#if they bought this thing just to let it collect dust in their vault as a tax write off 😒

[butmakeitgayblog]

Netflix if you fuck this up for me istg it's on sight

[ti-bae-rius]

Thomastair prompt

(Requested by @christinaherondale)

From @666-megabytes‘s prompt list. Prompt = “Something happened and we have to hide together in a really small space!!!!! we make out for 10 minutes but don’t worry we said no homo at the end”

Set at the end of Cast Long Shadows during Matthew’s plan to explode the South Wing of the Academy. 

“Come on, Kit,” Thomas urged, tugging at his cousin’s sleeve, which was dotted with burns. Christopher’s clothes never lasted long amidst the boy’s scientific experimentations. Though Christopher’s parents – Thomas’s Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel – were patient enough, his sister Anna had since refused to lend Christopher any of her waistcoats. Thomas’s fingers clung to the worn material now, pulling his absent-minded cousin down the corridors. “Hurry!”

“Where are we going again?” Christopher asked, wrinkling his nose to stop his spectacles from slipping down. Anyone else would have spun to look at him incredulously and asked what planet Christopher had been on for the last hour as they carried out Matthew’s plan. Thomas did neither of those things and instead ushered Christopher down the Academy’s labyrinthine hallways with haste.

“The Dean will be suspicious if you and I are together. You go down to our room and I’ll go to the library,” Thomas instructed as they reached the top of the main staircase. He kept casting nervous looks over his shoulder back towards the South wing.

“Oh bother, I need to borrow a book,” Christopher said, and turned to Thomas. “I’ll swap you. I’ll go to the library and you to the room.”

“Fine, Kit, just go!” Thomas pressed, and Christopher set off down the stairs, clearly pleased with his bargaining skills. Thomas was about to start after him when he froze with a sudden realisation how incriminating it would look to see the two of them fleeing what was soon to be the site of an explosion. Instead, he loitered on the landing, waiting for enough time to pass as to be inconspicuous.

From below, Thomas heard running footsteps and pressed back into the shadows cast by the large grandfather clock near a door. They’d locked the door to the South wing so, unless someone was hellbent on getting into the disused wing, they’d have no risk of harm on their consciences. However, he heard someone throwing themselves relentlessly at the door and the old wood was starting to creak ominously. The person swore and Thomas’s chest squeezed with recognition.

“Alastair?” he said shyly and the Carstairs boy spun, scowling.

“Your stupid libertine friend, Fairchild, has moved all of my things to the South wing. Annoying bastard.” He gave the door another shove and it gave a worrying creak.

“You can’t go in there, it’s locked,” Thomas protested anxiously. It was only a matter of time now before the inevitable. Damn Matthew; he could never leave well enough alone. Thomas knew Alastair was beastly at times, but he didn’t deserve to be blown to smithereens.

“Not for long. Besides, who put you in charge, Lightwood?” Alastair sneered.

He threw his shoulder against the wood one last time and Thomas winced. One more and it would give. Panicked, he grabbed Alastair by the wrist and pulled him away into a nearby cupboard. He slammed the door and leaned back against the door, blocking in Alastair, who was looking down at the place where Thomas had grabbed his wrist, shell-shocked. Eventually, he snapped out of it and glared at Thomas.

“Move, pipsqueak.”

“You can’t go into the South wing. It’s about to –”

An almighty crash interrupted his sentence, shaking the floor beneath them. Dust from the crevices of the walls rained down on them like snow. A second rumble shook the floor and Alastair clutched Thomas’s arm, fingers digging in, to stop himself falling. A loud bang right outside the door made them both cry out, followed by glass smashing. Thomas winced, knowing exactly what that was. Then, in one last cosmic act of hatred, the witchlight bulb hanging overhead shook and fell, shattering between them and plunging them into darkness.

“—explode,” Thomas finished weakly.

 Alastair was sat against the door, thumping his head back against it in boredom. Thomas himself was anxious and lamenting the fact the cupboard in which they were stuck was too small for adequate pacing.

“I’m really sorry about your stuff,” Thomas said, for the eighth time.

Alastair finally rested his head back against the door and sighed. “Matthew Fairchild’s pathetic frivolities are neither your business nor your fault.”

“I swear I’ll replace all of your things. I swear it.” Thomas sank down on the floor before Alastair. “I never meant for you to get caught up in this. Matthew can be a prat, but he isn’t malicious. He’s just a bit of a fool.”

“You can’t,” Alastair said quietly and Thomas felt his eyebrows knit in confusion. As if he could pre-empt the question on Thomas’s lips, Alastair continued. “You can’t replace it all. My father bought me a mundane newspaper in the train station every time we left another place. They’ll have gone up like tinder in your stupid explosion.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas repeated. “How about a trade? I can give you something that means a lot to me as a guarantee I’ll find you the most interesting broadsheets London’s curios shops have to offer.”

“Why do you care so much?” Alastair replied. He didn’t sound angry, just genuinely curious. “All of your friends hate me. They clearly speak ill of me to you, yet you still trail me like a puppy. Fairchild must loathe it so why do you do it?”

Glad for the darkness, Thomas felt his face go spectacularly red.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, then flipped the question back on the other boy. “Why don’t you tell me to shove off if you annoy you so much?”

“You don’t annoy me,” Alastair said after a long beat of silence. “I just can’t help but feel like you want me to tell you things so you can report it back to your little gang for ammunition.”

“I make up songs in my head,” Thomas blurted. “It’s a secret. I’d never tell the boys. Usually I do it when I feel lonely or…or invisible.”

“How could you ever feel that way?” Alastair scoffed. “Your family is at the very forefront of the council in such an interconnected web it borders on the incestuous. Your friends are always there and like you just as you are—”

“All my friends have a distinct thing that made them…them. Christopher is the mad scientist, James is the bookish hero, Matthew is—”

“The bane of the Nephilim’s collective existence?” suggested Alastair.

“—charming and funny,” Thomas corrected. “I’m nothing. I’m nice, and that’s the most lukewarm thing you can be.”

“You’re honest,” Alastair pointed out and Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Not nearly as honest as everyone thinks. Besides, I think I carry so many of everybody else’s secrets that it’s easy to ignore mine. That isn’t honest.”

“Do you have room for just a couple more secrets?”

“Yes,” Thomas nodded tightly.

He heard Alastair swallow in the silence of their dark holding cell, then he let out a shaky breath.

“My father never comes to collect me at the end of term, nor drop me off at the start. You must have noticed – Fairchild certainly has. And why is that? Because my father is a drunk who can hardly get out of bed before supper. It would be worse if he did show up, I think.”

“You’re ashamed of him?”

“I just…I’ve had to sacrifice everything, so my little sister didn’t have to deal with him.” Alastair put his head back against the cupboard door. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” promised Thomas. “So…what’s the other secret?”

“Come closer,” Alastair said and Thomas shuffled closer, resting back against the door beside the other boy. Alastair cupped a hand around his mouth and turned to whisper in Thomas’s ear. “This.”

Instead of keeping his mouth to Thomas’s ear, he dipped his chin and pressed a kiss against the boy’s cheek. Thomas startled but, instead of pulling back, found himself turning towards Alastair, lips meeting lips like a flame touching a wick. The burst of heat that bloomed between them was almost imperceptible – almost. Thomas was almost sad that his first kiss was with Alastair Carstairs; it wasn’t that he didn’t like the boy – in fact, it was the opposite. No girl he ever kissed would make his heart race like this, make him want to melt into their touch. This was his Icarus moment, Thomas sensed. This was as close to the sun as he could get before he was burnt, but he’d never feel this warm glow again safe on the ground.

Footsteps outside the door made them break apart, shattering the moment like a dropped champagne flute. Suddenly they were once again stuck in a dingy cupboard, waiting for someone to let them out. At once they were on their feet, banging on the door, shouting for the person outside to help.

“Hold tight, boys. We’ll get you out in no time,” the voice came.

Quietly, Alastair turned to Thomas. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” he whispered, biting his lip nervously.

“Of course not,” Thomas replied, tugging shyly at his shirt cuffs.

The door creaked open finally and Alastair didn’t wait, just pushed past their rescuer, vaulted over the fallen grandfather clock that had blocked the door, and hurried off downstairs. Breathless, Thomas thanked the professor who’d freed them and set off to find Christopher with one more secret to keep. He didn’t mind. At least this secret left him with the feeling of walking on a spring-loaded floor.

Alastair Carstairs, Thomas thought dreamily. He really was an enigma.

[onlyinmyimagination]

Interest and Infatuation | pt. 2

Red Hood X (Female) Reader 

Summary: You’re a housekeeper working for the Wayne Family. A chance encounter with Red Hood leads to an unconventional romance neither of you expected.

Chapter Summary: A visitor and a party

Warnings: mentions of violence

Pt. 1 // Pt. 3

~

The next few days continued to rain which left lingering memories of that fateful night. Sometimes you caught yourself recalling your encounter with the vigilante in the middle of your work. You thought it may have all been a dream, perhaps even a bizarre side effect from adjusting to life in Gotham, but when you shared the story of how you were almost mugged to the other Wayne Manor housekeepers, they assured you they had all felt the same way after their own encounters. It was surprising to hear that they’ve all had similar experiences of having been almost mugged, almost killed, almost many things, but before anything ever happened they’ve always been saved by one of Gotham’s famed vigilantes or anti-heroes. It was sad to hear them share their stories as if it were a normal part of life for a Gotham citizen, but it made you realize that your circumstance was not special nor did it hold any significance including, most likely, to your savior. And so, you often flitted between a pleasant dream-like state and utter dejection of your hero’s supposed apathy.

Luckily however, your job held many distractions for you and kept you busy. Alfred Pennyworth announced that a fundraiser for Gotham’s homeless shelters would be held at the Manor at the end of the week. This main event would include an art exhibition followed by an auction of those very pieces.

The art exhibition consisted of a collection of pieces donated by various modern artists, with its proceeds going directly to fund the homeless shelters. Apparently all of it would be an outdoor event, taking place within the expansive back garden, since the Waynes continued to minimize entry into their home.

It was a wonder how high the risk would be to have so much valuable art gathered in one place; after all, the Wayne Manor in all its castle-like extravagance was much like a museum itself. The Gothic architecture of the Manor was stunning to look at but also daunting in appearance with gargoyles perched atop in all directions of the stone walls. Walking through the Manor was like walking through exhibition after exhibition, with each room containing its own lavish decor of age-old elegance. There were rooms with its ceilings and walls artfully decorated with murals and paintings of angels and demons, gods and goddesses, and mythical characters. More of these fantastical images were on display in the high ceiling gallery hall as intricately carved marble statues. A number of these marble figures lined the gallery room as part of the Wayne family’s prized art collection. Most pieces were priceless originals, but quite a few were near exact replicas of world renown art pieces that were housed in the most secure museums and vaults.

Even the grand library abundant in its collection seemed untouchable as if meant only to be viewed from afar. You didn’t dare pluck a book from its shelf whenever you tidied the room, merely only dusting the tops of the books and spines with the lightest of touches. With almost everything in the Manor being an antique or worth a king’s ransom, it was obvious why most of the rooms would be off-limits to outsiders.

Even with the sudden announcement of the upcoming party, you continued to be distracted by short recollections and small details of a certain rainy night. The chill in the air, the dampness of your skin, the calloused hand in yours. Lena, one of the older maids, had lightly scolded you for standing and daydreaming instead of unpacking the linen tablecloths from the boxes. The only piece of information that piqued your interest enough to deter you from your daydreams left you distracted in a different way. The Wayne family would be in attendance at the fundraiser, and you would finally get to meet them. With the help of the other housekeepers you were now able to place a name to a face.

Having to meet your employer at the upcoming fundraiser weeks after you started your employment at the Manor made you believe they were snobbish and pompous elitists who didn’t bother meeting their employees. You had wanted to meet them before, but now you were simply curious. Apparently they often went away on trips that lasted weeks to months, whether together or by themselves. You understood if Bruce Wayne, head of a multi-million dollar company did so, but the youngest children were still in school so the idea baffled you. Rumor had it however that the children were apparent geniuses that didn’t even need to go to school but would attend whimsically and at their leisure. To travel the world so extensively, to come home only at night long after the housekeeping had left, then to keep out of sight for most of the day; what kind of people were they? To be rich, intelligent, and have the looks to top it all off, it was difficult to accept they were real at all.

It was noon when you were lost in thought, head filled with distractions once again and mindlessly polishing silverware in the kitchen. A couple of the other maids were helping with the task and were just as silent in their work. It was then that the chatter of unfamiliar voices traveled through the halls. The other maids didn’t dare speak so loudly so you were certain it wasn’t them.

“It seems the children are back,” Lena said, pausing in her work.

“Let’s go see!” Nour suggested, knowing you had yet to see a single member of the Wayne family. She ushered you out of the kitchens and led you down a long corridor decorated with carved wood furnishings and antiquated tapestries. You soon found the source of the voices and moved to hide behind a wall that opened to the side of the grand foyer. A group of girls and boys crossed the marble floor to ascend the winding double staircase.

“Cass and I are wearing matching Louboutin shoes,” a blond girl said, her voice echoing slightly in the vast room.

“You girls and your shoes,” one of the boys said.

“You don’t get to say anything, and don’t you dare wear your sneakers again. We bought you new shoes for a reason.”

“I can’t wear the Balenciaga shoes?”

“Wear the Valentino dress shoes.”

“You’d think the Gucci suit would be enough.”

Nour whispered to you as you watched the beautiful family, “The blond is Miss Stephanie. She’s not a Wayne but she’s here so often she might as well be. The girl next to her is Miss Cassandra. The taller guy is Master Dick, and the shorter one beside him is Master Timothy.”

You nodded as you watched them walk through the open corridor on the second floor. Then you asked, “That’s not all of them, though, right?”

“Hm, Master Damian and Master Jason are missing. They’re not here.” She then moved to one of the windows, pushing the drapes aside to peek out at the courtyard. “Oh, here they come now!” She beckoned you to join her at the window and you complied with her silent request.

“Master Damian is the youngest and Master Jason is following behind him.” The two boys were making their way to the front door without speaking a word to each other. Then the youngest suddenly flicked his eyes up at the window you stood at and you jerked back in surprise. Nour quickly closed the drapes and laughed sheepishly. “The youngest one is very sharp, they all are, but I assure you they are all very nice, too.”

“But why are they here all of a sudden?” you asked, confused at their coincidental appearance.

“They’re getting ready for the fundraiser in their own way,” Citlali answered from behind you. “It’s not common for them to be all together if it’s not for some big event.”

“Oh, I wonder what they’ll wear!” Nour said excitedly, seizing Citlali’s hands and ready to gush over clothing brands.

“I can’t wait to see,” Citlali said with equal enthusiasm. “They always dress like models, though I’m sure they have to with all the press and cameras constantly following them.”

“Are you girls finished gossiping? We need to unpack the chafing dishes and platters next,” Lena said as she emerged from the kitchen. “I know they’re all very pretty, but we will have time to gawk at them at the party. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

You and the girls apologized and scurried back into the kitchen to continue the work. Your mind lingered on one of the sons, bothered by the fact you didn’t quite get a good look at him through the window, but you pushed the distraction out of your head. You didn’t need another one.

Oddly enough, that same night held another surprise for you: an unexpected visitor. You were in your bedroom, looking over your bills when you heard a soft rapping at your window. You were hesitant to investigate, now more wary of potential threats ever since that rainy night. You went to your bedroom window and pushed back the curtains, and though you were unsure what to expect, you almost screamed at the masked vigilante waiting patiently at the fire escape. He held his hand up in a short wave and you quickly returned to your senses to open the window for him.

He spoke first and in a very casual manner asked, “How have you been? Thought I’d check up on you.” He was crouched just outside your window and looking at you with a tilt of his head. It was almost off-putting how the kind words didn’t match the distorted voice that said them.

“Me? You’re the one who got hurt!” you said with concern, though you were careful to keep your voice down in fear of your neighbors hearing you. “How’s your hand? Is it alright?”

“It’s fine. Calm down.” Somehow his voice held an amused tone to it.

“Can I see?” you asked.

“Sure,” he said, slipping off his right glove. He raised it toward you and you took his hand in yours to examine the raised skin cutting across his palm. “See, it’s healing nicely, right?”

“Looks like it’ll scar,” you said and looked at him apologetically.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a lot of scars.”

“I wish it hadn’t happened at all,” you muttered with a furrow of your brow.

“Well,” he said, taking back his hand, “I’d rather it happen to me than you any day. So let’s end it with that.”

You deflated with a sigh though the guilt stayed. Then you wondered if your hero went around visiting all the people he’s saved, but you were much too shy to ask.

“Anyway did you just move in? What’s with all the boxes?” He nodded his head toward the inside of your bedroom where piles of moving boxes could be seen past your shoulder.

“Oh,” you glanced behind you at the obvious mess. “Yeah, I started working the same day I moved in so I haven’t really had the time to organize things. There’s always so much work to do, I practically collapse when I get home. But these days haven’t been so bad since I’ve gotten used to the work now.”

“Well that explains why I’ve never seen you before,” he said, though it was more to himself than to you.

You paused and asked, “What do you mean? Why would you see me?”

“I, uh, patrol this area often so I know almost everyone’s faces. This area should be safer than most, especially with all the buildings owned by Wayne Enterprises here. It needs to be guarded more carefully.” You considered his words thoughtfully. He then asked, “Are the Waynes working you too hard?”

“Oh no, it’s not that. The work is fair, it just needs some getting used to that’s all. And recently I haven’t had much time to myself since it’s been getting busy…” you trailed off and wondered why you were sharing so much with someone you’ve only met twice.

“Busy how?” he questioned. He noticed your hesitation as you contemplated your next words. “Is it about the upcoming fundraiser?”

You looked at him with surprise. “How’d you know about that?”

“Bruce Wayne is the most famous person in the city, it’s impossible to escape him,” he explained. “The fundraiser is no secret. Most everyone knows about it.”

You nodded at the logic. “The fundraiser is my first big event since I started working at the Manor. It’s nerve-wracking.” Among other things, you thought to yourself, with one of the sources of your anxiety right in front of you.

“I’ll be there, you know,” he said. “At the fundraiser.”

“What? Like, in disguise? As a guest?” you asked curiously.

“Maybe,” he said vaguely. “You’ll just have to see. Anyway I’ve got work to do. I’ll visit again,” then he paused before continuing politely, “unless you don’t want me to. Can I come by again?”

Heat crept across your face. “Yes. I’d like that very much.” Then a thought crossed your mind and you called out to him as he took a step back, “Wait, will I really get to see you?” If he really was going to attend as a guest, it meant he was possibly some big shot name in Gotham. You were suddenly nervous to be working in front of him.

“That’ll just ruin the surprise. Call me Red Hood, by the way.” You already knew his vigilante name; you didn’t have to search long for it after meeting him. But you hoped he would introduce himself with a different name. “And you? Tell me yours.” He leaned in closer and you backed up slightly as your face grew warmer.

“I…” you began but changed your mind quickly, “I’ll tell you next time.”

There was a short pause but then the grating sound of his laugh emitted from his helmet. “Fair enough. I’ll hold you to that, princess.” Then he stood and jumped off the fire escape landing. When you could no longer follow his figure in the darkness you shut the window and pulled the curtains closed. Once again you were back in a dream-like state, feeling both elated and hopeful after meeting him again.

The next days continued to be more hectic than you could’ve possibly imagined. Once the skies cleared large tents and canopies were set up in the back garden, lights were hung, and flower arrangements were laid out all under Alfred’s instructions. Alfred performed most of the work, making calls and ordering from businesses in which he was a regular customer. Food, table rentals, and valet services were ordered yet somehow Alfred found time to assist with the daily mundane chores.

The day of the event arrived quickly and you didn’t know what you were more nervous about, finally seeing the famous Wayne family up close or seeing the Red Hood again. However you found you didn’t have time to be anxious with both your mind and body busy preparing for the day. Your day started at two in the afternoon instead of seven in the morning, since you were needed after the event to help with cleanup. You had laid out the drinks and hors d'oeuvres for the staff of the charity foundation who arrived early then assisted them as they set up their own equipment and set up the easels for the art pieces. You were already tired by the time the actual event started and you began directing the attendees through the Manor. The guests steadily filtered into the grand foyer and made their way down the long hallway and out again to the back garden.

The Waynes decided to show their faces after the first few guests arrived. The men donned clothing that was a mixture of business and formal wear while the daughter wore a modest dress of no lesser quality. As they walked through the long corridor to the back garden you couldn’t help but stare while your heart pounded in your chest. You easily recognized Bruce Wayne as he walked at the front, leading his family as they trailed behind him. Your eyes then found the second eldest son who was muttering something to the eldest, a frown marring his face. This one was Jason. Your eyes lingered on him but when you thought he might look your way you averted your eyes downward as heat spread to your cheeks. You were standing at the end of the corridor to assist the guests as they maneuvered their way through the Manor and now that this beautiful family was walking towards you, the need to run away kicked in, but instead you kept your gaze low as they approached. You didn’t dare look up as they strode past you and you could only breathe easily once they were out of sight, lost amidst the gardens.

Once most of the guests arrived, you set champagne glasses on a serving tray and made your way through the masses to offer guests refreshments while also taking their empty glasses. You continued like this until most of the guests finished their evening meals, which was rather quickly. They ate small portions and consumed their food in a swift manner so as to not ruin their fancy clothes. You couldn’t blame them; you would be careful too if you were eating in such expensive attire.

It was easy to feel out of place amongst the glitz and glam of the event. The Lamborghinis, Jaguars, Rolls Royce, and other luxury cars were parked just outside the rotunda in the vast courtyard. Models and business tycoons alike were all sporting brand name designer clothes: Chanel, Gucci, Saint Laurent, Versace. Nour had pointed out a fanny pack worth a thousand dollars that made you almost gag on the spot upon hearing it. It was an amount that could cover months of groceries, or even a considerable portion of the loans you needed to pay off. 

You continued to think about the expenses even as you took a break to rest and retreated back into the Manor. You made your way to one of the balconies on the second floor where you could admire the party from above. You leaned against the railing, the stone balustrade cool to the touch, and stayed there for several minutes. The party seemed far away now, the music and chatter only distant noises as you closed your tired eyes for a moment.

“It’s boring, right?”

The familiar discordant voice made you flinch and your eyes snapped open to try to find its owner. You didn’t expect to hear it in the silence. You didn’t know how you forgot Red Hood would be attending when you had been so anxious about it all week long.

.

.

.

tagged: 

@chims-kookies

[keeyasnowtail]

And here we were again. The Bastion of the Penitent. Where we initially went to find out about the staff. Only to return there for the final voyage in this chapter.

It must have been more than a week I spent in the priory vaults with Ely and countless old tomes that make your nose itch when you even look at the dust they collected. I didn’t even know that we had books in the closed off vaults that feel like they are summoning demons all by their own. Strangely enough, one book was not accounted for in the end. Let’s hope we find that one later before novices start to go missing. Also, Ely is insane. I like her already.

What we did found out though, was almost more than we hoped for. A way to finally destroy the staff or at least free the souls it had consumed. All that was needed was to add spirit residue to the potion we still had from our last encounter. But such things are not easy to come by and I was forbidden to use such materials they might have in the special collections. Only option was to acquire them elsewhere and our choice fell onto the Bastion of the Penitent again. Only this time we hired a real guard, not these priory explorers I usually am sent with. Sheena looked a bit grumpy, ah well, mercenary. If she can fight, it’s all that counts.

I sent word to Taijju to come with us once more and help us reach our destination safely. Though it looked like he upgraded the portal device quite a bit. You probably can send supply dolyaks through there now!

So, here were were again. All four… wait, there were six! Alright, Minarr came too. Couldn’t just let me go alone, eh? But yeah, I was grateful for his company. But who was this? Name was Lucretia, some sort of… necromancer bard? That happens if you take random portals. Now she was stuck here too and might as well come with us. At least better than to wander off alone.

By the time we reached the prison area I thought I was starting to go insane as well. All this constant low voiced growling made me really uneasy. As if the whole place was alive. It didn’t really make me feel better when we stopped and the others confirmed they heard it too.

Somehow this place changed since the last time we visited. When we reached this battlefield full of spears it grew loudest and it looked like Herashi was starting to lose his mind. Still in chains though these didn’t really look like they could contain whatever was bursting through him.

I came prepared though. I brought a mind shielding circlet from the priory Ely was working on, too. I never told him that it was untested and made from chaos residue she brought from an inquest research site. At least, whatever was trying to break down his mind was partially stopped by this device. So it bought us a few more hours, before Herashi would lose his mind completely.

What we were looking for, however, was close now. Back in that library, some of the boxes should have contained the spirit residue we were after. Only, of course, they didn’t. And with time running out, we were also running out of options before something inside Herashi would kill us.

Since there was nothing of use here, we had to come up with alternatives. According to Herashi we should be able to use the portal device to materialize some of the residue of the deceased in this torture chamber. Well, he wanted to do that really. Which would have involved removing his chains, giving him the device and the staff.

What a perfect setup for the end of this expedition.

So I took the staff out of the wards myself and went down to the large fire where they most likely burnt the corpses. I could almost hear the staff whispering to me, what a strange and uneasy feeling. Like countless voices screaming in the distance at the same time.

But it worked! We could successfully extract enough residue to add to the potion. By now we had left any territory someone else ever experimented with. Not sure I could do an archon’s job every day. Next time I will bring Ely to this sort of expedition.

I put the staff away before Herashi got too interested and made sure it was safely warded again.

This brought up the toughest decision of the expedition. One that Herashi had to make. With this potion the staff could either be destroyed, together with all the souls it consumed. But freeing him from its influence. Or he could bind his soul to the staff and release all that were trapped in it.

You didn’t even have to look at him closely to read his thoughts. He turned almost pale white when he faced these options. And with a heavy heart chose to offer his life in exchange to free all the souls he fed to the staff.

Only one thing to do now. We needed to find the place where you could hear all of these whispers. The boundary to another realm was weakest there, so we decided to perform the ritual there. Herashi was tired and worn out by the chains that restrained him. So I had him freed from those, hoping that this was the right decision.

Well, there he went. Immediately took off towards the eastern part of the complex. But there wasn’t really a place to flee to and he didn’t have the staff or portal. And for once my trust in this was correct and we found him waiting at the entrance to the chamber we were looking for.

Time was running out anyway, so no use in delaying this further. We went inside.

Everything was set up and I placed the staff on the ground in the center. Free from any wards and shields. Free to spread its evil influence to all that were near. You could read an uneasy feeling in everyone’s eyes. Only one more thing was left to do. And he had to venture there alone. He drank the potion and took the staff

The moment he took it, you could see the pain that rushed through his body like a shockwave. Almost unable to hold the staff, the room was instantly filled with voices. Thousands of voices and shapes that escaped the staff. All the souls it has consumed over its lifetime.

You could see a final wave of joy and happiness on Herashi’s face when he recognized some of the voices as his friend��s. With tears in his eyes he finally lost grip on the staff and his lifeless body fell to the ground. It was over.

His soul was now trapped forever in the realm the staff transported it to. But he gave his life to undo all the wrongs he did while he was under this artifact’s influence.

Nobody said anything for a while. And the room finally fell silent.

We took his body and returned to the start of our adventure. With Herashi dead this journey took the ultimate sacrifice for one of us. You aren’t really prepared for any of this until the moment you experience it. And worse yet, Augusta waited for us back at our stronghold. Someone needed to tell her what happened. It was particularly hard for her after she became friends with him.

Only one more thing was left to do. I had to travel to Queensdale and bring news of this to Herashi’s family. And return his body to them. I felt like the bringer of bad news and pain once more as I had to tell a devastated family what happened. More so yet, that his soul will never be free and that he will never rest in peace for all eternity.

And all of this was my doing in the end. I was the one partly responsible for this and he trusted me with his life. What had I done?

There must be a way to fix this. There must be a solution to this! That damn priory library can’t just exist without any answers! Maybe Ely can help with this. I have to travel back to the dark library and look for clues there. I don’t even care if it is forbidden to enter. Herashi paid a high price for his actions, can’t get any worse than that if I can undo this.

[dreamtimeagain]

...I am exploring an empty house, the rooms are well kept and I wander through each one apraising the place. When I make it upstairs I am joined by a few other people, and I begin pointing out the nice things about the house that I now own. As we explore, I realize that there is something odd in the back of one of the closets, a large brown curtain, wool from the rough feel of it, and behind it is an extra space that I didn’t see before.

I called out to the others in the house as I stepped past the curtain into a very long and narrow room. I thought it was an attic space before I noticed that every surface was covered in pale yelow tiles that had browned a little with age. It looked like it might have been a bathroom, and I could see that it extended clear to the far end of the house, but I couldn’t see all of it because there was a large collection of pipes blocking the way.

I tried to look past the pipes, and was frustrated that they were too crowded to climb past. There was clearly more room back there, and I wanted to see how I could use the extra space. So I decided that there was a way around, and backed up to the entrance, finding a gap in the wall to the left that hadn’t been there before. 

I slipped past the wall and was suprised to find an absolutely massive space on the other side. It was a huge vaulted room, with tons of old fabric draping from the walls and celing and old crates gathering dust in the corners. The back half of the room had a raised floor, like a stage. On the stage were several wing backed lounge chairs and a stylish table with a false wall propped up behind them, all clearly in a fasion that was popular in the 70′s; it looked like a tv talk-show stage. 

as I started to look around the space I realized that the crates were full of old housewares and toys, and there were several pieces of wood furniture tucked into the corners. I was really excited about all this space, and the things in it, it filled my mind with the possibilites, and hope for a comfortable future that I couldn’t have before. 

Then the rest of my family joined me, several young children and extended relatives, and we all explored the space together, chatting excitedly about the things we could do to open it up and make it liveable. Then one of the children found a large play house, clearly made with plywood, but elaborate nonetheless. it had a door and a second floor with little windows and a balcony that the kids could sit on. 

But as soon as the oldest child pushed the door open, hundreds of spiders burst forth from the doorway and windows. They were large, about the size of my hand, with long fuzzy legs and grey striped bodies. They swarmed over every surface of the playhosue, but stayed only on the playhouse. 

I grabbed a mesh laundry bag from a nearby table and tried to scoop up as many spiders as I could, shoving them all into the bag until it was full. Then I tied the top and ran to a window nearby and chucked them out as hard as I could. The bag sailed through the air and landed, hard, on the roof of the neighbor’s house, and immediately burst open, the spiders scattering as fast as they could.

Then, to my horror, they all regrouped and headed for a large tree who’s branches convieniently connected the roof with the side of our house. They skittered across the branches, and right back into the house through the window. I grabbed a large spray bottle of vinegar & water and started to squirt at them, hoping to drive them off with the smell.

Someone, one of the relatives who by now had all huddled together at the far side of the room, pointed out that was great for getting rid of ants, but not spiders, and told me to seek out the old woman, who for sure would have some old-school remedy. I run to the gap in the wall that we had entered through, and shouted for the old lady to come up and help us.

She replied and slowly wandered into the room. She was absolutely ancient, scrawny and withered, standing hunched over and using a large walking stick as a cane. She seemed completely unperturbed by the hundreds of spiders streaming into the room, but her bodyguard wasn’t as easygoing.

She was followed in by a verly large man, a bit chubby aroung the middle, who was dressed in a grey suit with a red tie, but he was running circles around her like he was a chihuahua or something, snapping at the spiders that got too close and glaring at everything else. The old lady patted him on the shoulder and told him to relax, she knew exactly what to do do get rid of them.

She then looked at me, though I couldn’t see her eyes through the heavy grey hair and wrinkles, and told me to get her a fish. I sent one of the other relatives down to grab one, and they came back up with a massive tuna, almost too big to carry, and we tied it by the tail to a rope hanging from the roof. 

As soon as we stepped away from the fish, all of the spiders in the room rushed forward and attacked it. They swarmed all over the fish in a layer so dense that you couldn’t see a single scale anywhere. 

Then the old woman just casually walks up, twists the end of her staff into the rope, and plucks it from the celing. With the fish dangling from her staff, and the large man continuing to circle around her, she walked out of the room. After a moment, I could see her step outside and hold the fish up into the morning sunlight, where all of the spiders vanished in a cloud of dust and particles.

When I turn back to the house, excited now that I can clear the space and use it for something, I end up instead in a smaller room, the walls were a dark, smooth stone and there is a wooden table sitting in the center of the room. Everything has a slight bluish hue to it from the lights in the celing. When I sit down at the table, I am greeted by a man dressed in a black uniform, who tells me that they are starting a game, and asks if I would like to join in.

I am excited and agree, but he stops me and asks if I have bought the proper pieces yet. I roll my eyes and tell him there’s no reason to waste money on fancy pieces, when something similar will do, and I pull a handful of brightly colored legos out of my pocket. He is annoyed, but agrees to let me play.

As we spread out the legos across the table, we are joined by a woman dressed in a dark grey and red bodysuit with long shimmering blonde hair, and a large man with a scraggly beard. Everyone is excited about playing, moving the pieces around to set up the board, but then the man in black tells me that he needs to leave, and i watch him rush out of the room.

As I turn back to the table, it has vanished, and instead I am floating in the blackness of space, a large structure is before me, some kind of ultra-massive derelect spaceship, though to me it looks like a side-scrolling video game level. The woman in red is rushing along the corridors, running into dead ends and pitfalls, getting more frantic with each setback. 

I pick up the legoes from somewhere and place them into the holes in her route to make it easier for her. Both the ship and the woman are on a much smaller scale than I expected, and it only takes a couple legoes to fill in the spaces. As I watch she ends up down a dead end, and something from the dark corridor behind her begins to shoot, the projectiles ricocheting off the walls around her. 

Then the man in black reappears, dashing in from another corridor, and leads the woman out and away from her persuers, constantly tuning to fire back into the darkness. The get onto a smaller ship that has been docked nearby, and leave as fast as they can. The ship is a very old-school design, with an enlongated football shape, fins at the far end, and a single engine, all in shiny silver chrome. 

As I watch, the spaceship soars through space, leaving the adrift hulk behind and then crashes onto a planet. The planet is strangely porous, and made of intertwined fiberous structures in dull greys and bright reds. It looks vaguely like the worst tangled yarnball in the universe. The ship becomes wedged in some of the fibers, and the two bail out as smoke begins to billow out from the engine. 

Then suddenly, from the darkest depths of the planet, swarm thousands of spiders, the same spiders from the house before except they are larger, towering over the stranded people like elephants. They are quickly overwhelmed, surrounded and desperately trying to survive, firing their guns at the creatures as fast as they can.

I am annoyed. They can’t lose, and I don’t want to see them lose, so I pause the scene, they are all frozen in place, and I lean in to get a better look. Then I turn around, shouting into the void that this isn’t how the story goes, and if they aren’t going to play it right, then I’m not going to stick around to watch them fail...

...Then I woke up. 

[oliverphisher]

Alan Baxter

Alan Baxter is a multi-award-winning British-Australian author who writes supernatural thrillers, dark fantasy, and urban horror. He rides a motorcycle and loves his dogs. He also teaches Kung Fu. He lives among dairy paddocks on the beautiful south coast of NSW, Australia, with his wife, son, and two crazy hounds.

He is the author of the dark fantasy thriller trilogy, Bound, Obsidian and Abduction (The Alex Caine Series) and the dark supernatural duology, RealmShift and MageSign (The Balance 1 and 2), the fantasy horror noir novel, Hidden City, the cosmic horror novella, The Book Club, and the supernatural noir novella, Manifest Recall.

His latest novel is Devouring Dark, an urban horror thriller. As well as novels, Alan has had around 80 short fiction publications in journals and anthologies in Australia, the US, the UK, France, Germany and Japan. His short fiction has appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Daily Science Fiction, and many others, and around thirty anthologies, including the Year’s Best Australian Fantasy & Horror on several occasions. His award-winning first collected volume of short fiction, Crow Shine, is out now. At times, Alan collaborates with US action/adventure bestselling author, David Wood. Together they have co-authored the horror novella, Dark Rite, action thrillers in The Jake Crowley Adventures, Blood Codex and Anubis Key, and the Sam Aston Investigations giant monster thrillers Primordial and Overlord. Alan has been a seven-time finalist in the Aurealis Awards, a six-time finalist in the Australian Shadows Awards and a seven-time finalist in the Ditmar Awards.

He won the 2014 Australian Shadows Award for Best Short Story (“Shadows of the Lonely Dead”), the 2015 Australian Shadows Paul Haines Award For Long Fiction (“In Vaulted Halls Entombed”), and the 2016 Australian Shadows Award for Best Collection (Crow Shine), and is a past winner of the AHWA Short Story Competition (“It’s Always the Children Who Suffer”). Read extracts from his novels and novellas, and find free short stories at his website – www.warriorscribe.com – or find him on Twitter @AlanBaxter and Facebook, and feel free to tell him what you think. About anything.

What are one to three books that have greatly influenced your life?

Probably the biggest influence on me is Clive Barker’s novel, The Great and Secret Show.

Two more would include:

Roald Dahl’s short stories (maybe Kiss, Kiss)

Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea

 What purchase of $100 or less has most positively impacted your life in the last six months (or in recent memory)?     

I travel a lot, for conventions and so on, and that means I stay in hotels a lot. For some reason, so many hotels don’t have a power outlet by the bed. I recently bought a 3 metre charge cable for my phone and it changed my life!

 How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?

As a writer, every failure is armour against future failure, which means we don’t quit. The default of a writer’s life is rejection, and you need those rejections to make you stronger so you keep going regardless. Then you get to enjoy occasional wins!

 Are there any quotes you think of often or live your life by?

One of my favourite quotes is from Neil Gaiman, in Sandman volume 3, Dream Country: “Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot.”

 What is one of the best investment in a writing resource you’ve ever made?

Time. Honestly, you can manage to write with pretty much any tools, even just a pen and paper, but time you have to make. You have to invest in the time required.

 What is an unusual habit or an absurd thing that you love?

I enjoy dancing with my dog. No, there will never be video. I’m pretty sure he enjoys it too.

 In the last five years, what new belief, behaviour, or habit has most improved your life?

Remembering that working hard is important – you have to do the work above all else – but that taking time away from the work is also important.

 What advice would you give to a smart, driven aspiring author? What advice should they ignore?

They should ignore anything that doesn’t work for them. There are no hard and fast rules other than you must read a lot and you must write. Keep doing that, and the rest will come.

 What are bad recommendations you hear in your profession often?

The two I hate the most are “Write every day” – for many that’s impossible and it’s not essential, and also “Write what you know” – sure, you should write about stuff you know, but you should also strive to learn about other stuff and write that too. And make stuff up – this is fiction! – how many people really know about dragons or zombies?

 In the last five years, what have you become better at saying no to (distractions, invitations, etc.)?

Pretty much everything! There was a time that I would say yes to everything, but I realised a lot of it had little or no value. So now I assess everything I’m asked to do and I’m much more selective about what I’ll take on. But I still try to do as much as possible.

 What marketing tactics should authors avoid?

Constantly yelling about their book on social media. You should be social and interesting and just be yourself on social media, then only mention your books when there’s something new or relevant about them. That’s organic and natural and people will stick around. Give them more than you take.

 What new realizations and/or approaches have helped you achieve your goals?

It’s not really new, but as I mentioned before, focussing on doing the work is what gets me to my goals. Sometimes I have to move from one project to another and back again, but the approach is always focus on the task at hand!

 When you feel overwhelmed or have lost your focus temporarily, what do you do?

I take time out. Rest and recharging is essential. I take the dog for a long walk, go for a ride on the motorbike, go watch a movie – anything that removes me from the work and lets my brain relax.

 Any other tips?

Don’t quit! It sounds trite, but it really is that simple. And always try to be better than you were before.

________

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