#ghost hill cellar

[starsidesky]

Let's just say that there's a couple of Baldur's Gate 3 characters who are currently living rent-free in my head. A situation that has stirred the writer in me. So here's a little vignette (honestly, I wasn't sure what to title this) about Isobel contemplating the aftermath of Act 2. (Potential spoilers)

Dust

For the first time in a century, the sound of mirth rings through Moonrise, and Isobel stands in near disbelief. Her thoughts are still racing on battlefield adrenaline. A small sleep-deprived fear trembles in her mind: the fear that this moment might be snatched away, that she might wake inside the Last Light Inn. Scorned by the realization that all of this was naught but a cruel dream. But one look at the sky and a solid pinch are enough to put her uneasy thoughts to rest.

The Harpers are enjoying some merry-making in the wake of their victory. Their strange new-found allies have generously offered to share their food and strong drink alongside whatever is deemed safe from the tower cellars. Aylin has eagerly joined in the celebration; her laugh is as magnificent as it is unmistakable. A hearty sound that carries throughout the towers like it had never left. The cleric decides it would be a crime to pull her angel away too soon. A hundred years caged in the Shadowfell had no doubt left her deprived of the most basic humane courtesies. She definitely deserves to celebrate.

Isobel draws a cold, shallow breath and stifles a coughing fit. The ale must be affecting her poorly, as the torchlight suddenly feels harsh to her eyes. She tolerates it for a while, but the celebrations get louder as the night goes on. Despite the lifting of the curse, the air in the hall feels muggy and suffocating, and a slight headache settles upon her brow soon after. All it takes is the drunken singing of a few dozen Harpers to persuade the cleric into the calm night air.

The moon from Moonrise had always been beautiful – a century couldn't hope to change that. But the same could not be said for Reithwin itself. Beneath the moonlight, the village Isobel had known so well seemed little more than a hollow shell.

A ghost, an echo of what once was.

At the center of it all stands the statue of her father, his expression listless and placid. The same way he looked when she first awoke.

A chill snakes down her neck.

She’s running barefoot, clad in cambric burial garbs, dodging creeping vines, and thorny brambles. White dots of lantern light chase after her; her father is amongst them. A mangled root catches her foot, and she tumbles downhill into a heap of thorns. Disoriented, she crawls away, pressing her back to a scraggly tree. Her lungs burn for breath, but no matter how much she gasps, her vision swirls with sparks.

Calling upon her goddess means risking discovery. Instead, she clasps a hand over her mouth.

The rumble of a galloping horse crests the hill, pulling her back to herself. The bony, half-rotted steed brays as it winds through the foul miasma. Her father screams from its back, sobbing, begging. His dark, anguished pleas echo through the marrow of her bones. She winces with every one, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

The sound remains burned into her memory. Sometimes, late at night, she thinks she hears it still. Isobel thanks Selûne that he did not find her that night.

Once more, she gazes over the ruins of Reithwin and her heart twists. She spent a century dead, while so many good people - people she knew - suffered and perished for want of one man’s grief. Yet here she stands, and they do not.

She recalls the many hideous stories the Harpers told about the source of the Shadow Curse and the monster Ketheric became. At first, she could hardly believe it. The gentle, kind man - the man who'd raised her - chose to forsake their goddess, forcibly convert their people to Shar, and butcher those who would not. That wasn't even accounting for what he'd done to Aylin!

So much death and destruction, and for what?

"While I hold little love for Ketheric," Aylin's armored boots settle upon the stone behind her. “That monster was not your father.”

Isobel turns to face her, desperately trying to hold her emotions back, but to no avail.

In one fluid motion, Aylin pulls her into her embrace as her wings sweep around her. They’re a welcome shield from everything beyond. Isobel leans into her, her head resting against her breastplate. She listens quietly to the slow rhythm of her heart, the rise and fall of her breath, as Aylin rests her jaw upon her head.

“You are not to blame for his mistakes.” Aylin says softly.

Isobel finds her voice soon after, “I know.”

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Ghost Walk

The burning garland lowered onto Kay's head. He held himself stock stick and the fire licked toward the grey sky. Four enormous candles the color of churned butter settled into place. The cold wire of the crown cut into forehead and the light cast long shadows across the unbroken snow.

The pastor smiled at him, all teeth and a kindliness that could smother.

Low moans carried over from behind them. Kay forced himself to look up instead of over his shoulder. The stars above were dull compared to the orange of the Holy Fire. Kay bit down on the inside of his cheek and the pastor patted his shoulder.

“Not long now.” The Pastor fixed Kay’s collar and Kay emptied out his eyes, making himself look small and pitiful. He patted Kay’s shoulder again, long face growing longer.

Good. Kay thought. Feel bad.

“You want me to take any messages to your mum, lad?”

Kay grimaced. “Would that do anything?”

The Pastor glanced over his shoulder. Hills of snow piled up along a trodden path with enormous pine trees like sentries on either side. The dark of the mountain ate up the small shrines in the distance. It wasn’t a long walk.

Flecks of snow swirled around his head. The Pastor wiped his wrinkled brow. The first drop of hot wax hit his ear and Kay winced.

“Can we get it over with?” That made the pastor frown harder, and Kay reminded himself to gentle his voice. “I’m scared.”

“Take heart, lad. The Judgment leaves peace.” The pastor presented a yellow-toothed grin and Kay resisted rolling his eyes. Of course this would be the last face he ever sees.

“Can’t wait for that peace.” Alright, so the resentment slipped in.

The Pastor gave his shoulder a final pat. “It’s not very far.”

“I know.”

“The Judgment is quick.” “It always is.” Kay squared his shoulders, and the low moans became many–he tried not to imagine hunger in the voices. In the vowels. In the beasts. A second drop of hot wax hit his cheek and Kay growled.

“Let’s get this over with!” he yelled to the heavens.

The Pastor looked away in distaste. He bent down, knees clicking as he went, and unlocked the ankle bracelets one at a time. Kay kicked his feet, and the joy of freedom was brief. There was only one place to go, and it would probably be worse than Miss Joy’s cellar.

Too young for execution. Too old for mercy.

“I’ll see you in the morning, lad.” The Pastor backed up toward the trees. He retreated to the city and a warm bed and away from the Judgement Walk. His voice faded as he went. “I’ll see you then.”

All religious men were liars.

Kay refused to look over his shoulder. The voices were a low rumble, a song if you squint, a promise if you ran. Midnight edged toward them. Kay fixed the burning garland and his nerves jangled in some private put-away place. The wind hushed and the voices rose, wisps gathered around his ankles.

Kay held himself perfectly still. Let them come. Let it be over with.

Sweat gathered under his arms despite the winter chill. A vapor rose outside the circle of candlelight. There seemed to be a nose in the fog. An eye. A face.

Kay looked over his shoulder. Maybe he was too young. They looked back at him. The whisps were empty-eyed and thin as rails, gape-mouthed and tissue-thin. Floating and shapeless. The spirits of the dead gathered to be led home. A bell chimed, three gongs one right after the other.

Kay took a deep breath in through his nose, prayed to the damned candles on his head, and walked.

------

The smell was pleasant on the breeze. A heady type of scent like incense or a strong mead. Ian stumbled over the snowbanks, drawn forward. In life, he liked to believe in silver linings.

Winter overlaid a deep silence over the land. The hills and even city held their breathe, leaving Ian alone to his misery. He was getting further and further from Bern with each step, maybe Cecelia would take that as an apology.

The scent blew back into his face and Ian’s fangs poked out from his gums. He fell into a white-shorn shrine to some saint of chastity and skidded to a halt. There was a human in the near distant. Long candles fastened to a wire wreath around his head.

Ian straightened up. The flames danced a brilliant orange and streaks of yellow wax striped the boy’s cheeks. There was a winding path among the shrines and the boy took small stiff-legged steps.

Things followed in the boy’s wake. A ghost walk.

Bells chimed in the distance and a parade of crumpled anemic ghosts trailed after the boy. They floated outside the light in one large fog. Ah, Ian thought dully. He had seen this in other cities. The dead became restless in winters. They walked the earth during the coldest nights, calling for their long-lost loves. If you let them keep wandering and fouling the earth, then they’d be a mess in spring. Rivers would flood. Grain would go bad. Children might disappear. Spring would be an enormous headache if the beasts weren't put to sleep.

From what Ian had seen, the Parade of the Dead was usually followed by processions of cheering partygoers. The crowds sang and set-up food stands and the little candle-girl-in-white led the procession with a grin. They were putting their loved ones to sleep after all.

But perhaps these northern cities knew better.

Ian crept forward. The heady scent grew stronger, the candles burning, and his fangs poking into his bottom lip. The night was one of possibilities. Of silver linings. He walked parallel to the procession in the shadow of the trees, eyeing the display. Sweat dripped down the stranger’s neck and wax burned his reddened ears. Ian’s blood thrummed in his veins and the boy’s throat bobbed.

Ian tripped. Over his own two feet. He sprawled across the path. Cecelia could never know.

The boy stopped in place and his mouth fell open. Ian went to his knees and hissed. The boy fisted his hands and roared, “Get in line, man!”

Ian put up his hands. “Peace, peace.”

The boy’s face went red. “You couldn’t wait, eh?”

“Peace, peace.” Ian put his hands into prayer, retracting his fangs and looking the boy up and down. “I’m here . . . to save you?”

“Oh, fuck off.” The boy kept walking.

Ian stood and prowled around him, gaze trailing up the candles and down his throat. He was rarely hungry like this.

“Do they make all the village boys do this?” He prodded. There was more than one way into a vein. Cecelia might even change her mind.

“I dunno. Do they make all demons such morons?”

Ian raised his eyebrow. “Only the problem ones then.”

“You’re not from here,” the boy grumbled.

“I’m not from here.” He grew a slim smile. “You want to tell me a story of your last hours, boy?”

“Kay,” he huffed. “I’ll at least have a name on my Judgment Day. And you better get in line with the rest of the devils if you want a whack at it.”

Whack at it. Ian’s fangs prickled. He fell into step with Kay. He glanced over their shoulder, lowering his voice, “they truly throw their own to the dogs?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I could make it quick.”

“I’m sure,” Kay groused and winced when a glob of wax hit his jaw. “You’d be real gentlemanly about it. Hold my hand like my gran and all that.”

“Oh, I could hold more than your hand if you like.”

“You use that in the parlors?” Kay raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. He grinned slyly. “You must’ve used that in the parlors. Look at the state of you.”

Ian took a step back. His shirt was real silk and his pants tailored to a fault. But the suit tails lay in tattered and dirt-streaked his hands and feet. Rough patches happen.

“What is your name, demon?” Kay wrinkled his nose. “And what’s wrong with you to be all the way out here?”

Ian huffed. “Ian Malcolm of the Swan Estate.”

“Get bent, no way.” Kay nearly tripped. “Wait!” He shook a finger in the air. “I’ve heard of you, from the hospital girls. You’re one of those, trumped-up fancy demons–”

“Vampire.” He smiled as wide as he could, pushing his fangs long into the light.

“No, no, I know that.” Kay sounded offended. “What did they call you? Something like vulture or hyena, eh?” He glanced at Ian’s slight frame and beardless face. “Maybe not Hyena. I guess there are downsides to be stuck at an age.”

“I am going to puncture your body like a–” Kay snapped.

“Coyote!” He grinned and took a step forward. “You’re a shit vamp. They really don’t like you.”

“Cecelia and I . . . had a misunderstanding.”

“The Grande dame of the vamps?” Kay whistled. “Just as I walk to my judgment, I get the perfect gossip for Lily. She’d be all ears on your set-up.”

“I’ll be sure to send your girl your regards once you’ve been indisposed.”

“My girl? Lily’s my source of Powder.” Kay had stopped in place and was grinning like the candles weren’t half-burnt to stumps. “So, what was it? You get turned out for being a tramp? Or turned out for being bad at being a tramp for you lot.”

“At least I wasn’t turned into a human sacrifice.”

Kay’s eyes shone as he looked ahead. There was some kind of clearing and a shrine in the very center of the field. The statue of a woman stood on shorn-white shrine, and she appeared to be weeping.

“I guess we're a pair of poor tramps.” He sighed. “You got a way out?”

Ian looked at his feet. “I am an immortal being,” he mumbled. “I always have a way out.”

“Huh. Sure. Lucky are the outcasts.” Kay started walking again. “They do this every year to a criminal or two. Always the young ones since they might get judged well, too young to lose my head, yeah?”

“You don’t look young.”

“Sixteen. I suppose that wouldn’t be young to you, you get turned at 12?”

“Seventeen,” Ian hissed, and the other boy laughed. “So? Did you kill someone?

“Something like that.” Kay lifted his eyebrows up and wax hit his temple.

“Set an entire barn of orphans on fire?”

“They were actually baby orphans and then I pushed a group of old ladies down the well.”

“After releasing plague into the streets.” Ian glanced over at the restless silvery ghosts behind them. They kept away from the light of the candles, burning ever lower.

Kay smiled and there was a dimple just below his right cheek. “Then I become an undead creature who was shit at killing.”

“That,” heat rose in Ian's cheeks. “That wasn’t it!”

“No, no worries, love. I’m the one doing the Judgment walk. You don’t need to defend yourself to me.”

“I wasn’t bad at.” He kept time with the boy as they reached the clearing. “I’m just, a gentlemen!” He burst out. “I needn’t lower myself–”

“What did the hospital girls say? You had to drop the bloodletting in the river or else the Coyote will scavenge it. Even pour the old pig’s blood down the drain. Otherwise, the Coyote would dig through all the rubbish and leave a mess behind.”

“It’s not like they were using the blood.”

“Ridiculous.” Kay tossed his head back and laughed. Ian reached out and righted the garland of flames before it fell into the snow.

Kay corrected his stance and went rigid. Ian could smell the warmth of his breath– a heavy wine scent and something sharper. There was wax gathered in Kay’s eyelashes and his cheeks were lit by an orangey glow. Ian inhaled and a warmth flooded into his fingertips.

“Thanks.” Kay looked over his shoulder. He took an audible breath. The other boy passed Ian and gave a sneaky smile over one shoulder. “Coyote.” Ian straightened his suit and cleared his throat. “Ian,” he corrected.

“Dead meat.”

“I could call you the same thing.”

“You don’t say . . .” His smile faded and his brow creased. The candles were almost down to wicks. He stepped into the clearing without looking back. “Time to pay the piper.”

--------

The waiting was the worst part. His heart squeezed in his chest. He clenched his hands to stop the trembling. He felt the candles burn low and counted stray snowflake. Our Lady of the Long Rest watched from behind him—her robes outstretched like wings. Kay tried not to breathe too hard. Smudgy ghosts circled like wolves. Their voices cooed, mixing with the brittle wind. They wafted closer with each splutter of the light.

He could throw the garland to the ground. He could go hurtling into the woods and see how far he got. He could get it over with. Kay's hands stayed immobile at his sides.

The ragged gentlemen vampire leaned against the nearest tree. Looking smug and wealthy enough to be a git without knowing it.

Kay called out, “don’t know how much blood they’ll leave you, scavenger.”

“You want me to eat you so bad?”

“Nah. I’d rather be eaten by a were. Or a mermaid? Something with some real bite.”

Ian bristled. “Sure. They’ll use your corpse for a tea party afterward. You look like you’d like that.”

“You say the sweetest things.” He presented a slim mocking smile; he would at least die doing something he's good at. “Tell my mum I at least avoided being eaten by a fancy ponce."

Ian matched his grin, spreading his lips thin over sharp teeth. “I’ll tell your mom you died as you lived. Complaining.”

Kay rolled his eyes. “You really want to stick around for this? I’ve only begun to complain.” Ian shrugged and leaned back on the tree. Git.

Kay’s gaze travel over the circling of ghosts. Their eyes were empty, and forms wrung out of any humanity, leaving no corporeal hunger but a hunger that never sleeps. Never feels. He shuddered and glared back at the vampire.

“So? Leave.” Kay wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone, but he wasn’t sure he wanted an audience either.

“I’m thinking,” the vampire said in a low voice. “On one hand, you do seem tiresome. I might enjoy watching the light leaving your eyes.”

“I might be judged fairly you know,” Kay muttered. “You never know.”

“Judged fairly?” Ian raised an eyebrow.

“You know. They recognize all the good shit in my soul and only take a bit of me. Let me go home and all that.” Ghosts only needed to sup a little blood to go to sleep. At least, that’s what they told Kay before sending him out here.

“Huh,” Ian said mildly, and a silence settled between him. The vampire raised both eyebrows.

“Alright, alright! You don’t have to be a prat about it. I know how it sounds.” He glared down at his borrowed boots. Miss Joy had lent them and then patted him on the head. He said he wanted to see his mom before he left. She smiled back to him in the way adults do.

“Huh,” Ian said again in a slightly different tone.

“HUH,” Kay barked back. “You know I think I’ll just ask the ghosties to eat all of me as a favor. You don’t get the bits and pieces left over.” Kay narrowed his eyes and added a bit meanly, “you look like you like the bits. Probably the head too.”

“Sure. The head, the neck, though they both look pretty scrawny. Is that why you’re they’re little sacrifice? Since they won't miss much."

Kay laughed. They could be cut from the same cloth. His breath snagged at the end and a glob of wax burned his cheek. One of the three candles sloughed off into the snow and went out with a sizzle. Kay held himself perfectly still. He took a long breath.

“Why don’t you kill me?” A long silence descended. “If you make it quick . . . I wouldn’t mind. There's a knife I stole in my shoe. I nicked it off a Judge’s man at the hearing. You can have it."

“Tempting,” the vampire deadpanned. “You were going to fight ghosts with a knife.”

Kay gave a small shrug. “Maybe. Maybe I was going to fight off evil demons. Maybe I would just cut off their poncy shirts first.”

“You really want to get my shirt off?”

“Only fair since you seem to want my bits.” They both snickered and covered their mouths. This was fun. He was about to die and this might be fun. Kay noticed how the boy’s smile stretched crookedly across an aristocratic face. “How old are you really?”

“Seventeen. I told you.”

“Don’t give me that, bloodsucker. How long you been seventeen?”

“They all ask that,” he said with no short supply of disgust. “. . . a few months.”

“HA!” Kay burst out. “Months? You’re not even immortal then. Just normal dead thing that’s forgotten to lie down.”

“At least I won’t have to be one of those things.”

Kay had been avoiding looking at the circling mass. He’d been focusing on the boy’s voice and not the low moans. The voices called out. Their mouths were vacant blackholes and the world was growing darker. Kay reached up and fixed the second candle. His fingers came away globbed in melted wax and he wiped them down on his pants.

“Is that why you aren’t a killer?” he teased. “You’re barely out of vampire diapers.”

Ian took a few steps into the clearing, fixing his jacket as he went. “You’re lucky. Most vampires go on murder sprees during their first couple years. Really nasty things. Attack women. Children. Mouthy idiots.” The ‘like you’ was implied.

“I would make a better vampire than you, I bet.” Kay leaned forward.

“You’ll surely make a better meal for haunts that’s for–”

The crown became lighter all at once and Kay's hand shot out. He caught the burning blob of the second candle and yelped. The flame was already out. He glanced up and the third candle had gone out at the same time.

“Sorry," Ian said mulishly. "Didn't mean to distract." His pity was probably the worst thing. Kay looked left and right. He reached for his starched collar and loosened it. The cold prickled against his skin.

“Make it quick.” There was only one more candle left. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of the white coat they gave him. “Get some wood and I’ll bite down, just make it quick.”

In a surprising turn, the very pale vampire seemed to grow paler. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His eyes flicked toward the moaning mass. “Being eaten by one dead thing is better than being torn apart by a bunch of ‘em.”

Ian stuttered, “You said they might Judge you favorably?”

“We both know that’s a load of horseshit! They say that so they don’t have to feel bad about it. So they don’t have to think about us.” He took a step back. The Lady of the Long Rest stood ready to embrace him. He would fall. They would come.

“I’m not that hungry. . .” Ian seemed to be having an argument with someone else.

Kay waved him forward. “I won’t even struggle, I promise. Please. An easy meal.”

Ian was slack-jawed. He muttered to himself, “Here? Even here?”

Kay took another step back and the candles atop his head wobbled. He met the vampires bright maroon eyes. “You really don’t eat people?”

Ian scuffed his shoes on the ground. “I don’t . . .” He took a deep breath. “I don’t necessarily kill people.”

“Why!? Just my luck! A vamp with a consciousness.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Kay had heard that exact phrase lobbed at him. There was some satisfaction in lobbing it back.

“It’s gross!” The vampire's cheeks managed a dull flush. “It’s gross and messy and there’s blood and sometimes bowels and no one warns you about the begging or screaming. And the snot! It’s awful. I don’t know why the others even like doing it.” He ran out of breath  and wheezed.

Kay punctuated each word, "You are a vampire."

"Have you ever seen someone die?"

“What if I promised not to shit myself?” Kay wasn’t sure about promises he couldn't keep. The last candle flickered and he gulped. His voice shook on the next word. “Please?" He presented his throat. "It’ll be a mercy. I won’t get snotty.”

Ian took a step forward. “I,” he stepped through the tangled mass of ghosts and searched the air. “I’m not sure I can. If I can’t do it to save myself from exile. I don’t think I can. . .” His jaw worked and Kay understood something he wish he had before.

The vampire was standing in front of him, his fangs extended and expression crumpled.

“I didn’t mean to you know," Kay said in a small voice, going to his knees. All he could see was the gaping holes of the ghost's mouths. All he could see was their terror. He closed his eyes. “The Pastor didn’t understand. Mum hadn’t been home in days. The doctors paid good money for a body. It wasn’t murder. Just some digging. Some hauling. Some shady men– but they’re all shady.”

“They’re killing you for being a grave robber?”

“I didn’t mean to,” his voice grew softer. He reached out a hand, unseeing. It might be nice not to die alone. No more ghosts. No more vacant eyes. He promised he wouldn't look.

She was the smallest of the wisps. Her hair was lank and there was still the outline of a frilly white dress.

“The City always did like its irony. Sending me here. Like this."  Kay chuckled. "You disturb the wrong grave and suddenly there's a hungry ghost on the loose. You can’t really lie about it. It knows who upturned it’s resting place. They know it was who loosed that thing on the streets." He swallowed thickly. "I didn't mean to."

The little girl ghost was swirling by his knees now as the cold leached into his skin. He wanted to beg her: I'm sorry. I was hungry. I was alone. I didn’t even get to see my mum before they hauled me away and locked me in that cellar.

Kay knew why they didn’t take him to the constable or the prisons. There were better uses for someone too young for punishment and too old for mercy.

He closed his eyes. A strong wind whipped across his face and the last of the candles went out.

—----------

Ian had been hopeful in life. Silver linings and prayers at church. He always had a sense that maybe it wasn’t so bad what he became. He didn’t even remember being bitten. And maybe not so bad that the sight of blood made his stomach go sour.

Cecelia said he was too weak for the coven. Too embarrassing to stay in the city. Ian watched as the boy’s face contorted in sorrow and the dark of the night swept in from all around him. Maybe Cecelia had been right.

Ian could never make a kill. They begged him for mercy and who was he to deny them? But there was someone begging him for mercy right now. And the idea of ripping out his throat still sent Ian into a disgusted frenzy.

One of the ghosts ripped at the boy's arm and he let out a sharp cry, jumping back from their outstretched hands. The ghouls were hungry. There were only so many ways to satiated them. Ian took a step forward.

A much smaller ghost tested the waters. She dove on his wrist and yanked. Kay cried out this time, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Kay?” Ian found his voice. Kay’s eyes were unseeing and spilling tears. He was so young.

“I’m sorry.”

One of the larger ghosts, held together by nothing-vapors, swept forward. The ancient thing pressed its crude mouth to Kay’s neck. The skin tore and Kay pushed on empty air, trying to force the evil away. The ghost swept back and blood dripped down Kay’s throat and colored the white coat a deep red.

Ian wrinkled his nose, forcing down the nausea and the fact he wasn't supposed to care. He was a vampire. The ghosts gave a high-pitched wail and closed in around the boy. He wasn't supposed to care, and he couldn't punch the incorporeal either and yet . . .

Ian dove forward and grabbed the boy's arm, trying to haul him to his feet. “We’ll run.”

“They’ll chase.”

The scent of blood was heady and overpowering and the disgust fought with Ian’s hunger in tug of war as it always did. Kay’s blood spilled across his hand as he put an arm around the boy’s shoulder.

“The City needs this.” Kay bowed his head, some spark lost.

“Run!”

Kay moaned at the bottom of his voice, "end it.” He collapsed back into Ian’s arms. Another ghost had torn the glove off his hand and scratched a long line down his forefinger. He roared. “Eat me you stupid twat!”

“I’m not that kind of vampire!” The hunger roared back to life as he said it. His fangs nipped his bottom lip and he shook. The ghosts tugged on Kay's boot and it went flying. Ian turned to the Lady of the Long Rest and pressed one hand to her marbled feet. “This can’t be your Judgment!”

“She’s not real!” Kay whimpered and an arm of his coat soaked red. An empty mouth attached to his shoulder and let out a horrible suctioning sound. They weren't only here for blood. Every edge of Kay seemed to blur as it went to suck out his soul.

No one deserves to be eaten body and soul. Ian knew that.

He wrenched himself forward and threw himself on the ghost– as if that would do anything. The ghost floated backward and hissed.

The ghosts backed away from his flashing teeth. Ian blinked. “That’s new.”

“Your poncy-ness must have–” Kay spit out a mouthful of blood. “God. Fuck.”

Ian bared his teeth and leapt at the nearest ghost. The creature fled toward the nearest trees and Ian laughed. “Did you see that?” Nothing had ever been afraid of him before.

“Help me!" Kay was being torn left and right by the wispy specters. Ian threw himself on top of the boy and shoved his face into the vapors.

You shouldn’t be able to bite ghosts any more than you should be able to punch them. The experience was much less like eating than it was swallowing. The form shimmered and the ghost’s expression twisted into something unrecognizable.

And then Ian sucked in the creature like inhaling smoke. The Hunger surged through him like being struck by lightning. He finally understood what it meant to feast.

—-----------

Kay laughed. He laughed and laughed and wiped at his eyes. One shoulder no longer worked, and he was bleeding from scratches and sucker-marks. He was shivering from the cold and there was a lurching-empty feeling in his center. But kept laughing and wiping at his eyes.

He had never seen specters torn apart before. He had never seen a vampire go into a frenzy.

“Thank you, thank God,” Kay repeated like a mantra and the Lady of the Long Rest oversaw his salvation. The Judgement might have seen to him after all.

Ian shredded through the ghosts one by one. He bit and sucked and absorbed the creatures like mist into the ocean. Kay wasn’t going to be taken to pieces. He might even survive the night. “Thank the Lady for twats!”

Ian turned on him. Kay had spoken too soon–as he always did. The vampire’s eyes glowed a brilliant red color and his fangs extended to the length of his pinky. This was not a man nor human nor even friend.

The vampire grabbed Kay under the arms and yanked him to his chest. A smoky scent overtook Kay. Not like fire, but like ice and ashes mixed into one. This had to be something like the tales. A Soul Eater. He whimpered in his arms like the condemned coward he was.

"I won't fight. I promised," he whispered. "My life was already forfeit. You can have my soul.” He wished he knew the vampire's full name or his family or whether he liked it in the cold terrible north. Kay closed his eyes and a sharp edge dragged against his throat all the way up to his ear.

The vampire gave a long inhale and Kay shuddered against him.

“You’re warm,” the voice growled, and Kay turned his head.

“You saved my life.”

He wasn’t sure what overcame him. Whether it was the relief or the adrenaline or all the fairy tales come to life. Or the boy’s beautiful highbrow and thin lips and the fact Kay should be dead. He turned his face and pressed a brief kiss to the horrible Soul Eater’s dead lips. Something thrummed in Kay’s center much like the hollowness before.

The movement was shy and unsure of itself, and Lily would surely tease him until his death bed for it. The vampire blinked several times and dropped him.

“Huh,” he said and cleared his throat several times, fixing his tattered coat.

Kay tossed his head back and laughed. The Soul Eater’s cheeks became a soft gray-ish blush. He fixed his collar again and wiped off his jacket sleeves and Ian kept blushing.

“I guess you are a different type of vampire. I owe you a thank you then.”

“I guess you’re right.” Ian gave a hesitant smile at Kay’s warm tone. When Kay stopped laughing, he gave one of his sneaky thin grins.

"Did you know you could do that?"

Ian's brow furrowed. "That would be a first."

"Suppose you owe me a thank you then too." He offered his hand to the other man. “Want to help me visit a pastor?”

FIN

—————-

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the story please consider buying me a coffee, and check out my Sapphic urban fantasy book 🌸

[teenwolftuesdaytrash]

Derek and fire — it has always been a complicated relationship.

Before Kate. Before the fire.

Before blue eyes. Before a too young, too bloody goodbye in a cellar filled with magical roots and vines.

When it was still just the Hale House. Secluded, yes, but thriving, full, noisy, cramped, crowded with too many wolves in one den.

Back then, fire had been warmth for Derek. It had been the promise of food accompanied by the click, click, click of the stove as his Papa got started on dinner. It had been a soothing aroma as Laura lit her favorite scented candle and left it on the side table by the sofa. Occasionally, it had also been the mark of a night of mischief, him and his siblings and cousins sneaking out to the preserve in the middle of the night for an impromptu campfire with a side of underage drinking.

Back then, before everything, before Paige and then Kate, fire had just been a pretty sight for Derek, something to stare into as he lost himself in benign teenage werewolf woes.

Then it happened. Fire grew and became a monster, ate and burned and took everything in Derek’s life, took everything he loved in that big old ‘wolf house.

One big red, orange, blue, red, yellow, and then more red of a monster.

After, for a little while, (and maybe a little while longer) fire had been…relief. Hidden. Secret. Shame.

After crying with Laura, moving to New York with Laura, building a new significantly tinier pack with Laura, fire had been a cheap lighter in Derek’s hands, bought in secret and held between his thighs — flickering, and warming, and warning. Burning against Derek’s hurting then healing and back again skin.

It had become a second secret that Derek made sure to keep from Laura.

For a while, fire had been Peter lying catatonic on a hospital bed, skin mangled and unhealing, Derek’s favorite peculiar uncle nothing but a shell of himself.

It had been a reminder. A ghost that haunted Derek’s every waking thought and dreams. This is how weak you were. This is what you’ve done.

Then, Laura went missing, and fire became a taunt and a call to come back to Beacon Hills – come home, come closer, closer.

Quickly and briefly after that, fire had been re-lived grief and inescapable tragedy. It had been the burn in his hands as Derek rubbed and wound wolfsbane on that rope, the numbness and the sting as Derek walked and marked the grave that would hold his sister’s chopped up corpse.

Fire went away for a little while after that. Left him gasping and grasping cold air, laid down on the sooted and ice-cold floors of his childhood home.

Then the heat came back in molotov cocktails and a feral uncle, a too young wolf playing hero and insistently repeating all, ALL of Derek’s past mistakes, forcing him to look in the mirror every goddamn day and deal with this too ideal and too gullible version of who he once was.

Explosive chaos, that version of himself caused. Him and his friends, each one their own version of trouble. Unadulterated chaos all of them.

Derek and fire — a recipe for inescapable tragedy, a cautionary tale, a warning. One that Derek has learned from. Or rather, one that he should have learned from.

And yet. In the here and now…

Despite everything, or maybe more honestly because of everything that fire has taken from him, he still finds himself burning for—

Stiles is…Stiles. He isn’t Kate. Nor Jennifer or Braeden. He isn’t Paige.

Derek knows this. He knows it well.

But Derek also knows that Stiles is a spark that burns wild and bright. In more ways than one.

From the growing power of his magic to the ferocity of the way he loved, unafraid to cross lines and use any means necessary to protect those he cared for. Stiles with his amber eyes and sharp tongue is the raging heat and the eviscerate-all-who-dare-touch of fire.

And Derek burns.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday, March 7-Friday, March 8 [Part 1]

Mr. Platt: Look, lots of people lose themselves in love. It's, it's no shame. They write songs about it. The hitch is, you can't stay lost. Sooner or later, you... you have to get back to yourself. Buffy: And if you can't? Mr. Platt: If you can't... Well, love becomes your master, and you're just its dog.

~~Beauty and the Beasts~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Is there anything I can do? (Buffy/Spike, T) by LinaInEden

No One Needs to Know (Angelus, E) by Anonymous

Remarque Pertinente (Buffy/Giles, French language, T) by PtiteMac

Goodbye To You (Buffy/Spike, French language, T) by PtiteMac

Transference (Angel, G) by pgadzikowski

Just Enough (Buffy/Angel, E) by Scribes1015

Catty (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Maxine Eden

If You Can't Take the Heat (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Maxine Eden

Wine Drunk (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Maxine Eden

Dancing Queen (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Maxine Eden

[Chaptered Fiction]

A Different Path, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Faith, M) by Anaxilea

The Boring Stuff: School Hard, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Angel, T) by missfiggy

The Stars to Hold Our Destiny, Chapter 2 (Crossover with Star Trek, G) by Hermione2be

Early One Morning, Chapter 2 (Buffy/Spike, E) by all_choseny

Buffyverse Flashfic, Chapter 24 (Multi, T) by NotASlayer

Cinder-Buffy, Chapter 20 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by holetoledo

Home Sweet Home, Chapter 9 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Desicat

Bizarre Double Life, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by violettathepiratequeen

Glimpses of the Cellar Dweller, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Maldorana

Dead End, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by all choseny

Afterburn, Chapter 21 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Melme1325

The Neighbor's Point of View, Chapter 93 (Buffy/Spike, G) by the_big_bad

Goodbye to Everything That I Knew, Chapter 24 (Buffy/Spike, R) by fortes775

The Dawnster Drabbles, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, PG) by Passion4Spike

Something Borrowed, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Geliot99

Coming Through, Chapter 50 (Buffy/Spike, AO) by hulettwyo

Service Unit, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, AO) by hulettwyo

Crossing Over, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, G) by Julikobold

Speed Dates, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Alyot

Accidental Casualties, Chapter 6 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Julikobold

Love Lives Here, Chapter 32 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Passion4Spike

Devils Roll Their Eyes, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, R) by sunalso

Left on Read, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by ashcrashed

Enemies to Ghost Hunters, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by ClowniestLivEver

The Balance, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by ClowniestLivEver

Triangles, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by ClowniestLivEver

Embrace, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Harlow Turner

Tag, You're It!Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by VeroNyxK84

I love you., Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Lilacsandorangeblossoms

Out of the Wasteland, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Harlow Turner

Truth or Dare, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Chelle

Conversations in the Dark, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Tessa

How Could I Not?, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, R) by simmony

The Dreaded Lurgi, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, PG) by SomeKindOfADeviant

30 Ways to Say I Love You, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Maxine Eden

The Guests at the Wedding, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by bookishy

Forever and Always?, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, R) by scratchmeout

That Was Real, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Desicat

Feuer und Flamme, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, AO) by MaggieLaFey

Quality Time, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by MaggieLaFey

Boyfrenemy, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Lady Emma

X.X, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Rea

Pick Me Up, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Dusty

Massacre at Carabon Hill, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, M) by Myrabeth

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork:Prophecy Girl by debujandobirds

Artwork:NotASlayer's Noodling [Cont.] by NotASlayer

Artwork:they are everything to me by mistyintherivers

Artwork:drusillaaaaaa!!!! by mistyintherivers

Artwork:boink!! get him!!!! by mistyintherivers

Artwork:they're crowning by isevery0nehereverystoned

Artwork:Jenny Calendar by ghostrabbit87

Artwork:[Queen Angella x Buffy commission] by foldingfittedsheets

Moodboard: Faith Lehane by awinterrosesstuff

Gifset:2.15 — "Phases" by dailybtvs

Gifset:2.02 "Some Assembly Required" by coffygifs

Gifset:[Cordelia Chase, S1] by whatisyourchildhoodtrauma

Gifset:3x07 | “Revelations” by clarkgriffon

Gifset:S06E18, Entropy by laezelofkliir

Gifset:Bad Girls by mycatismyfriend

Gifset:Buffy 1.12 Prophecy Girl/Dawn 5.22 The Gift by sulietsexual

Gifset:Becoming Part I by detectivedawnsummers

Video:Super Graphic Ultra Modern Slayer - Faith Lehane ft. Chappell Roan by breezybeej

Video: buffy summers | feather by MusicThroughTheMoods

Video: Suite from Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Part I by sleepinglionarchives

Video: Suite from Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Part II by sleepinglionarchives

Video: Blood Factory | Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Chaos Bleeds [Part 3] by Destructo Lissa

Video: Buffy the Vampire Slayer music video - Just a Girl [Circa 2003] by DMFilms Online

Video: Buffy, The Vampire Slayer - I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman by Boo Harder

[Reviews & Recaps]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 1x11 & 1x12 REACTION | Season One Finale!! by The Horror Bandwagon

Buffy The Vampire Slayer 4x20 The Yoko Factor Reaction | First Time Watching by Jules Reacts

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Reaction | S3E3 | Faith, Hope, and Trick by Wacky Uncle Reacts

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 1 Episode 1 Breakdown and Analysis | BtVS Podcast (updated reaction) by World of Shrimp Podcast

BTVS Character Analysis: Dawn Summers & Why you're wrong to hate her by Twisted View

The Re-Watcher's Council | "When She Was Bad" Buffy the Vampire Slayer S02E01 Spoiler Review by LGRN - Entertainment

Meanwhile, in Hell | Buffy the Vampire Slayer 6x3 "After Life" | The Normies Group Reaction! by The Normies

Podcast: Gunncut Gems - Angel S05E21 - Power Play by Pop Culture Role Call

Podcast: 7.22 - "Chosen" by If the Apocalypse Comes, Beep Me

Podcast: 1.10 Nightmares by Once More: A Rewatch Podcast

Publication: Collected Meta Essays via Lierdumoa

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter twenty

see my masterpost for what came before this.

"SYLAS!"

Percy's voice booms across the grounds he once chased his siblings around as a child. He doesn't care if he can be heard from the castle. He hopes he is. He hopes everyone inside knows he's coming, that he is out for their blood.

He can hear Vax behind him, and though the man is fast, Percy's legs are longer, and he covers quite a lot of ground with each stride. He's chasing a ghost, he's well aware, but he pushes forward faster, unwilling to stop until his lungs give out.

(Vex'ahlia. He took Vex'ahlia. How could he possibly have guessed, have known, the precise way to cut to the quick? He struck like an adder and there is poison in his veins now, black and oozing, and now he is fighting against time. He must get her back, he will get her back, before he is consumed so wholly by this rage that he ceases to be a man and instead transforms into a beast so grotesque the shadows themselves will quake.)

There is a wisp of something around the west side of the castle, and Percy pursues it with the single-minded focus of hunting dog. He rounds the corner to see the hill where he once taught Whitney to sled in winter and there, half an acre away, the doors to the root cellar have been swung open. He pumps his legs harder, lets his lung burn brighter, and moments later he is throwing himself down the stairs into the near pitch-black of the cellar.

The only reason he can see it is the sliver of moonlight slicing across the two of them like a blade. He sees the bottom half of Sylas Briarwood's face, the terror in Vex's eyes as they lock onto Percy's. He stands there, frozen, as he watches Briarwood's lips move at her ear. Whatever she hears, it catches the breath in Vex's throat, and then there are teeth there, sinking into the soft flesh just behind the ears that she hates and that Percy loves more than anything else on this miserable planet.

His arm moves before his mind does. He fires shot after shot, directly at Briarwood's face. It is wildly treacherous to shoot so close to her, but the fury that pulls at the trigger is beyond logic, beyond reason. It pays off; the vampire's face is suddenly gone, and Vex is crumpling to the ground.

"SISTER!"

Vax is there, shoving past Percy, who reloads in a single heartbeat and continues to fire into the darkness, though he has lost sight of Briarwood in the looming shadows of the root cellar. He charges forward, ignoring Vax's shouting "Help me get her out of here!" as his gun echoes among the packed earth walls.

There is a shifting to his left, and Percy whirls to see glinting, grinning teeth. He fires twice more, and Briarwood begins to melt. For a half a moment, Percy thinks he's done it, thinks he's defeated the monster that slaughtered his family, but then he watches a cloud of black mist, invisible at first, then clear in the moonlight outside, waft up and out of the root cellar. He stares after it, remembering reading of such a vampiric ability back in Syngorn, and his gun hangs heavy and hot at his side.

.

Vax stumbles away from the root cellar, his half-conscious sister draped along one side of him. He makes for the trees ahead as fast as he dares, cursing the damned de Rolo family for having such massive grounds. Once they are hidden among the trees, he gently rests her up against a trunk and tilts her head to one side to inspect her wound. "Vex'ahlia? Can you hear me?"

She grumpily swats his hand away. "I am fine, brother." Her head tips back against the bark. "He didn't...I'm fine."

There are two small puncture marks behind her ear, just at the base of her skull. Blood oozes from each of them, and he reaches down to tear a strip of cloth from his tunic to press to the wounds. "We need to keep pressure on this until we can get you to Pike."

"Vax, I'm fine," she insists. She places her hand over his to take the cloth from him. Then she stumbles forward, ignoring his attempts to stop her, and disappears behind a giant pine. He hears retching, and he knows better than to go to her; they have shared far too many drunken nights for him not to know how much she hates being touched while she's vomiting.

Vax knows that what Sylas Briarwood did was not nearly enough to either kill Vex or turn her into one of his kind. And yet his heart has yet to calm, so terrified was he by the thought of losing his sister. For their entire lives, they have only had each other, and he has never had to care for anyone's safety but hers.

Until Keyleth. Until Vilya. These past years, he has become so consumed by the life he has built for himself in Zephrah, so focused on his wife and daughter, that he has forgotten his sister, his best friend in this entire world. He has not worried for her well-being once since they parted from Zephrah, and he sees now the depths of his neglect. This is the price he pays for loving them all, his attention pulled in every which direction at all times. How is he meant to protect them all, how is he meant to serve them all, when every time he turns around, someone is being taken from him?

When Vex reappears from behind the tree, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, he strides forward and wraps her in a hug. "Do not go far from me," he whispers in her ear as tears trail annoyingly down his nose. "Do you hear me, Vex'ahlia?"

Her hands come up to rub up and down his back. "I hear you, brother."

"Do not go far from me."

"I won't. I promise."

He can only hold her so long before he knows they must move, must not be caught standing still by a vampire who can strike so quickly and silently. He presses a kiss to her forehead before the two of them creep back toward the root cellar. "Percy!" Vax hisses down into the darkness. "You still in there?" He is met with silence.

"Percy?" Vex starts to descend into the cellar once more, and, exasperated, Vax scrambles after her, muttering, "What did I just say...?"

Percy is standing right where Vax had left him, seemingly rooted to the spot. His gun hangs like an anchor at his side as he stares forward, unblinking. Vex approaches him slowly, as she might a wild animal. "Percival?" He can barely hear her, and his fingers twitch to yank her back, suddenly worried about what Percy might do next. "Percival, dear, it's me."

She's standing in front of him now, and his eyes finally focus on her face. She reaches a hand up to cup his cheek. "I'm right here, Percy. Look." She takes his free hand and brings it up to rest against her chest, right over her heart. "Still alive. You won't be rid of me that easily, darling."

And it is almost unbearable to watch, the blooming tenderness on Percy's face. This is a tableau that is not meant for Vax's eyes, but he cannot look away. Percy is trembling as Vex carefully extracts the gun from his hand. "We need to go back now. Can you walk?"

Percy makes a choked noise, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. "You are asking me?" he breathes.

"Well no offense, darling, but you do seem rather worse off at the moment."

His head tips forward to rest against hers, and Vax feels a fool for never seeing just how fervently this man adores his sister. There is relief in this, knowing that it is no longer just him who must remind her of how endlessly loved she is, how incomparably precious. Though he does not wish to ruin this moment, Vex is correct; they must get back to the group, ideally before Keyleth returns from her foray into the castle as a bat. He clears his throat. "Are you alright, Percy?"

Percy lifts his gaze to meet Vax's eyes above Vex's head. There is an understanding, now, between them, a shared terror that only a man in love can know. He nods. "Let's go." He slides his hand into Vex'ahlia's, and together the three of them climb out of the root cellar and back onto the gray-black lawns of the castle.

[pokefossilclub]

People don't tend to think about how the Dreepy line are Ghost-types, d'you have any ghost stories with them?

Ah, I adore the Dreepy line! As I said, my Dragapult Guanyu is an invaluable member of my working team, and she maintains, of course, a clan of Dreepy of her own. Many of them were handed in to our Sanctuary for some reason or another, but a fair few simply arrived by themselves! That's the thing with Ghosts... they do tend to come and go as they please...

The traditional Dreepy story, of course, is the rather sad tale of a man in the 18th century and his haunted house that led to the discovery that the line as a whole are, essentially, the ghosts of long-extinct Pokemon!

The story goes that he bought a home on the Downs, the rolling grassy hills that are all white chalk underneath, and found himself plagued by little flitting figures, constantly darting in and out of the corners of his eyes, and strange sounds almost like the whispers of the sea. He was a rational man who did not believe in spirits, but the glimpses and noises were constant and hard to ignore; Ghost Pokemon were well known, of course, but he could not catch or identify any causing the issues. His home was very remote, and while he initially invited many friends to stay in the hopes of distracting himself (and that they would tell him it was nothing, of course) none of them would stay for long- every time they left within a week or two, unnerved by the strange happenings. He became more and more isolated, obsessed with tracking down the source of his troubles, and after he had not been seen for months a group from the nearest village came to his home and found that he had excavated a pit in his cellar and was digging among the remains of many strange, as yet unseen creatures!

The villagers, uncertain what they were dealing with, took him back to the village with them and sent for the local doctor as well as the local priest, and these men heard the story their patient told and went to investigate their own selves. What they found was that his house was built upon one of the richest beds of fossils that had ever- and still has ever- been heard of in the area, and they were able to match the fossilized bones of many of the creatures to the Ghostly little spirits that infested the house! Sadly, the original homeowner never quite recovered, and moved away shortly afterwards to Alola for his health; his house was demolished in order to gain access to the fossil bed.

[confoundedpangolin]

Podcast List (not recs, just podcasts)

this is really long and I'm still adding to it and I know most of them are story podcasts but I think a few are non fiction

The Vesta Clinic

Not Quite Dead

The Kingmaker Histories

Jar of Rebuke

Victoriocity

Fawx and Stallion

Desperado

The Night Post

Tell No Tales

Nowhere, On Air

Elixir

Tales From Low City

The Lost Cat Podcast

The Antique Shop

In Transit

The Dead Letter Office Of Somewhere, Ohio

The Sound Museum

Bodies in Space

Wooden Overcoats

Middle: Below

City of Ghosts

Girl in Space

Do You Copy?

Elaine's Cooking For The Soul

Kakos Industries

SINKHOLE

What's the Frequency

Unwell

Olive Hill

Night Shift Podcast

Midnight Radio

London Necropolis Railway

Hannahpocalypse

The Far Meridian

The Hacker Chronicles

Don’t Mind Cruxmont

Hello From The Hallowoods

The Magnus Archives

Welcome To Night Vale

Alice Isn't Dead

Archive 81

Wolf 359

Ars Paradoxica

The Silt Verses

Malevolent

Red Valley

Woe.Begone

Camp Here And There

I Am In Eskew

Hi Nay

The Scarab Archives

The White Vault

EOS 10

Batman Unburied

Where the Stars Fell

Violent Femme

Re: Dracula

Tiny Terrors

36 Questions

The Edge Of Sleep

The Bright Sessions

The Cellar Letters

That Vampire Show

Spirit Box Radio

Old Gods of Appalachia

Neighbourly Podcast

Mayfair Watchers Society

Midnight Burger

DnDaddies

Death By Dying

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality

Stellar Firma

Ghost Wax

Clockwork Bird

The Strange Case of Starship Iris

SCP: Find Us Alive

In Strange Woods

The Adventure Zone

Lights Out

Three of Hearts

On A Dark, Cold Night

Radio Rental

Limetown

Scared To Death

The Black Tapes

The Town Whispers

13 Days Of Halloween

[puregaalee]

GaaLee HorrorFest 2022: Prompt List

It's Halloween night. You're dressed in your best costume yet, and you've got a bag just waiting to be filled with candy. The first house you see is dark, but the porch light is on, flickering on and off, on and off. Every time it flickers back on, it illuminates a bowl of candy filled to overflowing.

You carefully approach and, after a moment, shove your hand in and come out with a handful of treats. The bowl is still full, so you take another handful and add both to your bag before going on your way....

This event's prompts are a bit like that: A big bowl of candy set out on Halloween night for eager trick-o-treaters! You can take as many or as few prompts as you like! You can mix them and match them! You can combine different categories! You can use just that one single prompt that speaks to you, or find inspiration in ten! Whatever your heart desires!

The prompts are broken up into three categories: words, quotes, and images. The words are also broken up into further sub-groups based around a specific genre or type of horror: slasher, gothic, ghost stories, and creature features.

Each quote prompt comes from a horror book, while each image comes from a film (which do not need to be watched in order to use the prompt, though I have provided watch options). Below the cut is a text version of each prompt, as well as the names of the films the visual prompts come from and a larger version of the image. TW: spiders and dead bodies/body horror.

Sign-Up // Rules // FAQ // A Guide to Horror // The Horrors of Horror

All event banners made by @ghoste-catte

If you have any questions about the prompts, please send an ask to @puregaalee

Words

Slasher

Blood

Organs

Flesh

Teeth

Bones

Eyes

Nails

Gothic

Dread

Cold

Sick

Eerie

Rot

Bleak

Shadow

Loneliness

Ghost Stories

Haunted

Possessed

Hunger

Darkness

Cursed

Nightmares

Whispers

Creature Feature

Vampires

Ghosts

Shape-shifters

Werewolves

Demons

Zombies

Quotes

"We ask only to be reassured about the noises in the cellar and the window that should not have been open." ―The Family Reunion, TS Eliot

"Some teeth long for ripping, gleaming wet from black dog gums. so you keep your eyes closed at the end. you don't want to see such a mouth up close. before the bite, before it's oblivion in the goring of your soft parts, the speckled lips will curl back in a whinny of excitement. you just know it." ―The Ritual*, Adam Nevill

“When your rage is choking you, it is best to say nothing.” ― Fledgling, Octavia E. Butler

“But then, maybe “I don’t believe in you” is the cruelest way to kill a monster.” ― White Is for Witching, Helen Oyeyemi

"I do not love men. I love what devours them." ―Prometheus Illbound, Andre Gide

"I am like a small creature swallowed whole by a monster[…] And the monster feels my tiny little movements inside." ―The Haunting of Hill House*, Shirely Jackson

"I have meanness inside me, real as an organ." ―Dark Places, Gillian Flynn

"Night was a different matter. It was dense, thicker than the very walls, and it was empty, so black, so immense that within it you could brush against appalling things and feel roaming and prowling around a strange, mysterious horror." ―The Complete Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant, Guy de Maupassant

"One need not be a chamber to be haunted. one need not be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place." Emily Dickinson

*The Ritual has been adapted into a film which is available to watch on Netflix. The Haunting of Hill House has many adaptations including the 1963 film The Haunting, the 1999 film of the same name, the Netflix show The Haunting of Hill House, which is more inspired by than a true adaptation.

Images

Raw (2016): (Available on Netflix* // Trailer) A coming of age horror drama following a young vegetarian as she starts her first year of college at a school for veterinarian medicine. Her older sister attends the school as well, and during a hazing ceremony, she is forced to eat raw rabbit kidneys. The next day she is sick from food poisoning. As the film progresses, her craving for meat grows but it's not enough to cooked animal meat... [TW: animal death, cannibalism, blood, body horror such as injury]

The Autopsy of Jane Doe (2016): (Available with Amazon Premium* // Trailer) A supernatural horror film following the unidentified corpse of Jane Doe to a father-son morgue. Her body was found at the scene of a gruesome crime, and the police want to know how she died immediately. The father and owner of the morgue intends to stay late to perform the autopsy, and his son stays with him. But what they find within Jane Doe is anything but the standard cause of death... [TW: animal death, blood, body horror, flashing lights]

Umma (2022): (Available on Amazon to rent* // Trailer) A supernatural horror film following a Korean woman and her daughter living on a farm. The woman has been keeping secrets from her daughter, secrets about her childhood, about her mother, but when the woman's mother dies the secrets don't stay secrets for long... [TW: child abuse, animal death, bees]

The Amittyville Horror (1979): (Available on Hulu, Amazon, and other platforms* // Trailer) Based on the 1977 book of the same name, the film follows the story of a family living in a haunted house that is believed to have led to the murder of the previous family. Though the murders themselves are based on a true story, whether the house was haunted remains to be seen, but Amityville has been a cultural horror since... [TW: blood, gore, insects]

The Others (2001): (Available on Amazon Prime* // Trailer) A gothic, supernatural and psychological horror film following a woman and her two children, living in a large manor in 1945. The windows in the house are all covered, as the children suffer from a rare photosensitivity and cannot be in the sunlight. Grace hires a new housekeeper, groundskeeper, and maid. When odd things begin to happen in the house, Grace begins to fear the presence of 'the others'... [TW: child abuse, mentions of WWII]

Arachnophobia (1990): (Available on Amazon to rent* // Trailer) A natural horror comedy that starts in Venezuela, where an entomologist is doing research. While there, a never-before seen tarantula is discovered and samples are taken back to camp for stud. Unbeknownst to the team, another one of these tarantulas hitch hikes its way back to camp and slips into the bed of an unsuspecting photographer, who is ailing from a fever. When he's found dead, no one suspects anything and his body is packed in a crate for shipping back to his hometown and a proper burial. But before his body is shipped, the tarantula hitches yet another ride, leaving its home in the forest to make for the small town of Canaima, California... [TW: spiders, death by spider]

The Haunting of Bly Manor (2020): (Available on Netflix* // Trailer) A gothic romance, the story follows a young au pair to Bly Manor. She's gone to England to escape from something that haunts her, only to stumble upon strange things at Bly... [TW: implications of past child abuse, Bury Your Gays, drowning, dissociation]

*All above listed films, including The Ritual, The Haunting (1963 & 1999), and The Haunting of Hill House are available for free here.

[moku-youbi]

Ahhhh I love your writing so much. Loved the newest chapter!!! Full on end of the world slow burn romance! I love unconventional soulmates.

Have you ever seen haunting of hill house? I’m thinking the dysfunctional family unit, seeing ghosts and not being believed might really work with the umbrellas?

Yay, I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I too adore the soulmates that, from the outside, seem to make no sense, where everyone else wonders why they would be together, but who compliment one another so perfectly. It hurts what they've both gone through, and I wanted to try to find a way to fix it, but I gotta admit, it's a real challenge with them having this big age gap (I mean...I guess they do in canon, too, but at least in that situation Klaus is firmly in his 30s...), but still, if Five had is way, it would not be as slow, lmao.

I *love* Haunting of Hill House (and the book, and the other shows in the series) and actually I thought the same thing when I did a recent rewatch. The atmosphere would be perfect for the Umbrellas. I had a vague thought of Ben and Klaus taking the role of the twins, which of course leads poor Ben to dying. (I could actually see Klaus as being Theo *and* Luke tbh, because I love the extra drama of him not being able to touch--that's something I love to toy with, the idea of there being one person you can touch. Plus Klaus losing himself in drugs to stop seeing the ghosts, and sleeping with anything with a pulse to try to feel something good, maximum pain. And I totally see Luther and Viktor as different aspects of Steve. Like both of them completely denying what happened to them as kids, Viktor still writing the book making everyone else look like they're crazy. Allison has Shirl vibes fr. IDK about Diego or Five.

I also sorta dreamed up what the Red Room would be for each of them. Like a gym for both Luther and Diego, but probably different sorts of equipment--like more typical strength machines/treadmill for Luther, where as for Diego it's more of a parkor/ninja obstacle course type thing. For Allison it's like a dressing room, with wardrobes full of gorgeous clothing and a vanity full of makeup, and all this jewellery. Klaus finds an wine cellar or rec room with a wet bar. Five has a study/lab. Ben has a library, but with decidedly different books, with a comfy window seat to curl up in. Viktor has a practice room full of instruments with perfect acoustics. Sometimes it's a shared space, like Luther and Allison's 'tent' in the 'conservatory.' (OMG, my wife just suggested Griddy's is the Red Room, too, ugh)

I would say I'd add it to my list, but OMG, the fics I plan on writing, I can't even. I've been meaning to post a list of all the fics I'm working on/have outlined/want to write someday for Klive. It's insane. Thought about taking a poll to see what people would be most interested in seeing next, but I'm not sure there'd be many people voting lol. Maybe I'll put it up anyway! But at any rate, I'm pretty focussed on the Bomb series at the moment.

Thanks so much for letting me know how you're enjoying the fic. I really appreciate it.

[byneddiedingo]

Joe Pesci, Ray Liotta, and Joseph Bono in GoodFellas (Martin Scorsese, 1990)

Cast: Robert De Niro, Ray Liotta, Joe Pesci, Lorraine Bracco, Christopher Serrone, Paul Sorvino, Frank Sivero, Tony Darrow, Mike Starr, Frank Vincent. Screenplay: NIcholas Pileggi, Martin Scorsese, based on a book by Pileggi. Cinematography: Michael Ballhaus. Production design: Kristi Zea. Film editing: James Y. Kwei, Thelma Schoonmaker. 

When the best picture and best director Oscars for 1990 went to Dances With Wolves and Kevin Costner, many saw it as a gaffe by the Academy, if not a downright snub of Martin Scorsese's GoodFellas. I actually remember enjoying Dances With Wolves a great deal. I liked the performances by Costner, Mary McDonnell, Graham Greene, and Wes Studi, appreciated the attempt to see things from the point of view of Native Americans, and found the buffalo stampede thrilling. But I haven't seen it again for many years, and don't really have much interest in doing so, There are people who say that the real test of a movie is whether you want to see it again, because each time you watch it, you either see it differently or get a sense of why you liked it the first time. In the latter case, there's a great pleasure in hearing the dialogue in a movie like Casablanca (Michael Curtiz, 1943) fall into its accustomed place each time you revisit it. But GoodFellas seems to me to fill both categories: You anticipate the "What do you mean, I'm funny?" exchange between Tommy (Joe Pesci) and Henry Hill (Ray Liotta), while at the same time you see something new in the way scenes are staged or filmed or edited. I will have to say that the Academy's choice this time doesn't seem so egregious to me as does its choice of Ordinary People (Robert Redford, 1980) over Raging Bull (Scorsese, 1980). GoodFellas can be just a little too clever and showy for its own good. Consider the dazzling tracking shot as Henry and Karen (Lorraine Bracco) enter the Copacabana via the cellars and kitchens, or the fast-paced editing in the climactic scene when the paranoid Henry is dashing around town, keeping an eye on the helicopter above. On a repeat viewing, both scenes maybe draw a little more attention to film technique than is good for narrative coherence. But these are quibbles. GoodFellas won exactly one Oscar, for Joe Pesci's hair-trigger performance. Lorraine Bracco lost to Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost (Jerry Zucker), the adapted screenplay award went to Michael Blake for Dances With Wolves instead of to Nicholas Pileggi and Scorsese, and Thelma Schoonmaker lost the editing Oscar to Neil Travis for Dances. And Ray Liotta's exceptional performance went completely unnominated. 

[batgirlsay]

Cold Like Winter

Vampire AU Playlist for Obiyuki AU Bingo 2022 by @snowwhite-andtheknight

I used this AU as an excuse to make another Obi fall/winter themed playlist…

Started rearranging some fall/Halloween themed playlists and ended up with a story where vampire Obi falls for Shirayuki and has a lot of doubts about them being together. Eventually, after sharing his feelings, Shirayuki becomes the “final girl” and thinks about becoming a vampire too. The Anthony Green and Matt Pond songs fit perfectly for this theme!

East Coast Winters- Anthony Green You’re So Dead Meat- Anthony Green Your Ghost- The Decemberists Ghosting- Mother Mother The Haunting- Anberlin Halloween- Matt Pond PA Last Light- Matt Pond PA Final Girl- Chvrches

Summary lyrics are cited after the bonus vampire obi!

East Coast Winters- Anthony Green

Anyone who walks down my path after it snows Will cover up their footprints

Anyone who walks through my door is already done for And if you walk a mile in my shoes, you'd never choose You'd never come back here

As far as I can tell, you never got it right And everyone I know is all but turned away Scattered in the dark

You’re So Dead Meat- Anthony Green

Faces of doubt Haunted by the memories of everything minus the bad stuff

Sorrow and all Don't tell me if you care, come alive with it, let it show And don't wistfully believe I would die for it

Your Ghost- The Decemberists

Along the old seawall Inside the banquet hall Below the cellar stair Maybe you'll find me there Your ghost

And at your final end When you are free again No longer long to be You will belong to me

Ghosting- Mother Mother

I've been ghosting, I've been ghosting along Ghost in your house, ghost in your arms When you're tossing, when you turn in your sleep It's because I'm ghosting your dreams

And this is why I have decided To pull these old white sheets from my head I'll leave them folded neat and tidy So that you'll know I'm out of hiding

I remember, I remember the days When I'd make you oh-so afraid

I will be kind and I'll be sweet If you stop staring straight through me

And this is why I have decided To leave your house and home unhaunted You don't need poltergeist for sidekicks You don't need treats and you don't need tricks

The Haunting- Anberlin

Up on this hill, in this uncanny house The wind makes this place creak, the lights they are flickering The moon she is lurking, the clock it stopped working At a quarter past three

There's something dancing here in the shadows And I wish it were us

You haunt me baby, you haunt me here tonight

Can't get your memory, off of my mind Just want your heartbeat, on top of mine

Up on this hill, in this uncanny house Your spirit I can't see, but I still believe I can feel your breath on me

Halloween- Matt Pond PA

Went to where the people were on a Saturday night Seems like it always seems Where I go, I want to leave

I surprised myself as my mouth started speaking There is nothing left of my nerves As I lean over to ask her Pardon the intrusion Could we leave before it gets bad?

Last Light- Matt Pond PA

Night comes in and takes our light As we turn once again in the sun We don't have to drift out of sight But shadows will fall and run

Green turns gold and the gold turns green As we turn one more time past the sun Light like no one else has seen As the shadows will shift to none Yeah, they'll run, they will run, they will run As the day's last light soon is done

You thought it was your time To give into the endless night No, you were not right

Sky hangs heavy in the lowest light As the day slips down past the sun Black and blue in the forest green Shadows are gone, they have run

I can feel your hand let go of mine Drift you to where there isn't any light And I can never sleep enough, that's right Something makes me nervous 'bout the night

Final Girl- Chvrches

Keeping secrets until everything became a bit too loud

And it feels like the weight is too much to carry I should quit, maybe go get married Only time will tell

Don't want to find your daughter in a body bag So I need to get out now while most of me is still intact

In the final cut In the final scene There's a final girl Does she look like me?

[cryptidcally]

“A ghost can be a lot of things. A memory, a daydream, a secret. Grief, anger, guilt. But, in my experience, most times they’re just what we want to see.” — Steven, The Haunting of Hill House.

“Maybe all the schemes of the devil were nothing compared to what man could think up.” Joe Hill, Horns.

"We ask only to be reassured about the noises in the cellar and the window that should not have been open." T.S. Eliot, The Family Reunion.

Haunting, August 2022.

via @cryptidcally

oxford languages haunted definition. collages by cryptidcally using royalty free canva images. image text is an excerpt from The Beast with Five Fingers by W. F. Harvey.

[burlveneer-music]

DJ Muggs - Notes & Tones - an album of Sun Ra samples + hip hop beats created to pair with a wine of the same name (that’s a thing?)

Notes & Tones –  the wine: 2020 vintage - 90% Tocai Friulano/10% Trebbiano old vine grapes from Fox Hill Vineyard in Mendocino County.

Notes & Tones – the album: produced by DJ Muggs, made with samples from Sun Ra.

Inspiration: Art Taylor /  Stanko Radikon / Xavier Caillard

Following the launch of our Holy Ghost wine and record pairing, we have teamed up with California’s Broc Cellars and its winemaker Chris Brockway  for Notes and Tones.

Deep natural wine meets deep jazz and rap samples on vinyl.

Some explanation is in order:

Natural wine can be the same, obscure type of thing as a natural hot dog. Natural in what way? As in it, in some way, originally came from nature? In this case, we mean an unadulterated wine made without chemical pesticides or fertilizers used in grape cultivation; a wine made without unnecessary intervention by the vintner without fining and filtering; and with little or no sulfites added to extend the wine’s shelf life.

In this case, this wine is a “living” – sensitive, evolving – thing. If you follow the biodynamic calendar, you might find it tastes different if you drink it on a “root” day or a “fruit” day. And you will probably find that it is not sanitized like the commercially produced, neutered and shelf-stabilized wine that is what 90% of wine consumers tend to drink. In other words, Notes & Tones is probably unlike most wines you have ever had.  

This is a good thing. This is purposeful. Chris Brockway of Broc Cellars worked with us to conceive, ferment, taste, blend and then bottle this homage to the skin-contact wines of yore brought into the modern day – those by the likes of Stanko Radikon in Italy and Xavier Caillard in France.

The only name that fit it was that of the landmark book by the great jazz drummer Art Taylor.  Muggs complimented the wine with music sourced and cleared from the landmark catalog of the cosmic jazz musician Sun Ra.

[jewfrogs]

Can you do Dark In Here and/or Songs for Pierre Chuvin and/or Tallahasse?

oh boy i sure can!

dark in here

parisian enclave

collect the brine from the rain gutters, let the devil take the rest

the destruction of the kola superdeep borehole tower

retain a sense of grace when it's time to cut the cord / crack through the crust, fall to your knees, and praise the lord

mobile

lord, if you won't / keep me safe and warm / then send down the storm

dark in here

you who stood so proud once / i can taste your fear / you blazed like torches / it's dark in here

lizard suit

wait for my cue / search for one clue / i have to trust that my compass stays true

when a powerful animal comes

sleep in short shifts and then rise up to our feet / life is hard and life is short and life is sweet

to the headless horseman

g-d keep the bounty hunter who shows mercy to his prey

the new hydra collection

dream of the day when the calm waters break / and something rises from the lake

the slow parts on death metal albums

mark my time on the wall / answer the call / and listen to the slow parts

before i got there

and the tapestry above / torn down, trampled, then re-hung / now illegible forever / an oracle with no tongue

arguing with the ghost of peter laughner about his coney island baby review

systems closing down on several fronts / you will always have been here once

let me bathe in demonic light

someday the old flesh will give way to the new / find a functioning mirror inside and slip right through

[other two under the cut]

songs for pierre chuvin

aulon raid

your reputation precedes you / something must be done / here in the heat of the onslaught / i am the one

until olympius returns

is it not a stately beacon / for the whole world to see? / we will be right here / on the day it finally burns

last gasp at calama

but carthage may rise again one day / with the measure that you used, so shall it be measured to you / so you say, and it's true

for the snakes

all your abandoned things / once fine vestments, statues with wings / they have their uses, every one / let me slither across them in the sun

the wooded hills along the black sea

serve who we serve / enshrouded in moonlight / bucking the curve

january 31, 438

when the hunger turns in on itself / it begins to devour its host / who do you turn to for help? / who do you love the most?

hopeful assassins of zeno

be nice to the guys who wear necklaces with crosses / they will stab you in the back / you gotta turn the other cheek / you gotta learn to love jesus, so to speak

their gods do not have surgeons

you who come demanding proof / let your god rebuild this roof

going to lebanon 2

pick up the faint faint scent / of the faith of our fathers / their names were known once to me / i hear them sometimes on the song of the sea

exegetic chains

headed somewhere better / if i have to crawl there on all fours

tallahassee

tallahassee

moon stuttering in the sky like film stuck in a projector

southwood plantation road

i got you / you got whatever's left of me to get / our conversations are like minefields / no one's found a safe way through one yet

game shows touch our lives

people say friends don't destroy one another / what do they know about friends?

the house that dripped blood

still waters go stagnant / bodies bloat / and the cellar door / is an open throat

idylls of the king

our shared paths / unraveling behind us like ribbons

no children

i am drowning / there is no sign of land / you are coming down with me / hand in unlovable hand

see america right

if we never make it back to california / i want you to know i love you / but my love is like a dark cloud full of rain / always right there up above you

peacocks

the sky will fall / we will rise

international small arms traffic blues

there is a shortage in the blood supply / but there is no shortage of blood

have to explode

name one thing about us two anyone could love

old college try

i will walk down to the end with you / if you will come all the way down with me

oceanographer's choice

look at that, would you look at that? / the way the ceiling starts to swerve / what will i do when i don't have you? / when i finally get what i deserve?

alpha rat's nest

sing for the damage we've done / and the worse things that we'll do / open your mouth up and sing for me now / and i will sing for you