#//drags this out of my draft graveyard

[kiestrokes]

Day 1: Dior You | NSFW

▸Idol: Jung Hoseok of BTS ▸Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸Genre: WIP from the graveyard 😬, soft angst, smut. ▸Vibe: former lovers, Hoseok is an idol that is guest designing for Dior, reader is a model that was selected for the show in NYFW, this scene takes place after all of the buildup of the show and planning that happens before. ▸Warnings: cursing, sad feelings, their relationship did not end of happy terms, still very much love and care for each other.

Sexually Explicit Content: shower sex, relationship ended sadly, body appreciation.

🗝️ Note: ft. an old ass cover I made under my old pseud bc I wrote this back in November of 2022 😅 just a reminder this is a WIP, it is not close to the finished product this is actually the first draft of this scene!

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft and WIP-mas Masterlist 」

You fall into your hotel bed, exhausted and happy. The post-show adrenaline consumes your body, and you drift thoughtlessly into a sleep coma. 

A few hours later a knock at your door that jolts you out of your sleep, dragging yourself to it and tugging it open without so much as a glance into the peep hole you're surprised at who you find on the other side. Jung Hoseok stands before you, dressed down from his earlier outfit in thick gray sweats, and multiple coat layers. His eyes look wild, animallike, as he rights himself from his lean against the doorframe.

“Can I come in?”

You nod and he slips past you, his body brushing past yours with cracklings of chemistry. You swallow thickly as the sight of Hoseok sprawled with open knees in gray sweats on your unmade bed sends your braless nipples erect. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Hoseok barks a laugh.

“Well, you have spent the last week with me,” you offer sarcastically.

His eyes jump to yours, “can I stay?”

You nod, also drunk under the tension shared between the two of you.

His hands slide flat palms against the white sheets, you watch the movement thoughts running rampant over the sight of his vascular hands, before his attention is diverted back to yours, “have you showered?”

The shake of your head has Hoseok on his feet instantly, he is already peeling off his clothing to drape across the reading chair at the front of the suite before you can blink. 

“You overpacked right?” His eyes scan the room for your overflowing suitcase in the corner, not even needing your response. He just knows you that well. “Let’s have a shower then.” Hoseok’s fingers skim your chin as he slips past you headed to the bathroom, his limber body still hidden by the oversized t-shirt and sweats. 

Stealing your nerves, you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you had been holding and begin tossing all of your clothing onto the chair with his.

The shower is already running full blast, fogging up the bathroom with bone warming and skin prickling clouds of steam. Hoseok turns as you step in, still wearing his clothing much to your disappointment. Although he is quickly forgiven, when you get an eyeful of his bulging erection straining against the gray cotton of his pants.

“Fuck,” the curse slips past you without warning to your brain.

“I could say the same,” Hoseok’s eyes hood as he takes you in, lingering on your womanhood, your pussy was always his favorite next to your face of course. “You’ve been teasing me all week with this body in your fittings.”

“Just like your touches and eyes have me,” you cock an accusatory eyebrow at him.

“Go ahead, I’ll join you in a second,” Hoseok smirks at your jab.

You step in a sigh into the stream of water, letting the wet pelts work the tenseness of your shoulders. You feel, rather than hear Hoseok step in with you, his hands wasting no time skimming across your hips to your stomach. Turning in his grasp your heart stutters as you watch his pupils pulsate before a delicate hand comes to grip your jaw and slant his mouth over yours.

Gets you off with the shower head and enters you to bring himself to climax with you. Removing the condom and nestling his softening erection between your legs as you clean each other. He tells you how much he’s missed you between kisses over your body and face. Tears slip out as you tell him that you still can’t be together.

He kisses you again, muttering an, “I know” against your lips.

You kiss him harder with this acceptance and he gasps into your mouth. Fingertips running down your spine and smiling softly at you as you pull away, tucking hair behind your ear.

“You were holding back.”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t know you understood everything now.” He smiles at your warmth and sadness in his eyes.

“I understood when you left, my heart just needed some time to catch up.”

© COPYRIGHT 2021 - 2024 by kiestrokes  All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations. No generative artificial intelligence (AI) was used in the writing of this work. The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this for purposes of training AI technologies to generate text, including without the limitation technologies capable of generating works in the same style or genre as this publication. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

[raithwithwings57]

WIP rough draft Stucky fic where they both go down in the plane together

Just posting some bits and pieces because I have so many unfinished Stucky fics in the wings and I want to show them off a bit and I've not posted anything of my fics in months so, yeah I'm making several posts like this. I do intend to finish these out and post them on ao3 at some point, and if y'all really like any of these, let me know.

Bucky had always wanted to see the future. He’d dreamed about it, read about it, listened to the radio shows about it, dragged his best friend to science fairs he’d not been terribly interested in, gone to those free college lectures where professors pontificated about advancement. He loved the future, he wanted it, he read the technology journals and gushed to Steve over the new artists and their styles. Bucky was always looking forward.

Steve was always looking back. He was a man of the past. A man of possibilities the same way that Bucky was, and yet a man who saw the possibilites like missed opportunies, a reason for pennance rather than hopefullness. Maybe it was the Catholic guilt that Steve carried around, maybe it was his dead war hero dad, or later, his dead nurse mother. Maybe it was being small and weak and having something to prove (no matter how much he claimed he didn’t). Steve liked the old art, the history, the classic literature and the old architecture. He delighted in sitting for hours and sketching old buildings. He memorized all the old prayers and recited them in Latin with a fervor and consistancy that seemed to Bucky beyond just religous, though he didn’t have any other word for it. Steve lingered at history lectures and in muesums looking at marble statues made by the greats. He went to the old graveyards and lingered over the plain stones of soldiers.

Bucky and Steve couldn’t be more different, but they couldn’t have been more the same. And even if one looked forward and the other looked back, they always did it together. Balanced each other out, had interesting long conversations in the dark when they couldn’t afford to have candles or lamps to burn in the night. Or when they huddled close on one bed for warmth in the depth of winter. They could look both forward and back and not stumble, not forget anything important, because they did it together. Steve and Bucky. To the end of the line. Looking out for each other.

Steve would probably not live to see much past the other side of thirty. That was what the doctors had said when he was born, and they’d always maintained it. Bucky couldn’t help but think that Steve didn’t look forward because he didn’t know how. That he saw himself a bit like a still living corpse, or a ghost drifting through this world of the living. Because Steve would never live to see the future. Bucky wasn’t sure he would live to see the future either if Steve died before he got there. He didn’t try not to think about it, because he wouldn’t do himself the disservice of the lie. So he did think about it. Steve was his person, and Bucky wanted his person with him when he was admiring the future. If he was Catholic like Steve he would have begged and prayed.

However Bucky didn’t believe, and he wouldn’t do himself the disservice of that lie either. Nor disrespect something Steve held in such high esteem by blasphemy toward it.

But for all that Bucky wanted to see the future, he’d never really thought that he would. But he did. Oh how he did. Bucky saw far too much of the future.

The ice was rushing up to meet them, and Bucky was facinated, transfixed. Steve’s hands were on the controls, pushing the plane down into the water. They were going to die, and they both had a few moments to know it. To maybe say something, if they had been the kind of people that left things unsaid. But they were neither of them foolish enough to leave things unsaid. To the end of the line. And the end of the line had come. Bucky had seen his future, and Steve had seen his past. And now they were going to die together. Steve wouldn’t see the other side of thirty after all, and neither would Bucky.

There was nothing to say. Nothing at all. Bucky had seen the future in Hydra’s weapons and the experiments on his best friend and on Johan Schmitt. Steve had seen the past in the horrors of war and the power of becoming a hero that would surely outlive them both.

[midcenturyblog]

In ‘Eisenhower’s Death Camps’: A U.S. Prison Guard Remembers

Martin Brech lives in Mahopac, New York. He wrote this memoir essay in 1990.

This is how men behave in every war.

In October 1944, at age eighteen, I was drafted into the U.S. army. (...)

In late March or early April 1945, I was sent to guard a POW camp near Andernach along the Rhine. I had four years of high school German, so I was able to talk to the prisoners, although this was forbidden. Gradually, however, I was used as an interpreter and asked to ferret out members of the S.S. (I found none.)

In Andernach about 50,000 prisoners of all ages were held in an open field surrounded by barbed wire. The women were kept in a separate enclosure that I did not see until later. The men I guarded had no shelter and no blankets. Many had no coats. They slept in the mud, wet and cold, with inadequate slit trenches for excrement. It was a cold, wet spring, and their misery from exposure alone was evident. (...)

When I threw this food over the barbed wire to the prisoners, I was caught and threatened with imprisonment. I repeated the “offense,” and one officer angrily threatened to shoot me. I assumed this was a bluff until I encountered a captain on a hill above the Rhine shooting down at a group of German civilian women with his .45 caliber pistol. When I asked, “Why?,” he mumbled, “Target practice,” and fired until his pistol was empty. I saw the women running for cover, but, at that distance, couldn’t tell if any had been hit.

This is when I realized I was dealing with cold-blooded killers filled with moralistic hatred. They considered the Germans subhuman and worthy of extermination; another expression of the downward spiral of racism. Articles in the G.I. newspaper, Stars and Stripes, played up the German concentration camps, complete with photos of emaciated bodies. This amplified our self-righteous cruelty, and made it easier to imitate behavior we were supposed to oppose. Also, I think, soldiers not exposed to combat were trying to prove how tough they were by taking it out on the prisoners and civilians. (...)

The only bright spot in this gloomy picture came one night when. I was put on the “graveyard shift,” from two to four a.m. (...) Suddenly I noticed another prisoner crawling from the graveyard back to the enclosure. They were risking their lives to get to the graveyard for something. I had to investigate.

When I entered the gloom of this shrubby, tree-shaded cemetery, I felt completely vulnerable, but somehow curiosity kept me moving. Despite my caution, I tripped over the legs of someone in a prone position. Whipping my rifle around while stumbling and trying to regain composure of mind and body, I soon was relieved I hadn’t reflexively fired. The figure sat up. Gradually, I could see the beautiful but terror-stricken face of a woman with a picnic basket nearby. German civilians were not allowed to feed, nor even come near the prisoners, so I quickly assured her I approved of what she was doing, not to be afraid, and that I would leave the graveyard to get out of the way.

I did so immediately and sat down, leaning against a tree at the edge of the cemetery to be inconspicuous and not frighten the prisoners. I imagined then, and still do now, what it would be like to meet a beautiful woman with a picnic basket under those conditions as a prisoner. I have never forgotten her face.

Eventually, more prisoners crawled back to the enclosure. I saw they were dragging food to their comrades, and could only admire their courage and devotion. (...)

Shortly afterwards, some of our weak and sickly prisoners were marched off by French soldiers to their camp. We were riding on a truck behind this column. Temporarily, it slowed down and dropped back, perhaps because the driver was as shocked as I was. Whenever a German prisoner staggered or dropped back, he was hit on the head with a club and killed. The bodies were rolled to the side of the road to be picked up by another truck. For many, this quick death might have been preferable to slow starvation in our “killing fields.”

When I finally saw the German women held in a separate enclosure, I asked why we were holding them prisoner. I was told they were “camp followers,” selected as breeding stock for the S.S. to create a super-race. I spoke to some, and must say I never met a more spirited or attractive group of women. I certainly didn’t think they deserved imprisonment. (...)

Famine began to spread among the German civilians also. It was a common sight to see German women up to their elbows in our garbage cans looking for something edible — that is, if they weren’t chased away.

When I interviewed mayors of small towns and villages, I was told that their supply of food had been taken away by “displaced persons” (foreigners who had worked in Germany), who packed the food on trucks and drove away. When I reported this, the response was a shrug. I never saw any Red Cross at the camp or helping civilians, although their coffee and doughnut stands were available everywhere else for us. In the meantime, the Germans had to rely on the sharing of hidden stores until the next harvest.

Hunger made German women more “available,” but despite this, rape was prevalent and often accompanied by additional violence. In particular I remember an eighteen-year old woman who had the side of her faced smashed with a rifle butt, and was then raped by two G.I.s. Even the French complained that the rapes, looting and drunken destructiveness on the part of our troops was excessive. In Le Havre, we’d been given booklets warning us that the German soldiers had maintained a high standard of behavior with French civilians who were peaceful, and that we should do the same. In this we failed miserably.

[eldritcmor]

The Draft Pile Clean Out

no warnings, just old drafts

”Sapphire, Sto bene. Come hai detto tu, il proiettile è passato da parte a parte. Puoi smettere di farmi da madre.”*

“Bene? Bene!? Un proiettile nello stomaco non va bene, idiota. Non dirmi che stai bene.” Avery shrunk down under the fellow medics assault.

“Tregua, tregua Sapphire. Sono ancora vivo e tutto intero... per lo più, sì? Quindi tutto quello che devi fare è-.”

”Storm, Giuro su Dio che se chiedi di essere dimesso ti taglio le corde vocali! No, questa volta riposerai per tutta la durata del tuo congedo medico raccomandato. Non cercherai di allenarti senza un'autorizzazione completa da parte mia o di Michael, e lo accetterai! Sono stato chiaro?”

Avery sighed. “Sì, signora”. The woman shrunk slightly more under the older medic’s glare. “Lo giuro, non lo intendo come un insulto.”

Sapphire rolled her eyes. “Johnny you’re good to take them. I’ll send the paperwork off to Price for approval.” Avery stretched as they slid from the table, their spine popping with satisfying ease as they padded lazily towards to Demolitions sergeant. Johnny snorted as he held the door open for Storm, letting the disgruntled sergeant get a few feet down the hall before jogging to catch up.

“So Italian?”

Avery snorted. “Mom didn’t ever exactly stop doing what she was doing because she had kids. I had an understanding of Italian long before I ever learned English.”

“Mm, makes sense.” Johnny looped an arm around Avery’s shoulders and pulled them against their hip. “Next time you get shot over intel, especially intel about the team, Don’t.”

“Bah! We can’t exactly control when someone gets the drop on us. At least it was only a gut shot and I still got the intel.” Avery shoved themselves out of Johnny’s grip.

Johnny sighed. “It was only a gut shot, this time Storm cloud. What if next time, it’s not. A head shot or the bullet punctures your plate?”

“Then I die. Plain and simple.” Avery shrugged. “Yes, that sounds callous as hell but if and when I don’t make it, despite possible medical intervention, I Don’t Make It. I can hope its quick. I can hope it’s decently painless, but our line of work doesn’t exactly lend itself to a long life. I've made my peace with that fact long before I ever ended up here, Johnny.”

“Avery.”

“What?”

“You’re grounded.”

“Why?!”

“And I’m telling Price to book you for therapy.”

“Goddammit.”

—

Simon grumbled as he tugged his jacket a little tighter around himself. He wasn’t cold. Hard to feel cold when your technically a walking corpse, but still this place gave him the creeps. You had died about a week ago and he was on vigil duty. Two weeks in a graveyard just in case you decided to come back like he did. You had died angry. He had seen it when they finally gotten to your body. A pile of corpses, clawed and bitten. Your nails had been cracked and torn. Your teeth broken. You gave as good as you got and you were willing to drag as much as you could with you to the afterlife. It had been a mission gone to terribly south in the span of a heartbeat. You were snatched while the rest of 141 was ambushed. An eye in the sky one second and gone the next. It took them a month to track you down, only to find your corpse.

It pissed him off to no end, thinking about it. A month of terror as you were probably beaten and tortured. Some small part of him hoped you would come back like him. A screaming wraith of wrath and smoke, but that wasn't looking likely. It had been too long. You didn’t have any family, at least any that showed up to the funeral besides an old crone. Simon had nearly lost his temper when she had walked up to your grave. Stinking of dried blood and acrid smoke. She hadn't spoken a word as Simon loomed over her. Just laid her gifts upon your grave and left. A rosary that looked home made and a delicate clay heart lined with gold. The beads of the rosary were worn with age and wear. It smelled like you, if faintly. Campfire smoke and Cypress. The heart had been buried. It felt like a confirmation of your unfortunate death.

Simon jerked out of his half asleep trance like state, as rain dropped on his head. His head immediately snapping towards your grave to check if anything changed before he took shelter from the rain. He saw the soil breathe. Push and pull. Sink and rise. As if something was scratching just below the surface. He didn’t know how he ended up one his knees, scooping handfuls of warm dirt and tossing it aside. The deeper he dug, the hotter the grave soil became. He wasn’t immune to heat but he didn’t care. He was near hysterics as he finally dug away just enough dirt to reveal a hand clawing against the earth. He didn’t care that the earth was leaving blisters as he scraped and pulled. Slowly but surely, unearthing you. A stream of reassurances falling from his lips as your howls were finally free to the storm above. Your body was blazing to the touch, fire licking from your eyes and mouth as you greeted the night sky. Simon didn’t care as he yanked you from the earth and pulled you into a hug. The funeral shroud you had been laid in was tightly wrapped around you as Simon lifted you from the grave. “I got you, Hound. I got you.” Simon didn’t think as he cradled you in his arms princess style and booked it back to his car. He had to get back to house. You had come back! The others would be ecstatic.

--

"WOAH! HEY!" Joseph panted as he over extended and slammed into the door rim of the escape pod. The comms of the person hovering outside his pod crackled to life. "You good, roadie?" "Im good, found a sleeping beauty." Joseph struggled to push himself up, his vision swimming dangerously. Joseph hissed as an armored hand firmly grabbed his wrist and hauled his arm. “So. He some unlucky UEE crewman, shock?” “Nope. Suit is Terran and He’s got no implant.” “No implant? I thought implants were standard by the time you hit sixteen.” “Different system, different laws Roadie.” “Got it. Maybe whoever this unlucky bastard belongs to is Terran based then.” Joseph groaned as a boot gently nudged his head. “Whoever it is, they’re using older than dirt specs. The quantum drive we pulled is at least the same age as a reclaimers, if a little bulky.”

“Whole ships painted with UNSA, maybe it stands for something? Anyways, how we hauling sleeping beauty here. He’ll freeze in space in the suit he’s in.” “Mamo’s got a spare. We can probably sell the armor for scrap. Let’s at least get him stabilized as we strip him.”

Joseph groaned as rough but careful hands hauled him up and methodically stripped him of his armor and under suit. Like they had done it a thousand times before. “Poor bastard’s still half conscious.” “Relax. He probably won’t remember this. Med scanner says he’s got some damn fine head trauma. Who’s got the cheapest rates for implants? Might as well get him registered as a citizen so security doesn’t burn us.” “New Babbage. Though someone will have to claim him. New Babbage ain’t exactly friendly to sudden immigrants.” “Well look who volunteered, Roadie. You’re the only microtech native here, and princess here is your find.” “Haha, Mamo. I’ll sort him out.” Joseph fell limp as something that spread like blissful heat was injected in his neck and a suit zipped up his back. “We’re good to go. Slap a helmet on his head and haul his ass out. They want to fracture in ten. Roadie, you leave immediately. Get sleeping beauty here registered and recovered, then high tail it back to arccorp.” “Got it, shock.”

Joseph felt nauseous as they tumbled through space. He was strapped to his rescuers ? Captors? Back. Arms secured around their shoulders and legs tied to their hips with cable and magnets.

He gasped as they landed with a thump and fumble in a rather small craft. Not exactly a fighter ship, more a little cargo oriented from what he remembered. Though the design was much sleeker and new compared to anything the SDF or SATO used

Joseph mumbled as he was unceremoniously disconnected from the person and dropped a little onto the single small bunk of the craft. The person hissed as the stretched their back before heading up a small set of stairs to what he assumed was the cockpit. Joseph slumped as the ship rumbled beneath his feet. A screen at the edge of the bunk flickering to life, showing him a picture of the (insert ship name here) stripped of her plating, down to bone and internal wiring as sparks occasionally flared up from what he assumed were other salvage crews.

[hyouta]

KH ramblings part 3 of me saying a whole lot of nothing!! (Person who didn't know Re:Coded was this short)

Actually started this draft immediately after finishing the last post. Things I forgot to say...

It's not that I dislike Disney Town but I feel like the loop was so much shorter than it is in Melody of Memory so the Mickey March + It's a small world had me going crazy...

My dad heard it looping and came in to see because he got nostalgic for the song

Also fuck the platforming in the sewers, I think I accidentally unlocked it before I had good movement but I will burn it to the ground

KH racer game when

Didn't go to the Mirage Arena until just before going to the Keyblade Graveyard as Aqua, and then going to get a Xehanort Report for Terra

Also I rarely used D-Links, oops... it's actually sad how little I utilised them...

Getting trapped in combos was so so painful in BBS and I still don't know what I could've done otherwise because it was never this bad in any other game --- except Re:Com... I remember being so mad fighting Axel the second time even with my cheese boss deck, then I get his boss card that lets you attack even while staggering... which was a slap on the face lmao I was so salty...

Even though I want the full KH experience I've not attempted to unlock the secret movie for any game that has it... maybe I'll try unlocking a few after all games are done.

Speaking of... not sure what I want to do with the mobile games... I have played Union X before and I have access to the app on my phone but I'm not sure about playing all that again.

♥

Anyway onto Re:coded, damn people are way too mean about this game. People say out of the 2 DS games that this one is skippable and I'm not so sure about that... ok the story impact isn't HUGE but it does tie-in quite nicely. It's also like 16 hours without doing any extra stuff, that's one of the shortest experiences, not gonna kill anyone to try it out.

I heard KH3 acknowledges it, so... good. Game so fun I played for 11.5 hours straight.

Honestly the gameplay is so fun and it's a lot more straightfoward than BBS was (though I'm not sure if I utilised everything to the utmost, I got through in the end). Even as it goes through KH1 story beats the different level designs and new ways to fight the bosses makes it feel fresh (except who the hell decided to put an eliminator in the wonderland system sector... what is their deal?? are they satan???).

I watched the movie as I was going through Castle Oblivion (disappointed that they didn't use 13th floor, love that track) and didn't quite finish the game by the time I was done watching but I liked the small things they added to the movie. Some cutscenes were a lot more impactful but I miss some of the dialogue that was cut, even if small stuff.

Quick notes I made:

First impressions is the sprites are giving movie tie-in game. Low-key miss the expression less low-poly ds models lol

Sora babysitting the triplets is cute

First time playing one of the side-scrolling segments and he says "I feel flat".

Olympic Coliseum was so fun. Not gonna lie this world almost became my Agrabah, for it being in every single game so far, but this saved it.

This note just says "fire dashed off the map" because I glitched out of bounds. Thankfully the game did not punish me.

"You always try to take everything on by yourself. But I LIKE getting dragged into your messes" (crying emoji)

One of my new fav bits of dialogue: "Heh, I sometimes envy how simple your world is." "Is... that a compliment?" "I envy whatever makes you think it could be."

I have never had an issue with Hollow Bastion Riku, data or otherwise... but the last one was rage inducing, I just could not for the life of me remember how to counter his charge attack.

Last note is just expressing my disappointment that Sora doesn't hold the cards up to the door in the DS version like he does in Re:Com.

Actually last, last thing... it's funny in the secret ending how they cut of saying Saïx's name, as if it could've been anyone else?? I checked, it's the same in the japanese version... though it doesn't matter too much I suppose, I'm not even sure how long the wait was between this cutscene and DDD.

♥

I have a day off tomorrow to begin my DDD replay!! Then a 3-day weekend to play some more... I already have a note on it that says "Something something Axel not calling Saïx 'Isa' until he himself becomes Lea again something" thanks, me.

♥

Cause it's Christmas... I'll post tiny snippets of SOME things I've been doodling (cause also the likelihood of me posting anything is 10% at best, some of these are already months old lmao)

I want you all to know that I drew Vexen to complete the trio. Because I'm not a coward. However even though these are still the sketch phase too, for his one it's even less finished so I will not be posting lmao...

[sidhewrites]

20! I've lost the plot completely! It's fine! It's the first draft and things will be better in the rewrites! Who's ready for SKELETONS

Project Info

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By the time Josie and Lucy are at my front door, I barrel through them both, shaking off the feeling of dread that comes with walking through Lucy, tailing the quickly-fading trail of what I assume to be ectoplasm. Magnus has taken Renfield back out into the night, across the street, and right back to the graveyard, which has me feeling a little crazy for going back and forth so many times. He's gone right past the main walkway, past the old church, and into the oldest parts of the graveyard -- the ones that even I don't visit. 

Wild roses and scrub grow thick and thorny, choking the rotting fence of the churchyard. There's a grim buried here somewhere, and I can't help but flinch at the sudden shadow that leaps out at me from the darkness. A massive, shapeless thing that barks like a dog. I barrel past it, hoping it understands that I'm not here to disturb the dead but return one specific dead back to his eternal rest.

I hop the fence, hissing as splinters burrow into my hand, and follow Magnus through the overgrowth. Thorns and twigs pull at me, but I don't have time to care. I can't lose him. The footprints fade too quickly, and I trip over my own feet at the last minute, falling face-first into the dirt and bolting back upright with a curse.

But, at least, there's no need to run anymore. Magnus has come to a stop. He sits in the moonlight, a perfectly white cat now, eyes trained on a moss-worn hunk of stone.

"Your grave." Why come here? What's he trying to do?

He twitches, but doesn't turn to face me. "Do you know what is inscribed on this headstone?"

"R-I-P?" I guess.

He snorts -- then sneezes and coughs at the attempt at breathing through a nose like Renfield's. "Magnus Sunthorpe. Loving father and husband. May he rest in peace."

"Okay, so, yeah. RIP." I sit up slowly.

"Do you know why we bid the dead a peaceful rest, Miss Kaz?"

"Are you seriously gonna start monologuing again?"

"Not quite," he says. A deep laugh rumbles from Magnus's chest.

"What--" 

Before I can say any more, the ground beneath our feet start to rumble. Something whacks me in the back of my head and I yelp. By the time I recover and look up again, bits of debris and loose stone float around the ruined gravestone.

"As we get closer to Hallow's Eve, young Kaz, we ghosts grow more powerful. I'm sure your lady friend has felt things change, eh?"

The very air seems to come alive, pins and needles shooting along my limbs as the smoke starts up again, emanating from the long-settled grave dirt. Cracks begin to appear, and far below the ground, something begins to knock.

"What are you doing?"

"Means to an end, darling girl. Means to an end."

Josie and Lucy finally arrive behind me. Josie grabs hold of my shirt and drags me out of the way just as the ground explodes. We fall backwards, through Lucy, and in a pile on the ground. Stone and soul rains down on us, and I do my best to shield her from the worst. Once it ends, we look up, shaking off the heebie-jeebies, to see the grave standing open.

Beams of light shine out from the old coffin at the bottom of it. Something inside thumps, knocking on the ancient wood. It's weak at first, still gathering strength. And then, after a moment, it knocks again. A single skeletal fist bursts out, then the other. It rips at the wood, throwing planks aside, before it stands up, still wearing the half-rotted funeral suit it had been buried in.

Magnus-the-cat levitates in front of Magnus-the-Skeleton. [Fancy magic shit happens. Magic light.]

When the light fades, it's just Magnus-the-Skeleton, standing in his coffin.

Renfield's body lowers to the ground slowly, lifeless. I don't care about anything else -- no weird ghost magic, no potentially murderous walking corpse. Nothing but my poor, stark-white cat.

I scoop him up into my arms, holding him close, my own pulse hammering as I try desperately to feel for his. I can't breathe, can barely think -- until I find it. Faint and fluttering, but there.

He's okay.

My baby boy is okay.

I look up, seeing Magnus-the-Skeleton brush off his fancy old-timey pants and pick up a fancy old-timey top hat. He puts in on, almost dignified. And then he looks up at me, green pinpricks of light forming eyes in his empty sockets and filled with a venomous glee.

"Hello, dearest Kaz," he says, teeth chattering together. He takes a step forward, and I think for a second that he's going to scramble out of the grave clumsily. But there's no awkwardness or uncertainty here. Magnus simply flicks his wrist, and he begins to levitate, floating up and out of the grave. Some of the glowing dust around him coalesces, forming into something resembling skin to hold the skeleton together, though his bones remain all-too-visible underneath.

And as Magnus finally comes to land on solid ground before me, I feel myself lifted up in turn, pulled by unseen spectral hands until I'm on my feet as well. I hold Renfeld closer, jaw set as he looks me over with those uncanny eyes.

"You really are a curiosity, aren't you?" he says, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.

I'm a bit at a loss at the moment, so I simply settle on, "God...you're, like, really ugly man."

This was, evidently, the wrong thing to say to a magical ghost-skeleton-man bent on silencing the town forever, because Magnus simply scoffs, and waves a hand. I'm thrown aside, turning to land on my shoulder and keep Renfield safe.

"Kaz!" Lucy shouts, running my way.

"Not a chance." Magnus waves another hand, and she's thrown in the opposite direction.

"Leave her alone!" I sit up with a snarl. "Josie, take Renfield and get somewhere safe."

"Like hell I am. I'm the only one who has half an idea of what to do here."

"And, pray, what would that idea be?" Magnus steps in between us, folding his hands in front of him. "Come now, girls. Don't leave me out of the fun."

[Something. Kaz tells Josie to go get the book.]

"I wouldn't try that if I were you." Magnus flicks his wrist again, and a bolt of ghostly energy flies her way. 

But rather than knocking Josie off course, it simply hits her in the back. She grunts, but shrugs it off with little more than an ow.

Magnus tries again. This time, Josie faces him and takes the attack in the chest. Something glows around her neck, and she smirks, gesturing to the [protective gem] pendant around her neck. "You'll have to do better than that," she says.

While she's distracted, I throw myself bodily at Magnus, giving Josie the chance to get the spell book.

Even as Magnus throws me off him, I can't help but watch her go in confused awe. "Crystals," I say. "Who knew?"

"Kaz--?" Lucy says, giving me just enough time for Magnus to throw a solid kick to my jaw, and mutter under his breath. The blow leaves me with a split lip, and I spit the blood his way, hoping if nothing else that it stains his gross old funeral pants.

"Enough," Magnus hisses. "I have work to do." He raises an arm, and this time, a wave of ectoplasm rises up from his grave, colorless light shining from within. 

At first, it seems like nothing happens, save for a bit of dirt falling into the empty hole.

And then more dirt. A bit of grass. A few loose rocks.

Soon enough, it becomes clear. The grave is sucking things into it, a black hole to swallow the town whole.

Tag List

@adaughterofathena

@ambreeskyewriting

@carnelianflames

@feather-dancer

@halfbloodlycan

@nadunacreates

@serenanymph

@vigilantdesert

[k--havok]

For the Procrastinating Writing asks:

🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

and

♻️ A scrapped idea/scene from your current WIP

(Also, wishing you an awesome new Year to come, Lanx!)

--@ceph-the-ghost-writer

Hey Ceph! Thanks for the ask!

🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I'm always struggling with a scene I think! I'm struggling with all my WIPs at the moment which is why I've been on the downlow here on writeblr.

For Soft Touches, Godless Hands I'm stuck at the last 2 chapters, which is often where I get stuck actually (besides the middle of the story, of course...) I'm in the middle of the climax and I am not sure how I want to start the next chapter. I feel the pacing is already a little off here anyways so I don't think that's helping. I want to finish the first draft before I go back and start editing but it is difficult... that's for sure.

For Waking into Divinity I'm starting to enter the middle of the story (after 40k words yikes!) And I always end up fumbling in the middle too. Its the graveyard where most my WIPs lay abandoned, actually. The middle is the most difficult part to write. I kinda know where I am going this time around, but I worry that Rylie is coming off as annoying/unlikable. I'm enjoying them a lot as the main conflict is their mental health/their anxiety/depression but I do worry about how its coming off on the page if that makes sense.

For Rane and Korzan I am stuck on a shopping scene ironically. Actually for this WIP, me and my partner work on it together primarily but since he got a new job we haven't been able to work on it as much. He primarily writes Korzan's dialogue so that's where I'm struggling at the moment.

♻️ A scrapped idea/scene from your current WIP

So I haven't gone back and edited anything yet, but I think I already know some parts I'm going to scrap for at least Soft Touches, Godless Hands as well as Waking into Divinity.

STGH has some early ideas in the beginning of the novella that have since been changed. Mainly names, but there's some lore I'm thinking about adjusting/changing as well. Primarily in the beginning of the book, Auriel uses some odd tools to help them find cracks in space-time. They are the most powerful type of angel, so I've been debating on whether or not to scrap this idea and have Auriel just use magic to be able to determine where the cracks are to deepen their powers and show how strong they actually are, rather than using tools. I may still keep the tools in the lore to show the difference in strength between the seraphs and the rest of the angels, and to expand on the magic the angels can do. But I'm not sure. We will see.

As for WID, the beginning is incredibly long. I mean I've gotten to 40k words and all there is is pining and Rylie being a little bitch and pretending Feelings TM don't exist. I want to up the spice at least a little bit and cut down on some of the scenes that drag (such as Rylie and Casrath shopping and Casrath being amazed at the idea of shopping carts...) a lot of the earlier chapters were actually pieced together with oneshots and scraps of writing, so there will def be some stuff that is cut out and shortened for sure. Especially since the second half of the book is when the fantasy part of the romantasy kicks in!

[mogwai-movie-house]

Guillermo del Toro's Cabinet of Curiosities (TV Series, 2022)

This horror anthology series was, as a whole, considerably better than I’d expected, though it never really approaches the highs of the best episodes of, say, Black Mirror or Inside No. 9.  Still far better than that catastrophically awful “reboot” of The Twilight Zone, though. Here’s my episode-by-episode review of the first season:

1. Lot 36 

“An army veteran buys storage locker contents to pay off debts, but buys more than he bargained for when he purchases a lot owned by a strange old man”. 

Tim Blake Nelson, in the lead, is very good, but none of the other characters really stand out, and the ending is rushed and over almost as soon as it begins. The shoehorned-in racial politics that awkwardly bookend the episode play no meaningful part in the greater story, and the final pay-off, in which a Mexican immigrant he ignored earlier lets him die, actually works against the intended message of the the tale, in that it seems to be telling us that causing the death of other people is justified, if they ever inconvenienced you.

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

2. Graveyard Rats 

“A grave robber eyes the riches of a wealthy new arrival to the cemetery, but must survive a maze of tunnels -- and an army of rodents -- to secure them.”    

Fairly weak stuff, mostly filler, with no interesting or memorable characters to speak of, and the steampunk supernatural elements are little more than del-Toro-by-the-numbers.

★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆

3. The Autopsy 

“A seasoned sheriff investigates a dead body in the woods and calls on an old pal, a medical examiner, to help piece together a series of chilling events.”   

Easily the best episode. Glynn Turman is splendid in a likeable and nuanced performance as the aging small town sheriff confronting something beyond his ken, and F. Murray Abraham as his old and dying coroner friend drafted in to help him get to the bottom of a bizarre series of murders. It’s kind of like the entire first season of True Detective in a single episode, but with an alien.

★★★★★★★★☆☆

4. The Outside 

“Longing to fit in at work, awkward Stacey begins to use a popular lotion that causes an alarming reaction, while an unnerving transformation takes shape. “

The other notably good episode of the series, mostly a satirical attack on the modern world of shallow surfaces, the “beauty” industry, and the lengths people will go to fit into a fantasy ideal. Kate Micucci is good throughout, and the whole thing has a Stepford Wives/Invasion of The Body Snatchers-kind of vibe to it that keeps one watching, although the story drags a lot and could have been told much better in half the time.

★★★★★★★½☆☆

5. Pickman’s Model 

“Art student Will meets introvert Richard, whose terrifying works of art begin to have a deeply disturbing effect on Will's sense of reality. “

One of a couple of episodes based on Lovecraft stories, this one has nice setting and period detail, with some solid creepy moments here and there, but the characters are shallow and underdeveloped, the monster - when it finally appears - is just a boring dollop of CGI, and Crispin Glover wins the award for the stupidest accent of the year.

★★★★★★½☆☆☆

6. Dreams In The Witch House 

“ Years after his twin sister's death, a researcher ventures Into a dark, mysterious realm with the aid of a special drug, determined to bring her back. “

By far the worst of the series, this one’s just a muddled mess, with very amateurish acting and forced diversity entirely out of place for the period in which it was set. I’ve still no idea why there was a rat with a human face.

★★★½☆☆☆☆☆☆

7. The Viewing 

“ A wealthy recluse hosts four accomplished guests at his stylish mansion for a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but their intrigue soon turns into terror. “

Visually this is amazing, and the first two-third have great atmosphere, with lots of small moments building tension. Peter Weller is a towering presence, and effortlessly dominates every scene he is in. Unfortunately, it all leads-up to nothing; the ending carries no dramatic weight, there’s an entirely unexplained monster of some entirely uninteresting sort, and then the final scene just peters out and grinds to a halt. A great pity. 

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

8. The Murmuring 

“Mourning a major loss, ornithologists Nancy and Edgar flock to a secluded home to study birds, but the house's history reveals heartbreak and horror. “

This is the smallest, quietest and most emotional of the stories, and Essie Davis and Andrew Lincoln give fine performances as a married couple trying to distract themselves from the death of their child by losing themselves in their shared work. The rest of the episodes would have greatly benefited from this level of characterization, and the premise reminded me of Don’t Look Now in a number of places. Once again though, the ending is weak and derivative and nothing you haven’t seen many times before. Still definitely worth a watch.

 ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

[tlbodine]

Reverse-Outlining Revision Method with Plottr

So in my editing guide, I give a step-by-step method for structural editing that I find really useful, and I wanted to do a visual follow-up to kind of show what that process looks like. I’m using Plottr for this, because I was gifted a copy of the software in exchange for them using my horror-writing beat-sheet as one of the templates, but you could just as easily do this with Scrivener, scrap paper, or any other organizational system you like. 

Whether you’re a fellow pantser who struggles with story structure (hi!) or you’re an outliner who needs to make sure your draft matches up to your vision (or the second draft has a good structure), this will work for you! 

Step One: Write a one-sentence log-line of the story + jot down the major themes 

There’s space for this in Plottr. I’m doing Neverest.

Premise: A woman’s search for her missing husband’s body on Mount Everest sends her into the grip of ancient forces that don’t want her to leave. 

Themes: Putting your name on something doesn't make it yours; colonialism and the urge to conquer and codify; relationships as a form of control and change vs understanding

You’ll also want to write a one-page overview summary of the story, similar to what you’d put in a query letter. Here’s mine: 

One year ago, Sean Miller -- journalist and mountain climbing enthusiast -- reached the summit of Mt. Everest, and was never seen again. Unable to move on without knowing the truth of what happened, his wife Carrie flies to Nepal to meet with Sean’s best friend and former climbing partner, Tom. They assemble a small crew and begin an expedition up the peak in search of Sean’s body and a better understanding of what might have happened in his final days.

Guided by a travel journal left behind from her husband's expedition, Carrie ventures into the frozen, open-air graveyard of the world's tallest peak. But as Sean’s diary and Carrie’s experiences reveal, climbing the mountain is more than a test of endurance; it’s a battle of wills with an ancient and hostile force protecting the mountain — and the dead do not rest easy at the summit.

Doing this helps you to identify the core elements of your story -- the characters, the conflict, and the stakes. You should be able to answer the questions: who is the main character, what do they want, what’s stopping them, what happens if they succeed/fail. 

In this case: 

The main character is Carrie, the wife of a journalist who disappeared while summiting Mt. Everest (character) 

She wants to find his body and get closure about his death/understand how and why he died (what does she want)

But there are supernatural forces at work that led to his death and now have the same in store for her (conflict/stakes) 

Step Two: List out every scene in the book 

Plottr is an outlining software, so it makes this step really easy (and conveniently color-codes things for me at the same time!). There are multiple views this can take, but this one screenshots well so I used this one for the example. 

Basically what you want to do is write down everything that happens, scene by scene. You can color-code them however you want -- in my case, I have three narrative threads, so I made a timeline for each one. Then I just mapped out all the scenes -- across 24 chapters, each dot is a scene, and you can see that some chapters have multiple scenes and also that the primary and secondary plot alternate chapters. 

When you look at it this way, you can tell really clearly that the tertiary plot needs some work -- it’s only there for four scenes in the first third of the story. I either need to cut it completely and incorporate any essential information into the other plots, or I need to expand it. 

In this particular case, I decided to expand because 1.) my word count is low, and I’d like to fill in more story and 2.) a big theme I want to explore in the story is what it’s like to love someone who’s deeply passionate about something you don’t understand -- so this tertiary plot is a great place to explore that and fill in more characterization that should add some depth to the primary and secondary stories. 

I can also see at a glance that I have a variable number of scenes in each chapter. Sometimes that makes sense (the green ones are diary entries, so it’s logical that one chapter = one entry) but sometimes it hints that those chapters could be a little thin and need more content. If I’m looking to add additional conflict, I should do it in those blue chapters that only have one dot as opposed to the ones with multiple dots! 

Step Three: Look at the overall shape and adjust for pacing and genre

Plottr has a bunch of templates pre-loaded into it that make this easy, but you can also just google various different story structures and beat sheets such as Save the Cat or the 3 Act Structure etc. But just look at the overall map of story beats and see how they line up with the outline you’ve made: 

This is just a small snapshot view, but you get the idea -- when you look at the scenes side-by-side with the beat sheet, you can see some things. For example, it sure would make more sense if the flashback scene where Carrie decides to embark on this journey got its own chapter and lined up better with the “putting the players in action” plot point rather than being smooshed into the first chapter with the introduction to the world! The fact that I’ve got it smashed into that first chapter is probably a sign that my opening scenes/chapter itself is a bit thin and needs to be fleshed out a little more. 

Step Four: Figure out what you need to adjust and make the changes accordingly 

So after looking at everything mapped out this way, I’ve got a little list of things I need to do: 

Come up with more scenes for that red plotline

Rearrange some things a little bit to better fit the structure I want

Figure out some more blue scenes to fill in the gaps caused by rearranging things and smooth over the pacing/amp up the conflict/alleviate some areas where critique partners hae expressed confusion

I also moved around the categories in Plottr (you can drag-and-drop storylines and chapters) to make it a bit easier to see everything all at once. Basically you can edit the story’s outline first, to save you the confusion of manually moving around whole paragraphs/chapters in your actual story document. 

Now, I haven’t finished that step yet for this particular project (there’s a lot of brainstorming to do re: filling in those gaps!) BUT I did want to skip ahead to show you the next step (let’s pretend this is a TV cooking show where the finished pie is pulled right out of the oven). 

Step Five: Re-Type everything based on your new scene list

This is a really neat thing about Plottr. If you swap from the “Timeline” view to the “Outline” view, you get these editable text windows where you can type whatever you want, and it’ll keep it organized into chapters and scenes. 

So, just pull up your original in one window, and the Plottr screen (or other outlining/drafting device) in another. Dual monitors are great for this but we make due. Now, retype the original document into the new document, making changes as you go to fit the new outline and also cleaning up language and so forth as you go. For example, this time around I’ll be changing Carrie’s blue timeline scenes to present-tense instead of past, so I’ll rewrite them in present tense in the new window. 

Once all that is said and done, in Plottr you can export the file directly into Scrivener or Word. (If you’re not using Plottr, you’ll have to figure out for your own self how to transfer the final product into a final document -- I trust you can sort through that). From there you’ve got a fresh clean copy of a second draft all ready to go for the final copy-edit/proofread/polish/formatting and then you’re off to the races! 

I hope this was helpful for you! I talk more about editing in my Gumroad guide here: https://tlbodine.gumroad.com/l/jkLpr

If you’d like to receive all of my existing + future guides and support me in making more content like this, consider subscribing to my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/tlbodine

And you can pick up a copy of Plottr here: https://plottr.com/

This post isn’t sponsored or anything, but I did get a free copy of the software from the developer and I think it’s pretty neat. It’s still in beta so new features keep getting added, and the team that makes it are very nice and responsive to feedback. 

[in-the-mud]

I feel like I should post some actual writing. Introducing: me goofing off with a draft and getting a grasp of character.

•🌳•

The mortal looked upon the twisted shape of the god, the tortured writhe of a thousand grasping arms into ten thousand branches, the storm-heavy creak of wood all around in a way too alive to be sane and rational, splintering fingers and rotted wrists folding softly like wet paper, bark and moss and brittle leaves falling like shed skin. The hands curled, stretched, made a space for the mortal as a twenty foot broad clearing open to the gore-colored belly of the sky.

The mortal tried to find a face, but could not, and winced very slightly. “If this is what I think it is, could you perhaps... change your form?”

The branches were silent for a long moment.

The dream itself spoke. The act of asking this proves you do not know who I am.

“Great One I did not mean-“

How can you claim to be my worshipper if you do not know what I am? The wooden hands twisted, elbows and forearms and hollow boneless places peeling apart to reveal birdnests and bones and bits of cloth, roots lashing out of the soil to drag the detritus under the earth like serpents in the abyssal sea, cracked soil churning to fresh loam spotted with the red backs of ladybugs. The all-encompassing creak and rustle grew agitated, a tree in a breathless storm. What are you worshipping, little ant, little worm that is born in the earth and returns to it, if not the earth you suckle at like a fox kit?

“You! Always you, great god of fertility-“

You name me thus yet forget the nature of your puppet show, the meat and gristle and mind behind safe cloth. You forget that you spread dung on your crops, that you burn the field after harvest to feed the rows with ash. You forget that flowers grow best in a graveyard.

The tinkle of small bones falling from the rotted orifices of the branch-arms sounded almost like prayer beads.

The mortal was outright sweating fear. “Great God Ahkha-“

I will give you a face like you so crave.

From the thicket of distorted limbs, two hands slithered free. Palms the size of barn walls, fingers like the long shadows of the mountains over the plain, wrists pressed together like the seam of the horizon. The great thumbs twisted together, fingers fanning wide in a child’s poor mimicry of a butterfly.

The mortal looked into those cracked wooden palms, and was not soothed.

This, little corpse, is the face of your god. And it makes you ill.

There was no birdsong to break the quiet.

Go back into the world of cut stone and parchment and linens by the yard. Delude yourself still further. Worship your little puppet-god of pregnancy and firstborn sons. Zuul has despaired for you since the dawn of the practice, it will not hurt less to see you continue your insults. Wait, and I will send a flower to consume the rot of your world, and through you find new life. ...I have learned all I need to know.

When encircled, there is no angle to back away to.

Two giant palms closed in a forest made of dreams, and it could be argued that they made no sound at all.

•🌳•

That moment when your cultus is so far removed from your actual nature that you have to vibe check a mortal to be sure you understand what’s going on.

[moral-turpitudes]

Butterflies 🦋: Part 2

Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of fighting, Gore, Blood, Mentions of Death, Angst, Fluff, Swearing, etc.

Word Count: 3,993

Summary: Y/N and Esmeralda are left to look after things and are planning for the wedding, meanwhile Bonnie and his father are on yet another perilous mission for Thomas Shelby.

Requested: Nah

A/N: I’ve worked on this in my drafts for days cuz my motivation has been super shitty recently so I hope this doesn’t suck as much as I think it does lol. I appreciate all the feedback on these fics and stuff though, it means the world. <3

Part 1 | Part 2

Aberama and Bonnie’s footsteps echoed over the expanse of hallowed ground, the leaves crunching as they walked through the brisk morning air, causing the hair on the back of their necks to stand on edge. In the distance Tommy and his brothers were standing near a tombstone, the thick fog eerily clearing where he stood as they got closer. He wore his usual dusty black coat and had his peaked cap sitting perfectly atop his head. 

“Now that you all are here, I say it’s about time we get this over with aye?” He asked, his icy gaze piercing Bonnie’s.

“Where are they Tom? Are we bait now?” Aberama asked, frustration lacing his voice.

“No. They told me to meet them here. If you look off to the distance they dug a grave, for us. We won’t go in there though, not today.” He said, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

“Do you have your men positioned behind the trees?” Tommy asked.

“Yes. We have 5 men, not much but they’re good shots.” Bonnie said.

“Good.” Tommy said, turning around and scanning the tree line.

A shot rung out down near the grave suddenly, causing Tommy, his brothers, and Bonnie and Aberama to duck behind the nearby tombstones.

Tommy got his machine gun and loaded it expertly, taking aim where the shot came from as Aberama did the same. Bonnie looked out from the side of the decaying gray stone in front of him, his hands shaking slightly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John aim for someone to the side of them. John missed the first time, making him have to stop and reload. Without thinking, Bonnie quickly aimed and steadied his breathing, pretending it was similar to hunting for his own sake. He watched the mans movements in the distance like he would a deer, estimating the best angle and time to shoot.

With a single pull of the trigger, the bullet flew through the air and hit the man in the chest as he turned, giving Bonnie an easy shot in the end.

John looked back and nodded at him before aiming again, this time at the three men barreling towards them.

Aberama looked on as they came running and then stuck his finger in the air, moving it in a swift motion, signaling their men to shoot.

Shots rang out seemingly from all sides, as the three men tried to make it past the hail of bullets, but none of them escaped, falling with an audible thud on the near-frozen ground.

A whistle then came from the distance, giving the gruesome scene before them an eerie feeling.

“It’s those damn Billy Boys again... We have to take them out. Wait for my orders.” Tommy said, changing his clips and looking on ahead.

The Billy Boys sang loudly as they marched forward clutching their guns. The rest of the men from the troublesome gang were close behind them.

“I count 4 men from the gang, and 5 Billy Boys...” John said over their singing.

“Alright, Arthur you stay with me, Bonnie you take the right, Aberama you take the left. John you back Bonnie up.” He said, loading the last of the bullets into his machine gun.

With a deep breath Tommy got the unruly lead member, Jimmy McCavern, in his sights and steadied himself like he did in the war.

“In the bleak midwinter...” He muttered quietly under his breath, before taking his shot.

Back at the camp, Y/N and Esmeralda helped plan the wedding down to the last details. They excitedly talked about the food and music they’ll have and Bonnie’s younger sisters even helped Y/N learn some of the dances they traditionally did.

As the day went on, the sun started poking through the trees in dancing golden beams as they prepared lunch, adjusting the portions since most of the men were gone.

Y/N sat down and looked into the crackling flames of the bonfire, letting the warmth soothe her cold skin.

“You okay love?” Esmeralda said, a concerned look on her face as she stirred the kettle over the flames.

“Yeah...just worried ya know? It’s not easy being here without him.” Y/N said running her finger over the small diamond ring.

“They know what they’re doing. They’ll be back. If not, me and you will just have to go over there ourselves.” She said with a wink. Y/N smiled and gathered some bowls, finally working up a somewhat decent appetite after all the cleaning and wedding preparations earlier in the morning.

She and the remaining people there all sat around, talking about random things and discussing their plans for the wedding decorations and music, some asking her opinion, others excitedly showing her jewelry or clothing she could borrow.

“I’d get to resting if I were you Y/N who knows, they may be home later.” Esmeralda said, draping a blanket over your shoulders. She didn’t realize that she had been going nonstop all day, partly to relish in her excitement, and partly to take her mind off how her fiancé was off fighting in one of Thomas Shelby’s little battles.

“That’s true. I’ll go do that I guess...wake me if you need help.” Y/N said before going into the forest green vardo. Her head hit the pillow and she reluctantly closed her eyes, wanting to sleep but not wanting to wake later in fear of getting her hopes up.

Shots rang out in the graveyard, the cold air a bleak afterthought as the bullets pierced through the fog and into the men’s flesh.

Tommy ducked as Aberama took over, shooting two of the 5 Billy Boys. Meanwhile Arthur fought a fourth one who ran off towards the tree line. Jimmy struggled to breathe, choking on his own blood on the frozen dirt as the last of the Billy Boys ran towards Bonnie and John.

Bonnie shot quickly, aiming for the mans head, missing just by a hair. John then shot, hitting him in the shoulder. But before Bonnie could finish him off, he felt a sharp pain in his arm, blood trickling down as he stared at the smoking gun a few feet in front of him. John shot him dead while Bonnie retreated behind the tombstone for a moment to assess his wound. It was bleeding pretty badly and he hissed as the pain tore through his arm as he tied some cloth around it.

“Bonnie are you okay?!” His father yelled as he ran over to him and ducking by a nearby tombstone as well.

“Missed an artery but still bleeding pretty bad. He was a terrible shot, I’ll be fine.” He said, winking at his father slightly before checking the clip in his gun. Aberama took a long glance at him and then at the other 4 men who were no doubt doing business with the now-deceased Billy Boys.

They nervously ran towards Tommy who was aiming again and Aberama watched as Arthur stood in a bloody mess over the last of the Billy Boy bodies.

“Take them out.” Tommy yelled.

Aberama signaled again as Bonnie and John shot at the men, their shots piercing through two of them while the other two managed to almost get to Tommy, a bullet whizzing past his head before the pair were shot by the men in the tree line.

As the last of the bodies dropped, an eerie silence fell over Tommy and the rest.

They all worked together, painstakingly dragging the bodies to the grave that was dug, only to be stopped in their tracks by an odd object in the center of the hole.

“Stop! Don’t throw them in. Get back!” Tommy yelled.

“What is it Tom?” Arthur said as he watched his brothers gears turning frantically in his head.

“A bomb.” He said loudly.

“Everyone get back, do we have anything not valuable...and heavy?” He asked the group.

“We have our guns...but...we need them Tom.” John said.

“We can get more. Give them to me, every one of you.” He said.

Aberama reluctantly let his go, as did Bonnie and Tommy’s brothers followed suit.

Tommy gathered them all, including his in his arms and stood near the edge of the grave.

“Everyone go. Now.” He said.

“What? No of course not! Are you mad?” John yelled.

“Fucking go. That’s an order. Now!” He said, his eyes piercing his brothers.

They swallowed hard and took a look at their brother before running towards the fragile shelter of the tombstones with Aberama and Bonnie following.

Tommy took a few steps back, checking the weight of the guns in his arms before closing his eyes and whispering to himself once again, the images of Grace and Charlie playing in his mind before he got a running start, chucking the guns at the center of the hole and desperately running for his life.

In the 30 seconds it took for the guns to make an impact, the ground rumbled around the bodies of the men they killed and eventually erupted in a loud fiery boom, sending their limbs flying and Tommy slamming into the ground, covering his head in a desperate attempt to save himself.

As the dirt, debris, and blood fell down on him, the others watched nearby as the gross mixture rained down on them as well.

Tommy got up slowly, his ears ringing loudly and vision blurring as he held his arm, wincing at the deep cut that came from some of the debris.

“Fucking hell he’s alive...” John said in disbelief. Tommy always found a way to cheat death, in some twisted way.

As he limped slightly to the men, he lit a cigarette, bringing it to his muddy, blood stained lips.

“I’ll deliver your guns and your payment. Tell your men you all are free to go. Thank you for the help Mr. Gold.” He said looking at Aberama as blood dripped down his arm.

“They better be good guns because we’ll need them Mr. Shelby. Let us know when you need us and we’ll be there, if the pay is right of course.” He said.

“It’ll be right, you’ll see.” He said, before waving them off and inspecting his arm.

Bonnie and Aberama slowly walked off after saying goodbye, leaving the gory scene behind them as they walked through the damp grass, the sun glowing in the autumn afternoon. The fog had cleared, revealing the true mess they’d made.

“You’ll need to get that cleaned up before Y/N sees ya know...she’ll kick your ass.” One of their men said, chuckling.

“Oh I will. She’ll kick my ass regardless, because she hates that I’m gone.” He said.

“You’ll see her soon my boy, soon.” Aberama said as they walked down the muddy road and to their horses.

Y/N awoke to yet another empty spot beside her, making her heart drop slightly as she assumed the worst.

Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and stepping out of the vardo, she walked towards the bonfire which was going strong thanks to Bonnie’s sisters.

“They’re not back Y/N, don’t worry though they’ll be here I’m sure of-“ His younger sister started to say before being cut off by the sound of hooves in the distance.

“It’s them!” She said before getting up with her sister, including Esmeralda.

Y/N joined them as they walked towards the slightly worn path that lead out of the camp and waited. Her eyes darting between everyone. When the men stopped and got off their horses, and that’s when she saw him.

They were all covered in dirt and god knows what, blood and debris covering their hair and clothes. But he stood out amongst the men, having a bright red cloth wrapped around his arm.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide as she walked towards him quickly, hoping he wasn’t hurt too badly.

She didn’t say anything though, just ran into his arms, doing all she could not to hurt him.

“Told you I’d come back my love...” He said smiling down at her, exhausted.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked, trying to look at his arm.

“Just a bullet to the arm, I’ll need to get it looked at though. I’m okay love I promise.” He said, looking into her eyes before bringing his lips to hers.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She said, taking his hand and leading him to one of the logs near the bonfire.

“Sit here I’ll be back.” She said, getting a pail of water, some fresh cloth, and alcohol.

“Need any help?” Aberama asked, walking over as she laid the items out.

“Yes please.” She said grinning as she moved Bonnies sleeve out of the way and carefully unwrapped the blood soaked cloth.

“You have a knife?” Y/N asked.

“Always, here you go. Bonnie bite down on this cloth here alright?” He said shoving a dark cloth in his mouth.

Y/N had helped Aberama a couple of times before when some of the men came back from hunting or getting into fights, so she hoped she could at least dislodge a bullet.

She carefully used the tip of the knife to feel around, cutting a bit to fit her finger into the hole, grabbing the bullet quickly. Bonnie grunted in pain as she did so, and only got louder as she poured the alcohol into the wound.

“Here’s this, remeber that stitch I showed you dear?” Aberama asked. Y/N nodded and put the handle of the knife in her mouth, brows furrowing in concentration while she stitched him up.

She took the knife and cut a clean strip of cloth and tied it around his arm, wiping her hands in the water as she did her hands of the crimson mess. Bonnie took the cloth out of his mouth and composed himself a bit as he watched her clean up and come back with another bowl of water and soap.

“Sorry my love, I know that hurt.” She said caressing his cheek.

“It’s alright, I’m glad you helped me out lord knows no would’ve bled out if we didn’t get back soon.” He said.

“I know...do you want to talk about it?” She asked, bringing the wet cloth to his face, clearing it of all the dirt and blood.

“I don’t want to cause you any stress love. But I’m here and that’s all that matters.” He said, drying his face and hands and then bringing Y/N in close.

“Did you all have fun planning the wedding?” He asked.

“Yes! I think you’re going to love what we’ve picked out. I also learned some of the dances thanks to your sisters...” Y/N said looking up at him as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Oh really? Do you think you could take on my dad? He’s the best dancer of us.” He said chuckling.

“I’ll have to bribe him to dance huh. This will be fun...I can’t wait to marry you Bonnie Gold.” Y/N said kissing him as the sun set over the flames of the fire, the night growing colder as time went on.

“Let’s get some sleep love, you need it. We have a big day tomorrow.” She said winking at him, getting up and carefully walking to their vardo.

Bonnie smiled and got up, following behind her and up into the vardo where the warm bed awaited them.

The birds chirped loudly the next morning, stirring Y/N awake. She ran her hand over her small bump while looking out the little window, her eyes going to the new sights before her. She giggled to herself as she got up carefully, slipping on her robe and slippers before stepping out of the vardo.

“Have you been up all night decorating?” She asked, a playful grin on her lips as she questioned Esmeralda who was finishing up throwing petals on the ground.

“What...? No....” She said, giggling as Y/N came over, giving her a hug.

“It looks beautiful. Thank you so much for all this...” Y/N said looking at the lamps placed all around the cleared open space, the only things out were wooden seats set up with the petals all over the ground, and a small platform that was covered in various flowers.

“Now I know Bonnie is asleep, but I wanted to help you get ready for the big day, and I don’t want him to see you until it’s time to say “I do” alright? He’ll be so surprised it’ll be great.” Esmeralda said excitedly.

“Should I wake him at least?” Y/N asked as Esmeralda led her to her vardo.

“No. Aberama will take care of him, you’ll be with me alllll day!” She said, having Y/N sit on her bed while she got out a dress. It was a white lace dress that flowed almost down to the floor.

“Wait you want me to wear that? Is...isn’t that...” Y/N trailed off.

“The one you saw in Small Heath? Yes. I remember when we went to the shops just looking around for fun. And well, you’ll know why I got it, soon.” She said mischievously.

“Oh I love it! I can’t believe it. Oh my I’ll pay you back I swear it.” Y/N said giving her a hug.

Esmeralda giggled as she broke from her embrace to help Y/N slip on the dress. She zipped it up and led her over to a small mirror where she could move it around to see it at various angles. It hugged her small bump which was slightly more prominent now unlike in her other loose fitting clothes.

“I’m gonna be racking my brain all night for how you got this just so you know. This is fucking beautiful.” Y/N said twirling around slightly.

“Bonnie will love it. We got him a suit too. You’ll see.” She said winking. After Y/N got situated she sat patiently while the girls did her hair and makeup, giving her a bold red lip.

After they finished that, Y/N helped them get all dressed up as well in various colored dresses and jewelry.

“Here, I forgot these.” One of the younger sisters said, pinning gold earrings to Y/N’s ears and placing a gold necklace around her neck. It complimented the dress nicely, the suns rays bouncing off the jewels and the sparkling dress.

After one more look in the mirror she felt tears prick at her eyes, threatening to fall. She felt beautiful for the first time in so long, and she was so excited to start this new chapter, never thinking she’d make it this far because of her past home-life. She sighed, thinking about how her parents should be there, but she looked at the women before her and realized she had all the family she needed right there in this small forested area, and she couldn’t be happier.

“You okay?” Esmeralda said rubbing her back lightly.

“Yeah...I’m just so excited, and happy, it’s also a bit terrifying if I’m honest.” She said wiping her eyes gently, not wanting to ruin her makeup.

“This is going to be one of the best nights of your life Y/N, just wait.” She said giving her a reassuring hug.

“I don’t know where I’d be without any of you. I love you guys so much.” Y/N said smiling and hugging them before taking a deep breath and stepping out of the vardo.

She felt the cool ground on her feet, not wanting to wear heels as they’d just sink in the damp earth. She was carefully led behind the vardo to an elaborately colored curtain that hung between two of the trees. Esmeralda placed a string of flowers in her hair before going to her seat, and she saw Aberama in a nice suit walking up to her.

“Are you ready?” He asked, a gentle smile playing across his lips.

“Yes.” She said quietly, nervously holding onto his arm as he walked her through the curtain and down towards the flower covered platform.

Some of the people who lived in the camp played instruments as she walked, the music filling the air as she looked out and saw all of the people she’s gotten to know there over the past year, and saw Tommy and the other blinders among the guests, watching her as she made her way to Bonnie. She looked at him with a huge grin as he watched her walk with his father up onto the platform, the blinders friend Jeremiah acting as the officiant off to the side of them. Aberama let go of her arm and hugged her gently and patted Bonnie on the back before heading to his seat.

“You look absolutely beautiful my love.” He said smiling down at her.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She said looking up at him, her eyes searching his.

As Jeremiah concluded the ceremony, everyone cheered, the loud music consuming their ears as they kissed.

They then waded through the small crowd, Bonnie introducing Y/N to various people he knew that came in from other areas. But Y/N had a sneaky suspicion whilst chatting with them. Tommy was eyeing them in the distance as she spoke to some of Bonnies friends, making her a bit uneasy. She knew he wasn’t as bad as he had been made out to be, but she couldn’t help feel nervous and Bonnie could tell.

“Hey let me introduce you to them better than I did last time aye?” He said taking her hand and leading her over to them. Tommy’s face faltered from his usual grimace to a warm smile as they approached.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gold....congratulations.” He said shaking Bonnies hand and kissing the top of yours.

“I told you we’d pay you back right...didn’t I Aberama?” He asked playfully, eyeing Aberama as he stood next to her.

“Indeed, thank you for everything, Mr. Shelby.” He said before excusing himself.

Esmeralda came over shortly after, making the interaction less awkward.

“Thank you so much Mr. Shelby. The dress, the lights, everything’s beautiful!” She said winking at Y/N.

“Wait....” Y/N said, as she looked at Tommy with a genuine smile, surprised he’d help them with something like this.

“I should be thanking you as well Mr. Shelby, I don’t see why you went to the trouble though. That was very thoughtful.” She said.

“Your husband and father in law have helped me a lot recently with the business as you know, and I figured I’d give our best fighter something as a bit of a thank you. Don’t worry about paying anything back though love, I insist you keep the dress, for memories sake.” He said.

Y/N grinned as she looked up at Bonnie who held her hand in his. As the night drug on, you two departed from the Shelby’s and went to the source of the music, nervously stepping out with him to dance.

“Oh I’m so nervous...what if I fall?” Y/N said, clutching onto his hand as he spun her around. His sisters were near her dancing like they’d taught her.

“I’ll catch you.” He said before picking up the pace with the beat, everyone cheering as they both danced near the bonfire. Y/N remembered to transition to the other people and so she went to Esmeralda who giggled as they danced around, linking arms with each other and then eventually made her way back to Bonnie.

“Bon...?” She said, smiling up at him.

He grinned at her, her eyes sparkling as the sun set around them.

“Yeah?”

“I...I mean-we love you. Always will...” She said as she caressed his cheek, the music slowed down as their movements came to a stop.

“I love you both too, more than all the stars in the sky.” He said.

The small crowd cheered as they shared a kiss, ending the dance as the light died down around them, surrounded only by family and friends and the sparkling night sky above.

Tag List:

(If you’d like to be added/removed from the Bonnie Gold tag list just shoot me an ask!) :)

@bonniesgoldengirl, @peakyrogers, @ta-ka-shi-ma

[fandom-thingies]

This is an unfinished draft of a long, in depth analysis I’m planning of everything we know about Silksong. The final draft will have detailed analysis of enemies, areas, names, and many, many attempts to draw parallels with Hollow Knight. Without further ado, here’s the draft!

Will Hornet have her memories? Or will the winds of the Wastes have swept them away?

Prequel or sequel? (I’m thinking sequel, based on the implied presence of weavers in the trailer)

Lace fights Hornet (at least) twice, doesn’t call her by name, and knows things. IS SHE A HORNET PARALLEL AND HOW MUCH

What awful thing is going to happen to the flea-collecting village? Will they all die, or will they turn out to be evil? (My money’s on the latter)

Is the bell cult good, bad, or something else?

Who is the main villain?

Is Lace an antagonist or a Hornet parallel?

Lesbians???

Everything in Silksong seems much more vibrant than Hallownest. Instead of muted colors and effectively blank backgrounds, all of the areas we’ve been shown seem to be very saturated, and the design feels like everything is there for a reason. It’s a stark contrast to Hollow Knight’s busy backgrounds and dour themes, and is it possible the story reflects/is intended to reflect this?

Why does that one enemy look so much like steel soul Jinn?

Is Lace void??

Seriously though, she covers almost all of her body and her face is very similar to that of a shade’s. The existence of the shade trap room in the Colosseum of Fools implies the existence of other void creatures, though of course it could simply have been built for THK. We know void creatures are capable of having voices, as evidenced by the Collector, so IS LACE VOID???

That one area has a lovely juxtaposition between the white roses carpeting the ground and the industrial style pipes in the background, and knowing team Cherry, there’s definitely a reason for this.

Who kidnapped a Hornet and why?

Who sent the butterfly that breaks the seal of binding on her cage? Lace knows about Hornet’s imprisonment- could it have been her? Though she admittedly doesn’t seem to have much motivation to keep Hornet alive...

In Hollow Knight, the name of the game is also the name of the final boss. Could this also be true to an extent for Silksong? I doubt the boss would be named that explicitly, but perhaps someone who holds an association to both?

Multiple endings?

Will the final boss actually be the final boss? In Hollow Knight, the Radiance acts as a sort of hidden boss. Will this also be true in Silksong?

Will there be godseekers or the Grimm Troupe?

Will Ghost or THK be mentioned?

Will this focus more on expanding Hallownest’s lore or introducing Pharloom’s?

Points of interest:

1. Hornet appears to be performing a move similar to a great slash or dash slash here, which the enemy appears to be attempting (succeeding?) to deflect with their scissors

2. 2. In Hollow Knight, almost every fence or wall in Hallownest had the repeated motif of the king’s seal. This design looks a lot like a godseeker’s mask, as well as some of the enemies that have been revealed so far.

3. These appear to be at least four massive spools of silk. We know for a fact that there are weavers in Pharloom, and the sheer amount of silk here is more than we ever see in one place in Hallownest. Could it be possible that weaversilk is being farmed somehow?

4. It’s difficult to see, but this appears to be a massive control wheel, like you’d see on a valve. It’s much bigger than any standard bug could take advantage of, but we already know that Silksong is going to have some massive enemies, so it’s possible one of these also acts or acted as an overseer for this area.

5. This wall design heavily reminds me of both the walls in the Resting Grounds and the Birthplace. Are these corpses, or simply made to look like them? Either way, there’s definitely lore attached.

As well as all that, note how thin the support struts are, and how they appear wooden and cobbled together. I propose that what Hornet is climbing on here is the scaffolding around a massive silk related machine of some sort. Maybe an automatic loom?

Points of interest:

1. You’ll note that the enemy is holding a gilded pin, which is the same weapon Lace uses and is described as “the traditional weapon of Pharloom” by Team Cherry. I take this to mean that this bug has probably been in this place for a while.

2. This isn’t big or anything, but it’s very interesting to me that both Hallownest and Pharloom use lumafly lanterns for light. This implies some interesting things either about Hallownest and Pharloom’s proximity or the ubiquity of lumaflies.

3. This is clearly a graveyard. I find it very interesting that the stones seem to be entirely plain of embellishment or text except for the bell symbol. Also, I wonder if the graveyard being here means that we’re close to the Citadel?

4. This appears to be a fallen elevator. I’m not sure what else I could draw from it, but it definitely adds to the dilapidated and abandoned feel of this area.

5. This enemy has three golden straight pins. It’s very possible that you gain the ability to throw three at once after vanquishing one of these enemies. Another interesting thing to note is that the enemy isn’t holding these pins. If you look closely, their hand is at their side. The pins are instead seemingly fastened to their head somehow.

6. This is difficult to see properly, but the design on the fence here appears to be similar to the shape of the fallen elevator. It could also be read as a representation of the Citadel.

A few other things to note are that the colors here are almost identical to those of the resting grounds, including the enemies. This is unusual as far as Silksong goes, as most of the areas are far more intensely saturated.

These enemies appear to be wearing cloaks. It’s difficult to tell whether it’s the shadow of the hood that’s hiding their faces or whether that’s simply what they look like.

Also, Greymoor is a very interesting name and I’d like to explore what precisely a “moor” is, because I think this may give more clues as to the nature of the area.

Moors are defined as highland areas with acidic soil and low vegetation. The fact that moors are specifically highland areas makes me suspect even more that Greymoor connects directly to the Citadel, as Silksong appears to be a game mostly focused on going up, so where better to transition from the ground to the Citadel than highland?

1. We know from the Resting Grounds that this is how Ari draws mummified corpses. The fact that this corpse is walking around definitely implies some shenanigans. It brings to mind the description of Greymoor as “haunted”.

2. The fact that this corpse is lying on the ground makes me wonder if most of these mummified bugs will lie still on the ground until they notice Hornet, which would be an interesting enemy mechanic.

3. This lumafly lantern is tinted green, which I’m pretty sure we never saw in Hollow Knight. (Correct me if I’m wrong) It makes me wonder if something special was done to the lantern to achieve this.

4. Team Cherry has said that Hornet’s silk and soul are “inseparably intertwined”. It’s a very nice design touch to see that healing creates both kinds of particle.

5. See those motes in the air? They look very similar to the spores of the Fungal Wastes, and I suspect they may be the reason moss covers everything here.

What I lined in dark blue is the visible boning beneath the moss, and what I lined in cyan is the places where the moss grows too regularly, implying yet more boning just beneath.

I’m not sure whether this is deliberate or whether the moss grew over already existing structures to cause this, but another thing to note is that the way this moss grows is very reminiscent of moss balls, or marimo balls, an aquatic plant that grows in freshwater lakes.

The reason this interests me isn’t because I think these *are* moss balls, but rather because of how natural grottos form.

Most natural grottos are formed by water eroding soft rock like limestone into large caves. It’s common for them to either be flooded or to flood at high tide, which when combined with the aquatic vegetation in this area, could imply that it will be flooded for part of the game or at intervals. It’s possible Team Cherry would use this to echo the way that the Forgotten Crossroads turn into the Infected Crossroads, or it could be a way of gating the first area behind you until you get more movement capabilities similar to the Howling Cliffs.

Lastly, one of the root words for Grotto is the Latin word for “crypt”. Combined with the mummified corpses here, it makes me wonder.

Points of interest:

1. Confirmation that Hornet can look up! I don’t think anyone was worried about it, but it’s good to know we’ll still be able to do that.

2. You’ll note, first of all, that this is unusually bare for Ari’s backgrounds. The designs are smooth with little shading and there are massive dark areas. This leads me to believe that this isn’t the finished background, nor the one we’ll see in game.

3. The two strange objects at the corners of the screen are difficult to identify. Personally, I think they look like plugs of some sort, though I have no idea what they might be plugging. Maybe magma?

4. What is it with Team Cherry and throwing dead bodies everywhere? That’s litter, it’s illegal. Anyway, what might have killed these bugs?

5. You’ll note the massive misshapen mountain of bones in the background. Where did all of these come from? Also, the fact that they are bones means that this is probably Bonebottom. I’d like to call your attention to the fact that bugs don’t actually have bones, just exoskeletons, which makes the source of these even more dubious.

6. There are several ember particle effects, which I take to mean that there’s a whole bunch of magma nearby.

7. There are a few links of chain attached to each plug. Likely this is to allow them to be dragged open. I’m very curious whether this is just a design detail or whether opening these plugs will be used as a mechanic somehow.

Circled in blue are the (brass?) rings on Shakra’s arms as well as a similar ring on the ground. I’m not sure why one of her arm rings would be on the ground, but maybe it’s similar to Cornifer’s pages?

[aerialsquid]

How to Bury a Gentile

I wrote a short vaguely historical vaguely spooky ghost story about Jews and burial rites and I have to justify it existing so here it is.

“Are you the leader of the Jews?”

There was no good that ever came from that question. Rabbi Jacob stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame, ready to yank it closed at a moment’s notice.

“Well, not all of the Jews.”

The man at the door made a frustrated little grunt. He was clad almost completely in dark grey clothing that seemed to fade into the shadows of the darkened street behind him. The collar of his coat was pulled up so high that it was impossible to make out more than a pair of sharp grey eyes beneath the brim of his hat, and the cloak he wore over the top of it concealed most of his body. There could be any number of guns, knives, or angry mobs hidden under there.

“But the ones in this town, yes? You are their priest, you lead prayers and weddings and so on?” the man said impatiently.

“Rabbi. Yes. I’m the rabbi, that’s correct.” Jacob said, stiffening his posture and assuming the most neutral expression he could manage. Being completely ignorant didn't exclude someone from being completely dangerous--if anything, that heightened the risk. "What can I do for you?"

“Rabbi,” the man repeated, as if to seal it into his memory properly. One gloved hand squeezed the pommel of his walking stick. “And you preside over the funerals of your people, and perform the rites to send them to the next world?”

“Yyyyyes?” Jacob shifted his weight to his back foot, poised to slam the door in his face. This sounded unpleasantly like an opening for a death threat.

“To any of them, regardless of the sins they carried in life?” An eagerness entered the man’s voice.

“Of course. Though sin as a Jewish concept differs from the Christian…mm. Yes, of course.” The scholars of old might have debated the nature of the evil in men’s souls until the crack of dawn but Jacob had no intention of doing so at half-past midnight with a complete stranger.

The shadowed man took a half step forward and Jacob leaned back to maintain the distance between him. “What about a gentile?” the man pressed. "Would you tend to his corpse too?"

“Huh?”

“There is a man needing to be buried tonight who requires absolution. He is not a Jew, but a Jew’s prayers may be close enough for what is needed.”

“Um. It’s not usually a request I get.” Jacob tried to keep his voice calm and soothing. There was some kind of entrapment lingering in the conversation, he just knew it. That or a giant box of crazy that had managed to dress itself stylishly. Gentiles asking Jews intrusive but urgent questions never turned out well for their target--a day-long case of irritation was the best outcome the target could hope for.

The man’s hands pressed together as he completed the full step forward, making Jacob back up into the doorframe. Desperation was in his tone and Jacob was forced back over the threshold just to stay out of his grip “All I need is someone to accompany me to the cemetery to consecrate the body and pray for its soul. Barely an hour of your time. I cannot pay you with anything but my gratitude, but you will have it eternally.”

“And you came to me?”

The man sighed. Even the top hat seemed to slouch slightly as his body slumped. “I have asked every holy man in the city, Catholic and Protestant alike, and they have refused to come to the cemetery," he bemoaned. "The last one told me to visit you. Likely a ploy to make me leave faster, but you are all I have left.”

“What did this man do, that so many people refused him? Who was he?”

The man at the door hesitated. The sharp eyes vanished as his eyelids slid down, and then appeared a few moments later.

“Must you ask?” he said quietly. “Is it not enough that it is a corpse which can do no man harm any longer, and you will lose nothing but a half-night of sleep?”

The inside of Jacob’s head was ringing with warning bells like the frantic clanging of gongs announcing a fire. He swallowed and tried to ignore them.

“You say he wasn’t Jewish?”

“He was not…much of anything. He felt God had no interest in him, and returned a lack of interest in kind. Perhaps if he had been more attentive he wouldn’t lie in a pauper’s grave…or perhaps he would have not changed a whit.” The man’s voice was bitter and the sharp eyes briefly looked away from Jacob, to Jacob’s deep relief.

“Who was this man, to you?” he asked.

“Close. I would prefer to say no more. Please, rabbi. It must be done, and it must be tonight.”

Seminary did not prepare me for this, Jacob thought, and then thought again. There is absolutely something in the Talmud about this and I’ve just forgotten it, because I’m an idiot and I’m half asleep and there is a goy on my doorstep asking me to go out to the cemetery with him at midnight to bury a man whose name he won’t tell me.

“Look, I’ll need someone to help dig the grave.”

“Of course."

“And a coffin. A plain pine box. And I’ll need to get my supplies from the--”

“But you’ll do it?” said the man excitedly, standing up even taller. “And do it tonight, before the cock crows?”

Jacob held up his hands to keep the man from getting even further into his personal space. “Fine. Yes. Give me half an hour and a lazy rooster.”

The cloak almost seem to inflate as the man gasped for joy. He grabbed Jacob’s hands and shook both with enthusiasm, sending Jacob stumbling. “Thank God for you, my good rabbit! Whatever God there is, thank God for you!”

The man ran off into the shadowed streets and was out of sight almost immediately.

Jacob’s hands slowly fell back to his side as he mumbled, “Rabbi,” to the darkness.

My wife is going to kill me if whatever’s at the cemetery doesn’t.

Twenty six minutes later, going by his watch, Jacob showed up at the Jewish cemetery that back-ended the only synagogue in town. It was guarded by high brick walls that made it impossible to see inside, but when Jacob went to put his key into the wrought iron gates he found them already unlocked.

Only a few other people had the key, and he briefly prayed that it was one of them who’d opened it. Then he prayed again, a more general ‘please keep me from being murdered in my own cemetery’ plea as he passed through the gates. One hand patted his pocket, feeling the edges of the folded knife he’d brought along just in case matters went nasty.

In the very corner of the cemetery a lantern burned beside an open grave, a long wooden box, and three figures with two shovels. As he approached he recognized Maud, the gravedigger’s wife and her two eldest children.

The city’s Jews and Christians kept separate cemeteries but shovels didn’t need any particular religious affiliation and neither did the hands who were paid to hold them. Maud’s husband served the dead of all faiths as long as they needed a few feet of dirt to rest their heads in.

“You’re out late,” Jacob said, casual, like they'd met at the grocer's instead of the graveyard.

Maud shrugged. She was thin with unkempt, slightly greasy hair that fell around her face in soft waves and a dress that had no functions besides the practical. Jacob knew her to be much like her husband – not bereft of compassion, but very straightforward when it came to the rites of death. It happened. The mourners mourned, but someone had to dig the holes and move the coffins, and tears only hindered the process. “And what are you, out for an evening constitutional among the headstones?”

“Let me guess, a man in grey showed up on your doorstep and asked you to come out here in the middle of the night with minimal justification but great urgency."

Maud laughed bitterly. “The same.”

“Where’s your husband?”

“Visiting family. Had to bring them instead.” She gestured to the two young people with her, one a stringy and acne-ridden lad of thirteen and one a sixteen year old young woman who was growing into having her father’s thick arms. Both looked profoundly uncomfortable with the situation.

“And he’d put up a storming fuss if a mysterious stranger asked him to dig a grave at half past nonsense at night. Me, I know better.” Maud put a finger next to her nose and tapped it. “There’s something strange going on about this. Otherworldly. Not to be trifled with.”

“Do you have any idea who this man is?”

“Not a clue. Wouldn’t give me a name, even.”

Jacob gestured to the open grave. “Who are we burying here, Cain? A murder victim?”

Maud shrugged, followed by shrugs from her two children. “Whatever he is and whoever wants him in the ground, I’m of no mind to tell him no. He’s too determined for someone who’d take it for a good answer.”

They waited in the stillness, listening to crickets softly chirp in the bushes lining the graveyard. Suddenly Jacob could see movement in the fog, then the billowing of a grey cloak, and then the shape of a man dragging something behind him on a pull cart.

Sticking out over the rim of the cart was a large, curved piece of  rock that Jacob recognized as the rough draft of a gravestone. There was a crack down one side of the stone, indicating it had likely been tossed aside as defective before it could be engraved. Beside it was a long bundle wrapped in a dirty sheet.

The four at the grave steeled their nerves in the way that best suited their spiritual preferences as the man in grey approached.

“That’s our man, is it?” Jacob asked, pointing at the bundle. The man in grey nodded.

“Do what you need to tend to him, rabbi. But do it quickly.”

Jacob uncovered the man and winced at the smell. The man had obviously been dead for at least a day, and hadn’t died in any particular state of valor. There were ligature marks around his neck, which tilted at an uncomfortable angle. That plus the bulging of his eyes and the shape of his face meant he’d died of strangulation—a slow death on the gallows, with no kind executioner ensuring that he fell fast and far enough to snap his neck at the bottom. He’d also been stripped down to his underclothes by whoever’d taken him down off the rope, and those garments that remained were…messy.

“Lay him out flat,” Jacob said. “We’ll need to get his clothes off first.”

The man winced. “Must you? He’s endured enough humiliation.”

“Do you want him purified or not? He’s covered in his own…ugh. Covered in a number of things.”

Maud took out a long pocket knife and began cutting the undergarments off the corpse, nose wrinkling. “Hate hanged corpses,” she muttered. “Wish they’d just behead them, it’d look neater and go faster.”

“But then you’ve got the body in two pieces,” said the son.

His sister rebutted, “You could tie it back on afterwards under the shirt.” The pair descended into a discussion of ideal execution methods that Jacob tried to block out with sheer willpower.

As a distraction, he studied the dead man's face. Besides the strangulation the man wasn’t unhandsome. Jacob would put him at an elegantly-aging 45 at the oldest, with stylishly cut ruddy hair and a strong jaw. It wasn't the kind of man you'd expect to find on the gallows.

“I’m going to need a name,” Jacob said, looking to the man in grey.

The man in grey hesitated, staring down at the corpse.

“James,” he said finally.

“That’s the truth, right?" Jacob pressed, in the tone he used on children who were too young to lie effectively.  “It’s actually James?”

“Yes, actually James,” the man snapped.

“James…son of…?”

“Haven’t a clue.” The sharp eyes stared daggers into Jacob’s face. Jacob sighed and went with the one sure bet he had for ancestry.

“…James ben Adam, I ask forgiveness for you, for your family and friends, and for

all of Israel, and I ask forgiveness from you for any mistakes or indiscretions I may unintentionally commit during this service.”

“He’s dead,” the man in grey interjected. “Don’t waste time asking him how he feels, just prepare him.”

“It’s part of the ritual. Besides, I hardly want him coming back tomorrow to complain.”

Jacob ran quickly through the rest of the prayers in Hebrew– the prayer for forgiveness from the corpse, the prayer for those preparing it, the prayer for compassion for the dead. The man in grey was silent. Maud and her children answered with a hasty ‘amen’ after each paragraph, even though they had no real idea what he was saying. Their religious policy seemed to be ‘whatever gets the job done’.

Jacob sighed. “All right, let’s get to the business.”

Maud and her children huddled by the corpse as Jacob poured water over it and recited the familiar words. He is pure, he is pure, he is pure. Amen, amen.

Between pourings the four rubbed the filth from the man’s skin. There were bruises on the man’s body, and scars ranging from years old to less than a month. As he cleaned under the fingernails Jacob noticed how soft his hands were, as if he’d lived in wealth and luxury until recently.

Tahara was usually the domain of the synagogue’s chevra kadisha, the funeral society, not something one rabbi did on his own. Jacob hoped that whoever was supervising the legalities of the affair would accept one rabbi and four multi-gender gentiles as a valid substitute for meeting adult male Jewish quorum.

Jacob looked up at the grey-clothed man, who’d taken a seat on a nearby headstone, cane resting beneath his folded hands. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help?”

The man shook his head. “Willing, yes. Able, no.”

“Why?”

The man angled his head to the side, voice going soft and hoarse. “There are a lot of things I cannot say. If I did, it would not…be what was necessary.”

“And what is necessary?”

“That he be buried tonight before the cock crowed, with full funeral and rites, by a man of faith, without promise of wealth or other reward for the deed,” the man rattled off as if by rote.

“You say that like it’s in a contract of some kind.”

“It is legally binding, in its own way. Now please, enough questions, we’ve not much time.” The man looked up nervously to the moon.

“Fine. Can you at least go fetch us more water?” Jacob asked the man in grey. Once he’d left with the jug, Maud huddled down next to him.

“Think I know who this dead man is,” Maud whispered.  “Heard about him over the local gossip from my cousin. He was a criminal. Nasty one, a thief and a murderer. Mutilated bodies. They say he even made a deal with Lucifer himself. Must be why this one sought you out.”

“You know we don’t believe in your Devil, right?” Jacob muttered, almost by reflex. “Let alone have any positive relationship with him.”

“The people what hanged him this week in the next town over believed in the Devil. What else would be so bad the church wants nothing to do with him And why else would he need consecrating so badly and so quickly, if he’s not got something he needs absolving form?”

Jacob watched the fog for the return of the man in grey. “And this gentleman who’s such an advocate for him, you think he’s…”

Maud followed his gaze. “If I believed in such things, I’d think it,” she whispered.

“But you don’t?”

Maud gave him a sharp look. “You think a gravedigger’s wife can afford to believe in ghosts? It’s bad for business, Rabbi.”

“Might not be, if you convince them a ghost prefers an expensive grave. Ah, hush, he’s coming back.”

Rather than put it into Jacob’s hands, the man in grey set the jug on the ground and stepped back from it. Jacob continued to pray as they wiped the corpse down and combed through his ruddy hair, reciting so quickly that Jacob ran out of prayer before he was done and ventured off into additional prayers that couldn’t hurt to add on top of the pile.

Jacob reached for the bag next to him and pulled out piles of white linen. “Now we dress him.”

“You just finished undressing him! He’s a corpse and he’s going to rot, does it matter?”

Jacob gritted his teeth, half-rising to his feet. “It. Is. The. Tradition,” he hissed.

The man in grey put his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. Do what you will. Just do it quickly.”

Jacob wrapped the corpse gently in the burial clothes – pants, shirt, belt. As he laid the white cloth in place over the face he felt the tension growing in the air, an odd pressure he’d previously chalked to humidity.

You can’t buy and sell a soul, he told himself. All souls belong to God. That’s how it works.

On the other hand, God might rent them out on commission. If he made it out of this intact he really needed to see what the Talmud said on the subject.

The man in grey was fidgeting. He kept looking to the moon, then to the watch in his hand, and then worrying the cane between his legs until it dug a long furrow in the dirt in front of him.

“Get his feet, I’ll take his shoulders.”

“Yes, mum.”

Maud and her daughter dropped the corpse into its plain pine box.

“Nails,” Maud said over her shoulder.

“Here, mum.”

The gravedigger’s son brought the hammer down hard. The resounding noise of the pine box being nailed shut jangled Jacob’s nerves after all the hushed prayers. The youth gave the nails a few extra swings each, just to make sure that nothing inside the box decided to come back out again.

The four of them lifted the coffin and crab-walked with it until it was vaguely over the grave, then dropped it in.  The man in grey leapt to his feet. “Now. Funeral. Perform it, and quickly,” he insisted.

Jacob steadied himself at the edge of the grave. Maud and the children took up the politely sympathetic stances identical to the one the gravedigger did when waiting for the funeral to finally end so he could get to his business.

Jacob was used to these. He was just used to them during the daytime, with a row of mourners lined up neatly with their ritually torn ribbons pinned to their chests as a substitute for rending their actual clothing. Even the most loathsome of people had someone to show up in order to keep up social status. A funeral for a man with no mourners to comfort was novel.

He looked at the man in grey, who was standing well back with his arms folded. “I will say, I’ve never done a eulogy for someone I don’t know the identity of, so I can’t promise anything quality.”

“I don’t care. Do it.”

Jacob took a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly. He thought back to other eulogies, pulling together scraps of them and tying it nicely with a scriptural bow.

“We are all cracked vessels,” he pronounced in his Official Rabbi Voice. “But we are all vessels made in the image of God, and even in death that vessel is subject to respect. As the Torah says, even if a man commits a sin so severe that he is sentenced to death, his body shall not be left out overnight, but buried that same day, for a hanging corpse is a blasphemy to God and a defilement of the land.”

The man in grey made a small noise, like a half-stifled bitter laugh. Jacob forced his voice to be steady.

“And from this we see that there is no crime that separates man from God. He is not spared from judgment, but he is still in God’s image, and to disrespect his right to burial is to disrespect God himself. May those that James ben Adam has harmed in life forgive him and gain healing, and those whose lives he has enriched remember him. Amen.”

And may this not come back to bite me in the arse, whatever strange theological zone I may be playing in.

“Amen,” echoed Maud and her children. Maud’s daughter shivered, a strange act when the night’s heat seemed to be growing ever more oppressive on Jacob’s shoulders.

The words of Kel Maleh Rachamim felt heavy on Jacob’s tongue. Towards the end he felt himself slurring vowels and having to stop and go back to repeat them properly. His throat burned, and he took a swig from the dirty water jug just to soothe it, but found it brought no relief.

“Please,” whispered the man in grey.  “Now! Bury him now!”

Jacob could feel dawn coming somehow, though he hadn’t checked his watch since they began. He could feel it in his bones as the heat surged through him. Maud and her children went for the shovels.

Jacob kept the prayer flowing, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mey rabah!” he muttered as dirt flew into the grave. The words of the Mourner’s Kaddish were some of the most familiar he knew. They were said every Shabbat morning, and the same words were repeated for their own reasons several other times during the service. In the dense air they seemed to be the only thing keeping his throat clear, when he would otherwise suffocate.

The two children shoveled as fast as they could but they were slumping under some unseen pressure. The girl winced, gritting her teeth, and tears were gathering at the corners of the boy’s eyes.

The man in grey jumped to stand beside them, waving his hands. “Faster!” he shouted.

“You heard him, faster!” shouted Maud.

“Mum, my arms hurt, let me rest!”

“Keep going!” the man in grey snarled. “We haven’t much time!”

When the shovel fell from the young man’s limp hands Jacob grabbed it and began piling in the dirt furiously. He felt claws dig into his arms draining the strength from his muscles. The man in grey urged them onward, with pleas and with threats, and Jacob tried to ignore both. There were whispers invading his mind and he drove them out by chanting at double speed. Beside him Maud was saying the prayers of her own people and her daughter was fumbling along behind her in repeating them. It made a rhythm to shovel to, up and down and deep into the dirt again, until the coffin was covered completely. Maud’s son heaved the crudely-carved rock from the cart and nearly dropped it on his own foot as he planted it at the head of the grave.

“Amen!” the young man shouted.

“Amen, amen, for god’s sake, are we done?” asked the daughter, thick arms limp at her sides.

“We’re done!” said Jacob, barely getting the words out.

“You’re not!” shouted the man in grey. He had his arms around himself, head bowed as if under unseen blows. “It’s not finished!”

Jacob ground his teeth, his muscles screaming in pain. “There’s nothing left!” The gravedigger’s son was on his knees trembling.

“You must have forgotten something!” yelled the man in gray in a shaking voice, huddled inside his cloak.

“I didn’t—"

Oh.

Of course.

Jacob pulled the knife from his pocket. The act of opening it felt like moving a boulder. He took his shirt cuff and with great effort jabbed the knife into it, dragging it down until he reached the hem.. The sound of the cloth tearing reverberated through the graveyard and magnified a hundred times, until it was shaking Jacob down to his bones.

Like rain breaking on a broiling July day, the tension snapped and vanished. The pained sniffles of the gravedigger’s son faded into silence. Across the graveyard, the crickets started up their song once more.

The man in grey uncurled slowly. “What did you…do?” he asked, looking to Jacob in awe.

“Mourners,” Jacob gasped, the knife falling from his hands. “There were no mourners. Had to—you tear your clothing, when you’re mourning. Funeral’s not just for the dead. It’s for the living. It needed mourners.”

A feeling of cool mist enveloped Jacob as the man in grey launched at him for a deep embrace. It was the first time the man had touched any of them since the night began. “Thank you,” the man said, voice nearly a sob.

Jacob patted his back. The man felt like a damp blanket cloying to his skin. “Shalom Aleichem, James.”

“Whatever that means, the same to you, Rabbi.” The weight of the man vanished from his arms, followed by the man himself. The first rays of morning light shone down upon wet grass dented by absent boots.

Maud’s daughter slumped against her mother. Maud’s arm reached around her and gave her a hard squeeze, a weak smile coming to her face.

“Do we get to believe in ghosts now, Mum?”

“No, dear. It’s bad for business.”

[cronencata]

I decided it might be fun to post the designs I did two years back for a bunch of band-inspired characters- half of which have gone through some revisions since they were made. Click for a clearer view!  I hadn’t really realized until now that I’ve been playing with these concepts for two years! Weird. Originally, they were a for-fun only project, but then I toyed with what I assumed all their relationships would be, and what world they live in... and now two NaNoWriMo drafts in, I’m still not sure what to do with them.

The sheets here have been edited since they were made, just for display reasons. Plus, what’s the fun in telling people what bands inspired them? That’s much more fun as a guessing game.

These are the characters I’d consider the ‘main four’ - at least, as the idea is laid out in my head right now. More info under the cut.

The conceit of the universe these characters inhabit ( as its written right now ) is that there is a substance called tiamat which grants people altered senses, personalized supernatural abilities, and, in great quantities, altered physiology - at a cost. Absorbing tiamat gives people a troubling aura which encourages fear and suspicion in others. Tiamat infusion leads to ostracization- whether said infusion was intentional or not. 

Katya ‘Cat’ Krastev: The main girl herself! She’s had a rough time of it and now everyone on planet earth is her enemy. She unwittingly came into contact with tiamat while exploring haunted houses with Caleb and her boyfriend Zacharie in middle school. High school was rough for her- rougher than most. Childhood friends abandoned her, her mother grew distant and hostile, and nobody seemed to have her back... save for Caleb and Zacharie. Tragedy struck in her senior year, and she lost Zacharie forever. Grieving in quiet to this day, she still wears the hoodie he gave her. 

Under the spite, there is a cheery girl who loves fairy tales, cute animals, and DIY. After meeting Reyes, she becomes instantly infatuated with him- projecting idealistic romance onto a wholly disinterested party. That’s all easier to deal with than grief, though.

Her infusion grants her pyrokinesis which generates bright purple flame. The fire can emerge in the shape of a person!

 I actually did a much prettier sheet for Cat a few days ago! If I can squeeze out the time, I’d love to give everyone else the same treatment.

Caleb Delaney: Cat’s only remaining friend from childhood, and her admirer for several years. Caleb is a wallflower, preferring to disappear into the crowd to avoid confrontation and hostility. His affection for Cat takes a backseat to his care for her - and his earnest hope that she’ll one day shed her toxic behaviors. Unfortunately, in the meantime, he makes more excuses for it than she does. He was the first to befriend Zan Wen, and takes his advice closest to heart. Caleb battles depression, and deep down realizes how far Cat has dragged him down- but can’t bear to let her go.

His infusion grants him the power to generate and meld into a fog- from which he can re-emerge wherever.

Caleb’s hair has changed since this sheet was made- the spiky hair really didn’t fit his character, so now he has bangs that sweep to the sides of his face like curtains.

Zan Wen: The landscaper for Fallgrim’s graveyard and mentor figure to Caleb, as well as a very resistant Cat. He was able to recognize their infusion status almost immediately, and aims to help them adapt in hopes they’ll make it out better than he did. Zan is a advocate of embracing tiamat- personifying it as a creator entity which birthed all creation, as well as a path to personal fulfillment. He truly wants the best for everyone in the party- but has the most trouble communicating with Cat, who takes all of his advice in deliberate bad faith. He encourages Caleb to embrace independence.

His infusion grants him necromancy, which he hopes to one day cultivate into full-on resurrection and healing.

Reyes: An escapee from a human experiment program called Black Flock. Infused with copious amounts of tiamat, Reyes is no longer physiologically stable- breaking down into a monstrous form in stressful episodes. He trusts himself with no human company, preferring to keep his distance at all times. After Zan sheltered him for a night, he’s been seeking a way to split before tragedy strikes again, and he hurts someone who was only trying to help him. After a year of living alone, though, he can’t pretend he doesn’t miss the company of friends...

Reyes’ colorful palette has since been darkened and dulled out to better reflect his sullen stoicism and cold fury- as well as the tone/album art of the band that inspired him. Originally, he had gauntlets that infused him with extra doses of tiamat, but I ended up dropping that. He is, without a doubt, the most self-indulgent character out of these four.

This scribble is a pretty good summary of their collective dynamic:

[archived-themagicalmysticalboy]

Hey! Idk if you’re still doing the dialogue prompts but mclennon + “i don’t want to talk about it”? Thankss 💕💕

(((ight. ive had this in my drafts for actual ages and thought this line was perfect to end it on)))

Heat clung in the late-night air and surrounded Paul as he collapsed onto the bus stop bench. The cool of the metal sent chills over his sweat sheened skin. The search for John had lasted the better half of the day and the heat did not give way through it all. Even as he sat in the moonless night, the wind still brought in hot and humid air that was almost too thick to breathe.

He wiped away the sweat from his brow. He had to go home at some point. Where else was there to look? He’d thoroughly searched John’s usual hangouts, every pub he has ever set foot in and some he hadn’t, and went back to the lads house a million times to check with Mimi. Nothing. He figured he could look around the old graveyard one last time, though he’d have to walk all the way home after that. No bus to take him back that late. Maybe the walk would help him sleep tonight. He was already under the assumption he wouldn’t sleep if John didn’t turn up but sheer exhaustion could do the trick.

John’s mother had passed only a few weeks prior. He had the right to up and disappeared, Paul figured. But he couldn’t help but worry. Being that down, anything could happen when you're left alone. John wasn’t known for being completely rational on a good day, anyways.

He looked over the emptying streets as cars flew by, bringing in waves of much cooler air. He moved from the bench and stepped closer to the road, leaning on a nearby lamppost. The cool air from the rushing cars greeting him like a breath of fresh air. Glancing down the street, he spotted the bus slowly approaching.

Once the squeak of its breaks settled to a stop and the doors jittered open, he climbed on, paying his toll. The bus was completely empty. He began to sit but the ancient man driving the bus grunted.

“Check the top for any stragglers, would you lad? Would be much appreciated.”

Hot and tired, Paul didn’t have the energy to refuse. He gave a nod and climbed to the top level of the bus. Passing streetlights guided him through the aisle. His eyes danced between the two sides until they fell on a balled-up figure tucked away in the very back. They reeked of just about every type of booze imaginable, a coat pulled up to cover their head. They had to be sweating to death under that thing.

Paul nudged the figure with the tip of his fingers. “Bus’ only got a few more stops, mate. Best get up.”

The jacket toppled to the side as the figure stirred. The streetlights flickered across the boozed filled figure to reveal John’s pale face. His hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat but he seemed oblivious to the heat. It was not oblivious to him, however. His skin was paler than usual, the freckles on his arms even seeming to lack full color, and he was coated in sweat.

“Dammit, John...” Paul leaned over his friend to pull down a window. Carefully, he lifted John up until the wind was hitting his face. He fell over onto Paul’s shoulder, his eyes still not having opened.

“Paul?” He giggled wearily.

Paul petted back locks of hair clinging to John’s forehead. “Yeah, I’m right here, git.”

John was back in his drunken slumber in seconds, his skin cooling with the current of air. He stirred as the bus came to a stop but didn’t wake. Paul couldn’t bring himself to try and wake the lad. He looked happy in his dreamland.

Shaking out his arms, Paul stood and looked over the lad. All Paul could think was that he’s lucky he’s worth all this fuss. He slipped his arms behind John’s back and knees, carrying him down the steps bridal style. John threw his arm upon Paul’s shoulder, his face buried in his friend's shirt.

“It’s clear now,” Paul announced to the confused bus driver before descending the steps.

The day had worn on him already. Walking all of Liverpool countless times in the heat of summer will do that to just about anyone. Paul put all his remaining energy into carrying John the last block to his house. It wasn’t feasible to get him to Mimi’s in this state, the walk was far too long from the closest bus stop. He’d have to settle with calling her. Adjusting his grip on John’s back, he noticed a beer bottle sticking from his front pocket, unopened. He couldn’t help but laugh, the vibration of his chest seeming to wake John.

His hand lazily tapped at Paul’s shoulder. “Can- I- Can walk. Don’t kill- kill yerself…”

Paul stopped in his tracks, his eyes traveling up and down John as his eyes opened up. “You sure? Still got half a block to my house.” 

John just nodded. Seeing some sign of consciousness in the gesture, Paul slowly placed his feet on the sidewalk, his arms wrapping around his waist. John threw his arm over Paul’s shoulder, leaning on him as they stumbled down the street together.

“‘S’late, Macca. Late...late.” His lips curled into a smile as bubbly giggles escaped him, floating into the empty night air.

Paul hummed. “Very late to be out on a bus.”

“That’s the best bit, though.” John hiccuped and laughed a full laugh. “You didn’t find me. Mimi- Mimi didn’t. Geo didn’t- ...Find me…” His eyes drooped with sadness for a split second before the smile returned in full force. “You can find me anytime, Macca.” His voice was suddenly dripping with suggestion. He threw his other arm around Paul’s neck and almost dragged them to the ground.

Paul shushed him, pulling them upright, as they stopped at his door. “Don’t go waking my whole house, alright?”

They traversed the steps up to Paul’s room very slowly and as quietly as possible. The pointer finger of Paul’s free hand was pressed to John’s lip the entire time, which John was finding hilarious. Once the door was shut behind them he burst out into laughter, pulling his pocket beer out. Paul rushed over, plucking the dark bottle from between his hands and hiding it behind his back.

He gave a smile, pushing John onto his bed. John stumbled back and fell onto the bed, propping himself up with his elbows. “You’ve had enough, haven’t you? Now lay down before you’re sick.”

“You drink it,” John nodded at the hidden beer. “Drinky drinky, Macca.”

Paul shoved the beer into his dresser drawer and pulled out two pairs of pajamas in return. “Who’d take care of you, then?” He threw the sleepwear at John’s lap and began to change into his own. “I’ll be going to call your auntie. You can get yourself dressed, yeah,” He asked as he slipped his nightshirt on.

John’s head cocked to the side. “Might need a little hand, love. You never know.”

Paul shook his head before going to make his call and gather up some water and a cloth. The call to John’s house lasted only a few minutes. Mimi was obviously relieved but kept the conversation short. Paul’s keen ear could still pick up on the small break in her usual level voice on the last “thank you” before she hung up. John would worry that woman to death.

With a basin of water and cloth in hand, Paul made his way into his room to find John sat up, still fully clothed in drainers and a t-shirt. Knowing he wouldn’t do it himself, Paul stood in front of the lad and pulled up his shirt. “You were supposed to change yourself.”

John’s body was like water and his arms flowed up to allow for the shirt to slip away. His body crashed back onto the bed. “Told you I needed you.” He moved back up onto his elbows as Paul shimmied his pants off. “You’re doing an excellent job, see?” He grabbed the clean shirt off the bed and put it on of his own accord.

Paul hummed distractedly, wetting the rag in the basin. He wrung out the fabric and began to dab at John’s forehead. “Well, mum was a nurse. Maybe I got it from her,” he said in a gentle voice.

John looked to him with a furrowed brow. His hand came up to grab Paul’s, stopping him from his work. Paul gave a soft smile, about to speak, not expecting the sudden crash of John’s lips into his. He dropped the rag onto the bed, timid hands cupping his intoxicated partner's face. The smell and taste of stale alcohol overwhelmed Paul’s senses but he didn’t mind it. He’d never mind it as long as it was John. After a moment, John pulled away, his forehead resting against Paul’s.

“What was that for?” Paul couldn’t help the smile on his lips.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He sighed and pulled Paul down onto the bed. “Let’s just sleep.” His hand draped over Paul’s back, pulling them closer together on the small twin bed. John’s eyes were already shut, his features relaxing.

“Yeah, love. That’s fine,” Paul whispered, kissing John’s forehead.

[starship-squidlet]

The Green Fields of France: Chapter Two

Summary: We meet our speaker. He begins his quest.

Word count: 2,218

Disclaimer: The Green Fields of France Preface

Tag list: @the-cowbi @aggressive-bucky-barnes-stan (ask to be added/removed!)

A/N: Whoo, actual scenes in this one, not just Charlie monologuing 😅

Previous chapter: Chapter One

Next chapter: Chapter Three

I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Charlie O’Dell. I was one of only two children who lived in that tiny house in Harlem who could say they were related to Grandma Ellie—since that’s what almost everyone called her—by actual blood.

My mother, Robin Nickola, was born in late 1917. She and Grandma Ellie did not have a good relationship. She felt closer to the person she always referred to as her surrogate father.

Charlie Morris moved into the tiny house, which was often just called Starling Mission, in 1917, after Mush and Finch left. He was exempt from the draft due to lingering effects of a bout with polio when he was a child. Grandma Ellie, along with literally everyone else who ever knew him (whether they called him Charlie or Crutchie, the latter being more common due to the crutch he needed to move around for most of his life, not that he ever let it slow him down) described him as one of the kindest, gentlest people they’d ever known, and also as an impossibly strong person who would fight tooth and nail for the people he loved or who couldn’t fight for themselves. My mother was often one of them.

She spent most of her life—beginning when she was a teenager—fighting with her mother, rejecting any aid offered to her by Grandma Ellie, full of anger and impetuousness. While I know my grandmother loved my mother with all her heart, there were also times when she found Robin difficult to handle. When my mother left Starling Mission, entire years would pass where they never spoke. With Charlie, it was different. The only father that my mother ever knew, she loved Charlie dearly. There are few people in the world who I would rather have met than him, but he died before I was born, much to my mother’s sorrow. His death sent her into the spiral that would eventually take her life, when I was a little over two years old.

I know my mother loved me, but I wish that I could remember her. Her face is little more than a hazy image in my mind, preserved and occasionally refreshed by the handful of photographs Grandma Ellie has of her. I hardly remember JoJo either; he died when I was small—around six, I think—and was buried in the graveyard behind the cathedral he was raised and worked in, along with many of his friends who had passed at that point, including Charlie.

I was eighteen before I finally got the full story about what happened in 1917 particularly. Once again, it didn’t come so much from my grandmother but from her friends, Uncle Tony and Uncle Al, who had come to help her with Starling Mission after Charlie’s death, until it closed. For the next three years, until I graduated high school and left for college, it was just the four of us, even after Uncle Tony and Uncle Al moved out. They had raised me on stories of the newsies that they had known and grown up with themselves, including Finch, Mush, Charlie, and JoJo, as well as themselves. I idolized them all, and would have given anything to meet any one of them. The story of 1917 waited until I was eighteen because, during my first semester of college, I had a class assignment that drove me to ask questions I had never pressed for answers to before…

.*.*.*.*.*.

“Hello? Grandma, Tony, Al!” Charlie called, smiling as he pushed open the worn wooden door of the tiny Harlem house he had always called home. He heard a loud bark and a giant ball of fur came barrelling through the hall to slam into him, effectively knocking him onto his back. The dog weighed easily as much as the teenager, half of that in hair alone, and, despite being over a decade old, still had the same boundless energy he’d had when he was a puppy. Charlie laughed and tried to wiggle out from under the dog as it licked his face vigorously. “Bear, that’s enough—stop it!” he squealed.

“Bear, down!” Elaine scolded, hot on the dog’s heels. Her grey hair was swept back into a long French braid, and she shuffled along the battered wooden floor in a pair of handmade house slippers. When the dog finally climbed off of Charlie and he stood up and brushed the loose fur off of himself, Elaine stepped forward and wrapped the boy in a tight hug. He smiled into the top of her head. Charlie had outgrown his grandmother when he was eleven years old, and was nearly ten inches taller than her now. He had never looked much like her anyways; where Elaine had been all dark hair and pale skin and dark eyes, while Charlie was red-tinted blond curls and soft brown eyes, although he had the same smear of freckles across his pale cheeks. Elaine reached up and cupped his cheeks in her hands, giving them a pinch as she smiled up at him. “Welcome home, Charlie. We missed you.”

“I missed you too, Grandma. Are Uncle Tony and Uncle Al here?”

“They’ll be here a little later,” Elaine said over her shoulder. “Come have something to eat; you must be hungry after that train ride.”

The kitchen was warm and familiar, whitewashed cabinets and counters, worn appliances, a table full of dents and scratches and other marks, every one of which had a story behind it that Elaine would happily tell. Charlie sat down and ran his thumb over one of the deeper scratches, remembering what had caused it. “How have you been, Grandma?” he asked as Elaine joined him, carrying two plates of food.

“I’ve been fine, sweetheart,” she smiled. “How is school? Have you been getting enough to eat?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Charlie laughed. “Although it’s not as good as Al’s cooking.”

“Not much is as good as Al’s cooking, my own food included,” Elaine laughed.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been calling much; we have final papers and projects due starting right when we get back from Thanksgiving break,” said Charlie. “I’ve been spending most of my time working on them.”

“I figured as much,” Elaine nodded.

“There’s one I haven’t started yet, though,” said Charlie. “I wanted to ask you for some help on it while I was home.”

“Of course,” Elaine perked up. “What can I do to help?”

“I was wondering… Would you mind telling me more about what happened to Mush and Finch? We’re doing a family history project, so I have to make a family tree and write a paper about a major event in my family’s history. I think I have the family tree pretty much sorted out; we only have to do immediate family, not go into extended, so I just did what I could with that, but I wanted to write the paper on what happened to them in World War One. I know you don’t like to talk about it, and I understand that, but I also think it’s time I know what happened. I’m eighteen now. It’s a part of my history, too. I just want to know.”

Elaine was uncharacteristically still and silent for a long moment. Finally, she forced a smile and looked at him, although her eyes were distant and full of sorrow. “Maybe… maybe another time, Charlie. Ask me again tomorrow.” She stood up, scraped the rest of her food into the trash can, set her dish in the sink, and wandered off, leaving Charlie alone in the kitchen.

.*.*.*.*.*.

A few hours later, Charlie answered the door—struggling to hold Bear back from leaping out of it—and let his adoptive uncles into the house. “Hi,” he laughed, dragging the dog away from the door as Albert closed it.

“Hey, kid!” Race beamed. As soon as Charlie released Bear and stood up, Race scooped him up in a massive hug. Despite the fact that he was nearing eighty, Race was still as strong as he had ever been, and easily lifted Charlie several inches off the floor in a back-cracking, bone-grinding, lung-crushing hug. Once-blond curls had faded to white streaked with sand, and had thinned over his temples, but blue eyes still sparkled with mischief above wrinkled cheeks. Albert, on the other hand, still had a full head of deep red hair, cut shorter than it had been when he was young, and hardly had any wrinkles—a few worry lines on his forehead, and deep laugh lines around his mouth and crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes—nor had he paled with age like Race had, cheeks still flushed red to match his hair. He waited until Race had set Charlie down and stepped away to lean in and wrap an arm around the boy’s shoulders in an informal hug, turning him towards the kitchen and starting down the hall.

“You’re going to tell us everything about school, right?” Albert teased.

“All the juicy details!” Race piped up from behind him.

“Met any cute girls?” Albert teased.

“Or boys!” Race added.

“No, nothing like that,” Charlie laughed. “I’ve been too busy with work and homework.”

“Good,” Albert nodded. “Focus on your studies.” He winked and leaned in to whisper: “But there’s no harm in having some fun every now and then.”

Charlie laughed. “Thanks for the advice, Uncle Al. Hey, I have a question for you two.”

“What’s that?” Race asked.

“Well… I asked my grandma for help with a school project; I have to write a paper about a major event in the history of my family, and I wanted to write about what happened to Mush and Finch, but when I asked her about it, she just sort of… left. She’s never talked about it. Do you two know why that is?”

Albert and Race traded glances. Race leaned against the kitchen counter and shrugged. “Probably has something to do with the fact that she doesn’t know what happened.”

“Anthony!”

“What? It’s the truth,” Race shrugged again and turned towards Charlie. “Elaine got a pair of notices informing her that they’d been killed in action, but was never able to find out any details. Not even where they were buried.”

Albert had taken a seat at the table and folded his hands, staring down at them with a grim look on his face. “We didn’t find out until we came back. Didn’t find out about them, or about any of the others who didn’t make it. And a lot of us didn’t make it… We tried to help where we could, looking for more information through contacts we had, but we could never find anything about Mush or Finch. All we were able to find out is that they deployed to France—we know that for sure—but not even where in France they went, except that it wasn’t where we were, or where Tommy and Spot were.”

“Eventually, we had to just give up,” Race’s voice was low. “There was nothing more to be done. It was like after they left New York they just disappeared. It broke our hearts to stop looking, but it was even harder on Elaine. Not that she ever said anything like that to us—she would never. But you could see it in her eyes after that. Something was gone. Some sort of light. It never really came back. It started to, a little, when you came to live here, but… Never fully.”

Charlie sat quietly. Bear came over and rested his head on Charlie’s leg, drooling a little onto his knee. Charlie petted his head absently, mind whirling. It had never really occurred to him that the reason Elaine had never told him anything was because she didn’t know herself. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and bit his lip. He didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you,” he croaked out finally. “For explaining. I’m sorry… I’m sorry to bring up those memories.”

Race walked over and rested a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “It’s alright, kiddo. You’re right; you deserve to know. They’re your family.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Grandma Elaine and I never spoke about Mush and Finch again—at least, not in that way; she still told me her stories of when they were young, but they always tapered off as they got closer to 1917. I didn’t press. It was clear how much the topic hurt her, and I didn’t want to cause her more pain. What I did, however, and without saying a word to her, was begin my own investigation into what had happened to Patrick Cortez and Nickolas Meyers.

For three years, my search bore no fruit. I wrote letters, sent requests for records, and did everything else I could think of. I even put ads in papers asking for information from anyone who was in France at that time, and reached out to anyone in France who would listen to me—in my broken French—to beg for their help in my search.

It wasn’t until 1968 that I began to have hope. I returned home from the day’s classes to a letter, stamped with several postmarks, from a young woman in France who thought that her grandfather’s journals and stories from the war may have the information I was searching for…