headless-bram

[headless-bram]

Hunt for Brimstone // Promposal

Date: 8 June

Summary: Bram creates a scavenger hunt around town for Mim — 🩶

tw: none

ft: @madmagicmim @stellabfly @busterstrouble @ambereyed-mountain-prince @euterpe-of-hesiod @vvinter-queen @geehosaphat @notbad-justsungthatway

|Read it Here|

[headless-bram]

a boy in Black // Bram Van Blair

Bram is black—the kind that breathes. Not absence, but presence. Heavy, full, alive. He’s the black of wet pavement under streetlight, of old leather jackets and church pews that still smell like guilt. The black of inked knuckles, bruised prayers, and shadows that don’t flinch when you stare back. Bram is haunted and holy, rage carved into bone and stitched together with love that hurts to hold. He’s Boston alleyways at 2am, Irish blood boiling under tattoos and teeth, adrenaline and ash in equal measure. Black because it’s not clean—it remembers. It carries. It hides what it can’t fix and wears what it can’t hide. He is flawed, cracked down the middle like an old bell, but still ringing—still trying. Bram is hope in combat boots. He is the arc, the fire, the slow drag from sinner to something close to saving. Black isn’t empty. It’s just waiting for the light to prove it’s real. And Bram—he is

[headless-bram]

Bram tilted his head like he was trying to hear the guy better, then gave a full-body sigh—loud, theatrical, completely unbothered.

“Ohhh, that’s what that was. A lesson in manners?” He dragged the word like it tasted sour. “Sounded more like a whimper wrapped in a lecture, but hey—my bad if I missed the moral.”

He stood then, slow and casual, brushing off his jeans like he wasn’t the one throwing verbal punches ten seconds ago. His gaze landed on Reginald again, flat and unimpressed.

“Look, teach… You wanna be respected? Try speakin’ like someone who knows what respect is, not like you read about it in a textbook.”

Then, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes—

“And for the record? The guy under this stone said I could sit here. Real chill about it. Probably ‘cause I don’t show up stammerin .”

@not-sinister

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram let out a low, half-laugh—more scoff than chuckle—dragging a hand through his hair like the conversation was annoying in the exact way he liked.

“Oh, I get it,” he said, tilting his head. “You’re one of those shrine-and-silence types. Gotta be clean grief, huh? Pretty. Controlled. Burn a candle, say a name, don’t get any mess on your shoes.”

He swung his boot off the headstone and stood, slow, like he had all day to make a point. “You think I’m disrespecting the rock? Brother, I’m the only one who talks to what’s left underneath it. Half these stones got names no one’s said out loud in twenty years. You think they care about marble and polished corners?”

He stepped closer, not threatening, just closing distance the way a storm cloud rolls in.

“Respect isn’t just flowers and guilt. Sometimes it’s showing up. Sometimes it’s listening. Sometimes it’s hearing the same damn story from a guy who died with his lungs full of creek water, just so he stops waking up the little kid buried next to him.”

Then he smirked—sharp and crooked.

“But sure. I’ll hop the fence next time so I don’t offend the monument police. Real sorry, Chief.”

Pause. His voice dropped, quieter, like he actually meant it—but wasn’t about to admit that.

“Anyway. Name’s Bram. In case you decide to stop judging and start talking.” @superhiro-hamada

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram didn’t say anything at first. Just watched the lights stutter to life beneath her hands, his eyes catching on the way she moved—calm, sure, like she knew how to take up space without apologizing for it.

He leaned his shoulder into the machine, arms loose at his sides now, not folded like armor for once. Something about her always made him forget he was supposed to be difficult.

“Dangerous, huh?” he muttered, almost to himself. “Yeah. Guess that tracks.”

It should’ve sounded like a joke. Maybe it was. But his voice caught somewhere in the middle—between the part of him that wanted to tease her and the part that wanted to believe this wasn’t just a moment. That maybe someone like her could look at someone like him and not flinch.

He exhaled through his nose, a dry little sound that passed for a laugh.

“Y’know, it’s funny,” he said, eyes still locked on her, not the game. “You don’t even have to try. The rest of the world just… shuts up when you’re around.”

There was a beat. He almost stopped there.

But then—

“I don’t know what the hell that means, and I don’t really wanna dig too deep into it. But I notice it. You make the noise stop.”

He scratched the back of his neck, jaw tightening like the words had cost him something.

“Anyway. Go ahead, beat me at this stupid machine. I’ll act like I care. I’ll act like I wasn’t already losing the second you smiled at me.”

That last line came low, barely audible, like it wasn’t for her—like it was just something he needed to admit out loud.

Then he looked away, back to the game, and let the silence stretch between them. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

@madmagicmim

pinballs on the line // brimstone

[headless-bram]

Bram tilted his head, eyebrows lifting like he was just remembering something very important.

“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Spaghetti taco guy? Total visionary. Said the world just wasn’t ready for his genius. He wanted to open a restaurant—Tortilla la Pasta.”

He gave Penny a sideways look, like they were sharing an inside joke now. “Didn’t take off. Something about sauce explosions.”

Bones, ever dramatic, plopped down beside Penny like a bodyguard with a pension.

“Looks like you’ve got backup now,” Bram said with a small grin. “Bones only hangs out with the cool ones. And the weird ones. Mostly the weird ones.” Bram pointed to himself before looking back at Elliot and gave a half smile and nod then introducing himself to the little girl. "This is Bones and my name is Bram." @elliot-morey

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram dragged a hand down his face like he was trying to wipe off the moment, then let it drop with a little sigh that barely made it out of his nose. The apology, the way she said it—it disarmed him. Which pissed him off slightly. And also… didn’t. It was endearing. Genuinely. Like watching a dog trip over its own ears and still wag its tail.

His mouth twisted, one corner pulling like he might smirk, but it didn’t quite land. Too much weight behind his eyes.

“Nah. You’re not bad at conversation,” he said, after a long pause that might’ve seemed like he wasn’t gonna say anything at all. “You’re just… not afraid to have one. That’s rarer than you think.”

He shifted his weight, scuffing a boot against the dirt, still not looking at her full-on. “I’m not mad. I mean—okay, maybe I am a little mad. But not at you.” A quick glance. “Well. Maybe a tiny bit at you. But mostly at me. ‘Cause I don’t know how to do this shit either.”

He blew out a breath. Bones let out a little huff from the shade, like he was bored of this emotional honesty already.

“It’s weird, alright? I am weird. I see shit. Hear shit. Always have. People used to cross themselves around me like I was the fuckin’ Antichrist. My parents sent me to a priest when I was six.” That came out sharper than he wanted. Too sharp. He winced and tried to dial it back. “Sorry. Just—been a long time carrying all that around. Talking about it’s like… cracking open a rib.”

Bram felt himself get more and more angry with himself as the trauma dump exploded from him like word vomit.

@princess-su

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram blinked, slow.

Then snorted—short and quiet, more breath than sound—as he dropped his gaze to the grass.

“Nah,” he muttered. “He’ll get over it. Dead people complain a lot. Doesn’t mean they don’t like the company.”

His voice was flatter now. More guarded. Like the shutters were coming down behind his words.

He slid off the headstone in one loose movement, boots hitting the ground with a soft crunch, and dusted off his hands more out of habit than need. Bones circled behind him once and flopped down near a patch of shade, sensing the shift like he always did.

“I forget people don’t talk about this stuff,” Bram said after a pause. “Swynlake’s got all this... magic. Thought maybe the whole ghosts-are-real thing would land easier.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Just kept his eyes fixed on the worn edge of the stone like it had better answers.

“I’m not tryin’ to be weird,” he added, quieter now. “I just don’t get to say most of it out loud. Not without someone telling me I’m crazy or possessed or need fixing.”

@princess-su

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram cracked the tiniest smirk, eyes narrowing just a bit like he was letting her in on something secret.

“Oh, they’ve got stories,” he said, nodding toward the graves. “One swears he invented spaghetti tacos. Another says she taught her cat to rob neighbors for shiny things.”

He glanced at Penny, then at Bones—who was now sitting loyally at her side like she was his favorite.

“Ghosts aren’t all moaning and misery. Some are just loudmouths with bad jokes and time to kill.”

@elliot-morey

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram huffed a laugh—real and low, with the edges of a grin tugging at his mouth despite himself.

“Shit,” he muttered, glancing down at the flashing lights like the machine had been eavesdropping on their whole therapy session. “You really are ruthless.”

Still, he didn’t move right away. Just stood there, caught somewhere between the comfort of her words and the sharp burn of them rubbing against everything he’d been told his whole life. Not a mistake. Just be. It sounded simple. Felt impossible. But maybe… not here. Not with her.

He tilted his head and looked at her—really looked—like he was seeing her again for the first time. The curve of her smile. The way she touched him like he wasn’t made of jagged glass. It made something uncoil in his chest.

Then, without a word, he leaned in and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a brief, off-center hug. Not cheesy. Not even particularly smooth. But warm. Solid. Like maybe he wanted her to be right about him.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered near her ear, voice quiet but amused. “Saying all that good shit. Gonna make a guy start thinkin’ he deserves a win or two.”

He pulled back just enough to smirk at her again, this time with something brighter behind it.

“Alright then, babe. Lets see this talent then...show me up alright..”

@madmagicmim

pinballs on the line // brimstone

[headless-bram]

Bram snorted—short, dry, almost a laugh but not generous enough to earn the title. He leaned back on his palms like he was getting real comfortable atop the weather-worn headstone, letting the sun hit the edges of his jaw as he eyed Dodger with that same guarded, thorny stare.

“Locals talk more sense than the living half the time,” he muttered, glancing down at the stone beneath him like it owed him something. “At least they don’t fake smile and ask if you’ve tried yoga.”

Bones, ever the silent sentinel, raised his head just enough to let out a huff of breath—like even he was judging Bram for that little bit of bitterness.

Bram squinted at Dodger’s donut. Then at Dodger.

“Didn’t peg you for a powdered sugar kind of guy,” he said, voice still that low scrape of gravel, but not quite as sharp this time. “Figured you’d be one of those oatmeal raisin weirdos. Or a bagel enthusiast.”

It was a joke. Sort of. Bram didn’t really do jokes—at least not ones without barbed wire underneath—but that one came out a little easier than expected. Maybe because Dodger wasn’t trying to pry. Or maybe because Bram was just too damn tired to keep barking at people who didn’t deserve it.

He looked away for a second, toward the line of crooked graves and overgrown vines, fingers flexing against the stone beneath him.

“Wasn’t waiting,” he muttered, quieter now. “Just…listening.”

Then, after a pause, he added, “You can sit if you want. Ain’t gonna hex you for breathing the same air.”

@dodgerxjones

Dodger had been cutting through the graveyard, a shortcut he'd taken a dozen times to avoid the unnecessary bustle of the main streets. He preferred quiet places now. Places where he could see people coming.

His bag was slung over his shoulder, a half-eaten donut in his hand. The place didn't spook him, he'd spent too many years being chased by worse things than ghost stories. He froze mid-step when the voice hit, eyes flicking up to find Bram looking like a fine centrepiece amongst the moss and stone.

"Not lost. I know every shortcut in this town." He took a deliberate bite of his donut, chewing slowly as he watched Bram, waiting for him to explain himself.

"Sightseeing, though? Could be. Ain't every day you see someone treatin' them old stones like their personal lounge char." He nodded at the headstone, "You waiting for someone or just….communing with the locals?"

[headless-bram]

Bram tilted his head, just enough to track her with one eye like she was a sudden gust of cold wind that might turn into a storm.

His fingers drummed once against the stone beneath him—quiet, steady. The name etched there was familiar now. Most of them were. But that didn’t mean he owed anyone the story.

“Nah,” he said finally, voice flat as stone. “Don’t know her.”

Then, after a beat, he added, “She knows me though.”

Bram’s expression didn’t shift. His tone wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t warm. Just simple fact delivered like a dull blade.

He glanced toward Bones—still lounging, still betraying him by not growling at the strangers. Bram’s shoulders twitched like he wanted to, but didn’t.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on an audience,” he muttered, tone more dry than defensive. “But I guess the dead ain’t the only ones who like to eavesdrop.”

His gaze lifted back to Yvette, slow and deliberate. Studying.

“Don’t worry. I’m not diggin’ anything up. Not that kind of freak.”

@bones-weary

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram tilted his head, eyes dragging across the petals that he assumed she revived like he was seeing them through some fogged-up glass. Like it didn’t quite make sense—something alive where it shouldn’t be. Something kind.

“That’s somethin’, though,” he said after a long beat. Not loud. Not warm. But real. “Flowers.”

He let the word sit there, almost like he was tasting it. His boot knocked softly against the side of the headstone as he kept dangling one leg, the other foot planted steady like he was anchoring himself.

“People always talk like the dead want prayers or peace or... closure or whatever,” he muttered, gaze distant now, somewhere past the graveyard. “But I dunno. I think they’d take a bloom or two over the same five Hail Marys any day.”

His gaze dropped to the stone in front of Su. Read the name.

“Oh,” he said, blinking once. His tone shifted. Just a hair. “That’s Gus Keating.”

Bram rubbed the back of his neck. Looked faintly embarrassed at himself for knowing that.

“He said he doesn't get visitors. Family moved off. Some of the grandkids think he’s already been reincarnated as a bulldog or somethin’.”

Then a beat. Lighter.

“So, yeah. The flowers... they’re nice. He’d hate ‘em. Which is good. Means he’s still payin’ attention.”

Bram’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but something trying.

He glanced at her sidelong. “Me? Nah. I just show up. Sometimes they call. Sometimes they don’t. Guess I got used to listenin’ to the ones everybody else stopped hearin’.”

Then he shrugged, like none of it really mattered.

“Your magic’s... different. Looks gentler from up here. Less screaming. Less guilt.” His fingers tapped the side of the stone once, a restless rhythm. “That must be nice.” Bram still finds all of this a bit...shocking. @princess-su

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t twitch.

Just let that slow, sharp grin creep in like it had all the time in the world.

“Oh yeah?” he said, dragging his boot heel along the edge of the headstone with a lazy scrape. “Well good news, Professor—this ain’t campus property. Unless you’re out here teachin’ Ghosts 101, maybe keep your syllabus to yourself.”

He leaned forward just slightly, elbows resting on his knees like he was settling in for a proper joust.

“Besides, spirits don’t seem to mind. Most of ’em are just happy someone’s listenin’ for once.”

His gaze dropped for half a second, flicking to the flowers left at a nearby grave, wilted and untouched.

“Not like the rest of this town does.”

A beat. Then he raised his brows, unimpressed.

“You gonna call campus security on me, teach, or we done?”

@not-sinister

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram leaned back slightly on the headstone, planting one boot against the base like he was settling in for a long, leisurely argument. He didn’t blink. Just watched the guy with that sharp-edged stare, all wiry energy and chipped-shoulder calm.

“Relax,” he said, voice flat, like he couldn’t be bothered to dress it up. “The guy underneath doesn’t mind. Asked him myself.”

His eyes flicked to the rows behind him, like he was doing a lazy headcount. “Truth is, most of ’em in here are just glad someone’s payin’ attention. Town walks by like this place’s got a damn quarantine sign on it. Me? I stop in. Say hi. Get screamed at sometimes, sure—but at least I hear ’em.”

He scratched the side of his neck, exhaling slow.

“Maybe that makes me a freak, I dunno. Could be worse.”

Then, with a glance at Hiro—cool, unreadable-

“You got ghosts you don’t like thinkin’ about, that’s your business. But don’t project your guilt on a rock and expect me to carry it.”

A beat.

“I’m not the one who left. Like everyone else in this town man..”

@superhiro-hamada

grave details // open

[headless-bram]

Bram’s jaw ticked as the ball bounced off the edge—missed the shot he’d been aiming for. His knuckles flexed against the sides of the machine like maybe he was holding back from shaking the damn thing out of spite.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “Swear this machine’s rigged.”

But he didn’t back off. Just squared his stance again, nostrils flaring like he was about to take it personally—which, to be fair, he was.

Her voice pulled at him though.

That thing she said—maybe the movie’s just starting—it settled weird in his chest. Like warmth where there wasn’t usually room for it.

He didn’t look over right away. Just let the silence sit for a beat before he said, voice quieter, rough:

“Hope it ain’t a tragedy.”

A flicker of a smirk, but it didn’t hold long.

“I got five older siblings. All of ‘em loud, good at pretendin’ like they turned out normal. Dad made sure they stayed in line. Then I didn’t.”

He swallowed that, let the ball roll back down and smacked the flipper too late, letting it fall. Dead ball.

He cursed under his breath. “Figures.”

Then finally looked at her, a little raw around the edges, but honest.

“I was the mistake. The ghost they didn’t ask for. Lotta rosaries. Lotta doors locked from the outside.”

He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek, then gave a lopsided grin, sharp but not aimed at her.

“So yeah… maybe the movie’s startin’. But don’t be shocked if I don’t know my fuckin’ lines.”

@madmagicmim

pinballs on the line // brimstone

[headless-bram]

Bram squinted against the light, jaw tight as his gaze flicked from the man to the kid—landing there just a second longer than he meant to when she asked if he was okay.

He didn’t answer right away. Just exhaled slow through his nose, like the question had scraped something raw on the way in.

“Not asleep,” he muttered finally, voice low and flat. “Just… avoiding eye contact with the dead.”

Bones gave a soft wag of his tail, already inching closer toward the kid with that unbothered calm he never gave Bram. Typical.

Bram’s eyes narrowed slightly, not at the girl—just the situation. The disruption. The fact that they’d found him like this.

“I’m fine,” he added, like it was something rehearsed. Then, deadpan: “As fine as anyone gets in a cemetery on a Tuesday.” @elliot-morey

grave details // open