#Quill’s Gothic Lit AU

[the-ranting-ravens-lair]

victor frankenstein, age 10, making the worst decision of his life

[mister13eyond]

I love you gothic horror au so much! Idk why, but if I see it I just start thinking about that 8-bit games like Witch's house, Mad father, etc. That was like compliment, sorry if it was understood wrong. Just that cool wibes

And question: if there are good and bad endings, is there secret or neutral? Just my curiosity .

And sorry if there are mistakes, English isn't my first language (but I understand almost everything good, it's problem with writing)

Hope you have a great day/night

THANK YOU that definitely is a compliment, I love RPGMaker horror games like Witch's House, etc- Ib was a huge influence on me and one of the very first horror games I ever played! As well as Yume Nikki (and related fangames), Fleschild, OFF, et cetera- That genre of horror game is awesome, so it's an honor to know my AU gives off the same vibes <3

As for endings... I definitely have thoughts on neutral and secret endings! :3c Thoughts below the cut, so this post isn't too long:

So, if the bad end is "Doppio burns the house down and stays inside as it burns so it (and Diavolo) doesn't have to be alone" and the good end is "Doppio makes a home in his heart and his mind for Diavolo, and the two of them leave together as two souls in one body- as they're meant to be", then my thoughts for neutral endings are as follows: Neutral 1: I imagine this is the ending you get if you're closer down the "burn it down" path, but you're one or two factors off- maybe you missed a couple events or spared a boss you could have killed, so you're not quite locked into the "bad end" path. Doppio knows that the house is hungry and will continue to consume others if he leaves, and he knows the house will never rest and it will never let him go... so he stays. He agrees to stay and keep its hallways lit and its rooms filled with life; he knows he will never see his Donatella again, but he promises he will write to her so long as he has a hand that can hold a quill and a mind that can form words. Neutral 2: I imagine this ending is the one you get if you're closer down the "good end" path, but you've made a few mistakes- maybe missed a key item, or killed an enemy you could have spared, et cetera- so you haven't fully unlocked the best end.

Doppio almost makes it out. He almost makes it into the light- he offers a home in his heart to Diavolo, he promises he won't leave him alone- but right on the cusp of freedom, something awful happens. Perhaps he's attacked, or perhaps the house- unwilling to let go- unleashes some catastrophe on him; either way, Doppio is gravely injured. Staggering to Diavolo, he begs Diavolo not to give up; to go on without him. Diavolo doesn't want to go, but Doppio makes him promise, so Diavolo does what he can to take Doppio with him- he slips into Doppio's dying body and heals it; too little, too late to save Doppio's soul, but it's just enough to let Diavolo walk free of the doors. He writes to Donatella in his big, loopy scrawl- "i aM co mI Ng , m Y d e e a R e st. Ho mE s o oN."

SECRET ending: every game needs a secret ending that implies a sequel hook, right? i haven't decided which, or what exactly the theoretical unlock conditions would be, but two friends suggested two really great concepts, both of which would be perfect for a secret ending: a.) Donatella, recieving mysterious correspondence from her fiance, and far too headstrong to sit back and wait for him, takes matters into her own hands. She sets out to find the house that swallowed her fiance whole; the ending shows the grand doors to the foyer opening, and Donatella stepping through into the dark <3 OR b.) Years after the event of the game, a young woman- an up and coming silent film starlet named Trish Una- decides she's going to, once and for all, solve the mystery of the strange circumstances surrounding her father from before her birth. She is going to find the house from his letters, and she is going to understand her past once and for all <3

[odderancyart]

Vampire AU

Stretch's arrival to the Castle of Dorenne

Future Spicyhoney

On AO3

”Edge, look.”

A mild voice made him look up from the book he was reading. Edge sat in one of the gothic armchairs in his private parlour, having taken a pause from the administrative parts of ruling the extensive grounds of Dorenne Castle. By the door, which was an impressive meter-high oak door, Sans stood, holding a canvas between his hands. Smiling, he beckoned the child forward. Fifteen now, almost an adult. Time always flied for someone of his extensive age, yet somehow years since Sans came to the castle had seemed faster than ever. It was almost worrying. How on earth was the child only five years from coming of age? It seemed like nothing more than a week since he was the infant his mother had handed over.

Sometimes he wondered what had happened to her. They’d attempted to find her, just to let her know her child was happy, once they had Sans settled in, but as they had not known her name or even where she came from, it had turned out to be impossible.

Standing up, he looked Sans over. He wasn’t wearing neither vest nor coat, though it was for the best seeing how he was splattered with paint, all the way to the red traces on his cheek. “What have you got there, Sans?”

With a proud smile, Sans flipped the canvas around and Edge’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, that is really good.” The painting depicted a volcano spitting ash and fire over a Roman city. The foreground was dark and only shapes of people could be made out, but even then, they looked terrified. He released a breath as memories washed over him. “Sans, that is fantastic, you are getting better and better every day. I am impressed.”

He lit up, beaming up at Edge. “It’s how I imagine it looked when Pompeii was destroyed. Was I correct?”

“I believe you were. It was a long time ago and my memories aren’t perfect, but it looks like the Pompeii of my dreams.” The painting was dry, rough, so he reached out, sliding his fingers over the Roman buildings and the fleeing people. The mountain in the distance, destroying the people that had once thought it their protector. He and Red had barely gotten away, managing to get onto a ship only a minute before it left the harbour and the city they had grown up in.

He knew Red still had occasional nightmares about the family they’d left behind. He couldn’t deny he didn’t sometimes too woke up tasting ashes in the air.

“You’re talented.” Taking the painting from his hands, he held it up higher, regarding it closely. Then he looked down at Sans again, his smile softening. “Go show Red, sunray. Then I’d like to put this up in the dinner room, if that’s okay with you?”

Sans’ mouth formed into an O as his eyes widened. Obviously they had some of his paintings up on the walls, but they’d never offered to put them in one of the more official rooms before. He smiled and nodded. “That’s fine. Thank you.” When he was handed back the painting, a light lit up in his eyes. “Oh! Speaking of, Alaric said you have a visitor down in the grand parlour. A mortal.”

“Oh?” Sans nodded, and he mirrored the nod. “Well, I better get down then. I believe Red should be in the laboratory at this time of day.” Down in the dungeons beneath the castle, Red had built himself a laboratory a century ago. His pride and joy, where Sans only last year had been allowed. It was a dangerous place, after all, with concoctions boiling and the occasional corpse for his brother to dissect. Sans nodded and scudded out the door again, and his footsteps soon echoed through the castle as he went down the long staircases.

After taking a last moment to chase away the memories, he did the same.

He took one of the staircases in the walls. Those usually only for servants, but he found quite practical for fast-travelling the castle. It was narrow and circular, and the walls were scratched. At one point Edge had to navigate around a servant carrying a bucket full of water. One of the mortals working here, since few vampires would wish to spend eternity cleaning floors. When he exited the staircase, he found himself in the entrance hall of the castle. The walk to the grand parlour was short, and Alaric, the butler and head of staff, stood waiting. The minor vampire bowed when Edge appeared. “My lord,” he said. “A mortal insisted on speaking with you.”

“Thank you.” He nodded, taking a step toward the door, and Alaric immediately opened it for him. The parlour was a magnificent room. The ceiling was high and had an enormous chandelier illuminating the room, and the walls were painted in azure. Enormous paintings decorated it, some of them older than the castle itself, and the furniture in this particular room was three hundred years old. Inside, on the very edge of one of the chairs in the middle of the room, sat a mortal. A skeleton, clad in brown and black rags.

As soon as the door slid open, revealing Edge, the mortal shot to his feet. He swung slightly, and for a moment Edge wondered if he was going to fall, but then he folded at the waist into an awkward bow.

Raising an eyebrow, Edge made his way up to the mortal and the table with its chairs. “Goodnight, mortal. Who are you and what is your business?”

“Stretch Eloiseson, m’lord,” they – he – said. His voice was steady, which was surprising. Usually those who came here would be terrified, but when Stretch straightened again there was no fear in his eyes. In fact, he almost looked… relieved. Huh. And that surname- He was named after his mother. Illegitimate then, undoubtedly, with no father who had recognized him. “And I have come to offer myself up to you, m’lord. Kill me, please. Empty me on magic.”

Well. Moving deliberately, Edge stepped up to him and grasped his jaw, holding it tight. The quietest whimper escaped Stretch, but he stayed quiet otherwise. Impressing, Edge had a strong grip. He met the mortal’s eyes. There was a tint of fear in them. A teaspoon of self-preservation. Perhaps it was a mere instinct awoken by being in the company of one of nature’s greatest predators, but Edge wondered… The mortal’s face was pale and their expression one of both fear and pleading. It reminded Edge of that night, the night Sans came to the castle, bundled up in his terrified mother’s arms. He hadn’t cared for mortals in nearly two thousand years, but the arrival of his protegee had changed something.

“I accept your offer,” he said abruptly, straightening. When he let go of the other’s jaw, Stretch rubbed it. His eyes widened. Without taking notice, Edge turned toward the door, where Alaric was waiting. “Paper and a quill, please, Alaric. We will write the contract immediately.”

With a short bow, Alaric nodded. “Immediately, my lord.”

“Oh, and let the cook know we will be needing a mortal meal. Stretch here looks famished.”

“Of course.”

It was mere minutes before the material was delivered. While they waited, Edge studied the mortal. His shoulders were hunched       and his bones dirty. It looked as though he’d attempted to scrub himself off before coming here, but without managing too well. It was winter outside after all, and if he had attempted to clean himself in the river, he wouldn’t have been able to stand too much of the freezing water.

Once Alaric returned, handing him the paper and the quill, he held out his hand. “Your arm, please.”

Confusion spread over Stretch’s face, but he did as asked. Taking the empty inkwell Alaric had brought as well, placing it beneath the arm. Stretch watched him hesitantly, only to hiss loudly as Edge swept one of his claws over the bone of his arm, drawing blood. “What the fu-” He cut himself off, recoiling backwards.

“Vampiric contracts require blood, obviously,” Edge said, leading the running blood into the inkwell. He pretended he didn’t notice the other’s sudden fear. Once he had enough of Stretch’s, he took off his own coat before rolling up his left sleeve. He did the same to his own arm. Putting the quill into the inkwell, he stirred it and put it to the paper.

The contract was short and to the point. A simple cession, where Stretch Eloiseson moved the ownership of his body and soul to Edge Gaster, Lord of Dorenne. Once it was written, he cleaned out the quill and placed the quill in Stretch’s hand.

“Dip it in your blood. Do you know how to write your name?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, m’lord.”

“And you’re sure this is what you wish to do?”

As he said that, Stretch’s gaze hardened with determination and he bowed over the table, signing his name on the line at the end of the contract. It glowed for a second, ancient magic at play. The contract was sealed.

“Perfect. Alaric, get Stretch into some proper clothing. Perhaps call up a healer from the village, to make sure he doesn’t carry anything that can be transmitted to Sans.” Offence lit up Stretch’s face at the implications, but Edge had no wish of endangering his protegee’s health. “And once he’s dressed, send him to the kitchens for that food.”

The whole time, Stretch didn’t get a word in. He was gaping soundlessly as Alaric agreed and ushered him out the door.

“Oh, and make sure no one takes a bite out of him. This one’s not a thrall,” he added, watching in amusement how Stretch’s head twisted around so he could stare at him in bewilderment and something like anger before he was pushed out of the room.

“Of course, my lord,” Alaric agreed. He was an excellent butler, after all.