“pilot” (1.01) // “bloody mary” (1.05) // “all hell breaks loose, pt. 2″ (2.22) // howl, florence and the machine
“pilot” (1.01) // “bloody mary” (1.05) // “all hell breaks loose, pt. 2″ (2.22) // howl, florence and the machine
some lady in my town had blood dripping from her ceiling (!!!!!) and it turned out an old man had DIED a floor above her and was just decaying there for at least a month.......
the kicker???? the renters won’t even give her any money back even though she had to leave and they had to demolish parts of the place and she’s pretty much traumatized for life
it made national news apparently
The third chapter of my summoning fic is now posted! I'm sure things are starting to look up as we reach the middle of the story, right?
Lots of content warnings on this chapter, but like the previous one it's not graphic and most of them are mentioned only briefly or part of flashbacks.
As such, the excerpt below is only the first half of the first scene, minus any CW-content (apart from the fact that Aziraphale is being held against his will and his mind is confused).
“There we are.” The woman brushed her fingers across the final ring, and looked up to smile at Aziraphale. The genuine happiness dancing in her pale blue eyes sent a shiver through him, though he couldn’t think why. “Go ahead and try crossing if you like. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Great work,” the leader said, inspecting the changes over her shoulder. “Can you alter the other spells to match?”
“The containment spells, yes, I think so. Those are pretty similar to these. The harnessing spells we’ll have to test as we go, but I’ve already got some notes. Summoning…” she sucked her teeth. “That’s going to be difficult. Should only be one or two changes, but there’s a lot of possibilities to try, and it’s not going to be easy to narrow them down. But now that we know it’s possible…”
“It’s an excellent start.” He walked around the outer circle, counting sigils. “Have you ever studied demonology, angel? It’s a fascinating field.”
Aziraphale sat in the center of the circles, turning and shifting now and then to keep his eyes on the human. The others buzzed about in the background, shadows in the dark, too much to keep track of. Who were they? Scientists? Scholars? He liked scholars, generally. Did he like them?
“I’ve studied many things,” Aziraphale answered. The wave of pain was fairly easy to ignore by now. He just wished his mind would clear. “Spell books. Prophecies. Grimoires. As much nonsense as sense in all of them.” He giggled. “Does yours have that one demon, the lion with duck feet? Utter nonsense.”
“Oh I agree. What do you expect from backwards medieval minds? From so-called sorcerers ready to believe every rumor, and bored scribes who altered and embellished every copy? Four thousand years of practice, and yet every text contains misinformation and fairy tales. Hardly a science at all. That’s why we’re building our own grimoire.”
Aziraphale’s brow wrinkled. That should be important. If he could work out what it meant. “Are you…planning to summon every demon in Hell?”
“Perhaps.” He crouched down tapping a few of the sigils on the ring at his feet. “We’ve also been working through the old spells and rituals. Collecting them, compiling them. Taking a more scientific approach. Once you really understand how it works, you know how one little change…” he pulled out a wax pencil, adding a single line to one of the symbols “…can make a tremendous difference. You should be able to show us your wings now.”
Did he want to do that?
He could remember that he’d tried to manifest his wings, several times, though he couldn’t remember why. Was this human helping him? That didn’t seem right at all.
“No…I think…I’m more comfortable like this.”
“Come now.” The man smiled, but it didn’t reach his dark eyes. It hardly reached all the way across his lips. “I’m sure they’re nice wings.”
“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale felt himself smiling back. “Very lovely, soft and white. Humans seem to find them very impressive.”
“Isn’t that nice? I would really like to see your wings.”
It was very nice. It couldn’t hurt to show them. Crowley had just groomed them the other day, and he always left the feathers so smooth and beautiful, though he would complain about how little attention Aziraphale had been giving them.
He closed his eyes, remembering. Crowley’s chiding, almost angry voice a contrast to the oh-so-gentle fingers running across Aziraphale’s wings. His touch so reverent, even after all this time, as if he couldn’t believe he were allowed such an honor. Now and then his grumbling would get out of hand, (nothing actually cruel, there was no cruelty in him, just an edge to his tongue he’d honed for thousands of years, to keep him safe from threats he would never discuss, never name), and Crowley would stop himself, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s waist, pressing his forehead to that spot between his shoulders where the wings sprouted.
And then he would get back to work, softly kissing Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders, until Aziraphale reached up to stroke that red hair, guiding his face closer…
With a shuddering breath, Aziraphale blinked open his eyes, trying to clear the tears. “I…would be happy to show you if you let me go. Please.”
The human smirked and pulled something—an amulet, perhaps—out of his pocket, pressed it to the ring before him.
The metal began to glow, a brilliant blue, brighter and hotter until Aziraphale had to shield his eyes, until the air was too thick and dry to breathe, until—
Read the rest on AO3!
Possibly the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever drawn.
i’m a worse person for knowing you.
Jenny and Theodore, doodle comic.
Jenny is Theodore's youngest, older, sister. So her status in the family isn't the best. She's mostly a pawn to their mother's wishes in hopes of getting her gratitude in any shape or form. it's hard to get attention when everyone else are more important than you.
We’ve got a hold of some old diary extracts from a St Kildan local! Unfortunately, despite all the entries being dated, its author doesn’t seem to have noted the year anywhere. It’s odd; the paper, ink, and language used would suggest this was written long after 1930, when the island was evacuated, but that wouldn’t make any sense. Unless...
[ID: A piece of slightly crinkled, aged paper. Text reads: ‘ Monday. Oct. 3rd: Dark again when I rose this morning. Even after sunup darkness seems to persist. Must be due a storm; will be the first of this winter. Went about business as usual until evening meeting. Everybody seemed to want to speak, so ran long. I don’t see what the fuss was about, we all have to take turns cleaning up the blood. Did some knitting before bed.’ In the bottom, left corner is a small blood spatter. In the bottom right corner is the St Kilda logo, a dagger with the words ‘The Secret of St Kilda’ laid over it. ED]
art by @ ligiawrites
~ In which a former Count breaks a very important rule…
The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy
Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Lucio | Valdemar
Track Origins: “Colder Heavens” by Blanco White
Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: Strength
Khleo is Non-binary and uses she/they pronouns interchangeably
cw: language, alcohol, blood, violence, mild gore
~ 3.3k words
~ 17 years ago ~
Hans von Heine shrugged the heavy sack of potatoes off his shoulder as he arrived at the door of his small flat. He unlocked the door and shortly after letting himself inside, he was met with a very tired, “Careful. There’s glass on the floor.”
Hans looked up and locked eyes with his wife, Magda. She was still busy sweeping up the remains of broken ceramic bowls in the kitchen.
“What happened?” Hans asked, gracefully sidestepping the uneven shards. There was no alarm or urgency in his voice, only concerned curiosity. After dropping off the potato sack, he began to help Magda by collecting the larger pieces.
“Khlee.” Magda sighed. “She had another headache and panicked.”
Hans grunted as he stood up. “It’s been a while since her last one. I’ll go talk to her.”
Magda got up too and touched his shoulder. “She’s finally up and moving but…” The skin around the woman’s clear blue eyes wrinkled slightly. “She can’t lift her arms, Hans.”
He covered her hand with his larger one and used the other to gently massage a little tension out of her shoulders. When she relaxed some, he nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Magda. We’ll come help you with dinner soon.”
Magda looked around. “What did you bring for me this time?”
Hans’ dark beard stretched over his toothy grin. “Kartoffeln.”
Magda rolled her eyes. “Wieder, Hans?”
He chuckled as he disengaged from her and popped a kiss to her brow. “Yes. Again. Khlee likes them and they’re cheap.”
Magda drifted back to her task. “Hm. I can see what you’re doing. You want to take her to the beer garden this weekend.”
“The festival is in town,” Hans said. “And I’m willing to bet that wherever Khlee came from, she’s never been to one quite like ours.”
When Hans left the kitchen, he didn’t have to walk very far to get to Khlee’s room. He found his child sitting on the edge of her cot, swinging her legs and glaring at the wall. Though she hadn’t been a part of their household for very long, Hans still felt like they had brought her up since birth.
“Mama says you’re walking now,” He said as he closed the door behind him. “I’m very proud of you.” He took a seat beside her.
Khlee tensed underneath the warm poncho Magda had quilted for her. It was large enough to allow her arms to hide away unless she wanted it otherwise.
“Mama helped me.”
Hans lowered his gaze to Khlee’s knees, which bore fresh cuts from the broken dishes.
“Oh? So is that how you thank her? By breaking all of her kitchenware?”
Khlee drew in sharp breath and leaned over as if to cradle her head, but she couldn’t.
“Papa, I didn’t mean to, I swear! I… I was trying to remember something, but I–”
Hans cursed himself for taking it too far. “Khlee, calm yourself. No one is angry with you.” He gathered her head under his chin and held the wheezing child until her breathing was back under control.
“Now.” Hans sat her upright and pushed some of those wild curls out of her dark eyes. “What about your arms? Show me the progress you’ve made.”
Khlee puffed out her cheeks once, twice. Then she strained hard enough to grow veins in her neck. The only evidence beyond that of her effort was the rigid tension in her shoulders.
Hans smiled fondly. “That’s all right, Khlee.”
She gave a violent shake of her head and clenched her jaw against the resistance. “No. Wait, Papa. I can–”
Hans placed his hands on her shoulders. “That’s enough for now. You’ll grow into them…. Now come with me.”
As he pulled Khlee onto her feet, he glanced down at her knees to make sure she didn’t aggravate her cuts. Oddly, the cuts were still there, but no longer weeping. They looked more like scabs now, as if they were halfway done healing.
Hans put the thought out of his mind before Khlee could notice the concern in his face. He looked down at her and ruffled her hair. “First we’ll help your mother in the kitchen. Then I’m going to show you how to use those legs.”
Khlee shrugged her shoulders in an attempt to adjust her poncho. “What do you mean?”
With a smile, Hans gently guided her towards the door. “There’s a few folk dances from the Heine that I want to show you. You don’t need your arms for those.”
Khlee grumbled something about how dancing was stupid.
Hans only chuckled. “Trust me, meine kleine Khleo, a dance will come in handy the next time you feel like you want to break something.”
~ Present Day ~
Lucio beckoned the mixologist over. As soon as he found out that Khleo’s coworker with the cropped salt and pepper curls and cool blue eyes was helping out that night with the club’s activities, he took the opportunity to catch the barhand’s attention.
Lucio couldn’t tell if the look Basil shot him was wary or friendly or a little bit of both. But he came down to his side of the minibar anyway and started cleaning a fresh glass.
“Montag, right? Did you need something?”
Now that Basil was closer, Lucio could count the dark marks scattered about his olive-toned skin. Lucio, who was feeling a lot more confident these days, let his eyes linger a little longer than average before speaking again.
“Enjoying the view?” Basil whispered, his eyes still on his task.
Lucio cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from the barhand’s tanned forearms.
“Say, Basil. Do you know why Khleo never fights?”
Basil finally looked up, but instead of locking eyes with Lucio, he cast his gaze over the former Count’s shoulder at the rest of the members mingling about the basement.
“Sounds like that’s not the first time you’ve asked that question.”
Lucio surrendered his hands. “I’m just curious is all. Trust me, I don’t have any plans to challenge Khlee in a fight. I’m no fool.”
Basil’s eyes finally met Lucio’s. “Khleo doesn’t fight that often because they don’t bleed. Or at least, not for very long. I have a feeling they keep out of the ring just to make everyone else feel comfortable.”
Lucio made a curious sound. “They cast some sort of regenerative spell before the fight or..?”
Basil shook his head. “It’s not magic. They’re blessed or... bewitched. Whatever you want to call it. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask Hefe.”
Lucio glanced over at the fireplace and shuddered. “I am. Not. Doing that.”
He was briefly reminded of a few days back when he woke up in the hearth with no clue of how he got there. He remembered most of everything that happened the day before up until after the fight club had let out for the night. The very edges of his memory contained snippets of Khleo pouring themself a drink and asking Lucio if he wanted some. After that it was just a haze in which Hefe’s face sometimes showed up. She would lock Lucio into her amber stare and somehow amplify the space around his head with headache-inducing vibrations.
“Like you said,” Basil smiled a bit more openly than before, “you’re no fool.”
They laughed together and after that, their conversation flowed with much more ease. Lucio managed to ask Basil on a date before getting dragged into club meeting activities. He walked out of the bar with fresh bruises and a split lip that suffered even more under his wide, content smile.
Lucio hardly noticed the days passing him by. By now he was a pro at reserving himself a place to lay his head at night and grab breakfast in the morning for free. On the days where he didn’t have fight club to look forward to, he spent his time volunteering at the very centers where he stayed. Most of the work was boring and the people who passed through made his gut twist in sympathy, but it kept him busy.
One day, Lucio was enjoying a late breakfast of grits and sardines when a rough-looking bunch filed in. After they got their food, they collected around Lucio, who couldn’t help noticing their stares.
Some things never changed with Lucio. He still enjoyed attention. Whether he was happily getting his ass kicked in the ring or peacocking around at a masquerade party, something stirred pleasantly in his abdomen whenever all eyes were on him.
And he knew exactly why the rough newcomers had gathered around to stare at him.
“Those are some gnarly war wounds.”
Lucio grinned quietly to himself as he finished the rest of his food. “Thank you.”
One of them scooted close enough to him to bump elbows. “Tell us where you got ’em.”
Lucio coughed in order to hide a burp before looking up at the twelve or so individuals.
“Well, see here’s the thing,” he said with a sly grin. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
The curiosity on their faces immediately turned into intrigue, which got Lucio’s pulse quickening. He was enjoying this.
Several of the group glanced at one in particular. The leader, if Lucio had to guess. He was a big fella with about a dozen rings decorating his ears, creating frills of copper and obsidian glass.
“Look, we get it. You’re no rat. But me and my friends, we’re uh… a restless bunch.” He leaned over the table in order to whisper to Lucio. “We’re not looking to cause any trouble. We just need a place to let off some steam, you know?”
Lucio hesitated for a moment. “I do. I know what you mean.”
The one who had brushed elbows with him earlier, slung an arm over his shoulder and said, “So, you don’t have to tell us anything, but maybe you can point us in the general direction?”
Almost immediately after he had, the group of friends took their food and abandoned the table. Lucio sat there, a little bewildered. A part of him had expected them to stay a while and chat him up a little more.
He tried to shake off the sour feeling and just focus on looking forward to fight club. By the time evening had rolled around, Lucio’s skin was tingling with excitement. He was one of the first to arrive at the tavern basement. Khleo hadn’t returned from her delivery shift yet, but it seemed she had already set the table with bread and pilsners. These days, there was a large sign propped up on the middle of the table that read: Clean up after yourselves or no bread ever again!
The rest of the members started to file in not long after Lucio sat down. The companions he had made greeted him and gave him the attention he had been craving since that morning. At some point, Khleo swept in, looking sore and sulky from a long day’s work. But the club members knew how to lift her spirits and very soon all of them were barefoot and clustering around the center of the room, trying to decide who would be fighting first.
The friendly atmosphere, however, turned cold the moment the door that led out onto the street opened and a new presence entered the space.
“You’re telling me that there was a fight club right here under the Chandrian this whole time?”
Lucio, who was positioned near the back wall, strained to look over all of the heads between him and the new voice. Whispers broke out among the fighters.
“Who the hell are those guys?”
The intruder stepped into the light and repeated himself. “Who’s club is this? We want to talk to the manager.”
Lucio blinked suddenly as he recognized the man from Temple District. It appeared that he had brought along his whole flock from that morning and then some.
“Heard you had a friendly little club going and we wanted to see if the rumors were true. See we’ve just stolen a brand new ship and we need a bigger staff. So I’m here to recruit.”
Finally, Khleo separated herself from the sea of members. She scanned her crowd and said coldly, “Which one of you ran your damn mouth?”
Lucio felt the blood drain from his face as he drifted back and back and back into the shadows. When his spine collided with the wall, he edged to the right towards the little hallway nestled under the stairs.
His skin jumped as he heard Khleo repeat her question in a sterner tone. Lucio scrambled over crates and stumbled through racks of costumes until he was sure he was safe.
Lucio swung his fist at the sound of the voice, missed, and tripped into the brick wall hard enough to split his lip back open.
“Interesting... that they let you stay in this club.”
Lucio steadied himself against the wall. “Quaestor. W-what are you doing here?”
All that was visible in the dim light was the silhouette of Valdemar’s mummified horns.
“Bringing my tuna home of course. It’s been fourteen days. Or have you in all your frolic not been paying attention?” They came closer and drew a deep, wet breath. “Not that I’m complaining. Your blood smells more rare and ripe than I could have imagined. Well done.”
Lucio swallowed. “Wait. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go back to the Lazaret!”
It wasn’t in Valdemar’s nature to care what their experiments desired or craved. They unhatched a portal behind Lucio for easy transportation right before lifting their heel and kicking him square in the chest. Lucio stumbled backwards into the gooey blackness. Valdemar followed shortly after.
“You?” The challenger snorted. “You can’t be the one in charge. You’re just a squirt with freakish arms.”
“I bet they’re not even real,” one of his companions drawled. “Probably just some parlor trick glamour.”
“Get lost. You’re not recruiting anyone tonight.” Khleo said as they looked up into the eyes of the challenger with the frilled earrings. Without hesitation, he stepped up to Khleo and gave their chest an easy shove.
“We weren’t asking for permission. If your people don’t want to come with us, we’ll just take the ones we need.” He and some of his crew gestured vaguely to the weapons fastened to their hips.
Khleo lifted their chin. “If you weren’t looking for permission, why in the hell did you ask to speak to the manager?”
A couple of snickers erupted from Khleo’s side.
Earrings gave a nasty scowl before spitting by Khleo’s foot. “You got a lot of mouth for someone who calls themself the damn manager.”
“Meet me in the ring and I’ll show you how I got that title.” Khleo said. “If it ends in a KO or I tap out, you can take whoever you want.” They stretched out their hand. “And if I win, you leave us the fuck alone.”
The challenger snatched their hand up. “You’re on.”
Khleo could feel the eyes of all of the patrons. They knew what they were thinking. This wasn’t the first time some low life had found out about the club and came in trying to shake things up. The patrons must have been wondering why Khleo had chosen to fight.
I need this. I need to do this.
< I’m here. >
Khleo felt the soothing presence of their familiar across their mental link. They wished they could reach out and stroke her.
~ I know, Hefe. Thank you. ~
The challenger met them in the ring and didn’t hold back. He was a street fighter before this, that much was certain. His familiarity with Khleo’s style made them go into the defensive. He was much bigger than them and knew how to grapple correctly.
But Khleo wasn’t about to hold back. Not this time.
They gave the challenger an opening. With a sure punch, he knocked Khleo’s head back, filling the air was a short, sickening crunch. The challenger’s followers whooped in excitement while the fight club members gasped in disbelief.
Khleo staggered, but instinctively raised their elbows around their head.
“See?” The challenger scoffed. “I knew you were all talk. You practically let me hit you.”
Khleo stopped swaying and firmly planted their feet. They lowered their arms and pulled themself out of the hunch so everyone could see what happened to their face.
The challenger sneered in distaste at what he was seeing.
Khleo stared right back at him, refusing to cradle their unhinged jaw, seemingly unaware of the blood leaking from where teeth and jawbone had torn their skin apart. Khleo snapped their head hard enough to seal off the gaping chasm. The crowd’s disgusted groans turned into gasps of disbelief at the sight of Khleo’s jaw stitching itself together.
“Go on,” they said, wiping the leftover blood on the back of their hand. “Hit me again.”
The challenger didn’t look like he wanted to do anything of the sort, but it was clear that the approval of his crew meant a lot to him. Khleo hoped he would walk away, she really hoped he would. But all he did by staying was make himself a target. For their anger, their frustration, every weight that had been added onto them in the past few weeks.
Khleo didn’t hold back her strength as she fought. The challenger was no match for her and this fight was not fair. But Khleo went over the edge a long time ago. She didn’t care.
There were so many things she couldn’t fight back against. So she fought the challenger. She fought and fought and clawed at his decorated ears with her blunt fingernails. She emptied out all her kicks and elbows to his face until it was unrecognizable.
Khleo wrestled their opponent to the ground and fired a right hook to his cheek. All the bystanders were screaming now. This was no longer a fight. It was bloodsport. And Khleo knew better than anyone how silly with delight a crowd could get from it.
In an attempt to regain some control, the challenger roared in defiance and cracked his forehead against Khleo’s nose.
The crowd erupted with excitement.
Khleo slowed down, bringing the challenger close enough so that he could see her nose render and heal with his own eyes. The incredulous terror in the challenger’s eyes made Khleo break into a wide, blood-stained grin.
“You should kill me and see what happens.”
He tried to tap out. “Okay, you win. You win!” The longer he looked at her, the more his lip trembled in fear for his life. Tears and snot soon mixed with the blood leaking from his contorted face.
Khleo ignored their own rules and snarled, “What the fuck are you crying for? You’re the one who came up in my house! And for what? To intimidate my friends into joining your disgusting crew?”
“I’m sorry! I said I was done!”
The tapout had served its purpose – to snap everyone else out of their bloodlust. They tried to talk Khleo down, reminding her that it was over. When they started to pull her off of the man, Khleo thrashed.
“No – Let me go! If he wants to cry, I’ll give him something to cry about!”
She lunged. The challenger begged for his crew to help. The seconds that followed were simply pandemonium. Patrons and the intruders clashed, wrestling each other to the ground. Several fighters dogpiled Khleo at once in order to protect the challenger. She wheezed under their crushing weight.
Then the sounds of fighting were interrupted by a wild, guttural roar. The cacophony of screams that followed caused Khleo to twist in agony.
“There’s a fucking lion in here!”
Khleo drew in a ragged breath as the weight lifted from her back. She scrambled to her feet. Not long after she righted herself did she hear something that made her blood run cold.
The door at the top of the stairs flung open and a booming voice filled the space.
“What in the gods-damned fuck is going on down there!”
People were already running and tripping over each other, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the lion. Khleo tried to reach out to Hefe through their link, but it was too late. Otto was already at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the mess of the basement as well as the enormous lion terrorizing all of his potential customers.
~ Hefe. He saw you. Go! ~
Hefe didn’t argue with her human. She stole out into the street, chasing off the last of the challenger’s crew. Once she was gone, Khleo turned to face their boss. They took a deep breath because they knew they were in for it.
Khleo needed a miracle. Because she was certain that after tonight, there wouldn’t be any more fight club.
haha that is one evil resident
[ID: full-length art of Lady Dimetrescu from Resident Evil: Village. She is a immensely tall pale woman with curled black hair wearing a long white dress, black gloves, a pearl choker and a wide brimmed black hat. She is stood with her left hand on her hip, and her right hand extended and holding a black cigarette holder. She is looking slightly off to one side with a slight smile, and blood running down her chin. The background is of dark grey panelling and grey striped wallpaper with a black floor. End ID.]
Is blood worth its weight in wasted water? 🩸IBVS/IBVS week by @onebizarrekai
The Fall of The Hero of Time
this is suuuuper old, like four-ish years old, but i still really like it, and my skills have improved since then, so i decided to polish it up and finally post it!