the deep moans round with many voices

Batch the eleventh. :)

All prompts drawn from the 2021 iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful rthstewart. The ficathon is now closed to new prompts, but you can continue filling prompts and commenting on other people's fills for as long as you like!

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( 61. ) For anonymous: Any, any, illuminated manuscripts, written 3/6/21

Be Light Made (280 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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Library of Jurgen Leitner, Catalog Item #732: An illuminated manuscript copy of Genesis 1:1-4, single page, held within two pressboard report covers; the text appears to be from the Douay-Rheims translation, which is notable in that the work is clearly hand-scribed on parchment rather than a hand-illustrated printed text or an engraved print, despite the technologies prevalent at the time of the English College, Douai's work.

Main Effect: When read aloud, the text produces a clear, bright light that illumines a sphere of thirty-foot radius around the page, in which no shadow is present and all things are visible, including the interiors of normally solid objects; when read silently, this effect is apparently limited to the perception of the reader; and in both cases, the effect dissipates after approximately seven minutes.

Secondary Effects: One reading produces no obvious negative effects, aside from the frequent horror and revulsion at the sight of normally hidden aspects of the world; however, with each subsequent reading, whether silently or aloud, and regardless of the length between incidents, the effect doubles in its duration for the reader -- note that this extension does not apply to a bystander within the thirty-foot radius who simply hears the words; for bystanders, the original seven minute duration continues to apply no matter how many times the text is overheard -- until it becomes effectively permanent, with a duration longer than the reader's projected lifespan; additionally, because the light penetrates normally solid objects, closing one's eyes provides no relief; the long-term effects of such expanded perception have thus far been impossible to determine, as the initial test subject committed suicide and no other assistants have volunteered to replicate the experiment.

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( 62. ) For anonymous: Twelve Dancing Princesses, any princess except the eldest or youngest, forgotten middle child no more, written 3/7/21

Escapism (335 words)

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We all knew the dancing would end someday: that either one of the suitors would discover our secret, our father would tire of the riddle and marry us off one by one, or our mysterious underground escape would turn into a trap.

For my sisters, the very transient nature of our freedom made them reluctant to question -- why did the passageway open to our hall? why did the princes not court ladies of their own realm? why were we not permitted to stay once our shoes were worn through? -- and I admit I was too afraid myself to risk upsetting the spell, to the point where I laughed at a good dozen men's deaths by our father's decree (though in truth, when one considers the many wars he provoked and the draconian laws he set forth, a dozen foolhardy princes and knights are scarcely worth mentioning).

But with my eldest sister married to a soldier, our father passed away, and my other sisters shipped off one by one to marry strangers in lands as foreign as the underworld yet far less free, I remembered the twigs and the cup my brother-in-law carried out of the earth as his proof, and it dawned on me both that a seed remembers its source and that bricking up one door does not preclude opening another: and so I put my old skills to the test once more (did you think my eldest sister brewed the sleeping draughts herself? don't be a fool; her interests always lay in taxes and budgets, as our youngest sister's interest lay in music, my second-eldest sister's in embroidery, and so on -- we are twelve people, not an indistinguishable mass) and stole both myself and those relics out from under the watchful castle guards; for an escape is not complete if it merely enlarges the bounds of one's cage -- when I next venture into that shining, underground land, I shall return to a home where I alone control the lock and hold the keys.

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( 63. ) For anonymous: Any, any, two perfect pears, written 3/9/21

Grin and Pear It (160 words)

Fandom = Doctor Who

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"'Two perfect pears' is a contradiction in terms, because there is no way on this or any other planet or plane of existence that a pear can be anything other than a foul waste of water and fructose," the Doctor said, glaring at the fruit basket Martha was poking through in the TARDIS kitchen.

"Pear blossom's awfully pretty, though, and you can't get the trees or flowers without the fruit," Martha said, twirling one of the pears -- a lovely, firm green fruit, with just a hint of blush near one side of its base -- and wondering if she trusted the grateful farmer's market vendors of New New Earth to have washed their produce before presenting her and the Doctor with a fresh and delicious reward.

"I cannot believe your lack of imagination, Martha Jones -- what about grafting, or cloning, or genetic engineering, or--" the Doctor began, only to sputter into undignified silence when Martha grinned and took a juicy bite.

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( 64. ) For syrena_of_the_lake: Looney Tunes, any, oh what heights we'll hit, written 3/9/21

First Contact (155 words)

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"I'm not entirely certain, but as of our most recent intercepted radio transmission, I believe that Earth hasn't given Mars diplomatic recognition, let alone begun sending live embassies," Marvin said, pointing his disintegrator at the gently sizzling brown-furred creature at the bottom of a new impact crater near Argyre Planitia, surrounded by what looked like the debris of an unreasonably large cast iron pot with a clamp-on lid and some sort of primitive spring-launch mechanism; "Hands up and explain yourself, Earthling spy."

The furred creature stuck one arm straight up, waving a tiny white flag with I SURRENDER blazoned across the fabric -- exactly the sort of cowardly move a spy would make, Marvin thought, and also self-evidently not an explanation; he readied himself to shoot.

"Meep meep," an unfamiliar voice said from behind him, and Marvin had just enough time to turn and see a feathery blur bearing down before the impact knocked him flying.

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( 65. ) For eagleoftheninth: Narnia, any, the kind of odd spirits and whatnot you get in Calormen and/or the Lone Islands, written 3/31/21

Quiet Neighbors (370 words)

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The lands beyond the reach of Aslan's voice did not spring to life all at once, joyous and undeniable; they woke slowly, gradually, over decades and centuries (or faster, if gods or humans moved in and took an interest), and so the spirits of the land were sparser, shyer, interwoven with those who walked their lands as folktales and whispered glimpses rather than friends from whom one could, if not precisely borrow a sack of flour or a pat of butter, then certainly exchange casual gossip; they were quiet neighbors.

There was a well-spirit who lived on Aravis's father's estate in Calavar, who had bargained generations past for a plate of honey-cakes and one silver coin each new moon -- so long as the contract was kept, the well stayed sweet and full, but should anyone miss a month, the old slaves whispered, the water might turn to salt or sink down past the reach of any mortal arm; when she arrived in Narnia and curtseyed to a naiad, Aravis wondered if that well-spirit had ever taken human shape, or chosen a gender, or asked if there were others of its kind; she knew, now, what it felt like to be alone in a strange land, to be treated with propriety but rarely with true respect, and she would not wish that on anyone regardless of their nature.

There was a tricky stone between Arsheesh's hut and the village, which liked to shift its place -- never when anyone was watching, but some mornings its bulk loomed above the rutted path, some days below, and now and then precisely in the middle where Shasta had to thrash his way through brambles and scrub to get around it; always around, never over, because even a minor spirit had its pride -- and he wondered now and then why the stone failed to bury Arsheesh and Anradin the way rumor said it had buried a minor Tarkaan who came to collect taxes in the form of two dozen slaves three generations past; but human feet fell lightly upon the earth and words carried even less weight, and in the end the departure of one foreign foundling must have seemed no great loss to a stone.


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( 66. ) For rthstewart: Bujold -Penric's Demon, Penric and Desdemona, dressed to kill, written 3/31/21

Aftermath (200 words)

Set in the bad period between Penric's Fox and Masquerade in Lodi.

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There are two main points to consider when dressing for any event, Desdemona said as Penric lay on his bed, staring up through the darkness at the wooden beams and boards of his ceiling and trying not to think about either the pain in his wrists or facing the judgment of the Mother's clergy tomorrow; First, always choose something in which you can move freely, because one never knows what chaos may break out; second, consider the effect you intend to produce in your audience -- to stand out, to go unnoticed, to entice, to appall, or any other reaction -- and ensure that your clothes, your hair, your speech, and your bearing work together to enhance that effect.

"What effect do you think I should aim for?" Penric said, voice still a little hoarse from their morning fight, but no less flat than it had been for months now: hollowed by the endless string of deaths and failure.

Horror and shame, since evidently sympathy and sense are in low supply in these parts, Desdemona said; Wear your braids to remind them which god has truest claim on your soul, and leave your arms bare -- I can take care of the rest.

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I really do need to crosspost a lot of my more recent fic to AO3...

I also really do not want to deal with the logistics. Blargh.

Batch the sixth. :)

All prompts drawn from the current iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon (post one and post two), hosted by the wonderful rthstewart. Come join the fun!

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( 31. ) For anonymous: Any, any, grieving for the living, written 2/12/21

Last Rites (95 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives. SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 194!

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( cut for spoilers )

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( 32. ) For undeadrobins: Any, any, waking up to the alarm, written 2/13/21

Home Front (885 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives. This turned into a season 5-style statement fic. It's mostly a Slaughter domain, though there are some elements of the Eye, the Desolation, the Vast, and the Lonely floating around the edges.

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( cut for length )

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( 33. ) For thetransintransgenic: Oz/any set on Earth, any, queer visitors from Oz, written 2/13/21

Rainbow's End (175 words)

I realized after I posted this that thetransintransgenic probably meant queer in the modern sense while I was thinking of queer = odd due to the time period when Oz was written. Also, this is not a crossover. *headdesk*

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"And this is my friend Polychrome, she's the Rainbow's Daughter and helped me come visit you even though Philadelphia isn't a fairy country," Saladin said, swinging his left hand forward, his fingers (still a bit pudgy with youth, as if he hadn't aged a day since he vanished) twined with the slender, almost ethereal digits of a strangely ageless girl in multicolored scraps of a fabric that wasn't quite gauze, wasn't quite silk, and looked as if it would cost a hundred dollars an inch for an untattered bolt.

Richard glanced at Eleanor, whose speaking look conveyed quite clearly, 'Your ancestor owned a magic umbrella, mine once killed a dragon, and our son reappeared on the roof after a storm; who's to say he hasn't befriended a fairy?' -- and that was an excellent point, so Richard turned back to Saladin and said, "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Polychrome; any friend of our Button-Bright is always welcome in our home."

"As you are welcome in mine," Polychrome said, and curtsied fit to greet a queen.

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( 34. ) For thetransintransgenic: Oz/any set on Earth, any, queer visitors from Oz, written 2/13/21

Natural History (250 words)

So I wrote a second fill. Crossover = Oz/Chronicles of Narnia. The Field Museum really does have two separate exhibits of human-eating lions (though one is from 1990, and therefore beyond the scope of this ficlet).

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"Dorothy Gale," says the blonde girl with the light of other worlds in her eyes, as she shakes Susan's hand, her left arm tucked firmly around her black-haired companion's waist; "I was born in Kansas, oh, ages ago, but there's not much to see there besides farms and sky so I thought I'd bring Ozma to Chicago and show her a real modern city, and so far it's been awfully good fun, especially the trains and the skyscrapers -- how about you?"

"My father is here for work, and he and my mother thought it would be educational for me to see some of the world beyond England," Susan says; "While I can't say I'm terribly fond of railways, I do agree that skyscrapers are fascinating -- and speaking of fascinating things, I was planning to visit the Field Museum, which I'm told has many intriguing exhibits, including the stuffed remains of two man-eating lions; may I invite you to accompany me?"

Dorothy glances at Ozma who smiles and says, "We must never tell the Cowardly Lion about his cousins' taste or their fates," (Susan, who has her own history with lions, tucks this away to decipher later) which seems to signal agreement since Dorothy plants an enthusiastic kiss on the other girl's cheek before turning back to Susan and chirping their agreement.

Susan never does unearth their story, but that's all right; she's learned to respect other people's privacy, and it would be a shame to spoil such a lovely day.

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( 35. ) For anonymous: Oz books (L. Frank Baum), Ozma, poppies, written 2/14/21

If I Should Change Before I Wake (445 words)

A nine-sentence fill, because reasons.

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Ozma only learned about the poppy field by accident, overhearing the Scarecrow and Nick Chopper reminisce about their journey with Dorothy and wonder idly if the flowers are still there; that struck her as a question worth answering, but not important enough to assemble a Royal Progress, so she rode out to look at the poppy field accompanied only by the Sawhorse which, of course, could not be affected by their sleep-inducing scent.

Death was rare in Oz, so rare as to be nearly impossible, and the poppies' lure of repose was nigh overpowering, yet as Ozma and the Sawhorse wandered through the brilliant expanse of red blossoms, they found no slumbering bodies under the swaying stems and leaves -- either the poppies' victims had sunk into the earth entire, or someone with magical protection (or no need to breathe) had been collecting them.

"Which do you suppose is more likely, old friend?" Ozma asked the Sawhorse, one hand resting lightly on her Magic Belt.

"I have no knowledge on which to base a guess," the Sawhorse said, pawing idly at the base of a poppy stalk with one wooden leg, "but I can stay and keep watch; sooner or later someone will fall asleep and then we'll know what happens."

Ozma considered this, then nodded: "It's my royal duty to remove my enchantments and let the poppies' power affect me," she said; "I cannot let any of my subjects risk this danger unaware, and if we return to the Emerald City to ask for a volunteer, who knows what might occur while we are gone?"

"Royal duty sounds terribly unpleasant," the Sawhorse said, but it agreed to Ozma's plan so long as she used her Magic Belt to send a message to the Scarecrow before she fell asleep.

As she removed her enchantments and lay on the soft ground between and beneath the swaying poppies, Ozma wondered how long their perfume would need to take effect, not to mention how long before whatever fate befell the other sleepers would claim her in its turn.

The poppies' scent was heavy and warm, rich without cloying, and Ozma stared upward at the red petals bobbing, the green leaves fluttering, the blue sky and white clouds beyond, all melding into a strangely familiar swirl of color and scent and that echoed behind her slowly closing eyes.

As her mind unmoored from the tethers of the waking world, she realized this swooning, dizzy whirl felt almost exactly like Mombi's spell that had changed her from Tip to Ozma, and had one moment to wonder what body she would wake in before she drifted into the unmapped sea of sleep.

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( 36. ) For rthstewart: Doctor Who, Donna Noble, That's where all the weird stuff's happening. In the paperwork., written 2/14/21

Worthy of Her Hire (195 words)

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Not that it's any of Donna's business, or that she's been looking in particular, but if you want to know how the marketing director spends his holiday bonus (very posh tastes, that man, in the best fucking-the-pig tradition) or where the hired lorries took the old office furniture after the big switcharound (not, shall we say, any of the usual places one takes old furniture, and she might do a spot of digging to satisfy her own curiosity on that point), she can tell you; she can tell you everything.

She files all the paperwork, after all, and scans and files the digital versions, too -- it takes a bit to learn what's normal, what's normal-weird, and what's proper weird for any company, but she has practice; she can pick that up in two weeks or less -- and it's beyond her why nobody ever expects a temp to read the papers she handles.

And if she should happen to spot something not just proper weird but dangerous... well, Donna may be a little fuzzy on the past few years of her life, but she remembers just enough to know, bone-deep, that she can make things better.

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I have such a lot of fun with this ficathon every year. :DDD

And another six fills! Four are 3-sentence, one is 4-sentence, and on the sixth... eh, sometimes you just give up and let the ficlet do what it wants.

As ever, here is the link to the ficathon if you want to come play too. :-)

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( 13. ) For vialethe: Narnia, Susan, Oh, the queen of peace/ always does her best to please/ is it any use/ somebody's gotta lose, written 12/6/15 [AO3 version]

in exchange, a bride (175 words)

Tashbaan is never fully dark, and so they are discovered before the Splendour Hyaline is a bow-shot from the docks; the sea-chain (and how did they not notice its anchor-towers before?) is raised, and the threat of flaming arrows and a boarding action brings them back to shore. They could fight, could make a last stand and die free, but Susan talks Edmund down, reminds him that they cannot deprive Archenland of her only heir, and forgives him for what he perceives as a repeat of his old betrayal; reluctantly, he agrees, and a month later leaves Calormen in chains for mocking delivery to the North.

She marries Rabadash to buy her brother's life -- marries him, bears his touch and his children, smiles at his triumphs, comforts his griefs, and dies at his side -- and if she resents the price, if her submission is a lie, if hers is the hand that wields the poison to end both their lives in racking pains, no living man could say; Susan keeps her secrets unto death.

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( 14. ) For crucified: Labyrinth, Jareth/Sarah, I can give you your dreams, written 12/6/15 [AO3 version]

everything that you wanted (75 words)

Jareth wrapped his arms around Sarah and met her eyes in the mirror, claiming one last minute before she stepped through to the overworld. "I can give you your dreams, if that would make you stay another night; whatever you want -- fame, power, beauty, magic -- only say the words and it's yours forever in my kingdom and your own."

"I know," Sarah said, "and thank you, but I'd rather win my victories myself."

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( 15. ) For idhren24: Doctor Who, any, jetlag (TARDIS-lag?), written 12/6/15 [AO3 version]

a minor glitch in the itinerary (150 words)

"Someday," Martha said as she stared out the TARDIS door into pitch black night -- rather than the promised 'glorious nature reserve, the most botanically fascinating place in a hundred light-years and two millennia, and around noon the angle of the sunlight strikes rainbows from crystals in the tree bark; you'll love it' -- "just once, you are going to land us on a planet at the correct relative time of day, at which point I will applaud madly, but for now, you owe me tea, a good fry-up breakfast, and a pirated copy of the third season of that Rigelian soap opera whose name I can't pronounce, because there is no way in the world I'm going to risk breaking my neck for plants I can't even see."

Outside on the gravel path, the Doctor pouted: "Oh, but Martha, think of the stargazing we could--"

"No," Martha said, and shut the door on him.

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( 16. ) For silvr_dagger: Any fandom (or original), any characters or pairings, the princess in the tower, written 12/6/15 [AO3 version]

none of these rescues, please (425 words)

"Pardon me, but are you all right in that tower? If not, would you like any assistance in getting out?" Daystar called up toward the narrow window in the ivory spire that had mysteriously appeared on the Enchanted Forest's northern fringe.

"Thank you, but no. The room is enchanted to take care of most things, I have a mirror to call my sister if I get bored, and I think I've made more progress on my novel in the past two days than in the previous two years," a young woman called down -- a princess, judging by the length of her flax-gold hair and the silver tiara she wore, though Daystar didn't think he'd ever met one who wanted to be a novelist before. He wondered what quest she had gotten tangled up in.

"You won't stay uninterrupted forever," he said. "Magical towers always attract princes and knights, and most of them won't believe you if you say you don't want a rescue."

"I suspect they'll change their minds if I toss enough ink out the window," the princess said. "Or I might be able to convince them I'm an oracle instead of a princess -- my parents are passionate believers in astrology and I can spout gibberish for hours. Actually, that reminds me..."

She reached up and unpinned the tiara from her hair. "Behold my cunning disguise!" she said, as she tossed the tiara over her shoulder into the depths of the tower. "I'll cut my hair, too. I know I saw a pair of scissors somewhere around here."

"That might work, but you'll still be spending hours on conversation instead of writing," Daystar pointed out. "Why not borrow a guest suite in the castle instead? Oh! By which I mean the royal castle of the Enchanted Forest. I'm Prince Daystar; my apologies for not introducing myself sooner."

The princess flapped her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it! I'm Crown Princess Meliora of Stowe-on-Moor, and I've had enough of castles to last another twenty years. I'm sure yours is very nice!" she added hastily. "But I like having a place all of my own without other people banging around upstairs, downstairs, and right next door. I can put up with a few knights in return for that."

Daystar doubted that she completely understood what she was letting herself in for; judging by his mother's stories, a few knights would rapidly become a flood. Still, it was her choice.

He left Meliora the gargoyle's mirror address and an invitation to call if she ever wanted to borrow some books.

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Note: An Enchanted Forest Chronicles fill, obviously, set sometime after "Talking To Dragons". :D

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( 17. ) For silvr_dagger: Mad Max: Fury Road, any characters or pairing, the gift of water, written 12/7/15 [AO3 version]

I lift my lamp (175 words)

Four hundred and thirty-three days later, Max slowly turns the radio dial in his newly scavenged car, listening for scraps of signal in the static: electricity is rare these days, but there are still satellites overhead and some enclaves broadcast boastful warnings that help him evade and avoid potential trouble; a voice fades into coherence -- a woman, he notes; men are more common, since people assume there's more weight behind their threats -- and he waits to hear the next set of coordinates to add to his map.

It's only when he's laboriously picking the numbers and landmarks out on the fabric that he realizes this recording is a welcome instead of a warning, that he knows the woman's voice, and that Furiosa is offering water to all those who thirst: calm and fearless, as if she isn't calling catastrophe down on her head and all those around her.

He listens through another repetition, stares toward the horizon as if he could see the Citadel beyond the desert and the hills.

Then he turns the wheel and begins to drive.

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Note: The satellites and radios are courtesy of a really neat Tumblr post on the subject, which I immediately wanted to do something with.

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( 18. ) For silvr_dagger: Any fandom (or original), any characters or pairings, salvage, written 12/7/15 [AO3 version]

shall be reborn (125 words)

Furiosa leads a caravan back to the wreckage two days later -- sooner than she should, with three settlements still in chaos and flux and her own repairs so fragile, but symbols are important and she's always run her rigs on the mantra of leave no crew behind. The Rock Riders have already begun picking over the carcasses of both cars and humans, but they scatter into the hills at the blare of engines and horns, too battered to risk another confrontation after the last two.

She brings the War Rig home; her other half is past repair itself, but its parts will let blackthumbs resurrect other vehicles, as the bodies of the war boys' brothers will find new life in the green they help to grow.

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Note: Yet another Fury Road fill.

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And that is that... for now. *evil grin*

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Master List of Elizabeth Culmer's Fanfiction: Miscellaneous Fandoms
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Organization: This list is organized alphabetically by fandom. Within each fandom, it's arranged first by associated story cycles (if applicable) and then by date. Word counts and writing dates are approximations.

Content/Warning Policy: 1) I am not consistent about warnings! I use them when I remember, for a few relatively broad categories of potentially problematic content, but if something is off-page, non-explicit, or generally backgrounded, I probably won't think to note it in the metadata. 2) The things I try to warn for are explicit sex, rape, murder, torture, cannibalism, incest, depression/suicide, familial dysfunction, and occasionally also societal dysfunction (aka dystopia). Sometimes I just slap a general content warning on all my fic for a given fandom and don't label each individual fic. I also don't generally warn for violence, unless the violence in a fic is dramatically out-of-step with the violence in its source canon. 3) I don't use any content rating system unless I'm posting to a site or community that requires or encourages ratings, because I find movie-style ratings counter-intuitive when applied to written fiction, and not particularly useful for anything other than denoting the presence of explicit sex, which I already note in the metadata.

Quality Rating System: I've marked my favorite stories with asterisks, on a scale of 1 to 4. The more asterisks, the more I like the story. This doesn't necessarily mean that stories without asterisks are bad, just that I don't like them as much. Also, I am not claiming to be an arbiter of taste; you may love stories I dislike, and vice versa. I am just providing a heads-up about the ones that I think are best written and/or most interesting.

Notes: Outside of my main fandoms, my fanfiction writing tends toward resolving plotholes and other canon problems, the creation of backstory (which is itself a form of problem-solving, where the problem is a gap in canon information about a character or an event), or prompt responses (often for Yuletide). Therefore, almost all the stories on this page are an expression of dissatisfaction with canon, of curiosity about what lies behind the canon we see, or of an attempt to satisfy somebody else's heart's desire. Once I've resolved a problem, filled a gap to my own satisfaction, or answered a prompt, I generally have nothing further to write in that fandom, which is why these subsections have so few stories.

Anyway, there's a lot of random stuff on this page, and some of it I look back on and wonder what on earth I was thinking, but overall I do like most of these stories -- probably because when something bugs me so much that I write a story to fix or explain it, or when I am writing to make someone else happy, I care enough to give my best effort.

Where To Read: As always, if an AO3 version exists, it is definitive. FF.net versions are definitive in the absence of an AO3 version. Journal versions are the equivalent of beta drafts, though the shorter and/or fragmentary works may never be posted anywhere else.

Contents: American Gods, An Ash-Blonde Witch, Arthurian Mythology, Batman, the Bible, the Black Jewels series, the Bourne trilogy, Chalion, Charlotte's Web, Children of the Star, Code Geass, Damar, Death Note, Discworld, Doctor Who, Dragonball Z, fairy tales, Girl Genius, The Girl with the Silver Eyes, Glee, Gormenghast, Hamilton, Haroun and the Sea of Stories, Hexwood,The Homeward Bounders, Howl's Moving Castle, Labyrinth, Lord of the Rings, Lucifer (comics), Mad Max, Merlin, Murderbot Diaries, the Oz books, Pern, Ranma 1/2, Rise of the Guardians, Sailor Moon, Saiyuki, Seaward, Shakespeare, Stargate: SG-1, Star Wars, Tam Lin (Pamela Dean), Vorkosigan Saga, White Collar, Wolf Hall, X-Men, and Yu-Gi-Oh!.

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( American Gods )

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( An Ash-Blonde Witch )

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( Arthurian Mythology )

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( Batman )

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( The Bible )

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( Black Jewels )

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( Bourne trilogy )

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( Chalion )