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Author's Note: Might want to get a glass of your poison of choice, this is a huge fic post. Various pairings, various characters, violence, weirdness, sensuality and a whole lot of wild stuff going on.

Feeding Times

Hyacinthe is often turned loose in this city by the sea, this place of bright lights and clanking music, mostly to give him the "experience" he lacks, but he knows his perambulations serve a secondary purpose.

All that bustle and sense experience builds up in his psyche, things his spirit does not need nor use, given his state between mortality and immortality. He comes home to the flat feeling waterlogged, bloated in spirit, like one of those African honeypot ants he has seen in the National Geographic magazine. It comes as a relief when his employer comes up from the clinic or home from a case and lays him back on the sofa or the bed, whichever they come to first, when Mudgett takes the younger man's shaft into his mouth, the better to drain off this excess energy, leaving Hyacinthe relieved and relaxed while his employer, now sated and contented, drowses beside him.


The first few nights after his reunion with Jack, Angelo notices an unfamiliar scent on one of the pillows on the bed they now share. He things to ask Jack about it, but decided against it. They've been apart for a year, and knowing Jack's history and how he fascinates people, he wouldn't put it past the traveler to have a companion for the night every so often.

It isn't until one night when Thompson puts in an appearance at the warehouse, that Angelo recognizes that mysterious scent, on their employer's hair...

End of Season

Once Labor Day weekend has passed, the crowds on the Boardwalk have diminished by a third, though on weekends, the college youngsters coming from Princeton and the weekend trippers from Philadelphia help to boost the numbers -- and given the antics of the former group, they generate a fair amount of work for the clinic. Even still, the lengthening nights and the cooling days, sending the crowds off the beach and into the clubs and the casinos, remind one that summer has made its exit.

By the middle of September, Mudgett finds a likely sub-letter for the flat, packs up his and the youngster's baggage to be sent home to Albany and turns the clinic over solely to the care of Doctor Stein before he takes Aramat for one last walk on the beach, one last swim out to the tiny island he found earlier that summer, then back to the flat for one last summer evening in each other's arms.

Before daybreak, the three of them board the ferry to New York, the first leg of the journey northward to Albany's shadows...

When the Fur Flies...

The day that the Breakers refused to admit Capone and his cohorts, Nucky had had enough. He'd hastily put in a call to the President Hotel to put up some unexpected guests, but Capone still bitched him out.

The full moon must have fallen that night: everything goes pale and brightens and the next thing he knows, he has his teeth sunk into Capone's foreleg, now covered in dense black fur. Some of Capone's goons pull them apart, but it comes too late: a crowd has already gathered, staring at the sight. Let them think it's a dog fight, but he knows even then, it won't convince them.

He comes down hard from the wolf's rage, falling back into his own smooth skin, Jimmy hanging onto the back of his neck, someone else throwing a coat over him, hiding both the bites Capone got in and his naked frame.

"Well, it's not like he can turn me furry a second time," Nucky quips, relieved to feel fewer and smaller teeth in his mouth.

"Yes, but those bites need to be cleaned," Doctor Mudgett says, settling the coat over Nucky's shoulders, his glass eye turned toward him, as if casting a blind eye on purpose.

At least one person does. For the rest... they know, they all know, and he can feel the snare start to tighten...


Three nights out of five, Phillips awakens in the night, sweating and shaking, unable to move, convinced for the moment that the shadows in the corners of the room roiled with grasping talons poised to clutch him and rip his mind from his body, if not the heart from his chest. He has spoken to alienists and doctors alike regarding these symptoms. Most prescribed drugs too strong for his liking, while others asked questions too probing for decency's sake.

Till he spoke to Doctor Mudgett, who listened with a professional interest, taking in the account of these symptoms till Phillips had exhausted his narrative; only then, and speaking in measured tones, he spoke of Jung's theories of lucid dreaming and Eastern techniques, in which the dreamer grew aware of the dream and enacted changes in that world. "You're a clever man with a sense of the fantastic, I'm sure that you can find your way through that inner world," Mudgett concluded, clearly with the faith in his patient and tenant that others lacked.

A few nights later, found him fleeing through the corridors of some madly-built manse, the walls at angles not found in human dwellings, made of substances fabricated and organic, walls slick with moisture, the floor squelching beneath his feet, his ears ringing with shrill cries from vocal organs not known on earth, of a creature pursuing him just out of sight around a bend in the corridor. He gazed up ahead, fighting to envision a door opening to the outside, an escape from this nightmare house.

He saw the darkness part and a cold wind rush in, cooling his face. He rushed toward the door, fighting the pull beneath.

Something rushed through the open portal, something with dark wings and molten silver eyes. He dodged, expecting it to stoop on him, like a hawk on a hapless mouse. But he felt it rush past him, around the bend, pouncing upon the many-clawed beast that sought to reach for him. The shrieks of his predator turned to screams of pain as the hawk-beast tore into it. He fled out the door, into the clear night air outside...

He awakened, the dawn's light glinting around the edges of the window blind, feeling, for the first time in several nights, contended and refreshed, still drowsy yet no longer haggard.

Later that morning, when he arrives at the communal breakfast table, he finds their host absent from the usual company. The young secretary spoke up on his employer's behalf. "Doctor Mudgett is indisposed: he had an emergency call in the middle of the night and won't be up for a few hours."


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