing more wizardbaron tho, sorry. Although as all fanfic writers know we have limited control of what we end up writing, am I right?

Also I re-listened to Even Hand while editing, and I highly recommend the audiobook version of that if you’re far enough into the DF series. It’s narrated by Mr. Author himself (btw I don’t know why I always call him that but you know, I think I’d better stick to Fae rules and don’t call him by his name on a fanfic lmao) and he clearly had so much fun with it. Certain implications for future theories aside it’s also one of the good parts with Marcone.

Anyway, if you read all that ramble i love you hope you enjoy the fic <3

[etoilesombre]

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tag @hms-tardimpala <3

I have noooo idea who has done this already, so tagging @lichfucker @frau-kali @tiofrean @lupismaris @verdanthoney no pressure, also anybody else who wants to

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 18

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 257,419

3. What fandoms do you write for? 95% Black Sails. I have one story for Fetch Phillips Archives, one for the tv show of The Exorcist, and I've committed to one for A Charm of Magpies (book series)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? long as amber of ember glows, to pull me from myself again, The Salt and the Sea, Another Way, Such Terrible Hungers

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Absolutely! I love talking about these guys, my writing, fandom in general, anything, and if somebody takes the time to comment i want them to know its appreciated. that said i DO either miss some sometimes or just get overwhelmed with life but it is always my intention.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Uhhh for all the angst IN the stories i'm actually secretly a softie i usually leave things pretty good. but. ok if we're doing story not series, then its definitely A Composite Unity

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Princes of the New World, the end there is PURE wish fulfillment in a way I had never done before and likely never will again. Wanna see Silver be a pretty princess and then get fucked so good it breaks canon? Also Kittenfic if you want something that is actually not smut for once. Yes it has actual kittens. It is sad and sweet and i think reasonably plausible in canon, but. It was written for a ficfest prompt "betsy has kittens and silver adopts them on maroon island.'

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not yet.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? OH BOY DO I lol. I'm not gonna say this is what I'm here for, but, sex is definitely one of my main lenses for exploring character dynamics and psychology. 'What kind' has varied a lot.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Not yet, though I've done some concepting. I got pretty far into planning a Hannibal/Black Sails crossover with a friend (set in Black Sails canon era) and that concept still haunts me.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? No

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?  No

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? Lol. You mean, the whole reason I ever started writing at all? Yeah, Silverflint. I'm Still Processing.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Uhh ot3 swimming

16. What are your writing strengths? Making fic feel true to canon. Dialogue, character exploration through sex.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Showing things in summary rather than getting into every damn detail. Heavily plotted fic, fic that covers a long period of time. At least, these are things I don't do intuitively and have not yet pushed myself to do? Also imagery, my writing is pretty functional.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? Absolutely fine, but do it well. Which to me means, if it is not a language you speak fluently, google translate is not enough, ask a native speaker to review it. Also, needs to be there for a reason. There's gonna be some Spanish in longfic once I finally get back to it.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Black Sails.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written? Oh god I really don't know if I can pick. Honestly it might be By Faith of My Body, the one where pining!Flint and Madi have highly fraught conversations about books. But that's what I'm working on now and its possible 'favorite' is just 'whatever's in front of my face.'

[cityofalbinoch]

What makes up a world?

We don't create in a vacuum, and lately I've been thinking about why Albinoch is shaping up the way it is. Below I've compiled a list of various stories and songs that I think have molded a critical part of what I'm putting out into the world. I sincerely recommend you check all of these out, if you haven't already (with one glaring exception oops). The nuances of Cyberpunk, and Vampires, and Speculative Noir fiction are all so fun to explore on their own, and I've really enjoyed figuring out how to mesh.

FILM/TV

Strange Days (1995)*

Blade Runner (1982)

Blade Runner 2049 (2017)

Near Dark (1987)

Lost Boys (1987)

Johnny Mnemonic (1995) (affectionate)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2004)

Angel (1999-2005)

Life on Mars (UK) (2006-2007)

Dresden Files (2007) (derogatory-affectionate)

Midnight Mass (2021)

Mute (2013) (DEROGATORY)**

MUSIC

Princess Goes To The Butterfly Museum

David Bowie (especially Lazarus)

Lanulos by HereComeHere

MCR

The Clash

Death

X-Ray Specs

Jhariah

Bauhaus

LITERATURE

"Johnny Mnemonic" (Gibson, 1981)

Fetch Phillips novels (Luke Arnold, 2020-2023)

Dresden Files novels (Jim Butcher, 2000-ongoing)

Interview with a Vampire (Anne Rice)

GAMES

Vampire: the Masquerade (TTRPG)

Cyberpunk series (little derogatory)

All of these works are found in fragments and little pieces all through Albinoch, in her setting, her technology, and her people. I've really enjoyed taking an inventory of parts of this city and asking, "okay, where did you come from?" I think it's important to recognize that even original creative works are a patchwork of the things their makers love. And this city more than anything has helped me recognize how much I make stories for and because of the stories I love.

*Strange Days is truly one of my favorite movies of all time. Ralph Fiennes and Angela Bassett are fantastic in this, and it somehow even feels more prescient and applicable now that it's almost 30 years old. HOWEVER. In between the noir buddy dynamics and pathetic poor little meow meows, it's an incredibly heavy movie with some serious potential triggers. The heaviness is, I think, merited for what the film attempts to deal with. More than any other title on this list, I'd check the doesthedogdie for this film before watching it, just in case.

** Don't watch this movie. Don't. It's not even fun to watch going in knowing it's bad. This is ABSOLUTELY NOT an endorsement for this movie. It was three fucking hours of my life I'll never get back. Thinking about it is raising my blood pressure. But it felt intellectually dishonest not to include this movie on the list, because a lot of the reason Albinoch even exists is because I got so mad about the way Mute murders cyberpunk and wears its skin like a cheap suit to cover for how dogshit it actually is that I resolved to singlehandedly do better. This movie is also incredibly triggering. But instead of dealing with heavy topics in horrific but respectful ways to interrogate failings in society, it goes "hoohoo wouldn't this be fucked up" and then does it. It sets up some interesting worldbuilding and then shits all over it for shock value because fuck you for trying to engage with its story or characters in any meaningful way. Fuck this movie.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Dun dun dun, seems like our ginger pirate captain will be attending and reading one of his book!!

Source: Forbidden Planet

[jaynovz]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Fetch Phillips Archives Series - Luke Arnold Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4850 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fetch Phillips/Dr. Loq, Eliah Hendricks/Dr. Exina, Fetch Phillips/Eliah Hendricks, Fetch Phillips/Amarita Quay (mentioned) Additional Tags: DMIAD chap 58 missing scene, Touch-starved Fetch, Pining, Repression, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Monster Anatomy, Loq has a werewolf dick, knotting technically?, sex by proxy, Voyeurism, Coming In Pants, canon-typical descriptions of violence, the terrible inside of Fetch’s head

Summary:

"Usually after something like what happened at the factory I’d chomp down half a pack of heavy duty Clayfields, then drink til I couldn’t see straight. That potent mix of drugs and alcohol was enough to drown out whatever horrors I had witnessed until I passed out, cocooned in my dirty comforter. I quickly downed the whiskey in my hand and the Dwarf assistant went to get me another, but it barely made a dent. I found myself seeking a different type of comfort–a soft caress, a tender word. And while Loq was looking eager to provide, it wasn’t what I wanted. Who I wanted.

A pitiful part of me desperately wanted to abandon the Succubus on the low bed where she was currently petting my bare chest to instead trail after my mentor… and do what exactly? Throw myself into his arms? Beg him to come stroke my hair? It was a stupid train of thought, bordering on insane. But still the thing whimpered in my aching chest." -- In chapter 58 of Dead Man in a Ditch, there's a fade to black sex scene with Fetch/Loq and Hendricks/Exina respectively. This is me raising the curtain.

--

Well hi there, I wrote a Sunderverse fic at long last! 

Featuring a Werewolf cock, sex by proxy, and a lot of classic Fetch angst. Props to the Sunder City book club discord server for helping to brainstorm some Key Elements of this one, mwah. 

Enjoy~ and as always, love to hear what you guys think <3

[thematicparallel]

hey remember when luke arnold of black sails john silver fame wrote a book series (actually ongoing) that's basically an interpretation of the themes from black sails. the shame the monsters the Betrayal. then he made the protagonist this loser man who is dog-motif'ed to hell (the name's Fetch. it gets worse from there) & his main driving forces are his two most beloved people, both of whom are versions of madi and flint. who also coincidentally are described to look like his previous co-stars zethu dlomo-mphahlele & toby stephens. anyway. fetch phillips book 4 titled whisper in the wind out in april 2025

[hms-tardimpala]

Today I love...

The Fetch Phillips Archives. I can't believe I haven't done a TIL post about it yet, but it's because it's so obvious to me. So what is it? The FPA is a series of books by Luke Arnold. It's an urban fantasy detective series (but not only). It takes place in a world that was once full of magic where all the creatures you can imagine co-existed with humans. Six years ago, the humans tried to harness the source of magic and broke it. The main character is Fetch Phillips, a former human soldier who became a sort of PI after the catastrophe and who tries to help the creatures of Sunder City (he has guilt issues).

This is a rough synopsis. What you need to know is that the worldbuilding is amazing, the characters are deliciouly complex, the author's craft is a delight to watch improve and the audiobooks, that he narrates himself, are the best I've ever heard.

Also, the fandom is small and I would say its heart is the Sunder City discord server, a place full of wonderful people.

[lichfucker]

[image description expanded from alt text: a digital drawing of Eliah Hendricks from the Fetch Phillips Archives series, shown from the neck up. Hendricks is a pale elf with green eyes; long, curly, coppery-red hair; a mustache and short beard; and small green gemstone earrings. he's looking up and to the right with his lips slightly pursed. the drawing is done with sketchy line art and soft shading. end id]

hair practice featuring morally dubious babygirls: part one