cthullain

[cthullain]

Let my vision be seen,,...

#corto maltese #i need to try out a new manufacturer anyways so #and they have the most darling little seashell clasps for their charms #i wuv him

[cthullain]

this is what I use my Photoshop license for

#dylan dog #meme #im sorry/.

[cthullain]

tf going on in Spain /j

#corto maltese #dylan dog #lucky luke #torpedo 1936 #he's like an ugly inbred chihuahua to me #but in a cute way #meme #lieutenant blueberry

[cthullain]

[cthullain]

Corto after any minor inconvenience

#corto maltese #shitpost #it’s 3 am and I have work to do #yes he took his shirt off and then it was on when he dove in don’t look at me

[cthullain]

some of the art i made for friends to go with the keychains!!! i ❤️ my friends!!!!!!!

#corto Maltese #torpedo 1936 #I love how Luca looks sm I have him up on my wall and I gaze at him longingly all the time 😭 #your traditional art is always so gorgeous I love ur use of colors smmm waaa

[cthullain]

what’s he telling dylan, wrong answers only

cropped. bc. well

#biting the bars of my cage gnawing at them even #the way you draw hands I'm going insane corto's hand hair hrngfngmgngnggngnfggf

[cthullain]

Corto Maltese by Hugo Pratt

[cthullain]

Wham!

#corto maltese #rip corto maltese you would've FUCKED UP late 80s gay clubs

[cthullain]

Torpedo 1936 Short Stories Masterpost˚୨୧⋆｡˚

(PDFs + Transcriptions of Torpedo Short Stories included in the Catalan Communications publishing of Torpedo 1936, but left out of the IDW collection of Torpedo 1936) Volume 2 What the River Carries Away

+ I've fixed some spelling errors in the stories and tried to add the images that accompany the story :) - I only own volumes 2, 4, and 3 out of the Catalan Communications publishing run so I'll be slowly updating these as I collect more

#torpedo 1936 short stories #torpedo 1936

[cthullain]

What the River Carries Away (#1 Short Story Vol. 2)

Spelling errors have been fixed, otherwise, the text is written with the same punctuation as it was in the original comic. Full story under the cut ୨୧⋆｡˚

In my line of work, there’s nothing like a good bridge at two in the morning. For three reasons:

– Not even God is around at that hour.

– Once done with the hit, it’s into the water with the mark, and if anybody starts asking questions, I don’t remember having seen a soul.

– On a bridge, bullets travel a lot faster and men move a lot slower.

Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t like badmouthing the dead but I have to say one thing about Tom Wallace. The guy was a real loser. It’s no wonder they called him “The Mouth.” He’d earned the name because “The Mouth” had a habit of never being able to keep his shut. He even showed up at the police station one day and spilled his guts about everything he knew to the cops. “The Mouth” was in a league all by himself. A first-class troublemaker. A lot of people wanted him out of the picture and that’s where I came in. Unlike “The Mouth,” I’m not going to say who hired me to do the hit. I will say they paid me a bundle and told me where and when. I was there on the fateful night. It was the kind of night I like: no wind, no moon, no witnesses. And there was the bridge. And the Hudson River, black as an evil intention. And it was two a.m. And because I got there ahead of schedule, it was another hour before Wallace showed up. I saw him approaching in the distance, zigzagging like a snake. He had a bottle in his hand and I don’t know how many under his belt, and you could hear him coming half a mile away. He wasn’t carrying on like a drunk stumbling across in the dark sometimes can: instead I heard a low, deep sobbing, the sounds a man makes when he’s in the throes of despair. All of a sudden he stopped in the middle of the bridge and leaned over the railing. I don’t know what the fuck he was looking at, but he stayed there a good five minutes, his eyes fixed on the black waters of the Hudson. And then it happened. He jumped over the barrier and hurled himself into the water. I reacted the instant I heard the SPLASH. I came out of hiding and rushed over to the edge. I tore my clothes off and jumped into the water before I had time to figure out what was happening. Like a cat with nine lives to burn, I don’t have much respect for the “grim reaper”. For three reasons:

– Because he’s colorless,

– Because he’s odorless,

– Because he’s stupid.

Swimming isn’t exactly my forte, but I managed to reach him. “The Mouth” gave me a hard time at first. I had to persuade him to cooperate with a left, then a right, and then another left. It took his strength and mine to get him to the river bank. Once out of the water, he lay on the ground, gasping and wretching. I dried myself off with my undershirt, then threw it into the water. I got dressed. “The Mouth” was still flailing around when I finished. I lit a cigarette to give him time to come around. When he didn’t show signs of regaining consciousness, I turned him face-down and really put the screws to him, gave him the old heave-ho to flush the river out of him. The guy was a faucet: water just streamed out of him. Finally he got up, swaying and snorting, and managed to say: – “My wife… my wife has left me…” – “Who wouldn’t?” – “Whaaat?”

He broke into a bad coughing fit. When he’d finished punishing his vocal chords, he picked up where he’d started:

– “My wife has left me…” – “How much?” – “Whaaat?”

Though I’d fished him out of the current, he wasn’t exactly following my drift. He was groggier than a boxer down and out for the ten-count. – “There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” I told him. – “That’s what they always say… but there’s nobody like my Mary.” – “They always say that too.” – “Whaaat?” – Don’t mind me.” Then the hiccup symphony started. Every time he hiccupped, he took a step back, the same way the recoil of a gun kicks at you. This guy had hiccups that just wouldn’t quit. Any minute, they were going to knock him on his ass. – “My wife has left me…” he repeated, as though I hadn’t heard him the first two times. “And I’ve gotten drunk… hic… and you wanna know why I’ve gotten drunk?” – “To celebrate?” Another symphony. – “No, no… To work up the courage to kill myself…” he said, shaking his head and managing to drench me in the process. “Am I shocking you?” – “You’re showering me.” The coughing started again. – “It’s crazy… You know something?… Hic… A few minutes ago I wanted to die and now I don’t want to do that anymore. What do you make of that?” – “Stranger things have happened.” He started doing – what do you call ‘em? – warm-up exercises. He not only had his mouth in gear: now he had his legs going too. A real athlete, “The Mouth.” – “Listen, I’m freezing my ass off. I’m soaked to the skin. What do you say we go for a drink?” – “Another one?” – “The Mouth” laughed or bared his teeth, I’m not really sure which. – “You know what I say? To hell with my wife! To hell with that woman! Now, how about that drink?” – “No.” – “Come on, don’t be a wet blanket. The night is still young.” Now he was hopping around like a goddamn kangaroo. He hopped first on one foot, then on the other, then on mine, drenching me the whole time. I half expected “The Mouth” to spit on me next. – “Oh, I get it!” he burst out suddenly, as he stopped jumping. “You’ve got somebody at home waiting for you.” I didn’t answer. – “Married?” he asked. – “To my work,” I answered. More warm-ups and making with the kangaroo number. – “Hey, you’re all right,” he said. “You’re a pal. You saved my life. What did you say your name was?” – “I didn’t say.” The truth is that he was doing most of the talking. He was jabbering away like somebody had wound his mainspring a little too tight. “The Mouth” was living up to his name all right. He was wound up enough to keep talking all night. After a while, though, our little chat came to an end. He gave me a pat on the back and bid me goodnight. – “See you later,” he said, as though we’d been pals all our lives, and then took a few steps to leave. Only a few steps, because then it was my turn to speak. – “See you later… Tom.” He stopped dead in his tracks. He stood there for a moment, still dripping. – “I don’t remember telling you my name. How do you know it?” – “Somebody who wants you told me.” – “Somebody who… wants me?” – “Somebody who wants you dead, Tom Wallace.” He stood there a moment. “The Mouth” had his wide open. A tunnel waiting for the midnight express. – “W-Who are you?” He wasn’t going to like the answer. – “Torelli. Luca Torelli.” He choked back a scream; that’s the kind of night it was. – “Torpedo!” I felt a smile creep across my face. – “I see you’ve heard of me.” I pulled out my piece. I could tell by the look on his face that he recognized the tool of my trade. – “But… but why?” – “Dough.” He’d been swallowing wine and water all night, now he swallowed the lump in his throat. – “Why didn’t… you let me…” – “The Mouth” could barely get the words out– … “drown” in the river? – “I wanted to see what it would feel like to save someone’s life.” I could tell by his puzzled expression that he was all mixed up. He wasn’t putting all the pieces together. He couldn’t figure me out. – “And how… how did it feel?” – “Cold.”

He began backing away from me, drawing closer to the edge of the river. His face went white. That’s what happens to all of them. It’s what I call looking death square in the face. Their eyes get glassy right before. “The Mouth” had gone dry, the mainspring had wound down. I squeezed the trigger and the bullet propelled him backwards. I didn’t even have to throw him into the water. He managed that all by himself. The Hudson carried him off in silence, like it had all the others before him, like it would all the others who would follow. I didn’t jump into the water this time. In the 1930’s, it wasn’t a good idea to fuck with the river, take it from an expert. And you want to know why? For three reasons.

#torpedo 1936 #torpedo 1936 short stories

[cthullain]

Allowing myself to be cringe and post about my torpedo 1936 oc bhnmfmfmdmd

#torpedo 1936 #oc x canon #I’m so sorry to Spain #she’s my pretty princess and he’s just there I guess

[cthullain]

This must be the most handsome character design I ever seen...

[cthullain]

omg, alphonse mucha what are you doing in my Dyd comic....

#dylan dog #gigi cavenago #alphonse mucha

[cthullain]

I need to kiss dylan and his ugly slips SO BAD.

#dylan dog #his lil ass i see u dylan

[cthullain]

dylan what a pretty girl you are </3

[cthullain]

everyone has been posting such high quality stuff in the tag recently. not me tho. im here to post a rasputin thirst trap.

#the way u draw Rasputin is like crack cocaine to me #rascorto #I’m going to put him in a jar and shake him around oUGHHHH