#lovecraft's legacy

[hplovecraftmuseum]

A softcover volume collecting 15 tales of horror promoted as the work of H. P. Lovecraft. Actually the entire contents of the book were almost completely the work of August W. Derleth. To keep interest in Lovecraft from waning Derleth promoted the falsehood that he and HPL had been writing partners and confidants for years before Lovecraft's death. Many new to the whole history of Lovecraft's life and legacy would be surprised to know that the two men never met face to face! Certainly Derleth worked hard to preserve and promote the Lovecraft legend, but he confused things very seriously in doing so. Derleth took control of all things 'Lovecraft' after the masters death in 1937. He moved quickly to be the head-man of Lovecraft's legacy wrestling control (gently perhaps) from Lovecaft's own choice for literary executor Robert Barlow. In Derleth's defense he worked tirelessly to gain this position of control and invested much of his own funds to achieve that position. Certainly Derleth, Clark Ashton Smith, Robert Bloch, E. Hoffmann Price, and Frank Belknap Long, (all writers themselves) recognized the depth of the genius in Lovecraft's work. All of these men had received numerous letters from Lovecraft over the years and were also treated to his opinions on so many subjects. HPL's erudition was on full display in his correspondence to his writer friends as well. The book shown was printed by Carroll & Graf Publishers, Inc. New York. This third printing was from 1993. I could find no credit for the cover art listed. (Exhibit 346)

[st-just]

New Delta Green op is very fun and interestingly written but also it kind of feels like a self-parody of the game's shifting politics. One of the cult's leaders is a ghoul who just literally unironically cofounded the KKK.

[shanaraharlyah]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

Ahhh, Val! 💕🫂 Thank you so much for this! I tend to be really bad about liking most of my work shortly after it's posted but I do have to admit there are some artworks and writing that I look back on fondly.

You know the current love of my life is Hellendil and I still enjoy creating with him, fic, RP and art. This is still one of my favorite renders of him and it was one I didn't think would turn out at all when I did it!

Golden Hour Hellendil

Why is it all the unplanned experimental ones that I like best? This HP Lovecraft inspired render has gotten no attention at all, but I really love how it turned out. It was just a simple scene I set up to test the rendering capability of my laptop, but It's probably one of my favorite lighting setups that I've ever done. This one needs a full view to really appreciate the fine details.

The Shining Trapezohedron

Probably my favorite writing work I've done to date has been my Dragon Age fic featuring Ysmeria Surana and Bann Teagan. I was writing this fic while my fellow Teagan-mancer, @fantasy-art-room, was writing hers and it was so fun to just feed off each others energy! The first part of the fic is at 27 pages, 14k words and that is not counting the little one shots/prompts/snippets that I haven't merged into the main file. I'll share my two favorite renders and link them so you can check out the story. Their tag is teagan x ysmeria if you'd like to read/see more! 😊

Dawn Over Redcliffe

The Spellweaver

[animentality]

[lifeofkaze]

Where All Stories End

Warning: mortal injury, major character death

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uncle Henry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think Alan would like to disagree.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But one day, maybe.”

“One day, maybe.” 

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

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

Henry exhaled slowly. “What did she say?” 

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

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

“But why? Why can’t you be?”

“I am your Uncle Henry, am I not?”

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

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

“How entirely unfair.”

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

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

“If you wish it so.”

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

“Of course, little princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, darkness.

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 33

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

Warnings: mild angst/pining.

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

April 1897

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who by?”

“Galen Stagg.”

“Really?”

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

“Friends, yes, but-”

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

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

“Et toi, Héloïse?”

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

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

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

“No one is asking me.”

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

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

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

“Jim?”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Then whatever is the matter?”

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

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

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

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

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

Henry laughed quietly. Héloïse frowned at him.

“Quoi?”

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

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

“Merci, Henri,” she half -whispered.

“It is but the truth.”

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

“Who are you to go with to the ball?”

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

“But it is so romantic, no?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[whatwouldvalerydo]

Rebel year - ch 4/6 - Storyteller

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lifting her brows, she smiled “Try again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Apologies.”

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None taken.”

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

[skookworks]

Cosmic horror runs in the family.

[kilowogcore]

I tell ya', Poozers, I really love that Comicsgate just completely failed. The few creators that jumped on board are garbage quality, an' the big comics companies went in, if not a leftist direction, at least a liberal one.

Still, they pop up every so often, insistin' that the entire comics industry'll collapse cuz they ain't bigoted enough, an' demandin' Snyder replace Gunn in the DCEU in a weird conspiracy theory smorgasboard that'd make a fascist talkin' about Star Wars blush.

[hopethisdoesntawakenanythingnme]

is....is jkr our 21st century H.P. Lovecraft?

[drkineildwicks]

In the ongoing saga of Kineil is Employed...okay work doesn’t have the gumption to say it so I will:

Harry Potter and everything related is the property of JK Rowling.

[hplovecraftmuseum]

Much as I find this 'plush toy' amusing I take Lovecraft a bit too seriously to add it to my personal collection of Lovecraft memorabilia. The bookstore where I found it on sale is call BAM, Books A Million. One can only imagine what HPL'S reaction might have been to seeing one of these commercialized and trivialized renderings of one of his fictional entities? Actually, Lovecraft may have seen something of this sort happening even in his own time. Friends and writing associates within the 'Lovecraft Circle' were asking him for more specific guidelines regarding his evolving mythology/religion and some, like August Derleth were offering HPL some pretty odd suggestions regarding its development. After bending to E. Hoffmann Price's wish that the two men collaborate on a sequel to THE SILVER KEY - the result was the complex tale, BEYOND THE GATES OF THE SILVER KEY- Lovecraft showed some indications that he was losing control of his own literary legacy. Lovecraft changed all but about 50 words of the rough draft that Price sent him and he was never happy with the end product even at that! When Price suggested that the pair create a sequel to the sequel Lovecraft bowed out. Although Lovecraft did not enjoy anything resembling an actual 'legacy' in his own time he at least must have felt some satisfaction in the fact that a small core group of friends and colleagues seemed to recognize that there was something akin to genius in his work. (Exhibit 329)

[shwoo]

This is the last line of the story and I am not joking:

"I tell you, it is I! I! I! that have lived for six hundred years to maintain my revenge, FOR I AM CHARLES LE SORCIER!"

the funniest hp lovecraft story is the one where some guy’s family offended an evil wizard who then cursed his entire family saying that all the men would die before they hit like 30. the protagonist is going crazy trying to find a spell to break the curse and then the big reveal was that the wizard was literally just breaking into their house and killing them himself. 

[erythriina]

Reading Lovecraft is interesting bc you’ll look at the published short stories he’s famous for and go huh, a lot of these are kind of bad, aren’t they? And then you’ll look at his personal correspondence and find a sense of humor and turn of phrase that is completely absent in his published works

[blumoonfiction-blog]

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[graphicpolicy]

Preview: Grimm Spotlight: Lovecraft's Legacy

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