unfortunately she's the only faerie i have

My magical kitty Luna is missing :( She’s an indoor cat with limited outdoor experience. With the help of many super nice and knowledgeable people (and a scent tracking dog), we’ve employed any and every practical strategy to get her back. Unfortunately, we’ve only had potential sightings and clues as to where she’s hanging out - likely nearby, getting food from one of the many houses that feed the multiple strays in the area. Does anyone have any witchcraft advice? Methods of getting faerie assistance? Ways of attracting her back to her home using energy in addition to just scent and food? Between working full time, getting the word out, and late night searches for her, I haven’t had much time to research these.

What Man Has Made Of Man - Enjolras x Éponine - oneshot

Belated gift fic for textsfromumbridge and theglintofmoonlightonbrokenglass! Inge’s prompt was “30 hours to live, how shall I spend them?” from Dead Girl Walking, and V wanted a Penny Dreadful AU. My current schedule did not allow me to research the period as well as I would have liked, so I apologize for any anachronisms, but I hope you all enjoy the numerous literary and historical references and cameos! Title and end quote are from Wordsworth’s Lines Written In Early Spring. Happy birthday, Inge and V! Sorry this was so late!

What Man Has Made Of Man

A couple of gas lamps bobbed in the fog like smatterings of St. Elmo’s fire. It wasn’t long before the hands that bore them paused over a figure snoring in a ditch, his craggy features thrown into sharp relief by the yellow light.

A boot lashed out, prodding the sleeping figure’s side none too gently. “Wake up, R.”

Grantaire cracked one jaundiced eye open. “Good morning to you, too.” His elegant drawl contrasted with the fact that he was sprawled on his back in the mud. “What business do London’s greatest consulting detective and his bold associate have with me at this godforsaken hour?”

Enjolras and Combeferre exchanged long-suffering glances before the former shoved a newspaper into Grantaire’s face. IS JACK BACK? asked the headline. FAMILY RIPPED IN EAST END CARNAGE!

“Hmm.” Grantaire ran his tongue over his teeth, searching for erstwhile bits of hair or fingernails or flesh. “No, it wasn’t me.”

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