#cadaver crypt

[naochow]

ive finished my painting 1000 class today with a self portrait in the style of alexander rostovs work for disco elysium. broken free of my chainsssss…..

me, 24”x24”, oil on masonite board

[mvrosecrypt]

Maybe the real zombies are the friends we’ve made along the way

[almostlookedhuman]

[nightingale-prompts]

Just your average coffee shop AU-DCxDP prompt

What do you do when you've been blacklisted from every coffee chain in Gotham?

You have to find other sources.

That is Tim's current predicament but he put out a few messages out and an informant got back to him about a new café that opened on the outskirts of the city.

There wasn't much else on it other than the fact that it was located in an old cemetery. No details or anything.

Desperate for the black icker that made up his blood by this point Tim went.

Walking down the cobblestone path Tim began to doubt if the shop was real. The decrepit tombstones seemed to be the only people here but as he passed the mausoleums he saw a single stone crypt that had a sign.

Hours:

Tues-Saturday 12pm-3:00 am

Sunday: All day

Mon: Closed

(Vlad Masters is banned)

Tim opened the stone door and heard the faint sound of violins and saxophones. A staircase led deeper to an aged wooden door.

The rusty door henge screeched as he opened the door like a doorbell. The room was a lounge with plush seats and smooth wood tables. A dance floor was in the center currently occupied by well dressed patrons. The scent of fresh dark roast coffee filled the air. A band played live music, it was a blend of gothic folk and Jazz. The booths were filled with a few patrons cheering for the performers as they drank coffee and played cards.

The counter where he could order his drink was a bar. Despite what you'd assume they weren't selling alcohol at least not yet. The man behind the counter beckoned him over.

The barista dressed in a white dress shirt and a black buttoned vest embroidered with a ribcage design. He had fingerless gloves with matching skeletal hand design. The man's face was a pale bit warm tone with a blueish green hue on his cheekbones. His lips were a dark ashen black with a subtle shine. It was probably just the aesthetic.

"Evening, traveler." His voice practically purred as he greeted the weary young man"The rhythm's alive, and the spirits are waiting—how can I make your afterlife?"

"Coffee. Black." Tim said gruffly despite to get it in his system.

"Oh, you got it bad, don't you? Let me get you something that will actually help." The bartender said turning to brew a cup.

Tim's eyes scanned the chalkboard menu that hung above the bar.

Hot Coffee Drinks:

Graveyard Brew – A rich dark roast with a hint of smoked caramel. (Tucker's pick)

Phantom Flat White – A smooth flat white with ghostly foam art. (Danny's pick)

Latté of the Damned– A spiced pumpkin latte with black cinnamon dust. (Jazz's pick)

Eternal Espresso– A bold, double-shot espresso.

The Velvet Casket – Mocha with dark chocolate and a touch of vanilla.

Sepulcher Spice – Chai-spiced coffee with a hint of nutmeg. (Val's pick)

Necromancer’s Nitro – Nitro cold brew with a dash of maple syrup. (Dan's pick)

Iced Coffee Drinks:

Cold-Brew Crypt– Smooth cold brew with a splash of sweet cream.

Chilled Cadaver– Iced coffee with coconut milk and a shot of hazelnut. (Dani's pick)

The Frosted Requiem – Blended mocha with chocolate drizzle.

Soulful Swirl– Iced latte with caramel and a swirl of blackcurrant syrup.

Moonlit Macchiato– Vanilla macchiato with activated charcoal. (Sam's pick)

Tim definitely sensed a theme here.

"I added a few shots of expresso and some dark chocolate liquor. It should get you right and some minor heart palpitations. I think I'll call it 'The Black Veil'." The barista smiled very cat-like.

"Am I getting my name on the board?" Tim quipped without thinking as he sipped the hot coffee. Actually, it was cooler than he thought it would be. It was the perfect temperature. And the taste was amazing.

"Only if you're a regular and I think your drink might be too much for anyone else." The barista laughed softly.

"So...this place is pretty um...gothic?"

"This place used to be just for the dead but we've recently over up to the living."

"Heh, I get it."

"Get what?"

Tim coughed awkwardly. He didn't want to stop talking to the goth barista yet and the quality coffee was convincing. Maybe it was the environment. It was like walking into a different world.

"So what's this place called? So I know what Im coming back to." Tim tried to sound cool but let's face it, he's been beat.

"This is the Catacomb Club. Where the spirits swing and the night never sleeps. You should come again soon, cutie. I think I got a good surge of inspiration just looking at you." He purred in delight as he leaned over the bar tapped Tim's cheek.

Tim felt his face burn, the touch felt like electricity tickling his skin. A string of babbling seemed to come out of this mouth as he tried to respond.

"Heh heh, don't keep me waiting dear," he laughed "Oh, and by the way. My name is Danny. Catch me in the early shift. My brother works the late shift mixing the alcohol. But if you want you can catch me on the stage or on the dance floor. I might even make you an extra cup or two." Danny said.

Tim found his footsteps on the way up lighter and only when he made it back the cematary gate did he notice.

He never paid.

[markrosewater]

Looking at room cards, it seems to be the case that you'll generally unlock the left before the right. In many cases this is due to the left being the cheaper effect, but that's not exclusively the case - Defiled Crypt/Cadaver's Lab has Raise Dead on the right so it's cheaper, but if you unlock the left first then that Raise Dead also makes you a zombie. Experimental Laboratory/Staff Room manifests dread on the left and then can flip it face up on the right the following turn. Etc

A fine observation.

[honeyandbloodpoetry]

Shame

Alcina is lured by Mother Miranda into a crypt beneath the village cemetery and implanted with a cadou. After the torturous surgery, she is faced with a choice.

Lady Dimitrescu is born.

Based on the animation Shame by K0re!

The dungeon in the underground crypt was absolutely rotten, smelling of mildew and copper. It was almost completely dark, save for a few flickering torches. The prisoners within wailed, arms outstretched between the bars of their cells.

One woman sat with her back turned to the bars, staring down at her blackened hands with something like awe.

Her name was Alcina Dimitrescu. She had come to Romania seeking solace as a hereditary blood disease slowly killed her–hoping to connect to the very ancestry that was destroying her–but instead she had only found torture. That woman, Mother Miranda, had lured her into this foul crypt, surgically implanting her with something while she was still awake.

Alcina could still remember the shining pain–bright, hot and transformative. She would never forget.

She looked up from her hands, gazing blankly at the corpse in front of her. The body of a young woman had been sliced to ribbons, guts spooling and blood pooling on the floor. Blood was everywhere in fact, staining Alcina’s thin dress and skin like paint.

It feels so good. It feels so good.

Alcina couldn't tear her eyes away from the still steaming cadaver. She had never seen so much brilliant red in her life.

It was beautiful.

Unbidden, Alcina leaned over the corpse. Her nails extended–long, black and wicked sharp, completely inhuman–and peeled away the supple skin of the dead woman's throat, parting the supple flesh like a velvet curtain.

Alcina could barely contain herself. The beauty of women and the beauty of death were colliding, ricocheting in her mind. She could feel herself breaking.

She bent down, lapping at the exposed flesh of the woman's throat, breath catching in her own. The taste of blood was alarming at first, then warm and sweet. Its coppery flavor trickled down her tongue, setting her nerves on fire.

They're right outside the door and they don't know,

How it feels so good, it feels so good.

Alcina let out a deep sigh of something like contentment, rearing back from the corpse. She licked her lips, the taste of the woman's innermost self still lingering.

She stared at her hands again, her mind empty. Long, black nails stained with blood. She distantly wondered if she would have the gall to kill herself with such wicked claws.

Blood pooled beneath her, wet and welcoming. It almost cradled her.

I never was very good.

She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging softly. Distantly, she wondered the last time anyone had held her. The last time she had experienced gentleness from anyone other than herself.

She laughed then, a bright laugh that was like a knife in the dark.

She suddenly remembered The Pallboys. Miss D and the Pallboys. She remembered singing, her voice a lilting and haunting melody that blew every other jazz singer in the city out of the water.

She remembered how it felt to be illuminated by the spotlight, lit up from the inside out.

She felt the same now.

I haven't been so good.

A flash of memory spiked through her, of calloused hands and bruises and her own tears.

She hugged herself tighter, feeling laughter bubbling up from deep within. It was an utter crescendo, a waterfall of cackling that sounded more like crying than anything else.

For some reason, her mind went to Trinity Carver. A past lover, a beautifully masculine woman who always wore pressed suits and dress shoes. Alcina remembered the way she had smoothed the unruly curls from Trinity's brow, the way that she had brought flowers to every date…

Alcina fell inward, laughing madly. Something in her mind bent and broke, something sacred and innocent. She bent back over her sacrificial lamb, lips parting as she began to drink from the gushing throat once more.

Hot and sweet, the blood filled her until she could drink no more. She fell onto her shins, gripping herself so tightly that her nails dug into flesh, her own scarlet dripping leisurely down her arms.

But right outside the door, nobody knows…

She tilted her head back and shrieked, an inhuman sound like that of a dying animal. It faded into madly euphoric laughter, a haunting sound that echoed off the walls of the crypt.

Tears dripped from her eyes, a final farewell to humanity.

They're right outside the door and they don't know

How it feels so good, it feels so good.

Alcina's eyes rolled into the back of her head, caught somewhere between bliss and devastation.

Who was she now? What had she become?

She wiped at her bloodstained lips, gasping for breath. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She was dying anyways.

“You have been given new life.” A lilting voice called from outside the cell. “Come to me, my daughter.”

Alcina turned, eyes glimmering with tears. Mother Miranda. The one that had turned her into this. The one that had transformed her. She should be upset, screaming and frothing at the bars of her cell, but instead…all she could feel was euphoria. Freedom from the shackles of human frailty and morals.

She crept across the mildew covered cobblestones, looking at Mother Miranda like a goddess. She rose to her feet, arms outstretched.

Freedom. No man would ever hurt her again. Nothing could touch her.

All thanks to Mother Miranda.

Alcina gripped the bars reverently, pressing her forehead against the cool metal as if in prayer.

And I don't need anything other than you…

[help-an-alter]

Heyyyy

Back again! We kinda need some names and pronouns for some (William) Afton Fragments, we have a few, and they wanna be different from each other but they don't know how

Ok, one is based on Glamrock Bonnie, one is a corpse, one is a glamrock oc, one is a springtrap, and we have a springbonnie

Sorry if that's a lot, they've just kinda been fighting lately, and we wanna settle this

If it's definitely too much, you can just pick and choose which ones to do, and sorry again

@galaxialauthority

Hello, this one took us awhile to complete. Honestly, most of the pronouns and some of the names can be used for any of them, so i recommend all of them taking a look at more than just their section. If these aren’t what you’re looking for, feel free to send in another ask with more specific details.

Glamrock Bonnie

names: harper, ronnie, alani, beau, terry, alfie, leo, galvin, billie, bowie, bruce, boston, cooper, bliss, blue, bo, button(s), easter, galaxy, vega, comet, caelum, draco, gale, hopper

pronouns: glam/glams/glamself, glam/our/glamourself, bun/buns/bunself, ro/rock/rockself, guitar/guitars/guitarself, col/lor/colorself, blu/blue/blueself, bo/bows/bowself, haunt/haunted/hauntedself, bonbon/bonbons/bonnieself, hy/hym/hymself, dest/roy/destroyself, wither/withers/witherself, scrap/scraps/scrapself, per/form/perform(er)self, shatter/shattered/shatteredself,

Corpse

names: carcass, cadaver, carrion, mummy, decay, destroy, burn(t), ghost, morgue, bones, crow, crowbait, bait, stitch, socket, graves, elegy, crypt, mortis, atropos, thanatos, grim, mandos, scythe, mourn(e), sickle, nocturne, dread(ed)

pronouns: rot/rots/rotself, dec/ay/decayself, gut/guts/gutself, rip/rips/ripself, tooth/teeth/toothself (alt. teethself), flesh/flesh/fleshself, tor/torn/tornself, burn/burnt/burntself, horror/horrors/horrorself, crypt/cryptid/cryptidself, bite/bites/biteself, gore/gores/goreself, bleed/bleeds/bleedself (alt. bloodself)

Glamrock OC

names: names: hendrix, jagger, jett, elliot, creed, duff, henley, joan, acrylic, alby/albie, carmen, coda, cypress, dancer, disco, eko, exodus, fable, florian, friso, genesis, glyph, jynx/jinx, kit, lake, magic, marley, omega, patches, stitches

pronouns: glam/rock/glamrockself, punk/punks/punkself, ruin/ruined/ruin(ed)self, breach/breaches/breachself, paint/paints/paintself, spike/spikes/spikeself, mas/cot/mascotself, tech/nology/technogicalself, ani/tron/animatronicself, gli/glitch/glitchself, break/breaks/breakself, fun/funs/funself, party/parties/partyself

Springtrap

names: spring(y), atherton, caldwell, pascal, ansa, casimir/kazimir, seth, apophis, alecto, discord, ruin, havoc, blaze, eclipse, anarchy, omega, ash, crusher, bones, skeleton, end(er), phantom, ragnarok, abaddon, abandon, erebus, krampus, kronos, lucifer, metal, iron, decay

pronouns: spring/lock/springlockself, bone/bones/boneself, pha/phan/phantomself, twi/twist/twistedself, scrap/trap/scraptrapself, gli/glitch/glitch(trap)self, rot/rotten/rottenself, bro/ken/brokenself, greed/greeds/greedself, af/afton/aftonself, dam/damage/damagedself, wire/wires/wireself, tatter/tattered/tatteredself, hunt/hunting/huntingself, hallucinate/hallucinations/hallucinationself, fault/faulty/faultyself, night/mare/nightmareself, sal/vage/salvageself

Spring Bonnie

names: springs, bow/boe/bo, bowie, goldie, bon, bonbon, clank, orpheus, edison, destro, phobos, phoenix, gold, goldie, rabbit, mal, hare, malhare, glitch, glitchtrap, mel, melhare, mascot, sunny, yellow, sunshine, plush, plushie

pronouns: spring/spring/springself, enter/tain/entertainself (alt. entertainerself), rabbit/rabbits/rabbitself, yell/low/yellowself, gold/den/goldenself, dine/diner/dinerself, lure/lured/luredself, end/skel/endoskeletonself (alt. endoself, skeletonself), im/pale/impaleself, de/ceased/deceasedself, possess/possessed/possess(ed)self, bow/tie/bowtieself, trap/trapped/trappedself (alt. trapself), dec/ay/decayself, burn/burned/burn(ed)self, burn/trap/burntrapself

[naochow]

various works, me

dads paints, me, 22”x30”, pen on paper

[burningexeter]

The Wildwood Universe

What is it —

A headcanon shared universe of all these different kinds of media from all genres that take place in the same universe. Different places, different times and most of all, different tones.

• Wildwood (2025)

• The Night Gardener (LAIKA)

• Oz (HBO)

• The Wire

• Breaking Bad

— Better Call Saul

— El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie

• Sons Of Anarchy

— Mayans MC

• The West Wing

• The X Files (the first nine seasons)

— Millennium

— The Lone Gunmen

— Fight The Future

• Buffy The Vampire Slayer

— Angel

• Seinfeld

• Malcolm In The Middle

• Arrested Development (the first three seasons)

• Drake & Josh

— Drake & Josh Go Hollywood

— Merry Christmas, Drake & Josh

• Freaks & Geeks

• Undeclared

• My So-Called Life

• Dawson's Creek

• Party Of Five

• Skins (U.K.)

• Shameless (U.S.)

• Black Books

• The Office (U.S.)

• Parks and Recreation

• Modern Family

• Weeds (the first three or six seasons)

• Orange Is The New Black

• The Venture Bros.

— Radiant Is The Blood Of The Baboon Heart

• LOST

• Heroes

• Fringe

• Pushing Daisies

• Hannibal (NBC)

• Todd McFarlane's Spawn Trilogy (HBO)

• Baccano! (English Dub)

• Hellsing Ultimate (English Dub)

— The Dawn (English Dub)

• Black Lagoon (English Dub)

• Monster (English Dub)

• Death Note (English Dub)

• Durarara!! (English Dub)

— Durarara!! x2 (English Dub)

• Attack On Titan (English Dub)

• A Certain Magical Index (English Dub)

— A Certain Scientific Railgun (English Dub)

— A Certain Scientific Accelerator (English Dub)

— The Miracle Of Endymon (English Dub)

• Chuck (NBC)

• Brooklyn Nine-Nine

• NYPD Blue

• 24

— Live Another Day

• Prison Break (the first two seasons)

• Twin Peaks (Original Series)

— Fire Walk With Me

— The Return

• Tales From The Crypt (HBO)

— The first five episodes of Season 1

— Cutting Cards, The Thing From The Grave, The Sacrifice, For Cryin' Out Loud, Four-Sided Triangle, Judy, You're Not Yourself Today, Fitting Punishment, Lower Berth, Mute Witness To Murder & Television Terror

— Abra Cadaver, Top Billing, Easel Kill Ya, Undertaking Palor, Deadline & Yellow

— None But The Lonely Heart, On A Deadman's Chest, Beauty Rest, What's Cookin', The New Arrival, Showdown, King Of The Road, Maniac At Large, Split Personality & Strung Along

— Forever Ambergris, People Who Live In Brass Hearses, Two For The Show, Well Cooked Hams, Came The Dawn & Half-Way Horrible

— Only Skin Deep, The Bribe, The Assassin, Staired In Horror, Surprise Party & You, Murderer

— Fatal Caper, Escape, Horror In The Night, Cold War, The Kidnapper, Report From The Grave & Confession

• Thief (1981)

• Heat (1995)

• Reservoir Dogs

• True Romance

• Natural Born Killers

• Pulp Fiction

• Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2

• Inglourious Basterds

• Django Unchained

• The Hateful Eight

• From Dusk Till Dawn

• Trick r Treat

• Krampus

• Doctor Who (1963 - 2017)

— Doctor Who: The Movie (1996)

— Torchwood

— The Sarah Jane Adventures

— Class (2016)

• Good Omens (Amazon Prime)

• Friday The 13th (1980) & A Nightmare On Elm Street (1984)

— Part 2

— Part 3

— The Final Chapter

— Jason Lives

— The New Blood

— Jason Goes To Hell: The Final Friday

— Freddy's Revenge

— Dream Warriors

— The Dream Master

— The Dream Child

— Freddy Vs. Jason

• The Evil Dead Trilogy

— Ash Vs. Evil Dead

• The People Under The Stairs

• Nightbooks (2021)

• Dog Soldiers

• Big Trouble In Little China

• Overlord (2018)

• Scream Queens

• Nip/Tuck

• Remedy Connected Universe

— Alan Wake

— Alan Wake II

— Control

• Borderlands (2009)

— Borderlands 2

— Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel

— Tales From The Borderlands

— Borderlands 3

— New Tales From The Borderlands

— Tiny Tina's Wonderlands

• Silent Hill (1999)

— Silent Hill 2

— Silent Hill 3

— Silent Hill 4: The Room

• Misfits

• Veronica Mars (Original Series)

— Veronica Mars (2014)

— Veronica Mars (Hulu)

• Bones

• Castle

• Attack The Block (2011)

• E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial

• Family Matters

• The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air

• Martin

• The Bernie Mac Show

• Pair Of Kings

• Beverly Hills Cop

— Beverly Hills Cop II

— Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F

• Rush Hour

— Rush Hour 2

• Friday (1995)

— Next Friday

— Friday After Next

• The 'Burbs

• Heathers

• Hot Fuzz

• Dead Like Me

• Wonderfalls

• Death Becomes Her

• Nope (2022)

• Close Encounters Of The Third Kind

• The Secret Of NIMH (1982)

• Contact (1997)

• Flatliners (1990)

• Rango (2011)

• The Spiderwick Chronicles (2008)

• The Mummy (1999)

— The Mummy Returns

• The Jungle Book (1994)

• The Invisible Man (2020)

• Wolf Man (2025)

• Ginger Snaps

— Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed

• Let Me In (2010)

• Erma (Webcomic Series)

• Keeper Of The Lost Cities (Animated Series)

• MirrorMasks

• Gargoyles (Reboot)

• Huntik (Reboot)

• W.I.T.C.H. (Reboot)

• Walking Dead: The Animation

• The Dark Harvest (Animated Series)

• Knightriders (1981)

• Bioshock

— Bioshock 2

— Bioshock Infinite

• Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare (2019)

— Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022)

• John Wick

— John Wick: Chapter 2

— John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum

— John Wick: Chapter 4

• Atomic Blonde

• Nobody (2021)

• Shaolin Soccer

• The Adventures Of Tintin (2011)

• Titanfall 2

• Snatch (2000)

And that is literally not even all of it.

It will continue, just give me some more time.

[kidakumajodevil]

Hi Tumblr! While I struggle to get my sapphic, vampire manuscript through a publisher, I thought it would be fun to write a weekly blog about my daily obsession: horror movies! Particularly, gothic ones. Cobwebs and castle corridors give me life! So without further fanfare, I present the first of Ronan’s Bloody Sunday; today’s feature movie Roger Corman’s The Terror!  

The Terror was a weird one for me. Despite never watching it before, I believe I already had an idea what to expect from James Rolfe’s Monster Madness. Turns out, I had no idea. I’m still struggling. Unlike other surrealist experiences, I can’t even say it started out as clear. The very first scene is the legendary Boris Karloff walking through a spooky castle; only ending when he gets jumped scared by a skeleton (No context is ever given for this!) After the gloomy credits, it jumps to a wounded French officer (played by Jack Nicholson, in one of his first starring roles) limping through a moody shoreline. A shrouded woman (Sandra Knight, who does her best with the script) beckons him with a smile, and then the insanity truly starts. She tries to lure him into quicksand. She transforms into an eagle; because her soul is being charmed by a witch, using her magic mirror. She goes by two names: Helene and Ilsa. Jack is led to an apparently abandoned castle; which is inhabited by the Baron von Leppe (who - I guess - is supposed to be the character in the beginning, Karloff’s great performance a highlight): a suspicious and maddened nobleman. He’s being haunted by his wife, who he apparently murdered. As it turns out, his wife is the woman Jack is seeing, the officer becoming more and more obsessed with discovering the truth as the madness unfolds (like the transformed Helene: who pecks someone’s eyes out)…and then the madness becomes pure pandemonia. The final act is every character dropping bombshell after bombshell; the very fabric of the story becoming irreversibly altered by each revelation; each one pretty much happening a minute after the last. It all ends with an action-heavy spectacle of a finale: ocean waves come crashing into a secret, underground crypt, sweeping away the characters and their sin. Jack Nicholson barely manages to escape with Helene…only for Corman to pull one finale, gloriously spooky Halloween copout, as she literally melts into his arms.

If you couldn’t tell; the production was a complete clusterfuck. Its entire conception was based on Corman’s pragmatism: after filming The Raven, Karloff owed him a couple days more of work, so Corman had the wonderful idea of building an entire movie around him: him filming a couple scenes that didn’t have a working script. Five people (including Jack Nicholson, Corman himself, and none other then Francis Ford Coppola!) would end up taking the director’s seat, and the script was pretty much being written as they went; which explains the all-devouring plot-holes…yet, in spite of it all, I really enjoyed this movie. Much of the production was done by the excellent staff behind Corman’s Poe Cycle, and it has all of the same DNA: mist-shrouded forests, ancient castles layered with secret passages, and crypts filled with decaying cadavers. The movie absolutely oozes atmosphere. Deliciously gothic atmosphere, which is enough for me. The overblown acting, the cheesy (yet spooky) special effects, and the madness inducing script is just icing onto the moldy cake! It’s worth a watch if you can somehow dig up a copy. I’ll give this a bloody recommendation!  

[scourge-lover]

TW Death, Dead bodies, Burial

Two book recommendations I have for people interested in undead like I am. I like reading about dead bodies and I'm sure more undead inclined people also share that interest.

Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach.

Corpses, Coffins, and Crypts: A History of Burials by Penny Colman.

Love these books! Especially Stiff. It talks about what happens to human bodies nowadays that are donated and historical examples of what happened to bodies.

[pondslime]

just sayin.............if any of u like campy 90's horror and are in need of smthn to binge..........HIGHLY recommend tales from the crypt. it's raunchy & goofy & SO delightfully foolish.

rewatching it this week bc some absolute legend uploaded the entirety of it on youtube lmao

droppin some episode recs below:

forever ambergis: 30-somethin steve buscemi plays a v cute & endearingly pathetic guy. he loves his wife. things go badly for him.

only skin deep: shitty garbage man has the worst night ever w/a sexy weirdo. my FAVORITE episode. if u watch any of em........watch this one. molly? oh, the character of all time. good for HER (episode one)

abra cadaver: boys will be boys (DEROGATORY)

carrion death: do u wanna watch a shirtless kyle maclachlan play an unhinged psycho? as he monologues his way stupidly thru the desert? and loses his mind? sure u do. he's making a lot of acting choices in this one. none of them are particularly good. I'm obsessed

lover come hack to me: good for HER (episode two)

the trap: directed by michael j. fox! v cute.

four-sided triangle: good for HER (episode three). additionally........this episode walked so that pearl (2022) could run. know ur roots..............research ur ancestry.......................

[blorbologist]

briarwoods!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! cadaver, cross, century

[I'm LATE but this idea hit me while crossing the road. like a car. and it's maybe MOSTLY Delilah but she's constantly thinking about Sylas it's ok]

--

Delilah can’t say she’s bored. She really can’t. But - oh. The cemetery is tempting.

If it’s bodies she wants - and of course she wants, from the head of this table, with an entire city at her disposal - she can want them and then have them. Brought to her: already dead, or alive, or in-between. Or down the secret stairs, in the crypts, neatly labeled samples. Or in the servant’s quarters, where she could choose a body herself and redistribute the staff. 

All the funding of the assembly means little compared to this wealth, this absolute wealth, of cadavers. Enough to test the limits of her control - to find those lines malleable. And fresh, so fresh, in whatever state she wants. 

But she wants the cemetery. 

So: here she is, soft shoes muddied, sweat at her back. And it’s underwhelming. The markers are in wobbling rows, skirting ground too rocky for graves. 

(Rexxentrum’s graveyards are neat. Efficient in their use of space; they only take urns. Tiny, cramped urns. Far too small.)

Whitestone is a well-trained city by now, brought to heel. It watched politely, quietly as she walked, and probably averts its eyes as she walks, feeling the dead underneath, around, everywhere. Or maybe little people try their very best to peer through the fog, to glimpse the Lady of the city seeks on such a night.

You see - no, do look. You see, it is very difficult to get away with grave robbery near Rexxentrum. Or several miles outside it. Even within reasonable distance of most major roads. Which is such a shame when decomposition is a fascinating process, one so heavily influenced by the size of the corpse and the content of its insides and how it is buried. 

Delilah almost floats over the loamy ground. At what point is a body beyond even her talents? Is it a matter of time, or preservation? To the best of her knowledge, a minimum amount of material from the same individual is needed - but how degraded could they be? She’s never really had the sample size to experiment before.

(Decomposition begins as the body begins to eat itself. Then the littlest creatures begin to eat it, too. Everyone so hungry for it, so hungry. Three days later and there is bloat, and fluid, and flies, and maggots. And he looks just like any of her bodies, and he looks wrong.)

She peruses the markers with a smile. Cute, in wood or stone, they are fashioned into sunbeams pouring over where the deceased’s head should be. One for date of birth, one for their name, and one describing when and how they died. Sometimes another with a short message, but she really only cares for the cause of death.

(A few are broken, crooked. Made into crosses; made into wooden daggers. Pretty, petty threats. Cause of death: nothing, never, he did not die, he will not.)

For centuries she walks. Down one row, up the next. Consumption. Lethargie. Accident, accident, accident. Erathis’ judgment. Tympany. Coffin birth - oh, interesting. Here there is not a marker but a shovel, at the head of an empty grave. Flanked by another, another, another. They’ve been busy. 

She peeks in. Shame - nobody. No body yet. 

(In a fit, she had bought a plot for him. For her. So he could have something, even if she failed him. And she did. Until she didn’t anymore. Now it probably sits empty.)

Her heart is too loud, baying in this quiet. Delilah inhales. Exhales. Petrichor and moss and a whiff of her own perfume. Heel, she wills it. Heel. It would do her no good to worry Sylas, if he listens for her.

(They would fit neatly in one of the graves, in any of them. Six feet and Sylas would help her down with a hand. The dirt would be cool; he would be colder. A burial just for them, only moving things in this cemetery.)

When she is confident her blood is as still as it can be, as close to death as she can be between breaths - when she is here and now and not then and there. Only then does she reach for the nameless dead and make them move.

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: A few days after Regan returns, right before the Apple thread LOCATION: Van's apartment PARTIES: Regan and Van SUMMARY: Regan is back from Ireland and she and Van have some reconnecting to do. Sometimes the hard stuff can be put off for a while.

“Um, the pizza is like, pizza-ing, obviously."

The cabin was becoming unbearable. Regan used to tolerate it, keeping up a sturdy enough wall between physical location, and the cruelty she imposed on herself in that place. Now all she thought of were the animals and the knives. And now the weapons Jade had filled it with, which felt much the same, even if Jade had a rational use for them (she did, obviously).

The apartment she had once owned by name only was not much better. It was a lie, a prop, her brother leaving an imprint on it. And the last time she’d been here, Van had run away from her, crying and hurt. It had been a failure in many ways, but the fact that she had been the one to slice into Van and not patch her up was the sort of shame that weeks away had done nothing to dissolve. Regan didn’t w– couldn’t go inside. She couldn’t. Van had even been the one to suggest she come over, but she could barely drag herself up the stairs (the state of her back being only the smallest part of the issue). When Regan did force herself up there, she jabbed at the doorbell and backed away like she was diffusing a bomb.

The door opening certainly felt like one going off, impacting against her chest. When the smoke cleared Regan was able to take Van in – she seemed different. Like a wet cadaver. Yes, that was the obvious comparison. Like layers of her skin were slowly sloughing off, drifting and dirtying the water around her as she became increasingly unrecognizable. Van also looked jumpy. That aspect was not particularly cadaver-like. But when was Van not jumpy? It was fine. This would be fine. Van wouldn’t have asked her to come if it wasn’t fine. (Cliodhna asked Regan to come and it was not fine.)

Regan, previously so exemplary at human interactions, had not allowed her adeptness to atrophy. 

“Don’t touch me.” By the look on Van’s face, maybe that was not the thing to say. Regan tried again. “I, uh– my back. You know. Travel.” Vague enough to not be a lie, even if it put a sour taste in her mouth all the same. Did she think Van was too young to know about these things? Instead of cracking that question open she pushed it away. Regan just liked privacy. It was a hobby. “Um, I – it’s good to see you. With my eyeballs. Not your little square. Oh! I saw that I mentioned a banana. I ate the banana because it was going bad.” She was doing great so far – don’t touch me, a lie, and not bringing the gift she mentioned.

“I don’t– can we talk out there?” She had a feeling Van was about to invite her in. “We can even sit on the stairs. Remember the sitting? You liked that, right?”

—

The choice that Van made in going back to Regan’s apartment instead of waiting at Nora’s crypt for her friend to come back from wherever she had ventured off to hadn’t been an easy one to make. It felt better, among the things that Nora left behind, than to go back to the apartment that she and Thea shared for just a short while. It felt tainted, in its own way. She wondered, only briefly, if there was a blood stain on the asphalt outside from where Jade had been stabbed, or if that would’ve been driven over time and time again and left rendered unrecognizable. She wondered, too, if Regan would be able to tell something was off. Probably. Most definitely. She was super observant, as much as Van hated it. 

The apartment was just as she had left it, and after she cleaned the melted mess off of the ground, she waited, and she waited— thumbs pressed against one another, lip tucked between teeth as she stared absentmindedly as shadows of noon danced along the wall. 

When the sound of Regan’s arrival came, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She half expected it to be one of the two banshee twins, come to finish the job. How could you be so stupid, coming back to this place? Van didn’t really know how to answer the question even if she had asked it herself on behalf of them, but it took her a moment longer than she would have liked to finally open the door. 

Regan looked… not great. Exhaustion wrote itself in lines across her face, and Van was almost positive she could map it all out— could piece together exactly why. Nora. Jade. The tar pit that she had mentioned — maybe more, maybe more that she didn’t know. Wynne had said Elias was hurt, right? She didn’t know who Elias really was, only that he and Regan spoke in public online sometimes and seemed close. Maybe that was another line of exhaustion in a different place. 

At Regan’s instruction, Van shrank into herself. She probably wouldn’t have reached out to touch her anyway, for fear that the unspoken boundary from before Regan left to Ireland would implode on itself, but Regan’s words rattled her nonetheless. Maybe it was because Regan was afraid of her? Still? But she was blaming it on travel, and on her back, and though Van could see with her own two eyes that she did look worse for wear, Van couldn’t help but feel like maybe it was somehow her fault. But that would be selfish, wouldn’t it? To center herself after Regan had just come back after a month in Ireland, looking like a shelled out version of herself, but somehow… more lively at the same time. It was a confusing mixture, and Van found herself staring for a beat too long before she nodded at Regan’s suggestion that they sit outside. That was probably better, anyway. 

“I’m starting to like, think that you’re the one that actually likes to do the sitting.” How long was the flight from Ireland? She had looked it up, but she forgot after seeing the prices. The whole no passport thing had really put a wrench in her plans, too. What would she have done if she’d gone? Open up a portal that swallowed them all whole? Would Nora be here with Declan? Would they be on the couch inside, laughing over Mario Kart? Would Regan look less… like that? It was hard not to let her mind wander, so she dug her fingers into her knees as she dropped down on the top step, just next to Regan. “It’s okay if you ate the banana. I don’t think I like bananas a lot anyway.” She hadn’t had time to be disappointed that Regan hadn’t brought her postcards, because her best friend had lost the (presumably) love of her life, and had disappeared in the same breath. There were bigger things to worry about than postcards. 

“Um… so we’re like, sitting now. Do you…” She turned to look at Regan, uncertainty flashing over her features. “My house like, blew up.” The why doubled back, viciously tearing at all reason. “Gas leak. It was like, super crazy.” She let out a laugh. “You pushed your grandma into a tar pit, right? I guess my house was like a tar pit.” 

—

“I have been doing a lot of sitting.” And it was not actually ideal. Regan couldn’t lean back (not that she was a leaner, anyway; relaxation didn’t look good on her). But she would do it for Van. Felix’s advice had not failed her yet. The only thing she’d been doing more than sitting was lying in bed, and that was even worse because her stomach still hurt, too. Also, she couldn’t escape the human simulation program. She was learning from it, though. She’d get back in the (radial) groove of acting like a completely convincing Homo sapiens before anyone could question it.

“It wasn’t a very good banana.” Mostly because the taste reminded her, somehow, of Ireland. “You wouldn’t be able to eat banana bread that has chocolate chips, anyway, and I believe that to be an important ingredient. Or perhaps you would eat it despite your dietary restriction, given your history with cheese sandwiches.” If only a little bit of lactose intolerance was still their biggest issue. Did Van feel the same way? Right before Regan had left, she seemed panicked – especially so – and between that, the mice incident, and Van’s dangerous condition, her sanity was surely being tested. Maybe Regan should have come here with a cheese sandwich. Maybe it would have allowed both of them, even for just a few minutes, to let themselves believe things still were that simple.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about Van being so close to her – mostly, she pushed against her body’s instinct to fling itself away. She already had a track record for hurting Van. The girl seemed far less hesitant, though, and Regan tried to hold onto that without questioning Van’s judgement (even if it often was so questionable).

“Your– what?” Actually, no more time to question judgement. Other things took precedence. The news Van shared roused her more than anything else had all day – anything since she’d talked with Jade – “Is everyone safe?” Regan asked, eyes wide, hands flat and pushing against the step like she was ready to mobilize. This probably happened weeks ago, though. What else had Regan missed? How many others in her life had their homes blow up, or worse, while she’d been away and unable to help? And whose fault was that? “Gas leaks are– they can kill people, easily. Were you inside when it happened? Was anyone else? You weren’t… were you staying there?” She glanced at the door of the apartment, confused. “You had not been to your house in months.”

There was something in the casual way Van brought up what Regan had done – her grandmother, the tar pit, pushing connecting those two things) that made her lungs pulse with alarm. Or maybe that would have happened regardless of tone. The lawn seemed to wilt as it was paved over with a black ocean. Cliodhna’s yowling echoed in her ears, so venomous Regan’s teeth shook. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she said distantly. Maybe it wasn’t Van who couldn’t handle it. “If there is something you need to know about what happened to your friend, I will tell you. But that– I hadn’t had true sleep in days. When I, uh, brought it up. Ireland was… it wasn’t good. I should not have left. Here, I mean. I should not have left here.” Regan fixed her gaze over the black, bubbling lawn. Was that the first time she’d said that so plainly out loud? 

“Tell me… tell me what else is new.” Please. “Have you done, uh, pizza? How is the melting? Where is Thea?” 

—

Van was relieved to have Regan in front of her, speaking in the way that she always had. The only difference was that she wore exhaustion like an overcoat, and there were a bunch of unsaid things raveled up between them. Van couldn’t tell Regan what happened with Jade, or the fact that her house had been destroyed because of a demon-banshee combo. She figured now wasn’t the time, with the way that Regan looked so… fragile. Van felt that was the correct term, given the circumstances. 

“I’d definitely put chocolate chips in it,” Van affirmed with a nod of her head. “Not walnuts though. I don’t like walnuts.” She remembered picking them out of the banana bread she’d buy at the neighboring coffee shops. Half the time, she gave up and would just wash said walnuts down with her choice of drink that day. “But there are like, some things worth hurting yourself over. Lactose intolerance doesn’t own me, you know? I own it. Plus there are like, lactaid pills or whatever.” She knew that Regan hadn’t come over to discuss her lactose intolerance, but it was easier to joke. To make jokes about the house thing, Ireland— but she knew there was a boundary, she just didn’t know when she’d toe too far against the edge of it. 

Van didn’t really know how to answer that question. Jade had gotten stabbed, and the banshees were unaccounted for. Whether or not the demon had escaped or gone back to where it’d come from was another unknown, but Van nodded instead, deciding against truth. “Nobody was inside. I wasn’t inside.” She felt that much obvious given her condition not being one that’d been involved in a house fire. “I was staying here. I heard about it through the news. Imagine like, opening up twitter and finding out that your house went,” Van made a series of poorly drawn out explosion noises, drawing out her hands to convey what had happened to her house. “At first I was like ah man, it definitely has to be jealousy, but I think it was just like, pipes and stuff instead.” She knew exactly what it had been, but Regan was in no state to absorb that information. 

Van sacrificed honesty for the sake of Regan’s sanity, and she was okay with it, she decided. Plus, Regan already looked worried enough. It didn’t seem like Regan was ready to explain what had happened with the whole tar pit thing, and Van knew that pushing it would only cause… what would it cause? Why could neither of them ever address the elephant in the room? Then again, nobody in this town could. Maybe that was why she’d been raised up to be so fragile; so scared. “We don’t have to.” She wanted to, though. Because while it was very hard for Van to hate people, she hated Regan’s grandma. She’d seen what she was capable of before Regan had even gone to Ireland, and now that she was back, it was like Regan was a hollowed out version of herself. There was, however, a different edge to her. 

“Nora.” Her friend’s name tasted raw— a spoken thing to anyone who would listen, but she still felt a certain kind of hurt when it came to her. “She’ll be back.” She forced a smile, and in doing so, forced herself to believe that as the truth. She would hear about what happened in Ireland from Nora. It didn’t feel right to have Regan tell her. 

They were falling back into the same patterns, and part of it felt nice, even if what had happened between them prior to Regan’s departure stuck hard like thumbtacks beneath her feet. “Um, the pizza is like, pizza-ing, obviously. Things are super busy since it’s finals week or whatever, or soon? I don’t know.” She shrugged, feeling a little disinterested in work, but she was brought back around at the topic of Thea. At least Regan hadn’t asked about Jade. It would be obvious something had happened between them, right? “She um, moved out? Something about like, being a bad person or something, I think. She felt bad or whatever, then moved out. So it’s just me.” She jutted a thumb back towards the door. “I used the Ikea gift card you got me, well— not all of it, but some of it. I got a giant croissant, and there’s this shark pillow too. The croissant is also a pillow, by the way.” 

—

The ham child was not Nora. Not to Regan. It hadn’t been Nora who she’d wronged, had it? It was the ham child, or Hamstring, who Nora may well have become. And thinking of her in any other way felt a lot like bleaching the blood from a surface that she had soiled. Maybe the child would be back. Hopefully. If Regan allowed herself hope once more, it would be for this. But she didn’t think Nora would ever return even if the ham child did. And perhaps calling her a child was no longer accurate, either. There was no child who saw someone they loved die in front of them; it was too transformative. “Yes. When she does come back, she’ll need you.” There was nothing more to say, other than what would turn over and over again in her own thoughts at night, like the proverbial body in a grave, her old self disgusted with present actions.

That was a grave she needed to dig herself out of right now so that Van did not fall in. Luckily, there were 205 bones that could accomplish that (the pubis was not welcome). Regan struck the silence with a spade. “When your house exploded, you didn’t happen to find those good bones, did you? And… what do you mean, jealousy?” 

Actually, Van hopped around so quickly, it wasn’t hard for Regan to keep herself busy chasing her. Thea moved out? She didn’t know the mechanics of it all, but Van and Thea seemed rather close, in the manner of ‘associates’. Perhaps not approaching ‘collaborators’ just yet, but… it wasn’t difficult to read the disappointment that fell on Van’s lips, even if it didn’t come out in what she was saying. It also didn’t make a lot of sense. Regan would ask Thea, because not knowing someone well enough to ask something personal had never been an issue holding Regan back from being invasive. Between her demanding tone and ability to wave physician credentials around, people typically spilled (and was that a thin string of guilt being tugged inside of her? No.) Anyway, it all sounded a lot like ‘it’s you, it’s me,’ which was a human dating cliche even Regan knew about it and had experience with. (“It’s not that you smell like decomposition, it’s that my nose doesn’t like it”. And then Jake had died a few days later and she’d briefly been under investigation, but that was another life, wasn’t it?)

“That’s unfortunate. It sounded like the two of you were cohabitating well. You know, slicing each other’s fruit, looking out for each other. Perhaps something happened. Did you ask? You probably did.” And she left anyway. That seemed to be the case with many people in Van’s life, didn’t it? Regan left for Ireland without truly saying goodbye. Thea moved out under some strange excuse, and Jade was doing a diligent job of avoiding her. Then there was the ham child and Wynne, of course, who had also left Van behind. At least Regan could be back. (She could, right? Not everyone might agree.)

She scooted uncomfortably on the step. Regan didn’t like pillows. She also did not see the irony of that distaste combined with her current discomfort. Pillows were either for opulence or decoration, sometimes both, and she wasn’t fond of either of those concepts. But humans needed comfort, sometimes more than anything strictly vital for their survival. “It’s good you have made use of the card. Were you able to replace the chair, too? For yourself. I don’t –” Was Van worried Regan would need this place back now? She couldn’t. And especially not after hearing about what happened to Van’s actual house. “– You should pick what you like. Croissants, sharks, livers, gallbladders, whatever else they make into pillows.” She considered floating Jade’s name, because Jade would have enjoyed helping Van pick things out, but that was a poor idea. She knew just enough.

“Hey, do you want to show me? The pillows, and anything else you purchased and like.” If there were any shaped like livers, she would offer critique. “After, there are some things you may be able to, uh, accompany on.” Help with was still uncomfortable to say. Regan stretched herself up, holding the railing for support, but pain shot across her back, tunneling into her scapulas like they were in Siobhan’s hands. “Lobhadh mór,” she muttered, bracing, holding tight. The pain sliced through her then dissipated. “Say, how… is your croissant for thoracic support?” She could continue to not like pillows. It changed nothing. “And how much do you know about phones?”

—

Van never thought of herself as being somebody that other people needed, and even though she shouldn’t have been happy about the idea that Nora might need her, it did make her feel a little bit better. To others, her’s and Nora’s friendship existed in absolution. Nora without Van, Van without Nora— it didn’t make sense. It was like one of those cringey memes that Facebook moms posted about— ketchup and mustard, or whatever — what was the point of only having one? “And like, I’ll definitely be there for her.” She would be there for Nora in whatever capacity that was needed. She knew grief, and for somebody who had seemingly never been visited by it, it would make a mess out of Nora’s mind. Van needed to be there. 

“Um, no— I haven’t been back since like, it happened. Maybe I will once they pull everything out.” Her childhood, the memories— maybe what would be beneath it all would be the bones of those things. Maybe Regan would finally get her wish, and she’d have the bones she wanted from around the first time that Van had mentioned them. “Jealousy over like, I don’t know.” She shrugged, looking down at her slides, “maybe it was Janice. She got fired and stuff, remember? She like, totally sucked.” Van didn’t actually know if Regan remembered Janice or not, but she didn’t think it mattered. Maybe Regan would take her explanation at face value. 

Van gave Regan a sideways glance, unable to contain the bark of laughter that escaped her. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, giving a subtle shake of her head. “I did ask, but she was super vague. I get it. I can also be like, super vague.” It was her specialty, and it’d been about time that she met her match. Then again, she met a few of them— one of which was sitting right beside her now. “I do really miss slicing her fruit.” There was no euphemism in that. Van jumped at the chance to slice an apple, or even a mango for Thea as she walked through the door after a hard day’s work. Usually she’d shower, and the plate would be set out on the counter and Van would be curled up on the couch with her switch in her hands, hoping to defeat Hades before she got to the fortieth play through, which she only ever did when she had Thea’s encouragement. Since Ireland, her switch had gone missing— stowed away with Nora in Regan’s suitcase. She knew it was in the crypt now, but she hadn’t even thought to touch it. 

“Oh, yeah. I also got a chair. I just thought the pillows were really cool.” The croissant one was nearly bigger than her entire torso. It was good for hugging. The shark pillow sat stationary at the end of the bed, staring at her with its beady little eyes. She’d give it to either Thea or Nora, whoever came back around first. “It’s really comfy. Not sure how it is on the melting scale or whatever, but it’s nice to sit criss-cross applesauce in.” It looked like Regan wanted to say more, and Van wished she could will the older woman to spill it, but she knew there was no place for that here. This was a reunion with a plethora of things better left unsaid, perhaps for both of their benefits. 

Surprise danced across Van’s features as Regan asked to see the pillows. She practically scrambled into a standing position, one hand on the railing of the concrete staircase. “Um, I’d love to! I even got these strawberry glasses— they’re like the ones from Nana.” She didn’t know if Regan knew what that was. She’d make her watch it later, and Regan would probably be just as heartbroken as her by the media. Van hadn’t anticipated this kind of reunion when Regan came back, but she was grateful for it anyway. “Are you okay…? Was it the plane ride? I hear they can be really bad for your back.” She frowned at Regan before motioning her back up the few steps that would lead into the apartment. “I don’t know what thoracic support means, but I don’t think there are any dinosaurs living in it, no.” She shook her head sadly before opening the door, kicking the slides off to the side to pad into the kitchen to reveal the glasses she had mentioned. At Regan’s question about phones, she nodded, “oh, I know a lot about phones! I’ve had like, loads.” She watched Regan suspiciously, “are you finally ready to move on from the Blackberry? Let’s do it.” 

There was a sense of normalcy that enclosed around the two of them as Van went on to show the glasses and pillows to Regan. She was grateful for it, all things considered. The entire time she was in the pale haired woman’s company, she pushed Jade from her mind. The last time Regan had been here, Jade had been too. Something stirred in her, but she pushed it away. One day, Van would find it in herself to be honest with Regan about the things she didn’t say today, but now would not be the time. Instead, she fell into the awkward enjoyment of Regan’s company. 

[yesandpeeps]

Ghoul field notes: Diet.

(aka me making stuff up to ease my logic seeking brain)

Ghoul (noun) definition:

“An evil spirit or phantom, especially one supposed to rob graves and feed on dead bodies.” - oxford languages.

Ghouls have a primarily meat based diet, being frequently fed raw to curb their appetite for grave digging. Although, they can defer in their food intake, enjoying the pleasures of the Earth, as demons, in sweet treats. Indulgence is key.

With their natural diet consisting of corpses, they have an extremely tough gut environment to work with. Digesting rotten flesh and potential disease is no small feat. New corpses are not frequently sought after due to embalming fluid being so pungent and corrosive. An older cadaver is preferred, where the embalming elements have decayed and the meat has cured.

Thankfully, the ministry doubles as a mausoleum, housing many clergy folk long gone. Who would really notice if a few unvisited crypts wound up empty?

[meredoubt]

You are playing the new Dragon Age, and you are trying to romance my Mournwatch elven warrior.

He is devout, aloof, and shockingly mean. He is intense, goth, wildly attractive, and has never once managed to pull that together into a relationship beyond one very homoerotic friendship in his youth. The most celibate Hot Guy you've ever met. It's actually incredible how unfuckable he is despite on paper, being a hot priest, a hot knight, and very regal. He's a little weird about swords and death. You don't know if his vocation is religious or martial, and at this point you're too afraid to ask. He has an unsettling stare that he levels in response until people stop waiting for a real answer.

Finally-you don't know how-you get his approval to above neutral. You wake in the night to him leaning over you with a candle. You scream. He ignores this.

"Meet me tomorrow night," he murmurs, caressing your face with a gloved hand. "When the night is darkest. Listen for my spirit, calling to you from the crypts on..." his eyes go distant, as if considering. "...the second level. They are mostly unoccupied. It will be more romantic that way."

You don't like how he intoned that! You maybe pissed yourself when you woke up but he doesn't seem to care! Wax is dripping down unto his ungloved hand like he's been holding the candle aloft for hours. You can't imagine why he hasn't reacted but you also don't know why he's only wearing a single glove.

Suddenly, he vanishes in the dark of your room. You scream again. No response.

You are finally alone.

Before your heart has stopped pounding, you hear his baleful voice in the silence again. "I will wait for you near the-"

"Near the Sanctuary Chainmail Helmet Candlestand?" you say, wearily. He has talked about this.

The silence sulks.

"It's rude to interrupt," it whispers. "But yes..."

The next night, after hours of fighting the undead, exhausted, you show up. My warrior is posed seductively in his priestly velvet pajamas. He looks great. He has his greatsword. He is covered in cobwebs. He looks up at you, giving you a yearning once-over with his good eye. He sighs, the leather-bound book he'd been reading snapping shut in his hands.

You thought you were getting laid.

Unfortunately, it seems he's invited you to a Mortalitasi vigil.

You will kneel on cold flagstone for hours, enduring his burning stare while he intones in a dead language to cadavers, possibly praying.

It's the horniest he's ever been.

Congratulations. You are locked into his romance.