#deathly toll bells

[captainmvf]

Trying to draw my characters again. What if an alien vampire (Candy) was in an immortal marriage with eldritch terror (Deathly) and were both bisexual?

[templarkicker]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61756108/chapters/159510235

“There you are!” Rook said fondly.

Vorgoth made his way towards Myrna and offered her the steaming cup which she took gracefully. 

“Thank you, my nocturne dream.” She lifted the porcelain to her lips and took a dainty sip, letting out a content sigh. 

“Nocturne dream, huh?” She snickered only for a moment, until Vorgoth laid a heavy hand down on Rook’s shoulder. His large golden bracelets collided together with the movement, and rang out like the deathly tolling of a bell.

“BACK STRAIGHT, AND FOCUS. CHILD.” He chastised and Rook felt her shoulders pull back and unconsciously straightened her posture.

Chapter 9 of my Emmrook AU!

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 35 | I'm Comin' Home

Chapter Thirty-Five | I’m Comin’ Home

Lyn waisted no time in snagging her phone out of her bag and propping it up on her desk for Parker to use. The teenage Borrower was pacing back and forth as he contemplated what he should say first. What should he tell her? Was she angry with him? Frustrated? Disappointed? All of the things he felt himself?

When Lyn propped up the phone and he saw the digital dial pad, he felt himself freezing up. Something about the glow of the phone made Parker feel more apprehensive than ever. Compared to all of his other decisions, this one gave him pause.

It wasn’t until he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder from the tip of Lyn’s finger that he felt a surge of courage in him. The encouraging look in her eyes helped support him. He tilted his head over and gave her finger a thoughtful headbutt as he reached out and pressed the numbers onto the screen.

“Do you want some privacy?” asked Lyn.

Parker thought about the whole situation and then shook his head.

“No, if that’s okay. If… If I need you…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence. Lyn seemed to understand Parker’s fears and, in a moment, would be there to help him.

Gosh, I really like this girl.

Parker leaned over and pressed the “Talk” button and put the phone on speaker. The dial tone made him jump and sounded like fateful tolling bells. Each ring, Parker anticipated his mom to pick up the line, but it didn’t.

The first call rang all the way through to voicemail, which alarmed Parker. His mom never missed a call, and she certainly wouldn’t be away from her phone if something important was going on.

His heart flipped nervously against his ribs as he redialed the number.

Same thing.

Each ring felt like an eternity, and the sound of the click before the voicemail made Parker feel sick to his stomach.

Where’s my mom? What’s going on? Is she okay?

~~~^*^*^~~~

Amanda stared at the ceiling of her room with a completely blank stare. Everything hurt, but not half as much as her heart. Every beat made her heart feel like it was tearing in half. Like a shred of paper being pulled apart, each thump of her heart tore the seam.

Her eyes were dry from hours of crying. A dull headache kept her conscious, but the sleepless nights kept her exhausted. She knew she hadn’t eaten for the past few days, but she didn’t feel hungry.

“Amanda? It’s alright. We’ll try a different path tomorrow.” Amanda could barely hear Kers’ voice over the sound of her thumping heart in her ears. He was standing on her bedside table, which only made her choke up. The way he stood and the way his shadow hit the wall reminded Amanda of Parker. It was the same bedside table Parker had lived on for many years before getting a room of his own.

“Amanda? You need to eat.” It was a good suggestion from the little Borrower man, but it was no use. If she ate anything, Amanda knew it would come back up within minutes. Instead of getting up and eating something that wouldn’t upset her stomach, she elected to continue laying in bed and watching the sun set lower and lower on the horizon. The shadows cast menacing faces across the room, reminding Amanda that her son was out there with those shadows.

“Amanda? Don’t give up. Parker is out there, and we’re going to find him,” said Kers. When Amanda didn’t respond once again, the Borrower decided it was time to get some rest. He would need to push himself to his limits the next day if Amanda was going to make any sort of recovery.

For the past couple days, Kers had swallowed his nerves and had stepped into the clutches of a human – something he was deathly afraid of – just to find a fellow Borrower. By all reasoning, he should be rejoicing that a Borrower managed to escape the clutches of his human captor, but that wasn’t the case at all. A mother was missing her one and only son. Size didn’t matter.

Family mattered.

The two of them had scoured the streets up one side and down the other to make sure Parker wasn’t on the sidewalks. Amanda had stayed out in the open while dropping Kers off by the base of trees and various holes to peer inside and investigate. From the highest branches to the lowest spaces, the two of them combed through the area inch by inch.

Alas, no Parker.

It was a final act of desperation for Amanda to actually drive her and Kers to the park where she found her son all those years ago. Amanda confessed that she told Parker that he was hiding under the bench of his childhood home, and something was telling her that Parker was going back to that space.

The two of them went out and explored the park and the route back, but the only thing they saw was a little girl riding on her bike. For a moment, Kers felt the hair raise on the back of his neck, but he dismissed it. He usually got those sensations when he was apprehensive of someone. It was an instinct that signaled when someone was dangerous.

Thankfully, the girl didn’t stay around for more than a few minutes and it let Kers slip out of Amanda’s pocket to go exploring nearby. There, Kers found a set of small footprints which he told Parker’s mom about immediately. He also told her about the little cross and the name “ZEKE” scratched into the base of the bench.

This peaked Amanda’s spirits and she tirelessly combed through the entire area in search of her son. The long shot proved unsuccessful sadly.

They had returned not too long ago, and Amanda had been practically unresponsive for the past hour as Kers sketched a search map and potential areas that Parker might have gravitated toward.

Now, after so long, Kers decided he just needed to leave Amanda to her own devices.

There was little to nothing else he could do now except to dedicate every waking moment he could to finding Parker.

So, there she was. Amanda was alone and staring at the ceiling. Everything she never wanted to happen came to pass, just like all those years ago when her husband left her. No matter what she did, it was the wrong decision.

Her mind continued to spiral as every decision and debate flashed in front of her eyes. Each time wrenched at her heart. She swallowed, her throat feeling like sandpaper, and closed her dry eyes. No consolation was there in the darkness for her. No comfort. Only buried grief.

Amanda nearly turned over to hide herself under the covers when she heard something on her bedside table. Heart jumping into her throat, she whipped around quickly toward the sound. She was both crushed and stunned when she saw a new face looking back at her.

It was the face of a woman, and she was a Borrower. She had pale, glacier blue eyes and dark brown hair that had been tied up into a kind of messy bun. She was wearing a very simple shirt and pants that cut off right below her knees, which Amanda only noticed because of the prosthetic leg the woman was wearing.

A yarn line attached to her hip and a hook in her hand, she looked at Amanda with eyes full of sympathy and cautious trust. The Borrower said nothing in the moment. She simply began winding up the line after attaching the hook onto a belt that hung on her hip. Once finished, she stepped up to the edge of the bedside table lamp and she sat down on the lip of the base.

“Hello, Amanda,” she said quietly. “My name is Mira, and… well… I just wanted to come down and tell you how sorry I am. All of us are worried about your boy, and we all want him to come home safe.” Amanda shivered and laid back down, this time facing the light and Mira. The darkness of the room closed in fast, leaving only the bedside lamp illuminating the space.

“All of you? You sure?” she said bitterly.

“Yes, of course,” Mira insisted. Amanda couldn’t meet this new Borrower’s gaze for long. There was something intense about it that she didn’t see when she looked at Kers. Her son’s words played in her head, which involuntarily forced Amanda’s chest to constrict.

“Parker said you all thought he’d been captured; that I’d taken him from his family.” Amanda knew her voice sounded defeated, and it made Mira squirm.

“I… I know,” sighed Mira. “And we know that wasn’t the case. Not now anyway. From someone… like us… well… we have to jump to conclusions like that to keep ourselves safe. When… my daughter came to Parker, she only had his best interest at heart. It was the wrong decision, and I’m sorry for that.”

Amanda glanced up and met Mira’s gaze. From one mom to another, Amanda could see the genuineness in her eyes. There was true remorse in her words. It didn’t change anything, but hearing it brought a drop of comfort in the bucket of tumultuous emotions swirling in Amanda’s heart.

“Thank you,” mumbled Amanda finally as two realizations clutched her tight. “But that won’t bring him home; and even if he does come home, he won’t want to be with me. He’ll want to stay with a family his own size.” Fresh tears stung Amanda’s eyes. She turned toward the pillow to hide her face. It was heart wrenching, but to Amanda it was all too true.

“Amanda. Amanda, no. That’s not what will happen. Listen to me.” Mira’s voice drifted through the air like a spring breeze. “Parker will make it home, and he’s your son. He knows this. He loves you, Amanda. I know it.”

The silence between them was tangible. Even though Amanda had tried reassuring herself of all of these things a million times over, hearing it come from someone else who knew the love of a mother somehow let the message sink in. Amanda pulled her face out of her pillow to look into Mira’s glacier blue eyes, this time able to meet her gaze for more than a few seconds.

The intense moment between the two of them unfortunately was shattered when Amanda’s phone suddenly began buzzing. It was so loud that it made Mira leap toward the edge of the table, hook in hand. The two of them glanced at the rectangular box as an unknown number came onto the line followed with the words, “Unknown Caller.”

To Amanda, this felt like another scam caller. She’d gotten so many calls earlier from different numbers, and this one felt no different. She reached over and tapped the silence button.

“Sorry,” Amanda apologized. “I’ve been getting a lot of random calls today, as if I need something else to deal with.”

“It’s… okay,” breathed Mira. She was obviously trying to calm herself down. “I think all of us are a little on edge, Kers included. I don’t think he’s slept in a few days.” Amanda, hearing this, felt surprised. She glanced over at Mira whose hand was over her heart as she breathed deep, calming breaths.

“He hasn’t?” she asked. Mira shook her head.

“No. He’s been gridding out the entire neighborhood on the roof. He’s probably out in the yard right now if I’m being honest,” said Mira.

Again, the phone began to ring.

Same number.

Weird. They didn’t leave a message either. Probably wrong number. If it calls again, I’m telling them wrong number.

“He’s… a decent guy. I wish there were more guys like him out there,” stated Amanda as she watched the call click to voicemail. “I… well… thank you for coming down. I should tell him the same thing when I see him again.”

“And if we see or hear anything, I promise I’ll come down directly,” stated Mira. “You have my word.”

“I certainly hope you hear something,” sighed Amanda. “I just hope he’s safe an…”

Again, the same number came up on her phone. Amanda had enough. She carefully reached over and snagged her phone off of her bedside table which was a few inches away from Mira and swiped the talk button.

“Hey, I see you’ve called a few times. I think you have the wrong number. Please, don’t ca-.”

“Mom?”

Amanda’s heart stopped. Her entire body shuddered as she clutched her chest. Never before had she heard something so sweet in all her life.

“Parker?!”

On the other side of the line, Parker could’ve jumped to the roof he was so happy. He was terrified as he heard his mom’s voice trying to dismiss the call, but now that he heard her voice fresh tears sprung to his eyes. He hadn’t expected to get choked up, but now all of the words he had attempted to rehearse moments ago were completely blank.

“Parker? Are you there? Please…” He heard his mom choke on a sob, which only made his heart clench. He knew he was the cause of her pain, and he would’ve given anything to take it all back.

“Yeah…. Yes, mom, I’m here,” Parker swallowed, biting his lower lip. He felt himself rocking back and forth slightly as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Are you safe? Where are you? Whose phone are calling from? Oh, Parker… I was so worried.” Amanda’s mind was racing. Was he in danger? Was he, as the other Borrowers said, “caught?” Had he managed to find a random phone and get it to work? How many seconds did she have before the call dropped because the battery ran out of juice?

“I know. I know. I’m… I’m safe. I… I found a friend,” sniffled Parker. “Mom… I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, mom. I… I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought I had something I n-needed to do.” Each word barely cleared his constricting throat.

“Oh… oh Parker. I know. Shh… I know. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re safe,” said Amanda. Relief battled the feeling of compression in Amanda’s chest as she listened to her son’s voice. Mira, eyes wide and an immense smile on her face, was also jumping for joy as she listened to the one side of the call. Tears were glistening in the corners of her eyes as she watched Amanda’s reaction.

Before, the Borrower mother wouldn’t have guessed she’d ever witness this level of love and care from a human mother to a Borrower child – and yet it was happening right there in front of her.

“Where are you? You said you found a friend? Who is it?” Amanda couldn’t fire off her questions fast enough.

“It’s… It’s Lyn, from school. She’s here right now actually. Say hi, Lyn,” said Parker as he glanced back at his friend. Lyn’s eyes widened momentarily at being put on the spot, but she quickly regained her composure before leaning closer to the phone.

“Hello, Ms. Silverstein. This is Lyndsie Sullivan, one of Parker’s classmates. It’s nice to meet you, virtually at least,” Lyn said giving a slightly nervous chuckle as she attempted to lighten the mood.

“Lyndsie? Yes! Parker’s told me so much about you,” sighed Amanda as she breathed a sigh of relief. He was at least with someone who he trusted, which only partially relieved Amanda’s nerves.

“Oh? Really? Well, all good I hope. It’s been a pleasure getting to meet Parker in person. You have a wonderful son,” replied Lyn as she glanced down at Parker and winked at him. Parker’s heart jumped into his throat as his cheeks burned scarlet. The same uncomfortable warmth returned as he directed his attention back to Lyn’s phone.

“Ah… well… thank you. He’s certainly very special,” stated Amanda. “And I’m sure this has been… a bit of a shock with Parker being... well… a bit… different.”

“Mom, she knows… about Borrowers,” interrupted Parker. Amanda felt completely stunned as she heard Parker use the word. She was more astounded that someone else knew about the existence of these small beings.

“But… how?”

“It’s a long story, but let’s just say there’s a lot we can talk about if you want to know more,” replied Lyn. “But I think what matters more… Parker.” Lyn’s prompt was enough for Parker to know exactly where she was going. He could practically read it in her face.

“Yeah, I… well,” Parker took a breath and braced himself. “I… mom… can… can I come home?”

“Of course, Parker. Of course you can. You’re always welcome home,” Amanda’s response took barely a moment to reach the teenage Borrower boy. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I… I was afraid that… after what I did… that you wouldn’t want me anymore. I… I hurt you, and I didn’t mean to,” muttered Parker. “I didn’t know if you’d forgive me after what I said and with me leaving, I….”

“Parker, you are always welcome home; and you are always wanted. Don’t let yourself think otherwise. I’ve always loved you. You’re my son. That will never change,” reassured Amanda. The tension in Parker’s shoulders released as he hid his face in his bandaged hand.

“I… Mom… I missed you,” Parker mumbled.

“Oh, Parker, I missed you too. I love you, sweetheart,” echoed Amanda.

“I love you, mom.”

Lyn watched Parker wiping the tears away from his eyes as his shoulders shivered and shook while the Borrower teen’s fears slowly melted away. She could only imagine that his mom was doing the same thing.

“Um… Lyndsie, I know this whole circumstance is… unique,” Amanda said after a minute of silence while she and Parker composed themselves. “But if you could forward your address to me, I would really appreciate it.”

Suddenly, a million other issues slammed themselves right into Lyn’s lap, and now she was in a predicament.

“Um… well… here’s the thing,” Lyn started. The nervousness that was slowly dissipating in Parker suddenly shot back up. He turned around to face Lyn as he noticed the hesitation in her tone. His stomach clenched as he feared the worst – that Lyn was suddenly having a change of heart.

Amanda, at the same moment, thought the same thing. Immediately, her hands started to tremble. She put Parker on speaker and began frantically searching on how to trace or track a call on her internet browser.

“Lyndsie? What is it?” asked Amanda. Parker knew his mom’s voice well enough to know when she was feeling nervous. She was obviously trying to keep calm, and Parker was starting to think he should do the same.

“I mean… it’s nothing serious, but we do live in a gated community. My parents don’t know Parker is here and I don’t plan on telling them because, obviously, no one is supposed to know about his size. If a strange woman shows up with the gate code and knocks on the door, it’s going to look suspicious to my parents unless we align our cover story.

“So, when I go down for dinner here in a bit, I’ll let them know that my classmate’s mom is going to stop by because we have a project we’re working on together and he needs some stuff that I have. They’ll probably invite you in and ask you some questions about the project, which will be our science project, and then I’ll come grab you and then we’ll be good to go. Sound like a plan?”

Amanda breathed a silent sigh of relief as she pressed her hand to her chest.

“Yes, that sounds good to me. Good thinking, Lyndsie,” breathed Amanda. Parker grinned and nodded.

“Always thinking ahead,” he sighed admirably.

“Great. Then give me ten minutes or so and then you can head on over. I’ll text my address. I don’t think we live that far away,” said Lyn. She reached over Parker and quickly punched in a series of numbers and letters that spelled her address as well as the gate code. “And, um… Ms. Silverstein… would it be okay if I came by tomorrow and visited Parker?”

There was a brief beat before Amanda replied, “I think that would be alright.”

Parker’s cheeks flushed pink. After everything, he was a bit worried he would be on complete lockdown. There was no doubt there would be consequences to his actions which he was more than willing to accept after everything he put his mom through, but at least he could finally start seeing one of his friends in person.

“Great. Then… I guess I’ll see you here soon. Drive safe,” said Lyn.

“Yes, I will see you very soon; and Parker, I love you.” Amanda choked a bit on the words.

“I’ll see you soon, mom. I love you too.” Parker stepped forward and pressed the little red icon, ending the call. Parker breathed a sigh of relief before glancing back at Lyn.

“Thank you, Lyn.”

She smiled and reached over to give Parker a nudge on his uninjured shoulder.

“Anytime,” she breathed. Then, with a wink, she added, “You’re lucky you’re so cute. If I didn’t like you, you’d be completely out of luck.”

Parker, caught off guard, was blushing harder than he’d ever done before in his life. Every hair was standing completely on end as he shivered, a pleasant rush racing up and down his spine.

“Y-you… like… what?” he stammered. Lyn grinned knowingly as she pushed herself up away from the desk.

“You heard me. I didn’t stutter.” Lyn shrugged one shoulder sassily as she eyed Parker before she walked toward her door. “Now, I’ve got to give my parents a heads-up and find something to hide you in.”

With that, Lyn left the room. Parker listened to her fading footsteps and muffled conversation, but that was far from the first thing on his mind. Her words alone put him on cloud nine. If they meant what he thought they did, then things were really starting to look up for him.

Though his trust with his mom would take time to rebuild and consequences were undoubtedly waiting for him, the horizon was looking brighter by the moment. He’d been given a second chance, and he was about to make the most of every moment.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[spineless-lobster]

Okay so idk how old the chthonic gods officially start their jobs but considering Than is death incarnate he had to start his gig pretty early right? (Even if charon or hermes acted as psychopomps before him)

So like imagine you’re just some guy, right? You die peacefully in your bed or whatever and you expect to see a tall, grim, apathetic god to appear and guide you to the underworld. You hear an ominous bell toll and the world around you turns a deathly green, this is it.

*poof*

“Deaf a’ppoches.”

In front of you hovers a child, no more than around five years hold, struggling to hold a comically large scythe. In his arms he clutches a soft toy mouse.

Like the idea of death himself being a small child is so funny to me like what do you mean this little twerp is gonna send me to hell?

[museincarnate]

Ghost and his wolf-like opponent were the first two to so much as budge, when the proverbial bell tolled for both sides to come to blows with one another, while Pholomena and the larger Saiyaness had quickly, by cause of the latter, become distanced from the other warriors engaging in battle; leaving Castor and his seemingly eager opponent to engage with one another.

Even as the battle started, Ghost and Pho's feet were still on the ground, if not touching something else that was in contact with the very surface beneath them; leaving an immediate decaying of the ground out of the question, as eliminating his associates would prove foolish for the self-proclaimed Cure. His only alternative, given both his foe's earlier proclamation, and Castor's own methods of removing an obstacle quickly, would be the immediate lunge towards Yujin; reaching to so much as lay his entire hand on any part of the redhead's form, so that he could turn him to ash and dust!

Just as Hakkona, Tazz and Yujin had surmised, Castor's approach to combat was predictable, and the Son of Shuen was likely the ideal one of the three defenders to confront such a dangerous enemy. Since training with his father, the Prodigal Son had honed his reflexes to, at the very least, an acceptable degree; allowing him to react to the white-haired Saiyan's incoming hand, and counter by harshly palming the same hand's arm at its forearm, to shove it back.

However, the Saiyan of Decay would use the do-gooder's countermeasure as a means to naturally make his wrist flick; giving Castor the chance to launch a small needle, dipped in his own blood, at the left thigh of the Prodigal Son. Yujin was none the wiser to the subtle action, nor would he be wholly aware of why his thigh felt like it was jabbed by something sharp, as he had no time to get distracted against such a deadly opponent.

Instead, the agile Son of Shuen would further his strategy of keeping Castor from immediately touching him, by delivering several piston punches to the sternum and chest of his opposition; striking faster with each punch, as he bought time for, presumably, Tazz to also get her fight further away from the Saiyan of Decay, so that she wasn't at risk of being caught in the expansive area of effect, of his deathly ability, in case he was able to use it!

[oohbuggypie]

"and as he wept, he wept and said, 'Oh, my.. Oh, my.. Would to God I had died for He'"

this is fully inspired by @goferwashere 's PO!! Monster Hunter AU 🩷 depicted is Don Flamenco in his monster form being held in his last moments by Joe. the writing that describes their fight, Don's death, and Joe's regret are all below the cut as its very long. but WOW i just could not get this idea out of my head . thank u soo much Gofer for the amazing AU and thank u to the whole community for being my courage to be brave and release something a little less cutesie than usual ! 🥹 additional details i rlly want to be known::

-the tattoo on Don' torso is an altered version of that in the regular PO!! universe; the one depicted reads "COLOSSIANS 3:2" :: the verse's meaning is "Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things". this is meant to reflect his disdain for humans, and how he views them as lesser

-the stab wound placement is below Don's right pectoral; this is in reflection of Jesus Christ's 5th wound he suffered whilst being crucified. additionally, it is said that what seeped from the wound wasn't only blood, but water as well; i found this very fitting for his character for obvious reasons lol

-the lyrics above the drawing are a condensed / altered version from the choral piece "David's Lamentation", one of my favorite songs ever !

phewph okay writing time ! unfortunately i have never written angst, let alone fighting OR death .. this is also being released about half an hour shy of midnight on bad sleep so proofreading is out of the question.. this is prob a hard read but I STAY CONFIDENT ! here we gooo 🩷::

-------------------------------------------------------

Don hissed and swung his fist in an aimless direction, hearing the collision's result come in the form of an agonized grunt from the man near him. Blind rage mingled with fear consumed Don's body in a way God himself forbade, yet he continued to batter any flesh that came into contact with his.

Joe's entire being ached, his eye now burning from the knuckles that dug into it just moments ago. He clenched it shut and let the obscurity of his vision drive his instincts to wherever they were necessary. He aimed to return the punch with his own fist plunging to meet Don's stomach, momentarily knocking the air from his lungs. As Don's arms instinctively lowered to gaurd where his sore flesh was struck, Joe snarled and drew his left arm back to slam a fist into Don's cheek. The siren felt a coursing agony not only externally, but through his heart. He knew what would come, yet he continued to bare his teeth. He ripped apart anything which bothered him and felt no haunting ring in his mind. Though this time, he feared that the bells would toll.

Joe took full advantage of the temporary stun he inflicted upon Don and wrapped his hands around the man's throat. Joe kicked Don's ankle in so that he buckled beneath his own weight, dropping them both to meet the floor. Joe felt a shake within his bones, like the structures in his own body didn't want him to do this. He didn't want to. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Yet his body moved now without his mind, pressing his entire weight into the neck of the helpless man below him. Don couldn't stand the desperation that racked his body, and above that distaste, he couldn't bare to look up at the deathly eyes staring into his own. The man who he called a friend held less semblance to a human and now closer to a wraith, some wretched figure distorted by horror. His skin appeared a sickly gray in the darkness of the gym's room, and had his hands always been this coarse and cold? Nonetheless, for the present time Don disregarded the friend he once had and viewed him now as a step above a pet; competition.

Don snarled and thrashed beneath the body of Joe and locked his hands around the arms above. His brain felt like a searing gas within his head, but that lack of consciousness was immediately replaced by instinct. Don slid his hands down to grip Joe's wrists and ripped them outwards with a fell swipe. Joe wasn't spared a second to process the motion before his nose was slammed by Don's forehead. A pained cry was all his voice could manage before his vision flickered black.

-----

When he awoke, only seconds has passed since he blacked out. With a horrified start, Joe began to thrash his arms through the water engulfing him. His legs kicked in the same motion, his left heel slamming into an excruciating pressure seeming to bind his right ankle. The force released as soon as it felt his bruising strike against it. Joe desperately made strokes with his arms upwards, looking for any form of light to signify what differentiated the surface from the bottom. Joe felt a darkness reigning upon him as another figure trailed close behind, its presence growing heavier with each struggling wave of his arms throughout the pool.

Joe's face broke the surface. Without a second to catch his breath, he began scanning the area with bewildered eyes for the nearest edge. His loafers felt like bricks tied to his ankles, and the turtleneck he donned was quickly becoming suffocating. A short distance behind him, a splash breaking the water's tension drove Joe into fight or flight. His arms clawed in front of him with strokes large enough to leave his arms aching the next day, yet that same pain was his drive to reach the edge quicker. He gripped the ledge of the hard floor and hoisted himself above the edge, rushing into a position where his knees and one arm balanced his body upright. With his unoccupied hand, he reached where the bells tolled and the colors sank. Joe frantically patted his pocket for where the knife's sheath bulged.

Don arose from the water he resided in just seconds after his former partner. Joe ripped the leather from his pocket and reached into it, gripping the handle as if he was warding death itself away. His knuckles were white with pressure, and his wide eyes locked on the man inches from himself. Don's eyes were sickly and no longer passing as human; the bags beneath them were a bruised purple, and where the whites of his eyes should be were replaced by a glassy blue. His brows dug wrinkles into his forehead like malicious scars upon skin. And the worst of it all was the death-like frown that crumpled his entire facial structure; it drew his eyes in a downward spiral, and his lips curled against his flesh like desperate hands digging into anything for hold.

With his chest exposed and either arms beside him as means to lift himself, Joe raised his blade and drudged it into Don's flesh.

Don's eyes fell like the world's light upon an empty room, and the sharp inhale in his throat thrummed akin to the death rattle. Despite the metal lodged deep within his chest, he managed the strength to drag himself from his home's grasp and to lay on the freezing tile below him. Joe's hands left his mouth as he let out some visceral shout that made cherubs above weep. He scurried across the soaked floor to examine the man before him. Joe slammed himself down upon the floor and struggled to lift him, eventually draping Don's being across his own. Don's arms rested against Joe's bent knees, and his head tilted into his chest with slowing breaths beating against his sweater. The remaining warmth of his breath settling on his own shoulder resembled the comfort of a blanket upon a child's cold body. Joe felt static piercing through his brain and throughout his ears.

He slid his trembling hand to grab the hilt of his blade, yanking it from between Don's ribs with a crumbling expression upon his face. Where the stab wound remained open, Joe rested his hand on its opening and let the blood seep onto his skin. He lowered them to graze the rest of Don's torso, creating an up and down rhythm almost as if to comfort him. He felt a dread in his stomach nothing in his life had ever compared to; he had killed numerous times before this, and for pettier reasons. But the understanding of what he had just done settled upon him like the smothering embrace of a rotting being. Joe lost any remaining thoughts in his mind as small, breaking moans passed the pursing lips of Don.

Don's body felt washed by shades of baby blue. His eyed fixated on an empty and quickly fading horizon. The right side of his body held a sensation that reminded him of familiarity; dripping water and warm waves caressing his flesh. Though this time, the sea seemed to be accompanied by rainfall. Don couldn't muster the strength to look up, let alone turn his head, but he felt warm droplets fall upon his hair. The fog that began swallowing his mind didn't allow him to understand where the water's source was coming from. They dropped rapidly now, dripping enough so that they slid across his own cheeks; they made up for the lack of his own tears. The air that was becoming increasingly hard to keep in his grasp now filled with a tune, a rhythm similar to those he practiced when dancing.

"Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment désolé, oh..."

Don couldn't understand the words, couldn't sing along to the beautiful tune that seemed to hail from Heaven itself. It broke his heart a bit, seeing that one of his greatest attributes was his ethereal singing voice. But the words soothed his soul, and held this wonderous ability to make his eyes feel comfortable closing.

"Oh, mon Dieu... Oh, mon Dieu, pardonne-moi... Pardonne-lui aussi..." Joe heaved, his hands clutching the bloodied skin of Don's torso. His body shook with a might that caused Don's own body to tremor along with his.

Don wished he knew what those words meant. Don wished he could hear the voice sing in his ears forever, let the melody echo throughout the chambers of his fading mind every second of every waking moment. Don's face fell cold, and his body felt as if it was losing its occupation; but fear never crossed his mind when his vision finally began to fade. He loved the hands running up and down his body, loved the warmth cascading against his side, loved the song, he loved this moment. He let his breath soften and slip from his mind's priorities, and now focused on shutting his eyes to rest.

The last thing Don truly felt was the slipping of beads across his collar bones.

-----

Joe removed the rosary from around Don's neck and let its wooden roses slide into a pile inside his unused pocket. He vowed that the blade would make no contact with the necklace.

Joe couldn't and didn't think as he laid the body of his sweet friend down to rest away from his own. He looked once more into the drained yet softened features of Don's face; his lips looked soft against his chin, and his brows no longer furrowed in such a dreadful way. Joe stood for moments, spending minutes staring down at the body now devoid of life on the floor. The worst sight of the entire night was the wound beneath the right side of Don's chest. And even upon staring at it, running his eyes over it again and again, Joe just couldn't think deeper about it.

He turned his back from the death that loomed behind him and exited through the double doors of the room. Joe stalked off into the night, letting the world's air solidify the agonizing tears that stained his cheeks, down to his neck.

END !! thanks 4 reading if u did and thank u 2 anybody who sees this !! now im gonna go ahead and pass out it's 11:45 PM and im sick 🩷

[shinynewboots]

i love you (it's ruining my life) Raphael x Tav chapter 5 18+

AO3

Last Chapter Next Chapter Directory

In the beginning

did the world stop spinning or did i

Once the Netherbrain descended into the depths of Chionthar, I felt a silence in my head that I had not experienced since the day the tadpole was placed in my eye. It was unnerving, this feeling of nothingness. The tadpole and the ever-present thoughts in my head, whether they were mine, the Emperor’s, or my companions were gone. It was lonely, as though all that overstimulation was ripped away too quickly with nothing to fill its place. 

I looked around at what was left of my companions, those who had not had to flee for one reason or another. 

Lae’zel had called upon Prince Orpheus’ dragons and began her journey to liberate her people from Vlaakith. I could still feel the blood splatters of the prince stain my armor as he begged me to kill him after condemning him to an illithid fate. Another being whose blood stained my soul. 

Astarion ran to the safety of the shadows once the effects of the tadpole waned. No longer would he bask in the sun let its rays warm his deathly skin. I didn’t know where he planned to take cover. I hoped he would find me once the sun retreated from the sky. 

Shadowheart made a hasty goodbye and headed back towards the House of Grief in search of her parents. I couldn’t blame her. I would have given anything to have just one more conversation with mine; but for her’s to be returned to her despite the suffering Shar enacted on all three of them? It was nothing short of a miracle. 

Wyll joined Karlach in Avernus, in search of a way to not only save Karlach’s life but to try and find a way to replace her infernal heart so she could exist in our plane. I had little hope for such a thing being found, but it brought me a bittersweet comfort to know that Karlach wouldn’t be facing Avernus alone.

Jaheira and Minsc gave their goodbyes, in search of Jaheira’s children to ensure they had kept safe during the battle (with Minsc happily chattering in Jaheira’s ear about the many stories he would tell the children). She seemed to be in good enough spirits, though I could see the worry she kept only barely able to keep from brewing to the surface at the thought of her children. 

It was only Halsin, Gale, and I. A meager crew compared to the group we had amassed on our travels. I found myself still staring into the Chionthar where the brain sank into the sea. Smoke and ash whipped around in the air as the bells of the city tolled. I felt far away from the cheers I could hear ringing through the street. I glanced down at my hands. Calloused as ever but coated in blood and dirt. 

I could hear a voice behind me, calling out. It sounded muffled. As though listening with my head underwater. 

“Tav,” The voice called again. I tore my gaze away from the rippling currents to see Halsin looking at me with concern, his gaze soft. I blinked and looked between him and Gale (who looked at me with equal concern and thought).

“Sorry,” I said, scratching my nails against my palms. I liked the sting. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Don’t apologize,” Halsin said, placing comforting hands upon my shoulders. It reminded me of my father. “Come, let us indulge in a well-deserved drink.”

“I second that. And some well-deserved respite as well,” Gale said, a twinkle in his eyes that tried to hide the exhaustion the three of us were feeling. He looked at me with such hope and reverence, as a dear friend does. I knew that would no longer be the case when he learned I hadn’t stolen back my contract as I originally told him and the others who had remained behind as we raided the House of Hope. 

I could feel my soul weighing heavier and heavier with each passing moment, knowing that I owed Raphael the crown. It seemed that regardless, my soul was forfeiture, whether from contract or guilt. 

So instead of ruining such a time of celebration, I smiled at the two men and nodded my head. “To the Elfsong it is.”

As we made our way to the Elfsong, I could not look away from the bodies lining the street. There were cheers, of course, in honor of the victory over the Absolute. Yet, when I passed by a mother clinging to the lifeless body of a child that sense of victory felt hollow. There were many offering aid to those injured in the street, working diligently as groans and grunts of pain echoed through the air. My father would have offered aid, had he still been alive. He would be disappointed in my selfishness, my exhaustion. I had given so much of myself to these people. I didn’t know how much I had left to give. I tried not to look at the dying people in the street, lest I give over one more piece of myself. 

Bells were tolling in the street but they sounded closer to a funeral march than a celebratory refrain. 

It felt easy, in some ways, knowing my parents were dead. I had no one to worry about during my journey. No one to worry about me. No one I needed to search for in the haze of the final battle desperately. A sick jealousy brewed in my stomach at the sight of the mother and child. The child had someone to grieve for them. I had no one left from my life before. Who would grieve for me?

I tore my gaze away and continued following Gale and Halsin to the Elfsong. How long would Alan continue to allow us to stay at the tavern? The mere thought of returning to my empty childhood home alone filled me with a deep sadness that it hadn’t before the tadpole. And, what Scratch and Owlbear? What of the fine weapons and armor we had collected? What of the fact that I had grown accustomed to sleeping with someone only a few feet away? What of —

“Tav? What’ll you have?” 

I returned to reality as Halsin’s voice seemed to ground me to the present. We had made it to the Elfsong without me even noticing, and I found myself at the counter standing face-to-face with Alan. 

I looked between Halsin and Alan, blinking rapidly. “Uh, a flagon of mead.”

Alan smiled and nodded. “Anything for the Savior of Baldur’s Gate. On the house.”

I flinched at the moniker. I felt like an imposter, someone masquerading as a hero and failing miserably. I still had blood coating my face and armor. I wiped my face with a discarded bar towel, but even without looking, I knew a long soak would be needed to clean my sins. 

The tavern was filled with a cautious joy I had not experienced since we arrived in the city. Various citizens entered the bar, all holding some form of haunted look in their eyes. Whether that be from the attack itself or the bodies strew in the streets, who was to say the cause?

Alan handed me the flagon of mead with a wink and I took the cup greedily. The sweetness of the mead battled with the bitter feeling that engulfed my body.  It didn’t feel strong enough, but it was a start. I turned to my companions. Halsin was gulping beer like a dying man. He had told me before, months ago, that he rarely chose to imbibe. I could not fault him. Gale, on the other hand, was oddly quiet. It was not in his nature to sit back in silent contemplation.  I once again looked at the orb in his chest and found I could not overcome the guilt that came from that one look. I took a large swig of my mead. 

As if he could feel my eyes upon him, Gale looked back at me and seemed to break through his trance-like stare. 

“Coin for your thoughts?” He asked, his upbeat manner settling back over his demeanor like a second skin.

“Only a coin?” I asked, setting the mead back on the bar. “Only hours ago they were worth an Absolutist army.”

Gale smiled and winked. His face was covered in sweat and dirt. “Market value’s changed.”

I smiled softly. I would miss his humor and flare for the dramatics. “I’m just tired. So tired, Gale.”

He did nothing but nod and take a sip of his drink. We heard the sound of booming laughter behind us and turned to see Halsin talking animatedly to a group that had crowded around him. It was nice to see that at least one of us could celebrate our victory. 

I finished my mead and flagged Alan down for another, something stronger this time. 

I didn’t know how many hours passed as I sat at the bar, staring down my drink and coming to terms with the reality I now found myself in. I wanted nothing more than to head to the room we had rented weeks ago to soak in a warm tub but the idea of heading there alone with everyone scattered to the winds filled me with an overwhelming sense of sadness. 

Gale and Halsin were otherwise preoccupied with speaking to patrons who had entered the bar, all in search of a distraction for a few hours from the horrors that lay outside the tavern doors. Very few people had approached me, whether that be from the dried blood that coated my body or the uninviting aura I radiated. Or perhaps it was because no one knew I was Tav, the Savior of Baldur’s Gate; I was simply an unknown ranger who had found themself deep in their cups. 

The setting sun shone through the tavern windows. I knew Raphael would be expecting me soon, to give some kind of confirmation that I held up my end of the deal and the crown was his to claim. Maybe he had noticed the traces of my fingerprints all over his house. Maybe he felt my touch burned into his incubus. Maybe he would kill me on the spot. In the numbness of an alcohol-induced haze, I didn’t mind the thought. 

I gave one final look to my companions, the last ones left of our merry band, and nodded to Alan, who grabbed my cup with a kind smile. I wondered if Astarion would be out once the sun set. Would he look for us once he crawled out of whatever hiding spot he had taken refuge in? The waning hope in me wished it to be so; the realist in me didn’t expect too much.

I made my way towards the door, bumping shoulders with strangers as they all spoke of the Savior of Baldur’s Gate. 

Being followed by a trail of death. A deal with a devil. Innocents still suffering. Some savior I was. 

I was almost out the door when a hand grabbed my arm. Fuck . 

“Tav,” Gale asked. “Everything alright?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I just needed some air.”

“I could join you. It is getting a tad stifling in there.”

I let out a shaky breath and shook my head, finally meeting Gale’s eyes. I knew from the way my body shook that it seemed as if I had just seen a ghost. Gale looked at me with scrunched eyebrows, concern written on his face. Even without the tadpole, I knew he could read my thoughts just as plainly on my face. 

“Tav, what’s wrong?” His voice lost the easy charm it normally held.

“I have to go, Gale.” I said, pulling against the firm grip he held on my arm. 

“Tav.”

“Please let me go,” I said, my eyes pleading with him desperately. This wasn’t how I wanted him to find out. I wasn’t ready. It was all too sudden. 

“What has you so spooked?”

“Gale,” I said, shaking my head. 

��I can go with you if that would make you feel better. Offer my spells as backup for whatever monster requires your attention.”

I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. I pulled my arm free from his grip and darted down the crowded street, the smell of blood and piss once again filling my senses. Screams engulfed my senses once more. The unmistakable sounds of death. 

“Tav!” Gale called after me, setting off a wave of applause through the pub. I was already lost in a sea of people chanting my name, with no idea that their newly beloved savior was escaping right under their noses. 

And so I continued to run, heart pounding in my chest and sweat coating my brow. I ran until I reached Sharess’ Caress. I knew he was following me. But Gale was significantly slower than I was which gave me an advantage. Yet, I was no match for his Misty Step spell. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when he met me at the entryway of Sharess’ Caress while I had stopped to catch my breath. I knew Raphael would mock me if I didn’t give myself time to steady my breathing. 

“Tav,” Gale said, concern brewing in his kind eyes. “What is going on? Are you alright?”

I shook my head, like a child.

“Who could you possibly be meeting here? I’m sure it could wait until—,” and suddenly the pieces clicked, and those kind eyes turned colder than I could ever remember seeing. “You’re meeting with Raphael.”

It wasn’t a question. It didn’t have to be.

I looked at Gale, my first companion, my first friend, my first confidant with all the sincerity I could. My friend Gale, who would not get the help he so desperately needed from Mystra without returning to her with the crown.  “I’m so sorry, Gale.”

“The devil, Tav?” Gale said, his tone disbelieving as his eyes raced back and forth as if to try and find an answer on my face. “Handing him the crown of Karsus? It’s madness.”

“I didn’t have a choice, Gale.”

“You did. Why else would you travel to the Hells if not to steal your contract?”

“I-.”

“What else could you have been doing besides pissing about and looting the place?”

“Gale—”

“You did steal the contract, correct?” 

I knew my mouth was open yet there were no words that came from my vocal cords. What more was there to say? So like a coward, I shook my head. 

We stood there in an uncomfortable silence, neither wishing to face the reality we knew would be waiting for us once one of us opened our mouths. The street was bustling, as the sun went down. This area of the city saw less devastation than the Upper City. I could hear the prostitutes propositioning themselves to the eligible buyers. A survivor’s discount, I heard them offer. 

Finally. Finally. Gale sighed and shook his head, his disappointment washing over me like acid. “How could you do this, Tav? I was against trusting a devil in the first place, but I trust you. I trusted you. You told me, told us, that you would steal the contract to nullify the deal.”

“It sounds so easy when it's not your soul written out in ink,” I bit out, my tone cold. The deal had made sense at the time. It was a way out of a situation that we were rapidly losing control of. Sign the contract. Get the Hammer. Free Orpheus. Defeat the Brain. It seemed so simple at the time. 

“You lied to me and at least half of our group.” He said, backing away from me as if I were a stranger. “And you’ve damned not only the Hells to Raphael but our world as well.”

I didn’t answer for a few moments. He laughed without humor. “And you’ve damned me as well.”

“I did what I had to do,” I said quietly. A meek little mouse. 

“You didn’t have to do this.”

I looked at the tattoo of the Orb peeking out from his shirt and breathed in deeply, the consequences of my actions drowning me in the open air. 

“I’m sorry, Gale.” 

Gale shook his head one last time. ”No you’re not, Tav.”

I bit my cheek so hard it drew blood. The copper taste filled my mouth as I watched Gale walk away in a disappointed silence that was so much worse than I could have ever imagined.

That was the last time I saw Gale. The pain etched on his face began to haunt my dreams just like all the other ghosts I had collected on my journey. 

I wiped the tears that threatened to spill over from my eyes and breathed in deeply. People and sounds began to blur around me, sounding like a garbled static that I always heard whenever I had been hit with a lightning spell. What did it all matter? Everyone was gone. The world had stopped spinning and yet I was the only one incapable of moving on. 

[stupidrottencat]

The church's bells tolled as a woman in a nun's habit ambled passed the wailing and grieving family of yet another unfortunate victim with an air of aggrievance for the families whose loved ones have been taken at a much earlier time than God intended. A man in a cassock looked upon the weeping crowd with despair, “Sister Perdita, this is the fifth murder this week. The police can’t find even a trace! It’s as if this evil is not of man.” The priest had uttered, turning his attention to the woman.

Perdita’s eyes widened in realization and she whipped around to look at the priest with shock, “You don’t mean that there is satanic influence, right? These victims are people who come and worship God twice every week! How would Satan get his claws around their souls that easily, Father Williams?” Perdita spoke as she trembled at the mere thought of Satan waiting outside the church to claim these people of God. “Perdita, I need you to examine and purify the old Inn in the woods. I believe there is a connection between the dead found near there and the inn itself.” Father Williams spoke with quiet confidence, “ The inn has a fitting name as well, the Demonic Inn. It can be found past the rundown mall a few miles south of the abandoned Wardens house.”

Perdita with a sense of righteous justice and hope for the end of the murders, left for the Inn. Past the rundown mall, down the trail by the Wardens house, and continuing south through the woods. The woods were quiet except for the occasional chirp or song from the birds. It was unnerving of how desolate the woods appeared. Perdita was exhausted from walking miles in steep, unstable, and muggy terrain. The birds stopped chirping. They stayed deathly silent, seeming to shudder in fear of something she couldn’t sense. Two thuds sounded to her side before stopping behind the large blueberry bushes. Through her muddled mind she finally registered the sounds. ‘Footsteps’. The word rang through her mind like the death toll she heard at the church. Perdita turned and looked at what had made the steps, only to watch as a tall shadow walked out of sight away from the now barren bush.

Thudding and panting, Perdita ran as hard as she could deeper into the woods. She caught sight of a cream and vibrant red building through the trees. Through her exhaustion she pushed herself to make it to the building. An inn with cream walls, red highlights and beautiful flowers and bushes as decorations. Upon the wall the words written in gold read, ‘Demonic Inn’. “No, no, no. This can’t be it can it? It must be an illusion or deception of evil to lure people into a false sense of security.” Perdita muttered to herself. As she collected herself and prepared to walk in she took note of a familiar smell, it was difficult to put a name to, yet it was eerily familiar.

As she pushed open the door a ring sounded out, announcing her entrance. The lobby had sturdy red fabric chairs, a dark brown wooden table carved with amazing craftsmanship, books laying upon its shining finish, and potted plants scattered here and there. Ahem. The obviously faked clearing of the throat sounded masculine in origin. She went to politely apologize for the gawking but as her mouth opened to begin the sentence caught in her throat. The desk had a gold nameplate with ‘James’ written on it and what can only be described as a demon behind it. He had ebony fur covering his heavy set body, glowing eyes that seemed to pierce the soul of anyone looking, two large horns, one snapped half way off and the other with a gold ring around it, tusks that looked like ivory and clawed hands with no arms attaching them.

“So, do you want a room or not?” James spoke with a tired and sarcastic tone. Perdita pulled out a vial of holy water and ran to the desk causing James to stand up and take a quick step back with surprise. “Return to the hell you came from, satan spawn! Let you never harm anyone again!” Perdita splashed the water onto the now much taller demon.

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with this.” James said absolutely drenched in the holy water, “You do know holy water only works on demons and devils, yeah? Well I’m not either of those so unless you want to actually get a room and stop being rude to employees just doing their job, leave.” Perdita stood in shock. “I'll take a room.” She was barely able to force it out of her own mouth. “Alright then,” James wiped his face off with a black handkerchief with gold embroidery and sat back down, “here is your key, you’ll be staying in room 123. Not to be confused with G123 which is on ground level.” James said using a slightly louder voice than normal, before flipping the nameplate face first into the desk and leaving through the ‘employee’s only’ door behind him. Near the door was a picture that read ‘E.O.M Phil’. Phil wore a black tophat with a red lace and spider lily on it, he seemed to cover his face with a white mask that only had eyeholes. ‘Employee of the month, huh? Maybe he has something to do with the murders.’ Perdita let thoughts rush through her mind as she ascended up to her room. 

‘117, 119, 121, 123… 123!’ Perdita turned back around to open the door she had just past. Inside it was illuminated by the opened window next to the door and a few lamps, the bed looked newly made and held a tv as well as plenty of decorations.There was a bathroom off to the side with a shower and bath combo, mirror, sink, and toilet. She flopped on the bed after locking the door then she realized the sheets were nice and toasty, as if they had just been dried. As the hours ticked by she could not sleep, no matter the position, how sleepy she was, or how comforting the bed and feather soft blankets were. The sound of a sheet rubbing against the floor caught her attention, thinking she was just imagining things from lack of sleep, she tried to go to sleep. There it was again, much clearer now. It came from outside her room, right next to the window. Perdita slowly got up to look out the window when a large crash rang through the halls. She dashed out her room to see a dark cloaked figure dart to the stairs. 

Chasing the figure down stairs and through a winding maze of halls, she finally caught up with them. Grabbing their cloak, the figure let out a horrified scream, “Please don’t kill me! I’m just the janitor!” The cloaked figure turned to her to reveal nothing but glowing eyes in the pitch black opening of, what she now realized was, a black blanket. “What? You’re just a janitor? Was that why I heard noises in the room beside me?” She said with confusion very evident on her face. “Yeah? Can you let go of me now, please?” The figure said, looking at her with teary eyes. “Oh, of course! I’m terribly sorry. May I ask your name?” “It’s Atticus. Nice to meet you, bye!” Atticus then turned around and shuffled over to the counter. 

Perdita then realized she was in a cafeteria of sorts. The walls were still the cream color and it had highlights of red and gold. The chairs looked as if you could sink into them and never want to climb out, the tables had red cloths draped over them, and she saw the unmistakable face, or mask, of Employee of the Month, Phil. Phil’s photo showed one very unsettling thing though. He walked on his hands and feet, if you could call them that. They seemed more like if he had put his hands and feet in cups and covered them in a black full bodysuit. He didn’t appear to have clothes other than a bowtie, tophat, and a nametag that read ‘Phil’. His body was an inky black that seemed to be a fabric of sorts, however.

She walked over with careful steps toward Phil when she noticed he seemed to be in a conversation with someone in the kitchen. The chef who went quiet and stared at her was thin, much too thin. She could see his ribs and wore an animal skin cloak that only covered his collarbone in the front and mid back on the tail end. The cloak let no light touch his face and he had very thin, long limbs that allowed him to stand almost as tall as the ceiling itself. As he stared at her quietly, Phil turned his head to look at her then trot over. Perdita tenses in fear yet keeps a confident face. “Sir, are you the manager of this hotel?” She questions Phil, only receiving a blank look. “He doesn’t speak ma’am. But yes, he is the assistant manager.” A deep, raspy voice echoes through the kitchen's opening. The tall man Phil was ‘chatting with’ came out with smooth long strides. “My name is Annex, I’m the chef of this establishment. A pleasure to meet you.” He spoke eloquently despite his scratchy voice, “Oh. I was wondering if you know about any murders nearby.” When she said this both seemed to flinch back as if struck. Annex swiftly turned and went back to the kitchen, while Phil walked out of the cafeteria on trembling limbs. “You should try to get some sleep, ma’am. You’re welcome to breakfast in the morning.” Was all Annex said before continuing to cook. Perdita went back up to her room, not without getting lost here and there.

She got very little sleep. Walking to the bathroom like a zombie, Perdita flinches at the sorry sight of herself. The bags under her eyes reached a new color of dark blue, her hair was a rat's nest, and she seemed much paler. ‘Wow, I better fix myself up before going to investigate why Annex and Phil reacted like that. Wait, Annex said I could go to breakfast. Maybe I could find information there.’ As she started cleaning herself up, she caught a whiff of the familiar scent she had smelt at the entrance of the inn. Once again she couldn’t put a name on it, only this time she felt a sense of dread with it. As if a once comforting smell turned sour and rotten. Finishing up as quickly as she could, she rushed out to get away from the smell.

“Glad to see you miss.” Annex was the first to notice her at the cafeteria door. James, Phil, and Atticus were all there with their breakfasts. Atticus looked as nervous as a man with only eyes on his face could look, wringing his hands while chewing, his plate was almost polished. Phil’s and James’ plates looked untouched, and if looks could kill, Phil would be dead 5 times over. “Y’know Phil, you are the sorriest assistant manager I’ve ever worked for. Not only are you a pain for all of us, but you give everyone more work than you do!” James kept digging into Phil when Annex spoke up, “Will you shut up already? We have a guest and this feud you have on each other needs to stop. It’s annoying and pointless.” James and Phil whipped their heads to Perdita and Atticus gave a small wave before quickly and quietly leaving. “You look dead.” James called to her when she went to grab a plate. “Well isn’t that a way to treat a lady!” She refuted, “Oh sorry, didn’t know I was talking to a lady.” He said before resuming eating. Perdita gaped at him and Annex came out of the kitchen at a swift speed. When he got in James' space, he smacked him in the back of the head, “Be nice! She is our first customer in months!” Annex spat out. ‘If they haven’t had anyone come in here in months, then they couldn’t have been part of the murders.’ Perdita clears her plate and returns to her room after saying her goodbyes.

 ‘I have enough information to return to Father Williams.’ Perdita packs her things and goes down stairs to give James the room key. “Thank you for this time, James.” “Have a good one.” James replied without looking up from filing his claws. “Miss.” Annex’s voice called out before she opened the door, “Annex? What is it?” “Please watch your back, there is someone after you.” He said before turning and leaving. James had paused his filing and he and Perdita watched as Annex left, “As vague as ever.” James then continued his filing.

‘What did he mean?’ Was all Perdita could think about while trudging through the cold woods again. In an instant, a cloth covered her mouth. Perdita gasped in surprise, breathing in the chemical. Then it all went black.

She heard a voice, distorted and the words were unintelligible, and the smell was back. She then recognised what the smell was. It was a combination of frankincense, myrrh, and flowers. The same smell Father Williams always had permeating around him. The voice cleared up before her blurred vision did, a much too familiar voice dripped with venom, “Annex did try to warn you, Sister. Yet, you left without so much as a pocket knife.” Her vision cleared to reveal Father Williams standing over her in a dim, cold, and moist room. The floor was concrete with what smelled and looked like blood in a summoning circle with sigils and 5 skulls at each point of the pentacle. Each one was human. Only one was missing. “You will be the last one needed for the ritual to be completed! I will finally be released from this hell!” Father Williams spoke in a manic and almost insane manner, “Why are you doing this?” Perdita’s voice came out slurred and slow. “I have been stuck here for years! These excruciating reminders of what I’ve lost being replayed over and over! They get to live the life I want! One I deserve! All they did was do my work! I had done everything and they just played it out! Yet they reap the benefits? No more. No more, no more, no more. No more!” Father William had slowly descended into even more mania and hysterics.

 He picked up a curved and twisted red stained dagger, “This is my freedom!” Right as he raised the blade to plunge it within her heart, thudding footsteps pounded closer. As if a herd of raging cattle thundered toward them, Father Williams whipped his head to look in panic, “No! No! They will ruin my freedom! I want to be free! Why do they want to save you? You are nothing but another sacrifice!” He cried out, keeping his attention to the door. The footsteps rumbled closer before stopping behind the door. A jingling of keys and murmuring resounding before a sharp, rage filled roar shook through the room, “Just bust the door down!” The door flew off its hinges with a deafening crash. Father Williams looked like a ghost as 4 familiar employees walked through the doorway. No words were spoken as James darted towards Father Williams and started ripping shreds out of him. Annex and Atticus hurried to her side to help her up and hide her eyes from seeing the absolute carnage that James was wreaking.She still heard the ear piercing screams. She heard the sickening sound of bones splintering and hooves clacking against a wet, concrete floor. As Annex and Atticus led her out of the room, Phil and James stayed behind to finish him off.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this.” Annex whispered to her, “We never wanted this to happen. He drove this place to ruin.” They sat in the lobby. Atticus put a soft blanket over her while they waited on the two others to join. Two sets of hoof-steps echoed through the main hall. Phil and James were soaked in blood and slumped in fatigue, “We want to send you off, Ma’am. Will you let us?” Annex’s voice was soft in worry, “It’s only fair isn’t it?” Perdita’s shaking voice showed just how shaken she was. 

“You can keep the blanket miss.” Atticus then retreated behind James. Annex handed her a silver necklace with a cross on it, “Hopefully this will help you.” He looked down, then backed up a few steps. She immediately clipped it around her neck. Phil raised his hoof, on it was a blue, dried flower. “It’s an amsonia.” James spoke for him.  She gently took the flower and looked it over before putting it in her bag. James then held out a folded newspaper. “Whatever you do, don’t read this until you’re out of the woods.” His tone was deadly serious. She looked into his eyes with slight fear. “Okay.” She nodded before getting up, “Thank you all so much. I owe my life to you all.” She walked out after hearing various ‘Goodbyes.’ 

She stumbled her way out of the woods. Her heart dropped. The newspaper held the words, ‘Inn burned to the ground with employees and owner inside! March 13, 2006.’

The inn wasn’t there. It was burned in 2006. They all died in 2006. 

Hope y'all enjoyed this! 🙂 I intend to continue with these characters and more!

[honourablejester]

5e Character Concept: Ghostly Tempest Cleric

Right. So this is inspired by this Dread on the Dockside adventure post from dailyadventureprompts that I reblogged recently. Because I fucking love maritime ghosts and maritime horror, as people who’ve seen me burble about lighthouses and Dracula and Sunless Sea and The Fog can attest. And. That last one particularly. The Fog. That is also a significant influence for this character. The betrayed mariner who returns to seek their vengeance.

Now. I could have gone Fathomless Warlock. I love a good Fathomless Warlock, and warlock will also give me Toll the Dead, which is the cantrip I really want on this character. Because the ghostly bell tolling doom for our mariner’s enemies. But. But I want The Fog. So I also wanted the Fog Cloud spell. How useful will it be? I don’t know, but I want it. I want our betrayed mariner to be able to summon ghostly fog to enshroud herself and/or her allies and/or her enemies. So. Tempest Cleric. Let’s make a watery god of vengeance. Maybe borrow some elements from Sunless Sea, the Drowned Man, Mr Eaten? Let’s have a betrayed mariner who felt the touch of the god of the drowned and betrayed. We’ll take Toll the Dead (and Thaumaturgy for ghostly bells whenever we want them), Fog Cloud, probably Spirit Shroud as we climb levels, for those summoned ghosts.

But Tempest Cleric on its own doesn’t quite have the full ghostly feeling. I did kind of want necrotic damage resistance, just for theme. Something half-dead, that is resistant to deathly energies. So race. I did look at reborn, for an actual revenant come back from a watery grave, and that is very tempting. I also looked at aasimar, particularly with necrotic shroud, because the imagery is stunning on the fallen aasimar. But wings weren’t really vibing with our watery theme. I also thought about sea elf, to pull it back towards watery. But in the end, the shadar-kai’s necrotic resistance and ghostly teleport ability pulled me in. I think I’d reflavour it slightly so it’s not directly tied to the Shadowfell or the Raven Queen, make it a Blessing of the Drowned One instead, but being able to teleport and go briefly ghostly and translucent and resistant to all damage fits so nicely for our vengeful ghost pirate.

I also sort of wanted Booming Blade. Because this is a mariner, and the sword really does complete the image? I won’t be using the heavy armour from tempest cleric, because I just prefer Dex builds, but they do also get martial weapons, so a nice scimitar or shortsword would round out the image very nicely, and Booming Blade would tie it back to tempest as well. So I think at 4th level I’d take the Magic Initiate (Warlock) feat and pick up Booming Blade and Mage Hand. Not sure what to pick for the 1st level spell, but both Comprehend Languages and Hex are tempting options. Hex might be more thematic.

And if you’re wondering about the name, which is not very elven, I wanted more of a 19th century feel, to match the inspirations. A lot of 18th and 19th century names came from classical mythology because of the whole classical revival thing, and this particular one tickled my fancy. Euphemia, meaning ‘to speak good omens’ and Pelagos, ‘ocean’. A nice bit of irony, because while she is oceanic, she is far from a good omen these days. Heh.

Character Sheet: Euphemia Pelagos (6th level Cleric)

Name: Euphemia Pelagos

Race: Shadar-Kai.

Age: 44

Background: Pirate (not because she was ever actually a pirate, but for the feared mariner element, the bad reputation)

Class/Level: Cleric 6 (Tempest)

Deity: The Drowned One

Description: A lean, intense-looking woman, greyed-out and ghostly, with hard black eyes and tangled black hair and a faintly damp sort of look. She isn’t actually wet, most of the time, and there are no barnacles growing on her armour, no seaweed tangled in her hair, but something about her makes you feel like there should be. Her smiles are small and mirthless.

History: ‘Euphemia’ means ‘to speak good omens’. It’s a good name for a sailor, and once upon a time Euphemia was indeed considered a good luck charm by ships who hired her, a whisper to the gods to send fair winds their way. But it’s not always a good idea to draw the eyes of fate, and sooner or later Euphemia’s luck, and the luck of her ship, had to turn. Not by the hands of gods, at least not directly, nor winds either, but by the hands of mortals. Wreckers, specifically. Greedy, landbound souls, who wanted that source of so many sins: money.

Led astray, drowning, wrecked among the rocks, her name a lie, her crew dead, Euphemia, in her dying moments, felt … a presence. A depthless, drowning hatred, and a bitter, salt-stained sympathy. The Drowned One isn’t a kind god, nor perhaps a particularly good one either, but its goals and edicts are simple enough, and ones Euphemia was not particularly inclined to quibble.

She rose from the waters on that rocky shore a new woman, a cruel omen with a salt-stained gospel. Let treachery be rewarded as treachery deserves, and let all who cross your path know the cold justice of the deeps.

Ideal: Let treachery be rewarded as treachery deserves.

Bond: I do still remember what my name used to mean.

Flaw: My grudges last until they are answered.

Statistics: Strength 8 (-1), Dexterity 16 (+3), Constitution 18 (+4), Intelligence 14 (+2), Wisdom 18 (+4), Charisma 16 (+3)

(Normally I would use standard array, but I rolled a 17, 17, 15, 15, 14, 8, and … I mean, if you get that, you gotta use it, right?)

Proficiencies & Languages:

Saving Throws: Wisdom, Charisma

Skills: Athletics, Insight, Perception, Persuasion, Stealth

Armour/Weapons/Tools: light, medium, heavy armour, shields, simple & martial weapons, navigators tools, water vehicles, thieves tools, dice set

Languages: Common, Elvish

Traits, Feats and Background/Class Features: 

Shadar Kai: Blessing of the Drowned Man (30ft teleport prof/day, resistant to all damage after until start next turn), Darkvision (60ft), Fey Ancestry (adv vs charm), Keen Senses (Perc prof), Necrotic Resistance, Trance (4hr long rest, 2 tool/weapon proficiencies)

Pirate: Bad Reputation (people afraid of me, get away with minor crimes)

Tempest Cleric: Ritual Casting, Bonus Proficiencies (heavy armour, martial weapons), Wrath of the Storm (reaction on melee hit (5ft), 2d8 thunder/lightning damage on Wis save, Wis/day), Channel Divinity (2/rest), Channel Divinity: Turn Undead, Channel Divinity: Destructive Wrath (max lightning/thunder damage), Destroy Undead (CR ½), Thunderbolt Strike (hit with lightning damage, push 10ft away from me)

4th level Feat: Magic Initiate: Warlock to pick up Booming Blade, Mage Hand and Hex (Cha mod)

Spells:

Cantrips: Toll the Dead, Thaumaturgy, Guidance, Booming Blade, Mage Hand, Sacred Flame

Domain Spells: Fog Cloud, Thunderwave, Gust of Wind, Shatter, Call Lightning, Sleet Storm

Commonly Prepared Spells: Bless, Guiding Bolt, Healing Word, Inflict Wounds, Aid, Augury, Lesser Restoration, Spiritual Weapon, Revivify, Spirit Shroud

Magic Initiate: Hex

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 7.14

Holidays

Bastille Day (France)

Beh Deinkhlan (Meghalaya, India)

Black Country Day (UK)

Comedy Celebration Day

Corkboard Day

Drukpa Tshechi (Sikkim, India)

Emmeline Pankhurst Day (UK)

Fete Nationale (Guadaloupe, Mayotte, New Caledonia, Reunion, Saint Barthelemy, Saint Martin, Saint Pierre et Miquelon, Wallis and Futuna)

Hondurans’ Day (Honduras)

International Non-Binary People’s Day

International Nude Day

International Sister Cities Day

Lá Cuimhneacháin Náisiúnta (Republic of Ireland)

Mad Pride Day

National Be Nice to Bugs Day

National Break Free From the Big Three Day (Bad Habits, Relationships & Stale Mobile Plans)

National Car Wash Day

National Day of Remembrance for Victims of Honor Based Abuse & Forced Marriage (UK)

National Joey Day

National La Chancla Day

National Marco Day

National Nude Day (New Zealand)

National Psychologist Appreciation Day

National Reese Day

National Tape Measure Day

Pandemonium Day

Quatorze Juillet (France)

Sage Plant Day (French Republic)

Shark Awareness Day

Silver Day (South Korea)

SpongeBob Day

Sunflower Day (Japan)

Tape Measure Day

Unaine Day (Elderly Women’s Day; Kiribati)

Victims of the Nice, France Attack Day

Victoria Day (Sweden)

World Chimpanzee Day

World Orca Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

International Macaroni & Cheese Day

Macaroni Day

M&Ms Argument Day

National Grand Marnier Day

National Mac and Cheese Day

Roasted Chicken Day

2nd Friday in July

Collector Car Appreciation Day [2nd Friday]

Kebab Day [2nd Friday]

Kilburn Feast begins (Yorkshire, England) [2nd Friday thru Sunday]

National Motorcycle Day [2nd Friday]

Sea Festival begins (Jūras Svētki Sākas; Latvia) [2nd Friday]

Wayne Chicken Show begins [2nd Friday thru Sunday]

White Cloud’s Birthday & Tatanka (Bison) Festival begins (North Dakota) [2nd Friday thru Sunday]

World Kebab Day [2nd Friday]

Worldwide Art Day [2nd Friday]

Independence Days

Ijivate of Rikuchar (Declared; 2015; subsequently dissolved) [unrecognized]

Montenegro Statehood Day Holiday (Montenegro)

Republic Day (Iraq)

Feast Days

Birthday of Osiris (Egyptian God of Agriculture)

Boniface of Savoy (Christian; Saint)

Bona-Venture (Christian; Saint)

Camillus of Lellis (Roman Catholic Church, except in the United States)

Cow Appreciation Day (Pastafarian)

Deusdedit of Canterbury (Christian; Saint)

Ellegua’s Day (Pagan)

St. Ferdinand III (Positivist; Saint)

First Sermon of Lord Buddha (Bhutan)

Gaspar de Bono (Christian; Saint)

Goat Appreciation Day (Pastafarian)

Gustav Klimt (Artology)

Humphrey Bogart Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Idus of Leinster (Christian; Saint)

John Keble (Church of England)

Kateri Tekakwitha (a.k.a. Lily of the Mohawks; Christian; Saint)

Libertus (Christian; Saint)

Matariki (Maori New Year; New Zealand)

Nachi Himatsuri (Fire Festival; Japan)

Nicodemus of the Holy Mountain (Christian; Saint)

Procopius (Christian; Saint) [Czech Republic]

Samson Occom (Episcopal Church (United States))

Whamop the Rental Magician (Muppetism)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Umu Limnu (Evil Day; Babylonian Calendar; 32 of 60)

Premieres

Anchor’s Aweigh (Film; 1945)

The Big Sick (Film; 2017)

The Blair Witch Project (Film; 1999)

Brazil, by Jimmy Dorsey (Song; 1939)

The Deathly Hallows, by J.K. Rowling (Novel; 2007) [Harry Potter #7]

Easy Rider (Film; 1969)

The Flying Mouse (Disney Cartoon; 1934)

For Whom the Bell Tolls (Film; 1943)

Foul Play (Film; 1978)

Gunpowder Milkshake (Film; 2021)

Horehound, by The Dead Weather (Album; 2009)

How to Stuff a Wild Bikini (Film; 1965)

Johnny Bravo (Cartoon Series; 1997)

Licence to Kill (US Film;1989) [James Bond #16]

Mission: Impossible — Dead Reckoning Part One (Film; 2023)

Muppets from Space (Film; 1999)

The Pride of the Yankees (Film; 1942)

The Stan Freberg (Radio Series; 1957)

Venus, by Shocking Blue (Song; 1969)

War for the Planet of the Apes (Film; 2017)

The Wearing of the Grin (WB LT Cartoon; 1951)

When Harry Met Sally (Film; 1989)

X-Men (Film; 2000)

Today’s Name Days

Goswin, Kamilus, Roland (Austria)

Kamilo, Marcelin, Miroslav (Croatia)

Karolína (Czech Republic)

Bonaventura (Denmark)

Joel, Joosua (Estonia)

Aliisa, Alisa (Finland)

Camille (France)

Roland, Camillo, Goswin (Germany)

Akylas, Nikodemos, Nikodimos (Greece)

Ors, Stella (Hungary)

Camillo, Giusto (Italy)

Loreta, Oskars, Ritvars, Selgars (Latvia)

Eigilė, Libertas, Vydas (Lithuania)

Solfrid, Solrun (Norway)

Bonawentura, Damian, Dobrogost, Franciszek, Izabela, Kosma, Marceli, Marcelin, Marcelina, Stella, Ulrych, Ulryk, Ulryka (Poland)

Angelina (Russia)

Kamil (Slovakia)

Camilo (Spain)

Folke (Sweden)

Priscilla (Ukraine)

Alton, Camden, Cameron, Camron, Camryn, Kameron, Kamryn, Ventura (USA)

Cami, Camilla, Camile, Camille, Camillus, Camilo, Came, Kaamil, Kami, Kamil, Kamila, Kamilla, Kamille (Universal)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 195 of 2024; 170 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 28 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Tinne (Holly) [Day 5 of 28]

Chinese: Month 5 (Wu-Wu), Day 27 (Guide-You)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 25 Tammuz 5783

Islamic: 25 Dhu al-Hijjah 1444

J Cal: 15 Lux; Oneday [15 of 30]

Julian: 1 July 2023

Moon: 9%: Waning Crescent

Positivist: 27 Charlemagne (7th Month) [St. Ferdinand III]

Runic Half Month: Ur (Primal Strength) [Day 1 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 24 of 94)

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 24 of 31)

Calendar Changes

July (a.k.a. Quintilis or Iulius; Julian Calendar) [Month 7 of 12]

Ur (Primal Strength) [Half-Month 14 of 24; Runic Half-Months] (thru 7.28)

[stuairi675]

Mob Frogs Stop the Bot:

Lines of my past whir constantly through my brain, tolling painfully like an ear-splitting church bell across the many graveyards of my career. The ringing, those stinging, vibrating phrases, approach me from all angles – present and future. It sometimes feels like I’m experiencing my own timeline in nonlinear episodes, a free consciousness drifting through a nebula of my own chronology, fishing out passages like strands from a vast body of water. 

As of now, they were rapids.

There was no point to subtlety - she knew I was coming - so I parked the car on the road opposite the old complex. I checked my make-up in the rear-view mirror (professionals have standards to maintain) and stepped out. I was wearing one of my nicer suits and was gripping the handle of a non-descript briefcase very tightly.

 The ground was slick with rain and the air was humid. The concrete was grey and pastel blue; the buildings, scarcely inhabited, were derelict and falling apart.

I could see, through the windows of the ground floor, lights were on. 

Someone was home, I thought.

I made a few steps towards the front door before clicking a button on the briefcases’ handle. It popped open, falling to pieces as I raised the Uzi and opened fire.

It rained glass and the lights exploded. 

There it was again. 

My father had introduced me to the business. The unholy business, the necessary evil, as he’d explained. He’d been a good, holy man once, but it became clear he had been put on this earth for a different cause. A repugnant one. He’d made it clear to me that your actions in life wash away in the blink of the indiscriminate eye of eternity, but faith - true faith - is unshakable, unbreaking.

I moved through the door, or what was left of it, with deathly silence, the only perceivable noise the crunch of glass underfoot and a clack as the spent magazine hit the ground when I replaced it.

The foyer was, if anything, in worse shape than the building’s outside – an affair not improved by my arrival. Clouds of dust and atomised plaster packed the room, the floor was whelmed with rotting carpets and the discarded detritus of a past, significantly more prosperous life. Furniture was upturned and broken, beams of wood and cushions scattered haphazardly. At the far back, from down a corridor, a glow emanated. From the way it flickered with uncertainty, I deduced it had to be from a fire.

I stalked down the corridor, muzzle trained, my grip steady. I would comment on the rate of my heart, but it’d be pointless. At least at this point in my life, it was always racing. Always.

The room opened into a wider space, a disused drawing-room.

In front of me was an armchair with its back to me. A campfire, fueled from salvaged bits of furniture, blazed in front.

In the armchair sat a figure, darkly shadowed against the flames, sharpening a small sword (the Japanese sort) with a whetstone. She was wearing a pastel grey pantsuit, her blonde hair fraying out from behind the chair’s backrest.

‘You ever heard of knocking?’ she said in a bored, dispassionate tone.

‘Not my style,’ I replied. ‘Heya, Flo.’

‘Clarisse. Been a while. You like what I’ve done with the place?’

I glanced about the room. ‘It’s nice.’

‘Bit of a fixer-upper, I’ll admit. I’m just worried I won’t find the time.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s something you’re definitely in short supply of.’

‘Don’t suppose you could consider letting me go?’

‘Didn’t you hear?’ I jiggled the Uzi. ‘I counted down so you could hide. Counted from 32 rounds.’

Flo was quiet for a spell.

‘Timeout?’

Warping, the continuum jumping left and right, stopping and starting. Starting again. Sleeping pills, grains of salt, another scheduled jab – makes them all start again, just at a different point this time. A pin on a notice bored being moved.

I stood outside Santino’s office, picking at my nails with my switchblade. A harsh buzz filled my brain, and my mind was in stereo. It was as heavy as lead.

I heard the door click open and a crooked smile. There was a rush of static, a monochromatic haze, and I was sitting before him.

‘Miss Tao, always a pleasure to be in your company.’

The office was dark, the shadows stretching ominously high and frighteningly opaque. The sun bled impotently through the bottom of the curtains in a hot, orange glare. The light seemed weaker here, diluted.

At any rate, the light was nothing compared to the glint of Santino’s smile. He was a thin, stretched man, with wrinkled, oily skin and greasy black hair. His suit was pinstriped, and he had a green tie.

‘Sir,’ I said. When this didn’t seem to be sufficient, I added, ‘It’s nice to see you as well.’

‘Oh, that’s nice of you to say. Here,’ he gestured to a bowl of sweets on his desk, ‘have a sweetie.’

I was not about to refuse his act of kindness. I took a toffee and began unwrapping it.

‘Thank you,’ I said, my teeth grit.

‘Now then, as I’m sure you guessed,’ Santino explained, ‘I didn’t bring you up here so we could have a little catch-up, as delightful as that would be – really I wish I had the time, you’re a lovely young lady.’ His grin got wider. ‘But I’m afraid we’ve got business matters to discuss. As I understand it, you were quite close to Miss Flo Valentine?’

I stopped unwrapping the toffee cube and looked up. Right into his eye. They were spilling with contempt.

‘Yes?’

The room melted.

I was outside the office. I remember Lawrence slinking about the corridors when I emerged. We had a conversation. I told him I’d kill him one of these days.

‘Course you would, you are a killer working overtime. But then you’re not a real killer are you?’ He went on in that slimy way he does. ‘You only kill the bad people. The bad people the big man upstairs tells you to. Course, that’s what we all do, we just never went as far to call Santino God, much as he’d probably like the idea.’

I punched him after that and left.

People like Lawrence didn’t understand. They had no morals, no guidelines to anchor themselves. I was good at what I did for a reason, and what other reason for that would faith dictate if I weren’t supposed to do it.

I’m a killer of killers. And in my line of work, there was no shortage of them. Now what Flo did to me personally, was just an extra incentive. 

I got to my car and had some pills to calm my nerves.

Pulse at lightspeed.

Santino had never laid a finger on anyone in his entire life, yet I felt assured in stating he had more blood on his hands than a good percentage of despots.

‘I see,’ I said. ‘I’m surprised I was your first choice.’

‘You were my third,’ replied Santino. His expression didn’t change.

‘That makes sense.’ I smirked. It was Flo after all, she was good at what she did. ‘You’re desperate.’

‘Exceedingly,’ Santino gently nodded. ‘Naturally, she’s threatening to blackmail us if we don’t let her go. Expunge some incriminating evidence to the authorities about the organisations uhh… various ventures. But I’ve seen that most of her efforts have been liquidated. I just need you to deal with her; a bit of corporate embarrassment, you understand? I know you’re very particular what contracts you accept.’

‘I’ll do it.’

There was a shattering of glass and I crashed back into the present, blood pouring from a cut in my cheek. Everything was on fire. I felt like I was in the depths of hell.

‘That was always your problem, Clare,’ said Flo, limping towards me. I could see she had a garrotte wire in her hands. ‘You took everything so personally.’

I tried to crawl away, but she knelt and dug her knee into my abdomen. She began to wrap the wire around my neck.

‘I kept things professional. I kept things efficient. I never got caught up in all this because it hurt the job. You did. Now look where you are.’

I could feel a great pressure weigh itself on my face, my skin prickled. Darkness was closing in around my vision. 

I reached down and found Flo’s foot and dug her knife from out her sock. She always hid one there, just in case. I buried it into her heel, and she gasped. 

She fell back, and I freed myself from the garotte wire. I leant forward and wrapped my arms around her neck. She struggled, but I was unshakable, unbreaking.

‘Clarisse, please!’ She gasped. ‘It’s me. We… we had something together.’

I leant forward and said to her: ‘That was a long time ago, Flo,’ and strangled her to death.

[captainmvf]

OC doodles from last night.

[seanpultz]

Three Wiseguys in The Haunted Mansion

If the Ghostbusters, Abbott and Costello and The Three Stooges exploring The Haunted Mansion isn't enough, How about three wiseguys from Tony Soprano's outfit taking a little spook's tour.

WARNING: This contains strong language

Paulie Walnuts squinted up at the towering edifice, a grin playing on his weathered lips. "Lookit this shit, Chris. This place is like someone took the Rathbone mansion and slapped a Mickey Mouse sticker on it."

Christopher Moltisanti, his eyes wide with a mix of skepticism and childlike excitement, shot back, "You're full of it, Paulie. This is Disney, not some mobster's summer home. But I gotta admit, it's got that same spooky vibe."

Silvio Manfred Dante, ever the cool head, lit a cigarette and took a long drag, the smoke curling. "Looks like we're in for a real taste of the high life now, huh?" he said with a smirk. "But keep it down, will ya? We're supposed to be on vacation, not scaring off the tourists."

Paulie, Chris, and Silvio shuffled along the winding queuing path, their eyes darting from the toppled birdbath to the eerie hearse. "What the fuck is this, a haunted junkyard?" Paulie quipped, nudging Chris with his elbow.

"I dunno, Paulie," Chris replied, trying to peer through the gloom. "But if I see one of those seven dwarfs trying to sell me a magic mirror, I'm outta here."

Silvio chuckled, flicking his cigarette butt into a bush. "Keep your cool, guys. It's all just props for the kiddies. Ain't no real spooks in this place."

But as they approached the mansion's entrance, the laughter died in their throats. A gust of wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the distant sound of organ music and a faint, ghostly wail. The air grew colder, and even Silvio's smirk faltered. "Well, shit," he murmured. "Maybe this ain't gonna be such a walk in the park after all."

"Look at these fuckin' faces," Paulie exclaimed, pointing at the busts as they shuffled closer. "They're staring at us like we owe 'em money. What kind of welcome is that?"

Chris leaned in, squinting at the nameplate beneath a particularly grim-looking bust. "Captain Culpepper Clyne? Sounds like a dick I knew back in the day."

Silvio rolled his eyes. "Keep it classy, Chris. This is supposed to be a family park."

The path grew narrower, lined with crypts and headstones that seemed to lean in as if whispering secrets. The mournful toll of a bell echoed through the air, and a sudden chill sent a shiver down their spines. "Ah, Christ," Paulie muttered. "Now I'm getting the willies."

"You're gonna love this, Paulie," Chris said, grinning. "Looks like we're going in through the servant's entrance. Just like home, right?"

Silvio chuckled, slapping Paulie on the back. "You've got that right, kid. Now, let's see if Mickey Mouse has any real surprises for us inside."

As they stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the three men squinted to make out the details in the flickering shadows. The musty smell of old wood and dust hung in the air, and the creaks and groans of the ancient floorboards seemed to be speaking in a language of their own. "Reminds me of my Uncle Vinny's place," Chris whispered. "Except Uncle Vinny didn't have a pet ghost."

Paulie chuckled nervously, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. "Yeah, but did Uncle Vinny's place have a fireplace like this?" He gestured to the foyer ahead, where a crackling fire cast a warm glow on the left side.

Silvio took a step closer to the picture above the mantel. "Who's the pretty boy?" he said, eyeing the handsome, young man in the portrait.

"Probably the guy who lost his fortune betting on the wrong horse," Chris quipped.

Paulie nodded in agreement. "Or maybe he's the one who's supposed to jump out and go 'Boo!' at us."

Suddenly a voice boomed out from the darkness: "When hinges creak in doorless chambers. When strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls. Whenever candlelights flicker when the air is deathly still… That is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight."

"The fuck was that?" Paulie whispered, his hand reflexively reaching for his non-existent gun.

Chris leaned in, squinting at the portrait. "Look, Sil, the guy's getting older. This is like watching a time-lapse of someone's life going to shit."

Silvio chuckled, his nerves slightly calmed by the familiar banter. "Yeah, or like watching you after a night out with the guys."

The portrait's subject grew haggard, his smile fading into a grimace, until the final image was of an old man, surrounded by cobwebs and decay. Just as the transformation was complete, the wall beside it swung open with a dramatic creak, revealing a hidden octagonal chamber. The light from the fireplace danced on the dusty surfaces, illuminating a single, unblinking eye staring back at them from the shadows.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch," Silvio murmured. "I think Mickey Mouse just told us to get our asses in gear."

Paulie swallowed hard, his grin gone. "Alright, let's go. But if we bump into Goofy with a knife, I'm holding you two responsible."

The trio cautiously entered the octagonal chamber, their eyes immediately drawn to the four portraits adorning the walls. A bearded gentleman in the first painting held a document with the pompous air of a mayor, while the young lady in the second seemed to flirt with her parasol, despite the grim setting. The old woman with the rose had a knowing smile that sent an eerie shiver down Paulie's spine, and the man in the bowler hat in the last portrait looked like he was about to tip it to them in greeting. "This is some weird shit," Paulie murmured, swiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

"Look, they're all watching us," Chris whispered, his gaze darting from one painting to the next.

Silvio, ever unflappable, took a closer look at the gargoyles. "Candles in their hands, huh? Maybe they're just the welcoming committee."

"Or maybe they're gonna drop 'em on our heads," Chris said, eyeing the flickering flames warily.

Paulie scoffed. "It's all tricks and mirrors, right? Nothing to worry about." But even as he spoke, the eyes of the man in the bowler hat seemed to follow him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't alone.

"Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion." The voice said. "I am your host, your ghost host. Our tour begins here in this gallery. Here, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state. Kindly step all the way in please, and make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now."

The door slammed shut with an ominous finality, the sound echoing through the chamber like a tomb sealing them in. Paulie's heart skipped a beat, and he turned to Silvio, his grin now a nervous twitch. "Well, shit. Didn't expect that."

"Look" Cristopher said, pointing at the walls.

Paulie's eyes bulged as the room stretched upwards, the paintings morphing into bizarre, macabre tableaus. "What the actual fuck?" he sputtered, pointing at the bearded man. "Is he about to blow his own balls off?"

Chris chuckled darkly. "Looks like he's got his hands full, doesn't he?"

Silvio's gaze shifted to the young lady on the tightrope. "And this broad, trying to be a circus act with a mouthful of teeth?"

"Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis." The Ghost Host continued. "Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination — hmm? And consider this dismaying observation: this chamber has no windows and no doors… which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!" Paulie, Christopher and Silvio are staring upward towards the ceiling as a bone chilling laugh fills the room. But then The Ghost Host added, "Of course, there’s always my way."

The lights winked out, plunging the chamber into a sudden abyss of darkness. A deafening crack of thunder rattled the mansion's bones, and a jagged bolt of lightning sliced through the night sky above them, illuminating the grisly sight of the Ghost Host's skeletal form, dangling from the rafters. "Oh, mother of God!" Paulie yelped, his voice cracking with fear. The ceiling had vanished, replaced by a view of the mansion's cupola, where the specter swayed eerily. A shrill, bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence, followed by the sickening crunch of bones shattering.

The lights flickered back on, and the skeletal figure of the Ghost Host disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The trio blinked, their hearts racing, as they took in the seemingly normal ceiling once more. The walls of the chamber had returned to their original state, the paintings once again serene and still. With a collective sigh of relief, they stepped through the newly revealed exit, into a short hallway lined with more cryptic artwork. "Christ, that was some next-level shit," Chris murmured, wiping his palms on his pants.

"Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you prematurely," The Ghost Host said apologetically with a slight touch of mirth. "The real chills come later. Now, as they say, “look alive,” and we’ll continue our little tour. And let’s all stay together, please."

Paulie chuckled nervously, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "Yeah, they're really going all out here."

Silvio, ever the cool customer, took a moment to regain his composure before speaking. "Let's keep moving, guys. No sense in sticking around to see if they've got more tricks up their sleeves."

As they approached the end of the hallway, the sound of a creaking gate grew louder, and before they knew it, the wall in front of them split open, revealing a grand portrait gallery. The air grew thick with anticipation as they stepped into the spacious room, their eyes drawn to the line of doombuggies that stretched before them.

"And now, a carriage approaches to carry you into the boundless realm of the supernatural." The Ghost Host said. "Once on board, remain safely seated with your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside. And watch your children, please."

"Looks like we're riding this ghost train to the nuthouse," Silvio said, trying to lighten the mood.

Paulie's gaze lingered on the moving seats. "I dunno, Sil. This might be the only way out of here."

Chris's eyes widened. "Let's just get on, I don't wanna walk through this shit."

The three men climbed into the nearest doombuggy, the ride's mechanical click-clacking setting a rhythm of unease in their chests. As they began their descent into the bowels of the Haunted Mansion, they couldn't help but wonder if the ghosts they'd encountered so far were mere illusions, or if they were about to embark on a journey through the realm of the dead themselves.

"Do not pull down on the safety bar, please." The Ghost Host continued. "I will lower it for you. And heed this warning: the spirits will materialize only if you remain quietly seated at all times."

The safty bar is lowered keeping them in place.

The doombuggy lurched forward into the stairwell, and despite the safety bar, the three men gripped the sides tightly as they angled downward. The flickering light from the floating candelabra above cast eerie shadows on their faces, making them look like ghosts themselves. As they passed beneath the landing, the candelabra swayed precariously, sending a cascade of wax droplets down onto their heads. "Jesus!" Chris cursed, brushing the hot wax off his shoulder.

They emerged into the hallway, their eyes drawn to the left where the white sheer drapes billowed with the tempest outside. Each flash of lightning painted the ghostly scenes across the fabric, briefly revealing the horrors lurking beyond the glass. On the right, the quartet of paintings taunted them with their transformation, the images morphing with each bolt of light. The woman on the daybed now lay in the jaws of a snarling tiger, the sloop was a ghostly wreck amidst the waves, the knight had become a skeletal rider, and Medusa glared at them with her stone gaze.

"Look at that shit," Paulie murmured, a mix of amazement and dread in his voice. "They're changing like a chameleon in a fucking paint factory."

Silvio nodded, his eyes fixed on the paintings. "I've seen some wild things in my life, but this… this is something else."

Chris leaned back, trying to put some space between himself and the shifting images. "Yeah, well, I've had enough art for one day. Let's get to the part where we get our money's worth and some actual screams."

"Oh yes, and no flash pictures, please." The Ghost Host said. "We spirits are frightfully sensitive to bright lights."

The doombuggy's journey continued into the dimly lit library, where the scent of aged paper and leather filled their nostrils. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the tomes within seemingly alive as they shivered and danced in the flickering candlelight. Invisible hands plucked at the books, sending them tumbling to the ground in a cacophony of thumps and whispers. A rolling ladder rattled back and forth, as if ridden by a ghostly librarian in a hurry. The chair by the fireplace rocked ominously, and the pages of a book on a side-table flipped with a sinister grace. The marble busts in their alcoves seemed to track their movement with cold, unblinking stares. "This place is giving me the creeps," Paulie murmured, his grip tightening on the safety bar.

Silvio nodded, his eyes flicking from book to bust. "I don't know what kind of books they got here, but I'm guessing 'How to Whack a Rat' isn't on the bestseller list."

Chris snickered. "More like 'The Art of Haunting for Dummies.'"

The Ghost Host's voice filled the chamber, seemingly coming from all around them. "Our library is well-stocked with priceless first editions — only ghost stories, of course — and marble busts of the greatest ghost writers the literary world has ever known."

The doombuggy glided into the opulent Music Room, the sound of Rachmaninoff's haunting melody swelling around them, played with a ghostly finesse on the grand piano. Despite the lack of a musician, the keys danced and leaped as if tickled by invisible fingers. The shadow of the phantom pianist stretched and contorted on the floor, a silent symphony of shadows. To the right, the deep resonance of a bass guitar seemed to pluck at their very souls, while the violin on the left chair swayed in an unseen breeze, its bow gliding across the strings with a mournful cry. "Who knew the afterlife had talent?" Silvio quipped, his voice a shade too loud in the unsettling quiet.

"Keep your eyes peeled," Chris whispered, leaning forward in his seat. "This is the kind of place you'd hide a body and make it look like a decoration."

Paulie's gaze darted around the room, taking in the grandeur with a mix of awe and suspicion. "Yeah, but who'd want to hide anything here? Place is like a fucking mausoleum."

"They have all retired here, to the Haunted Mansion." The Ghost Host continued. "Actually, we have 999 happy haunts here. But there’s room for 1,000. Any volunteers?"

They ascended the grand staircase, their doombuggy seemingly defying gravity as it climbed the impossible stairs that twisted in every conceivable direction. The air grew colder, the light dimmer, as they ventured into the heart of the mansion. The spectral footprints of the mansion's otherworldly inhabitants danced around them, a silent testament to the chaotic waltz of the supernatural beings that called this place home. "Look at this shit," Paulie murmured, his eyes wide. "It's like we're in a funhouse designed by a mad monk."

"Or a bad trip," Chris whispered, his voice tight with nerves.

Silvio leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowed. "I've seen some weird shit in my day, but this takes the cake."

"Well, if you should decide to join us, final arrangements may be made at the end of the tour." The Ghost Host continued. "A charming "ghostess" will be on hand to take your application."

As the doombuggy descended into the inky blackness of the next chamber, the walls around them began to pulse with a ghostly glow. Twin rows of eyes blinked into existence, following their every movement with an unsettling curiosity. "You guys feel like we're being watched?" Paulie asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chris nodded, his eyes darting around the room. "Yeah, it's like someone's got a pet roomful of Cheshire Cats."

Silvio twitched in the gloom. "I don't know about you two, but I'm starting to feel like the cheese in this mouse trap."

"We find it delightfully unlivable here in this ghostly retreat." The Ghost Host said. "Every room has wall-to-wall creeps, and hot and cold running chills."

The trio's doombuggy drifted past the second floor passageway, and the sight of the endless corridor sent a shiver down their spines. The solitary candelabra hovered in the middle, casting a flickering, ghostly glow that stretched the shadows of the doors into menacing fingers. To their left, the suit of armor shifted almost imperceptibly, as if it were alive and watching their every move. On the right, the armchair's "face" leered at them, its wooden features twisted into a silent, mocking grin. "What the fuck is up with that chair?" Paulie hissed, his eyes glued to the disturbing sight.

Chris leaned in, whispering, "Looks like someone's idea of a good time went bad. Like they tried to carve a jack-o'-lantern but forgot to stop at the pumpkin."

Silvio's eyes narrowed. "I think I've sat in that chair at Uncle June's place. Except it didn't have the teeth."

"Shhh, listen!" The Ghost Host hissed.

A keening sounding like a banshee is heard.

Paulie's eyes widened as the doombuggy slowed before the conservatory's grim display. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he whispered, his voice shaking. "What the fuck is in that box?"

Chris leaned in, his heart racing. "Looks like someone's trying to RSVP for their own funeral," he said, his attempt at humor falling flat in the face of the macabre scene.

Silvio's gaze was fixed on the struggling skeleton. "That's gotta be a record for worst escape artist," he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and horror.

The doombuggy lurched backward, sending their stomachs into their throats as they descended the eerie corridor. The walls closed in around them, the doors seeming to pulse with a malevolent life force. "What the fuck is going on here?" Paulie exclaimed, his eyes darting from door to door as the muffled sounds grew more frantic. The doorknockers clacked in a staccato rhythm, as if eager to join the cacophony of horrors. The "family portraits" on the walls were a ghastly array of twisted, leering faces, the subjects' lifeless eyes following their every move. Chris leaned back, his hands gripping the safety bar. "I've seen some messed-up shit, but this is like a fucking family reunion from hell." Silvio's eyes narrowed, his expression grim. "Keep your cool, guys. This is just the warm-up act."

The doombuggy rolled to a halt before the grandiose grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging erratically. The numbers on its face spun in reverse, the chime striking 13 with a gong that seemed to echo through the very fabric of the mansion. The shadow of a clawed hand darted across the clock face, and for a brief moment, the room grew colder than the grave. Silvio's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking to the shadows beyond the clock. "You don't see that every day," he murmured, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

The doombuggy rolled into the heart of the shadowy Séance Circle, the air thick with the scent of incense and a palpable anticipation. The trio stared in awe at the large table in the center, surrounded by a whirl of spectral lights. The high-backed chair, with its raven sentinel, seemed to beckon them closer, the crystal ball atop it pulsing with a ghostly glow. The image of a floating head, the spirit of Madame Leota, appeared within the ball, her eyes locked on theirs. Her haunting chant grew louder, the words sending a shiver down their spines.

"Serpents and spiders, tail of a rat, call in the spirits, wherever they’re at! Rap on a table — it’s time to respond. Send us a message from somewhere beyond…Goblins and ghoulies from last Halloween, awaken the spirits with your tambourine! Creepies and crawlies, toads in a pond, let there be music from regions beyond! Wizards and witches, wherever you dwell, give us a hint, by ringing a bell!"

Paulie leaned over to Silvio. "What's with the raven?" he whispered.

Silvio's eyes never left the crystal. "It's probably her pet spy," he murmured. "Making sure we don't mess with the merchandise."

Chris snickered nervously. "Merchandise? Like, the dead guys we're supposed to be scared of?"

Suddenly The Ghost Host spoke: "The happy haunts have received your sympathetic vibrations and are beginning to materialize. They’re assembling for a swinging wake, and they’ll be expecting me… I’ll see you all a little later."

Paulie's jaw hung open as they cruised along the balcony, the Grand Hall sprawling before them. "Look at these party animals," he murmured, his eyes wide. "They're throwing a shindig that'd make the Sopranos' Christmas bash look like a tea party."

Chris leaned over the railing, watching the spectral partygoers with a mix of fascination and horror. "And who's the birthday boy with the fireproof hair?"

Silvio chuckled, nodding towards the table. "Probably the kind of guy who thinks 'going out with a bang' is a good way to go."

The trio couldn't help but stare as the ghosts danced and played, their transparent forms weaving through the air like misty shadows. The rocking chair old woman was giving them a show, popping in and out of existence with a grace that belied her years. "I guess when you're dead, you've got all the time in the world to perfect your disappearing act," Silvio said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

As the doombuggy descended closer to the action, the duelists in their paintings caught their eye. The clang of their pistols echoed through the hall, each shot a silent reminder of the drama unfolding in the flickering candlelight. "Those two are really packing some heat," Paulie quipped, his voice betraying his nerves.

"And look at that," Chris whispered, pointing to the organ. "It's like the ghost of Elton John went full Beetlejuice."

Paulie's eyes widened as he took in the grand ballroom, the air thick with the ethereal glow of the ghostly dancers. "Look at these broads," he murmured to Silvio. "They're throwing a hoedown in the afterlife."

Silvio nodded, his gaze lingering on the spectral figures as they waltzed and twirled. "They've got more moves than John Travolta at a disco."

The doombuggy drifted closer to the dance floor, the music swelling around them. The dancers' laughter was like the tinkling of chimes in the wind, and their grace was both mesmerizing and unsettling. "I bet none of 'em step on your toes," Chris said, his voice a mix of envy and dread.

The three men watched in silent awe as the party unfolded before them, the living and the dead sharing a space in a dance that seemed to have no end. Despite the chills that danced up their spines, there was something undeniably enchanting about the sight.

Leaving the Grand Hall, the trio's doombuggy ventured into the attic, a place where the air was thick with dust and the smell of forgotten memories. The sound of a mournful piano playing "The Wedding March" grew louder, the notes weaving through the shadows like a ghostly serenade. The room was cluttered with remnants of a life once lived, and the eerie glow of a swinging chandelier cast flickering lights across the bric-a-brac. Amidst the chaos, five paintings of a bride with a chilling smile caught their attention. The grooms, however, had a less consistent presence, their heads vanishing and reappearing as if playing a macabre game of peek-a-boo. "Look at this shit," Paulie murmured, his eyes narrowing at the grisly display. "This chick's got more exes than a Vegas marriage chapel."

Silvio nodded, his gaze fixed on the spectral pianist's shadow. "Yeah, and she's got a taste for 'til death do us part' alright."

Chris leaned in, his voice a hushed whisper. "And what's with the hatchet?"

Paulie grunted. "Probably for the grooms who couldn't keep up with the alimony."

As they approached the final portrait, the ghostly visage of the bride, Constance, emerged from the canvas, her eyes gleaming with a madness that sent a chill down their spines. She recited her twisted vows with a laugh that seemed to echo through the very rafters. "As long as we both shall live," she cackled, a spectral hatchet appearing and disappearing in her hands.

"Fuck that!" the three men exclaimed in unison, their laughter a nervous release of the tension building in their chests. The doombuggy lurched forward, carrying them away from the bride's chilling presence and deeper into the mansion's secrets.

The doombuggy squeaked to a stop on the balcony, the Attic's horrors behind them, but the eerie party had only just begun. As they peered over the edge, the graveyard sprawled before them, a sea of spectral figures rising from the ground. The raven on the branch cawed a greeting, its eyes gleaming with mischief. The caretaker and his trembling mutt looked up, their fear palpable in the chilly air. The sound of music filled the night, a cacophony of instruments that seemed to come from every direction, setting their teeth on edge. To their left, the graveyard band played a tune that seemed to shake the very bones of the dead, while the living statues of a King, Queen, and Duchess cavorted among the tombstones, their movements as unnatural as their existence. The skeletal wolf's howl pierced the darkness, sending a shiver down their spines. On the right, the five Singing Busts serenaded them with a tune that was equal parts jovial and eerie, their faces alight with an otherworldly glow. The trio exchanged nervous glances as the ghosts grew denser, their laughter and chatter a reminder that they were far from alone in this haunted realm. The Mummy's futile attempts to converse with the deaf spirit had them all snickering, while the Phantoms of the Opera belted out their tune with enough passion to stir the very souls of the dead. The Beheaded Knight and his companions sang a macabre trio, their heads floating in the air as if in a ghostly game of catch. The ride's final act was playing out before them, and it was clear that the Haunted Mansion's residents were ready to keep the party going all night long. "Well, shit," Silvio murmured. "Looks like we're not the only ones who know how to throw a bash."

Paulie's hand tightened on the safety bar as the doombuggy rolled into the Mausoleum, the final act of their chilling journey. The raven perched above the door cawed a greeting that sounded suspiciously like a warning. "You think this bird's got any good gambling tips?" he quipped, his voice a shaky attempt at bravado.

Chris leaned in, eyeing the raven warily. "I don't think he's the type to share the wealth, Paulie."

Silvio nodded in agreement. "More likely to steal your wallet than give you the winning lotto numbers."

Then a familiar voice is heard, "Ah, there you are!" It was The Ghost Host. "And just in time… there’s a little matter I forgot to mention."

"Beware of Hitchhiking Ghosts!"

Paulie's eyes bulged as he took in the three hitchhiking spirits: a grinning Traveler, a cackling Skeleton, and a ghostly Prisoner with a knapsack full of mischief. "Ah, what the fuck is this?" he exclaimed, reaching over to swat at the apparitions. But his hand passed right through them, leaving him feeling like he'd just slapped at a cloud of smoke. The doombuggy rolled through the wall of mirrors, and suddenly their new companions were right beside them, reflected in every pane. "Looks like we've got some stowaways," Silvio said, his voice calm despite the sudden turn of events.

Chris's eyes widened as he saw the Hitchhikers in the mirrors. "Shit, they're everywhere!"

Paulie's panic grew as he watched the Traveler lean in, his ethereal hand reaching for the steering wheel. "Get the fuck out of here!" he shouted, swiping at the spirit with all his might. But his hand met only cold air.

Silvio chuckled, his eyes on the mirrors. "Don't bother, Paulie. They're just along for the ride."

The Skeleton's laugh echoed around them, and the Prisoner's hand shot out of the mirror, giving them a thumbs up. Paulie's heart raced as he realized the Hitchhikers were indeed in their doombuggy. "Christ almighty, we're gonna have to split a fare with these freaks!"

"They have selected you to fill our quota, and they’ll haunt you until you return!" The Ghost Host stated.

As the doombuggy rolled through the Mausoleum, a ghostly figure caught their eye on a stone ledge high above. It was Little Leota, the Ghostess, her tiny form shrouded in a hooded dress that made her appear almost bridal. Her long, blue hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her skin glowed an eerie pale blue in the moonlight. In her hand, she clutched a bouquet of what looked like dried herbs. "What the hell is that?" Paulie whispered, his eyes darting up to the spectral figure.

"Looks like the bride's got some backup," Chris murmured, his voice filled with a mix of awe and unease.

Silvio leaned back, watching Little Leota with a careful eye. "Keep moving, guys. Don't let her give us the stink eye."

The doombuggy passed beneath her, and she leaned over the edge, her eyes following them as if she had a message only they could hear. "Hurry back," she whispered, her voice faint and haunting, carried on a breeze that seemed to come from nowhere. "Hurry back. Be sure to bring your death certificate, if you decide to join us. Make final arrangements now! We've been dying… to have you…"

Paulie shivered, his hand gripping the safety bar even tighter. "That's it," he said, his voice gruff. "I'm not getting married anytime soon."

"Now I will raise the safety bar, and a ghost will follow you home!" Laughed The Ghost Host.

The safety bar lifted with a metallic groan, and without a second thought, the trio bolted out of the doombuggy, their laughter replaced by frantic gasps. They sprinted through the Mausoleum, their feet pounding against the stone floor. The Hitchhikers' laughter grew fainter as they put distance between themselves and the spectral partygoers. "Keep running, you fucks!" Silvio shouted over his shoulder, his breath coming in ragged bursts. They burst through the mansion's doors, the night air a welcome reprieve from the chilling grip of the Haunted Mansion. They didn't stop until they were clear of the graveyard, the lights of the park twinkling like a beacon of safety in the distance. Paulie leaned against a lamppost, panting heavily. "Well, that was… something else," he managed to get out between gasps.

Chris looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide. "You think they're still with us?"

Silvio straightened his tie. "Nah, we're in the clear."

But as they turned to walk away, a faint cackle echoed through the night, and the flicker of three ghostly thumbs-ups reflected in the window of a nearby souvenir shop. The trio exchanged a look that said it all: they'd just become part of the Haunted Mansion's eternal guest list.

[mybookplacenet]

Featured Post: Fablestone - The Alchemist Fortune by Jeffery J Mattson

About Fablestone - The Alchemist Fortune: Jack’s eventful summer in the quaint storybook town of Saint Galdramour isn’t over yet. While the grimalkins are busy defending their kingdom from the ever encroaching blight, Jack uncovers a lost treasure; the famed fortune of the renowned medieval alchemist Galdramour, and with it a formula said to turn things to gold. The right to this fortune immediately comes into question as interested parties from both the town of Saint Galdramour and the neighbouring town of Saint Gilbert stake their claim. Now Jack must delve into his family’s history to try to prove he has the rightful claim. Meanwhile in Grimperloft, Grand Duke Soxington has arrived with promises of support and aid. But what he is asking for in return, the grimalkins may find too high a price to pay. The trolls are amassing an army. No one has seen Henry in days. People everywhere are going missing. The effects of weakening magic are taking its toll on both worlds as the evil miscreants of the Otherworld are beginning to gather in Saint Galdramour. It is now up to Belle, Finn and Jack to defend both their world and the realm of the fairies from a force of nature no one entirely understands. As the summer comes to a close Jack fears his time with his Grandmother and his new friends is coming to an end far too abruptly. Jack knows he’ll miss them, some more than others, but the real question on his mind is will they miss him? Jack isn’t convinced, and time is running out. Targeted Age Group: 14+ Written by: Jeffery J Mattson Buy the ebook: Buy the Book On Amazon Buy the Book On Barnes & Noble/Nook Link to Series Buy the Print Book: Buy the Book On Amazon Author Bio: Jeffery J Mattson, a former animator now lives and works in the film industry in Vancouver where he occasionally entertains delusions of being a cat trainer for film. Despite being deathly allergic to cats Jeff came into possession of one cute kitten named Pester. Jeff decided he was going to train Pester for film, but after years of training and several auditions ultimately gave up, but not before turning Pester into a highly trained nuisance capable of breaking into people’s homes and causing general mayhem on command. Pester’s antics inspired him to write these stories. He is a queer author and does all his own art and illustrations. Follow the author on social media: Learn more about the writer. Visit the Author's Website Instagram YouTube Read the full article

[lazypoatatoes]

The Bells Toll

Bing bong the bells ring bringing an ominous sound across the town. The once noisy square falls deathly silent on hushed whispers. Mummers of what’s coming quickly spreads through out the square as some false hopes and others, the deepest fears. B I N G B O N G. The tower calls from the deepest parts of the tower. Rings being squeezed out and twisted out from the tower, each one freezing more people in place. When the final chime was heard, the rumblings began as small rocks moving on the ground to the buildings shaking with fear in intensity. Then as fast as it started, the rumblings stop and the smoke clears as the town disappears without a trace of even humans touching the land.

[brookston]

Holidays 7.14

Holidays

Bastille Day (France)

Beh Deinkhlan (Meghalaya, India)

Black Country Day (UK)

Comedy Celebration Day

Corkboard Day

Drukpa Tshechi (Sikkim, India)

Emmeline Pankhurst Day (UK)

Fete Nationale (Guadaloupe, Mayotte, New Caledonia, Reunion, Saint Barthelemy, Saint Martin, Saint Pierre et Miquelon, Wallis and Futuna)

Hondurans’ Day (Honduras)

International Non-Binary People’s Day

International Nude Day

International Sister Cities Day

Lá Cuimhneacháin Náisiúnta (Republic of Ireland)

Mad Pride Day

National Be Nice to Bugs Day

National Break Free From the Big Three Day (Bad Habits, Relationships & Stale Mobile Plans)

National Car Wash Day

National Day of Remembrance for Victims of Honor Based Abuse & Forced Marriage (UK)

National Joey Day

National La Chancla Day

National Marco Day

National Nude Day (New Zealand)

National Psychologist Appreciation Day

National Reese Day

National Tape Measure Day

Pandemonium Day

Quatorze Juillet (France)

Sage Plant Day (French Republic)

Shark Awareness Day

Silver Day (South Korea)

SpongeBob Day

Sunflower Day (Japan)

Tape Measure Day

Unaine Day (Elderly Women’s Day; Kiribati)

Victims of the Nice, France Attack Day

Victoria Day (Sweden)

World Chimpanzee Day

World Orca Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

International Macaroni & Cheese Day

Macaroni Day

M&Ms Argument Day

National Grand Marnier Day

National Mac and Cheese Day

Roasted Chicken Day

2nd Friday in July

Collector Car Appreciation Day [2nd Friday]

Kebab Day [2nd Friday]

Kilburn Feast begins (Yorkshire, England) [2nd Friday thru Sunday]

National Motorcycle Day [2nd Friday]

Sea Festival begins (Jūras Svētki Sākas; Latvia) [2nd Friday]

Wayne Chicken Show begins [2nd Friday thru Sunday]

White Cloud’s Birthday & Tatanka (Bison) Festival begins (North Dakota) [2nd Friday thru Sunday]

World Kebab Day [2nd Friday]

Worldwide Art Day [2nd Friday]

Independence Days

Ijivate of Rikuchar (Declared; 2015; subsequently dissolved) [unrecognized]

Montenegro Statehood Day Holiday (Montenegro)

Republic Day (Iraq)

Feast Days

Birthday of Osiris (Egyptian God of Agriculture)

Boniface of Savoy (Christian; Saint)

Bona-Venture (Christian; Saint)

Camillus of Lellis (Roman Catholic Church, except in the United States)

Cow Appreciation Day (Pastafarian)

Deusdedit of Canterbury (Christian; Saint)

Ellegua’s Day (Pagan)

St. Ferdinand III (Positivist; Saint)

First Sermon of Lord Buddha (Bhutan)

Gaspar de Bono (Christian; Saint)

Goat Appreciation Day (Pastafarian)

Gustav Klimt (Artology)

Humphrey Bogart Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Idus of Leinster (Christian; Saint)

John Keble (Church of England)

Kateri Tekakwitha (a.k.a. Lily of the Mohawks; Christian; Saint)

Libertus (Christian; Saint)

Matariki (Maori New Year; New Zealand)

Nachi Himatsuri (Fire Festival; Japan)

Nicodemus of the Holy Mountain (Christian; Saint)

Procopius (Christian; Saint) [Czech Republic]

Samson Occom (Episcopal Church (United States))

Whamop the Rental Magician (Muppetism)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Umu Limnu (Evil Day; Babylonian Calendar; 32 of 60)

Premieres

Anchor’s Aweigh (Film; 1945)

The Big Sick (Film; 2017)

The Blair Witch Project (Film; 1999)

Brazil, by Jimmy Dorsey (Song; 1939)

The Deathly Hallows, by J.K. Rowling (Novel; 2007) [Harry Potter #7]

Easy Rider (Film; 1969)

The Flying Mouse (Disney Cartoon; 1934)

For Whom the Bell Tolls (Film; 1943)

Foul Play (Film; 1978)

Gunpowder Milkshake (Film; 2021)

Horehound, by The Dead Weather (Album; 2009)

How to Stuff a Wild Bikini (Film; 1965)

Johnny Bravo (Cartoon Series; 1997)

Licence to Kill (US Film;1989) [James Bond #16]

Mission: Impossible — Dead Reckoning Part One (Film; 2023)

Muppets from Space (Film; 1999)

The Pride of the Yankees (Film; 1942)

The Stan Freberg (Radio Series; 1957)

Venus, by Shocking Blue (Song; 1969)

War for the Planet of the Apes (Film; 2017)

The Wearing of the Grin (WB LT Cartoon; 1951)

When Harry Met Sally (Film; 1989)

X-Men (Film; 2000)

Today’s Name Days

Goswin, Kamilus, Roland (Austria)

Kamilo, Marcelin, Miroslav (Croatia)

Karolína (Czech Republic)

Bonaventura (Denmark)

Joel, Joosua (Estonia)

Aliisa, Alisa (Finland)

Camille (France)

Roland, Camillo, Goswin (Germany)

Akylas, Nikodemos, Nikodimos (Greece)

Ors, Stella (Hungary)

Camillo, Giusto (Italy)

Loreta, Oskars, Ritvars, Selgars (Latvia)

Eigilė, Libertas, Vydas (Lithuania)

Solfrid, Solrun (Norway)

Bonawentura, Damian, Dobrogost, Franciszek, Izabela, Kosma, Marceli, Marcelin, Marcelina, Stella, Ulrych, Ulryk, Ulryka (Poland)

Angelina (Russia)

Kamil (Slovakia)

Camilo (Spain)

Folke (Sweden)

Priscilla (Ukraine)

Alton, Camden, Cameron, Camron, Camryn, Kameron, Kamryn, Ventura (USA)

Cami, Camilla, Camile, Camille, Camillus, Camilo, Came, Kaamil, Kami, Kamil, Kamila, Kamilla, Kamille (Universal)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 195 of 2024; 170 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 28 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Tinne (Holly) [Day 5 of 28]

Chinese: Month 5 (Wu-Wu), Day 27 (Guide-You)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 25 Tammuz 5783

Islamic: 25 Dhu al-Hijjah 1444

J Cal: 15 Lux; Oneday [15 of 30]

Julian: 1 July 2023

Moon: 9%: Waning Crescent

Positivist: 27 Charlemagne (7th Month) [St. Ferdinand III]

Runic Half Month: Ur (Primal Strength) [Day 1 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 24 of 94)

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 24 of 31)

Calendar Changes

July (a.k.a. Quintilis or Iulius; Julian Calendar) [Month 7 of 12]

Ur (Primal Strength) [Half-Month 14 of 24; Runic Half-Months] (thru 7.28)