#charnel guard

[corse-666]

Infernus marines from the charnel guard chapter that I painted. They are ready to roast some heretics.

[cyclic-laughter]

bloodborne oc i've been obsessed with lately -- ephraim , tamer of beasts. more info on him below the cut !!!

[ tried to do an actual image description for these, suggestions would be appreciated , just be courteous =) ]

he's a vileblood of pthumerian descent, orphaned at a young age as his parents were captured by the church and dishonorably killed as per their bigoted agenda—in his later years, he was adopted by queen annalise & her king to be part of her personal knightly entourage, and to defend her in the event of mishaps that happened within cainhurst castle within this same entourage he met one of his closest friends, a man by the name of deirdre—he was not naturally a vileblood, and instead, came from yharnam and swore oath to the cainhurst vilebloods, later being adopted into this personal entourage that ephraim met him in however, being that he was closer to that of yharnam than the vilebloods, deirdre's ability to withstand the old blood was futile compared to the vilebloods (i have a little headcanon that because of the vileblood's blood potency they have a higher tolerance to beasthood than yharnamites do) and, of course, deirdre gave into the call of beasthood, transforming into an unsightly, leucistic beast of bird/canine-like complexion

naturally, the knights of cainhurst believed the only way to save him was to euthanize him. he'd lost his conscience and sanity, had he not? what more would there be to do with him? but ephraim sought differently ephraim used his status and power to prevent the other cainhurst knights from slaughtering him in the belief that he could at least try to return conscienceness to deirdre's beastly form—which, ended up being successful, using bribes of ephraims own potent blood. inevitably, the executioners of the church arrived and the massive vileblood massacre happened. bloodlickers showed up to feed on the corpses and the vilebloods swiftly died out in number just over the course of a few days—however, before the collapse of the bridge from cainhurst to hemwick charnel lane, ephraim and deirdre were able to successfully escape the executioners with their lives, later ending up in yharnam

ephraim is now recognized as the tamer of beasts by the little hunters who recognize his name, especially being identifiable by his albino complexion and the gigantic beast he rides on horseback where-ever necessary

ephraim has corruption rune patterns all around his uniform ! the ribbon around his waist, on his arm guards, and on the guards covering his eyes. theyre a symbol of his faith to cainhurst despite his circumstance.

the white feathered fluff upon his cape is fur he cut off of deirdre to sharpen him up.

his cape is one sided and stays to his left, just like the sets that vileblood descendants and knights wear in the canon (cainhurst set, knights set, maria set)

the flames that burn on some parts of his clothes are representations of his 'flame of ambition' if you would, how he is incredibly durable and persistant, the same qualities that allowed him to save deirdre's life

being a pthumerian, ephraim's eyes are pitch black, and so is the inside of his mouth. his cheek bones are incredibly defined and some parts of his skin are darker than the others, like his cheeks and lips

he wears some laced accessories because that was another large part of cainhurst fashion

the spurs on his boots are to kick deirdre to make him go faster — basically they serve the same function that spurs do with horses, except his are a lot sharper because they gotta get through deirdre's thick fur

[fantomette22]

The Dogs in Bloodborne!

So @bobbyzombiegg you wanted some headcanons on the dogs right? Following this post. Alright I will, but first i’m gonna recap all the dogs we can see in Bloodborne!

No I'm not talking about the weird beasts. Even the ones we're not sure if they have animal or human origins, I will stay focused on dogs only.

Rabid dog (Yharnam and found in most of the locations of the game)

They seems to be cream coloured but I saw people said it could be brown. It's the dog ennemies we encounter the most often. The chimera in the Nightmare of Mensis are made with them too.

Grey Rabid dog (grey/silver version found in Yaha'rgul & chalice dungeons)

Same breed as the light coloured ones but they have darker fur (grey/silver)

Some might already know but for the ones who don't know this dog highly ressemble the Irish Wolfhound Breed

It's one of the biggest dog in the world. Typically used to hunt wolves (that's how all the wolf in Ireland disappear), deers and big animals.

The breed almost disappear in the 19th century but it was restored into the one we know today with mixing the last ones with the Great Dane, Scottish deerhound, borzoi and even Tibetan dog.

It also highly ressemble the Scottish deerhound, the too breed being very similar and link.

I personally call the ones in Bloodborne just wolfhound because there's no guarantee it's a real breed and again Bloodborne, like dark souls is not our world so I don't think Irish and England exist XD there's equivalent maybe. (And Yharnam would be closer to this universe version or Poland or Czech).

If you are attentive they aren't presented in the hunter's nightmare (see below the old hunter's hound) With the scourge of the beasts becoming worst and huge beasts appearing more frequently the hunters and citizens turn themself to bigger dogs to hunt bigger prey.

Hunting dog (Hemwick Charnel lane & chalice dungeons)

Don't ask me what breed it is I have 0 idea. Greyhound? A mixt breed? Idk. They are principally found in Hemwick too. They have been equip of weapons to hurt beast better I supposed. A hardcore version of the collar of some shepherd dog 😅 The ones left almost in completely autonomy with a herd and half collars with spike to not get hurt by wolves.

Keeper's hunting dogs

Found in the chalice dungeons and are weird mutated fire dogs. They follow their master, the keepers. I suppose they were normal dogs before.

Watchdog of the Old Lords

Idk if that was a dog before. Could be a keeper who transformed or something for all we know. But well it's literally called a "watchdog" so-

The corpses of dead dogs in the chalice dungeons

(I know it looks great but please imagined it's a dog 💀 it's the only screenshot I found)

Sometimes you can see corpses in the chalice dungeons and sometimes there's dogs ones as well. They seem rather "normal". And not really the breeds we already see.

Old hunter hound /rabid dog (Hunter's Nightmare-Yharnam/ The Old Hunters dlc)

So those are probably Dobermann. Used as guard dogs and for protections. During old hunter's era, most beasts were beast patients / human size not huge scourge beasts. So this type of dogs was ideal. With the beast growing bigger having more scourge beasts around the poor dogs become too insufficient. And that's why Yharnam adopt bigger bred like the wolfhounds.

Dobermanns are born with long falling ears and a tail. The tails was cut so they don't got hurt into fight or hunting and the ears because they often got affections. Many countries have forbidden it because with modern standard of life it donees't have any real use now. Contrary to what people think "attack dogs" are not born agressive. It's just that if they aren't trained well and develop comportement issues and agression it's going to be a bit more of a problem than a chihuahua who would have the same issues.

Fish dogs (Hunter's nightmare-Fishing hamlet/ The Old hunters dlc)

Don't ask me please. there's no idea of knowing what they were before. But their fish's head apparently ressemble a viperfish's head, also called a chauliodus, deep sea fish from the Stomiidae family. Not putting pictures here for people who are sensible, I put a link above. Their body as slimed and long (30cm), they lived between 200 and 4000m of depth (3300-13000ft). Those types of fishes (their genus) were discovered in the very early XIX/19th century.

Now my headcanons on why most of wolfhounds in Yharnam have light fur and why the one in Yahar’gul have dark colored ones.

Objectively the most possible answer is simply that the dog’s population of this two area weren’t mixted together. When you have a small portions of individual who don’t mixt with more exterior individuals they tend to end up with similar traits because of dominant & rececive genes (and if it last a LONG time, that’s how new species appears. But it take thousands if not millions of years and generations).

Well my headcanons is much simpler than that and basically for fic purposes. I just thought it would make sense that Yahar’gul hunters kept the darker ones because they need to stay discreet (they themselves have black clothes) etc. And the other would have kept the lighter ones because they are easier to see and recognize at night.

At the beginning of the introduction of the wolfhound races in Yharnam it was probably mixed individuals of different fur coats. With a bit with time, selection and breeding they would end up with most of the dogs being light light colored for the hunters/citizens and church. And Yahar’gul doing the same would ended up with the darker ones.

And bonus headcanons:

I imagined a younger Paarl possibly taking care of the first generation of wolfhound in Yharnam (they were introduced to replace the dobermanns because beasts grew bigger). And i like imagining Gehrman to had help with training and had one of his own :3 a white one (yes I draw it I should do that again) (because you see, to have survived that long and have will to live after Maria passed away and the old hunters dying one by one i imagined it would have been nice for him to have a companion for a time).

[house-steiner-stays-winning]

Hustler: Cooperation

Part 1

Hustler One approached the wall of the compound.

It stood approximately 7.5 meters in height. Inaccessible to a normal human, but with the enhanced mobility gear? Difficult, but doable.

At the top, there were two guards in visual distance, watching the jungle for any disturbance. Once they were dispatched, it would be child's play to slip deeper into the compound, reach the comms relay, turn its control room into a charnel house, and blow the thing to hell.

Walking some distance back, he engaged the EMG, sprinting forward into a flying leap, immediately followed by a burst of high-pressure gas from the EMG harness, boosting the height of his jump enough to let him vault the wall, coming up in the dark zone between two floodlights. Neither guard had noticed his ascent. It would be hard to; his gear was designed to make as little noise as possible, with a camouflage pattern determined to be highly effective in low-light environments.

Two quick shots, and it was done. They dropped, silenced by two 7.5 millimeter slugs, before they even had the chance to notice he was there. The only noise to be heard was the metallic snap of the action.

Making his way to the other side of the rampart, Hustler looked down across the area, eyes roving, electroreceptive glands tingling as the waves of the comms relay hit him. There was a wide open courtyard filled with several buildings of all descriptions, from squat huts to multi-story towers. However, only one of them had a cluster of dishes and antennae on the roof, meaning there was only one likely location for his target.

Like a ghost, he made his way to the entrance of the comms building, avoiding roaming hostiles and the pools of light around the complex, until he was only twenty feet from the rear entrance, only a stack of crates between him and the two guards posted.

The comms relay was definitely inside the building. He could feel it. It was like nails on a chalkboard in the back of his mind, a seventh sense he could never describe to someone without it, not that he would have ever tried.

"Target verified," he whispered, unheard by anyone. "Commencing hostilities."

[whitedragoncoranth]

Crow...

People once believed that, when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right...

We all know of the universe where Rocket Raccoon escaped the High Evolutionary, but his friends - Lylla, Teefs, and Floor - did not. In this one, however... things took a darker turn. Neither Rocket nor his loved friends survived their encounter with the High Evolutionary; all were killed. The High Evolutionary had the bodies entombed within the Arete Morgue; he would have Batch 89 incinerated in the morning...

No one heard the cawing of, nor noticed the black Crow as it flew through the Arete halls to the morgue, where the bodies of Lylla Otter and her friends were kept on a table in cold storage, among hundreds of other failed experiments. No guard saw the Crow as it chirped, and pecked at Lylla; no one heard her gasp, as she was restored to life...

When the Morgue guards heard a banging coming from inside the Morgue, and the first guard entered to investigate the sound, it was as if a shadow came alive; something leaped at him, latched on as he cried out with terror--before his neck was snapped. The second guard reached for his weapon--but too late as he was shot in the guts, the blast exiting out his back.

Silently, guided by the Crow, Lylla fashioned - and then clad herself in - a uniform of black from the guards' clothes; thereafter, the river otter would acquire paint and make her visible fur bone-white aside from shapes of black about her eyes. Time passed on the Arete - as it always does - and the High Evolutionary, far too concerned with his experiments to bother about the deaths of two guards assumed that there had been an accident and had the bodies incinerated.

But... more mysterious deaths kept occurring and said deaths were utterly brutal. Arete guards and crew were mysteriously hanged and crucified, electrocuted until they screamed, burned and died, tossed into the cages of frightened animals and rage-filled hell spawn. The High Evolutionary had the Arete Ship-Complex searched from top to bottom - becoming so enraged that he himself killed several crew-members - but no trace of who was killing his people could be found.

Those who "lived" - who could utter a few words before they expired - told of hearing happy laughter or singing. The once proud Arete Complex grew grim, it became a charnel house of butchery, slaughter and terror as more lives faded, more lives died, and with each death and day that passed, the High Evolutionary grew more terrified, and paranoid.

On the final day... the High Evolutionary screamed in horror as some sort of gas filled the bridge--something that made the Controller slump in her seat as his skeleton crew foamed at the mouth, choked and died. Then, the bridge grew dark as there came a soft tapping upon the doors, the High Evolutionary's terror skyrocketing as the doors slowly opened. The sound of soft paws tapping against the metal floor could be heard as a black-clad, white-furred River Otter slowly walked into the room, a smile on her muzzle as she softly recited a poem:

"Suddenly there came a tapping // as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door..." Heart dropping into his guts, as the otter drew closer to him - overcome with utter horror - the pitiful man once called the High Evolutionary tried to run--but there was nowhere to go and he backed into a corner, slumping to the ground as the Otter calmly walked past the final dead members of his crew, over to him. "Ei-Eight... Nine... Queue... One..." he started, in horror... but those words were his last--a knife blade flashed in the darkness, as Lylla Crow promptly cut out his tongue!

Moving closer to the whimpering, silenced, bleeding man, she took his head in her metal arms, cradled him almost lovingly, whispering unto him the last words of his life. "Nameless here for evermore..." The shadows came alive and took him, and as the High Evolutionary screamed and died, the great ship complex Arete died, too; now it was nothing more than a ship of ghosts and echoes. With her final task complete, feeling its power granted to her waning, Lylla Otter laid down the knife, then turned and nodded to the Crow. The black bird's power would be enough for this one last thing...

Cawing gently to her, the Crow guided Lylla Otter back to the Arete Morgue - where she retrieved the body of her beloved raccoon - and then the bird took her to a bathroom. There, the Otter removed her clothing and his; then she bathed, washed, groomed her beloved Rocket and herself. After that, the Crow helped her to find, of all things, a small pet bed. Gently, she lowered her beloved raccoon into it... and then, with the last of the power granted to her by the Crow, she hopped into the bed with him, curled protectively around him... and joined him at last... her soul flying away with his... into the forever and beautiful sky...

[parasite-of-sentience]

Night of Screams, Marley

reposted but enjoy some kind of horny vampire bs of what happened on the night of the fall of Mournhold to Marley, of the Claw

6 hours before The Night of Screams; Ebon Citadel

*I should be fighting….

the thought repeated again, as Marley did her best to Ignore the hungry glances from the vampires across the room.

I should be out there with the others…

She caught a sick little chuckle from the assembled black armored guards, as they drank of her with their silted eyes through visors from across the room. She silences the thought. The brief imagination of leaving her liege with these monsters was enough. No. She should be here with Annika.

Lady Annika Gaunt…

The instinctive correction jabbed her in the chest. Marley failed to resist making a rude gesture to the Vampires. A greywater Classic, but it seems the point got across the realms distant barrier, as they laughed among themselves harshly. If they took offense they made no move to show it. Marley's reputation, the Claw of the Jade Lions, was known enough among the warriors of Mournhold since her arrival. the tall, imposing knight in the brass armor of the lions; wielding a massive, cruelly hooked and curved blade like a child's toy. Cold, unflinching Hazel Eyes that left even beast and vampires uncertain of their chances. That's what the citizenry of Mournhold said of her at least.

Here? In the Ebon Hold, she was nothing more than Lady Annika's arm decoration. No amount of strength or valor would prevail against this many vampires, not in their place of power. Marley was sure however, that she would die in a pile of their bodies before they tore her charnel.

The Morbid thought left her as the doors open. She straighten up from the door frame, the Claw blade lifted from its unceremonious impromptu holster of an immaculate satin couch. She couldn't fall. not here, while she was watching.

"We're leaving…" Annika's silvery voice reignited Marley's Confidence threefold. She matched her Lady's pace, hefting the weighty blade in one hand, point down, a quiet boast to the vampire bodyguards as the two passed without incident. The scoffs and whispers ignored. The two stayed silent as they passed through the halls, not sparing a moment for a single leering vampire, or frightened servant. The Daylight outside a small comfort as Marley opened the carriage, allowing Annika to enter first.

The silence continued till the gates were finally passed. in that moment all tension left Annika's body was she slumped against Marley next to her body pressed to cold metal. Marley stilled the sudden tingle of discomfort, adjusting her posture for the Lady's Comfort. the woman against her let out a long exasperated sigh.

"…They're so boring, Magpie. posturing and expectations and exchanges. how does unlife make you so focused on the boring parts…" Despite the dismissing tone she could feel Annika curl deeper into her; hands searching for Marley's in a bone white grip. Marley resisted pulling away, burying her discomfort at the pet name. This shouldn't pain me like this, not with her. she willed herself to be still.

"…made progress?" Immediately cursing her own careless statement, Marley move an arm to awkwardly wrap around Annika. This is far from the first time She has accompanied her to the Ebon Citadel, presumably to Parley with the Thirsting Court. The alternative, that she truly sought to ingratiate herself to that menagerie of beasts, banished from her own mind. If Annika had a plan Marley was in dark, but she still tempered herself to trust her Lady's actions.

A Sly smile creeped on Annika's face, an expression Marley wasn't sure how to read. Since Annika began visiting the keep there's been many new unfamiliar tells. "…Excellent progress my Knight, soon we'll have everything we need…." Annika Raised a hand to caress Marley's cheek. At the touch of her soft fingers Marley's focus finally faltered. The visible wince had Annika pull her fingers back as if burned, but if she took offense she gave it no voice, satiated to continue being held. The carriage ride passed with the clop of hooves and Annika's idle gossip. \

1 Hours before the night of Screams; Jade Knight Barracks, Gaunt estate

"…Marley!"

The third much louder call pulled Marley from her stupor, A voice Marley was unaccustomed to hearing shout drew her back to reality. Before her, kneeled down and brass mask uncomfortably close, was her fellow captain Dunya, of the Mask. A long, stained green cloak kissed the dirty ground, contrasted by her slim frame crowned in the setting sun.

"You're an entire bottle in. Usually you stop at a glass." A slight cock the head accented the genuine concern behind the statement "what gives?"

The sudden urgent need to crack the bottle over whoever woke her subsided as quickly as it rose. Among the captains who led the Jade Lions, Dunya was the only she would all friend. a Quiet scoff and attempt to turn away was quickly stilled by a sharp poke to the forehead.

"I'm off killing the rampant undead all morning, commanding your troops. The least you could do is speak to me" Dunya's posture lowered, clearly not meaning to snap. She sighed and settled in next to Marley joining in watching the sunset.

"This. This should be our chance. We should be out there proving ourselves…" The lie was already rancid in Marley's Throat. I should have been out there. I should still be out there. She cleared her throat and continued. "…Ann- Lady Annika told me she was close, she had it figured out. I want to trust in her but…" The material reality was evident. Mindless undead swamped the city and clawed at its walls. The ancestor spirits of Mournhold turned violent and unreasoning. The cities infrastructure buckled under the Necroquake. Now, more than ever, the city needed every body. They needed to see Jade Lions pulling survivors from the rubble. maybe then, they would be truly accepted.

Instead the entire company was given orders to standby. to await further instructions. Initiates languished on the stone, the howls of the mornings victory cut short by the news. She could already imagine the scornful looks of the other captains, the Maul and the Fleece were likely already planning for the next summit.

Dunya's Gentle voice cut through her sulking. "I've been thinking…." The pause caught Marley's own breath in her throat, dreading what might come next. "…Have you considered your sucessor?"

The question took Marley off guard, but she paused in thought regardless. "…Abram…" Marley whispered it, a quiet confidence to Dunya. among her troops he would suit the Position of the Claw, perhaps better than she did.

"I'll be frank Marley, I don't like her. Gaunt's a good enough employer, but I don't care for how she treats you…." A beginning trickle of defensiveness was quickly snuffed, Marley wanted to hear this. "…but I do trust you, it's why we're all here…" Marley's mind flashed to the summit leading to their arrival in Shyish, a tie vote on whether or not they accepted the contract; a duel narrowly won along side Dunya. "…But maybe you don't need the company anymore, you've proven your strength tenfold… you don't need to die for us to remember you…"

Marley was silent as she processed this a part of her wanted to protest, to profess her desire to die holding the Claw in an iron grip, plunging it into the heart of a horrid beast, the same way her processor died years ago. Dunya voice tinged with tears and anguish at her death bed. It wouldn't be an honest truth.

"lets get through this awful night, see what Gaunt has planned for us…" Dunya settled in as the final hour of Hysh's Light found the Horizon, igniting the smokey pall of the destruction of the city in emberous gold. "…then we can figure out where we go from here." the smile could be heard in Dunyas's Voice even as the obscuring mask danced with dusk's light.

In cruel hindsight, If Marley could hold onto that last hour;

onto Dunya forever;

she would give every dusk to follow.

3 hour into The Night of Screams, Jade Lion Barracks Gaunt Estate

Abram was torn in half in front of her.

Marley would made sure to give the bat winged fiend who killed him the same end.

Lost in a moment of hacking and chopping, senses obscured in suffocating black night contrasting against the eye searing fire; the wet spray of fresh of wicked blood, the scent of viscera and the screeches of the thing as it flailed against her desperately. The claw doing its butchers work again and again against its swollen body.

"Enough."

Dunya's voice cut through the haze. Her arm hovering near Marley's shoulder, waiting for permission. reaching her hand over to grasp Dunya's hand for a moment, Marley allowed Dunya to steer her away from the twitching body. A crack of breaking glass, and the Aqshian toast did its grim work as the body blazed in inferno.

"H-how many left?" Marley tried to slow her breathing, ease the tension from her voice as she continued scanning the shadows against their makeshift fire barrier.

She could hear Dunya clinking bottles in her bag, eyes still on the shadows on the opposite side. by her own count, one or two left. Marley could feel Dunya Pause for the right answer.

"…Enough." Dunya's lie was evident in her warm tone, but the joke was enough to give Marley back her focus. She heard the familiar clink of Dunya's rifle loader opening. Instinctively, Marley began scanning Dunya's side too.

Three casings hit the ground.

Marley only heard 2 being loaded back in. Her grip tightened on the Claw. "when they swoop again, throw the next Toast,"

"I'm not setting you on fire" The 2nd clink of the loader returning into place, the shifts behind her told Marley that Dunya was back in position

"you won't" The small laugh behind Marley told her that Dunya liked the meager boast.

Their nerves settled for the moment. both were utterly, still short of their scanning of the shadows, A gunshot cut through the monotony. It chose Dunya's Side. Marley had to wonder if it had enough of a mind to regret as she heard the glistening shatter, and the bloom of fire. in the time it took Marley to turn Dunya had already hit the deck. heading right for Marley was another winged beast, off kilter with its wounds and ablaze with fire. heading right into Marley's strike. the disemboweled nightmare spilled upon the ground, flesh still blazing. its struggle did not last long.

the shadows didn't let their momentary victory linger. as Marley regained her bearings she felt a slight tug on her cloak, And a voice she had never heard scream before. A cry of her own name that gouged at her very core. the clatter of a gun hitting the stone wasn't far.

two more of those chiropteran beast, wicked talons pressing against her body, dragging Dunya into the shadows. The Mask, the symbol of station, clattered to the ground. She was about to lose Dunya too, and her terrified pained expression disappearing into black would haunt Marley's every memory of her. Unless she could stop it. She whirled around to pursue, snatching up the rifle on her way

With an arm still free, Dunya retrieved the last Aqshian toast, eyes still wide in terror her gaze passed over Marley, but the moment was enough to communicate what needed to be done. lighting the fuse with the flint on her gloves, she smashed it directly upon one of the beasts. Shielding her exposed face with her cloak, it wouldn't be long till the fire spread. if Marley didn't follow through

For the first time in her service with the Jade Lions, Marley howled. Throwing herself headlong into the burning horror, Blade forward. The blade plunged deep into the beast chest, its strength suddenly failing it. If it had a heart, Marley found it.

The second one, grip still firm on Dunya, wasted no time fastening its jaws onto Marley's arm. a crunch of metal, and then one of bone. Marley's cry was one of both pain and desperation. Dunya reached for Marley, fingers grasping the sling.

it was unfortunate that the rifle was held in the arm currently being broken, her grip slipped, and the beast a quick to capitalize, crunching down hard and tossing marley aside. and its leather wings beat hard once. twice. till too disappeared with Dunya into the night. once more Marley heard her name called. The cry rang again and again in her head as she laid on the blood slicked stone.

after waiting what felt like an eternity for the next vampiric monstrosity to finish her off, Marley dragged herself clumsily to her feet. in a daze she seached for Dunya, long gone. Till the brass mask, fire dancing in its reflection caught her eye. she stumbled over to it, even ignoring her own blade deep in the chest of the twitching bleeding thing.

Lifted it from the gore and fastening its clasp to her cloak, she stumbled back to her blade, sparing no expense to step on the creatures neck while she retrieved her blade with a sickening squelch. She could see them, taking the moment to gorge themselves on her fallen shredded comrades. They would find they would not feed on her till her own body was in a similar state.

Her moment of acceptance was not to last, as she saw familiar slender frame against the light of the fire. Her gown sheer in wet blood. Her face expression obscured in matted hair; but she was here, Alive. And Marley would not fall, not while she was watching.

The strength returning to Marley's limbs, she broke into a sprint, blade barely scraping the ground. It didn't matter if it was another hour, another twenty minutes, another 5 minutes. Marley would protect her Liege. The smile Annika gave her returned. If only for a moment.

In the flicker of flame Annika was before her. far sooner than than she should have. Her lady, Threw herself against her. Marley was falling backwards. She couldn't breath. no, not yet. In each others arms, they both collapsed against the bloody stone.

It wasn't until Annika twisted the pitted rusted blade in Marley's Gut that she understood what was happening. Marley watched her blood flow upwards against its edge, against gravity's pull, in stunned silence. it reached Annika's hands and she watched her lips curl in a wicked grin as greedily lapped at the blood. Marley almost refused to believe what she was seeing. till she saw Annika's eyes boring down at her, with the glint of a predator. A vampire

"I did it, my knight…. Its just us now." A silvery voice grown so familiar to Marley Pricked her ears, but in this moment oh so unfamiliar, tinged in alien hostility. She watched her eyes flicker to above, out to the figures in the dancing shadows. A single sweep of a cold glare and the shapes receded. "…I'm so sorry it took so long. They demanded so much. But now, You belong to me alone. It all, belongs to me alone."

Annika punctuated her claim with a gesture to the scene around her. The fire, the charnel, the blood. Her eyes turned back to Marley noting the mask still latched to her cloak. a brief frown and a flick of a wrist. and the mask sent tumbling away into the dark, out of her sight.

Annika wasted no time pressing herself closer pressing herself against Marley. Soft hands, now tipped in a razor talon, and wet with Marley's own blood, gently cupped Marley's cheeks. In this moment their Marley's every nerve screamed out in unison, the tingle of discomfort compounded into a current of violation this is wrong.

the strength had left Marley's limbs, she could barely breath. but she had strength for one plea

*"Not. This."

Her body pulled violently against the blade in her stomach as she struggled out the words. If she could scream, she would. faster than a blink a bloodstained hand covered Marley's mouth. Her own blood, she could taste her own blood.

"Gently, dear magpie! you can't die too quickly or it will all be for naught!" Annika watched with engrossed fascination as the blade in Marley beaded with more and more blood. She lapped at the blood on her palm like a spoiled child. She was watching, waiting for something. "you can't take my affections, the place at my side, and my moment of triumph!"

her finger lingered on licking the blood off her fingers, talon lingering over her tongue. A moment of hesitation, till the nail slashed down her tongue. the shudder of pain gave way to a shudder of something else entirely. the hand upon Marley's mouth twisted around to her chin, pulling it up, sharp fingertips pricking into Marley's face.

"Not. till I given you a taste in return…" Annika's voice was deep and heavy with something beyond her own body, the thing just behind her eyes. the blood trickling down her lips mixing with Marley's and gods knows whos else's. Annika lowered her face to her victim's. the fluttering remnants of Marley's consciousness screamed out fruitlessly, for the body itself could no longer. "Nothing alive will stop you, my knight…"

[fiercefauna]

The following is a brief terror tale not affiliated with SCP, it hales from a Plague Doctor based fictional universe I’ve been developing while I binge on classic Lovecraft. Take it as a stand alone if you choose to read, if not just enjoy the picture. Trigger warnings - violence, possible body horror and fictional use of western religion.

I call this one, Ye of Little Faith

“There is no god, just let them pray. I can’t believe that I have to defend these people to you! And put your mask back on! Damn it, they’ll see your face!” 

I let go of my former school master and motioned for the guards to keep him out of the church. Darcy was foaming at the mouth, a string of snot dangling from the left nostril of his permanent filtration fixture. 

“I witnessed a damn angel catch the disease and turn wrong. I’ve witnessed devils leave the possessed to avoid infection. Ghosts, the souls of the dead, still carry the contagion. The land, the bloody weather, behaves differently. Even gravity is corrupted. Our Lord, be he only an idea, may himself be susceptible!” 

“You’re being paranoid, the miasma does have its limits. I’m a man of reason not faith, but in your case I’ll have to recommend it.” 

“We have the tainted relics of the lost saints, Rome has disavowed them. The people may keep these as their gods, but invoking the most high is too dangerous. Think of those still clean, the sickness could find them in heaven!” 

I looked up as a low moan announced the arrival of the Charnel Chimera. Roughly the size of an adult elephant, it reminded of a sloth or large tortoise, and it stank. The short, stocky vanguard  running behind with their water cart spraying it down, wasn’t improving things. 

“Was this all there was?” 

A vanguard bent over and caught her breath. “It’s very young, some of it’s outer parts are still being - digested.” 

Darcy struggled in their grasp. “Feeding me to that thing will not change the truth!” 

l grabbed one of the two visible heads and smelled it’s breath. The beast was cooperative in that regard, being far larger than I, it wasn’t beholden to force. 

Ambergris, it’s insides smelled of putrefaction turned pleasant by a biochemical miracle. I warned myself not to give in to the recruitment powers of the disease. It wasn’t even an animalcule, no causative agent had yet been found and so it didn’t deserve even the respect given to something so natural as a germ. 

Still, the pheromone lingered in my complex sinuses; the antennae by which we were controlled, perhaps by the disease itself, to do its bidding. A frivolous assumption that, otherwise why be so driven to stop the contagion’s spread?  

The vanguard held Darcy in place as the beast removed his head and the requisite nerves. I turned and headed home. 

Within the monster he would sleep, kept well by an elaborate chemical oft called “liquid love.” Perhaps he’d eventually be given a new body when the passage of time allayed his fears. Till then, the remains would be salvaged, perhaps for parts, perhaps for food. In the meantime, I’d be sure to avoid any delicacies offered to me by the vanguard.  

[weatherman667]

Things GW could have done instead of Primaris

When they added the Primaris to the Astartes Codex, they doubled the number of units, making the thing (almost) unreadable. One of the reasons I rewrote the Astartes Codex was to make it readable, (also, the unit structure is absolutely insane).

Instead of this colossal clusterfuck, GW had a lot of existing projects they could have worked on, instead.

Imperial:

Tyrant's Legion: Despite being the biggest thing happening in 40k for a few years, the Tyrant's Legion never received it's own Codex. It instead had a brief write up in Imperial Armour, and even then was from the stupid-evil part of the war. During the first part, when Lugft Huron was a hero, the Tyrant's Legion were strong enough to stand up against attacks from full Astartes chapters. Later in the war, when he was written as a villain, his legion crumpled like a wet paper bag.

Adepta Sororitas: But, they are one of GW's main armies, aren't they? The badass bolter bitches even more fervent than the Astartes? In the Jan 2023 Dataslate, GW completely changed the game, while fucking over the Sisters of Battle. They then introduced 10E, completely skipping a Codex for them. Which is extremely common for GW. Instead of changing the rules of the game every 6 months, maybe keep them consistent, and include all of your armies.

Carcharodons Astra: One of the only interesting Chapters that GW has introduced, and what kind of a write up do they get? A paragraph, with a couple of lines of useful information.

Red Scorpions: The Red Scorpions are a chapter we really don't know that much about. Other than the fact that Forge World has a hard-on for them. And they train all of their Sergeants as Apothecaries. And that they have a lot of Heresy-Era wargear.

Charnel Guard: Another Badab-war chapter that we know little about. Other than the fact that they had a lot more heavy equipment than they had any right to, and that being pulled from Badab meant absolute defeat if Huron didn't rewrite a few rules for Astartes.

Other Badab Chapters: Lamenters, Mantis Warriors, Fire Angels, Raptors, Exorcists, Sons of Medusa, etc.

Addendums: The Spellbeasts from Caliban, Fire Scorpions from Ba'al, the Salamander's Onyx Golems, etc.

Human, Non-Imperial:

Interex: During the Great Crusade, they were a more advanced Mannish civilization that uses centaur-like power armour.

Lost and the Damned: Chaos armsmen, including Guardsmen, militias, chaos-cults, etc. Neglected since 2nd edition. Instead of ogres they had minotaurs.

Non-Human:

Megarachnids: Little is known about them, other than the fact they were one of the biggest challenges of the Great Crusade.

Q'Orl: Space Wasps taht have the largest cohesive empire in the setting, after the Imperium itself. It's also a stone's throw from Holy Terra, and to the West, which is almost completely ignored in the setting.

[infjtarot]

5 of Wands. Mystic Spiral Tarot

Themes: Incompatibility. Pressure. Testing. Will under restriction. Upheaval. Purification by fire. Striving. Overcoming constraint. Competition and attention. Drama. Motion and activity. Compression and release. Astrology/Element Leo decan I: Leo is ruled by the Sun, while the decan ruler is the sun’s nemesis, Saturn. Darkness tries to smother light. To top it off, the card is a five, whose sephira is ruled by the other malefic, Mars, adding Sturm und Drang (“storm and drive”). The sun’s energy is strong in fixed Leo. Martial drive suits it. Yet it is being restrained by leaden Saturn, creating a powder keg ready to blow. Agrippa’s image for this decan is a man riding a lion, appropriately oppressive labor for the lion. The Picatrix has a man wearing dirty clothes, the weight of unwanted earth. It separately mentions a rider, looking to the north, the direction of winter (Saturn). The rider appears ready for winter, for his body looks like two types of wild animal: a bear and a dog. Oddly enough, the signification descriptions are “strength, generosity, and victory,” which seem to foreshadow the decan to come, suggesting that the restricting blockage introduced by Saturn is blowing open. Mythology/Time of Year Pele is a Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes, fire, lightning, and wind, known as “She Who Shapes the Sacred Earth.” Through the action of fire and earth, she created the islands. She is noted for her power and passion, but also for her unpredictability and jealousy. She was a rival of the snow goddess Poli’ahu. They battled fire against snow until earthquakes shook the land. Eventually the snow mantle of Poli’ahu chilled and hardened Pele’s lava, confining her to the southern portion of the land. The Buddhist wrathful gods and goddesses who destroy the obstacles to enlightenment apply. These fierce beings appear demonic, adorned with terrifying expressions, charnel ornaments, and sexually suggestive elements. Yet they guard against the very demons they resemble, representing harnessed obstacles as a force of liberation. Lion goddess Sekhmet (meaning “power”) is the daughter of solar Ra. This lion-headed goddess led the pharaohs in warfare. Pasht or Pehkhet, meaning “she who scratches,” was also known as the “night huntress with sharp eye and pointed claw.” This decan contains 5° Leo, the start of the Golden Dawn zodiacal year.

[mywifeleftme]

300: Four Horsemen // Live in the West

Live in the West Four Horsemen 1977, Starborne

The Four Horsemen were Canada’s great contribution to international sound poetry, a genre that has traditionally involved the authors of the most abstruse literary theory ever written doing the verbal equivalent of Monty Python’s Department of Silly Walks for small audiences that regret their own open-mindedness. (Look, the Splash Zone was clearly labelled.) The Horsemen became genuine counter-culture favourites because they understood that absolute freedom is as absurd as it is sublime. As a result, their second LP Live in the West is probably the most fun thing that’d come out of the whole sound poetry movement to that point. The poets presented themselves as something between a band, an avant-garde theatre troupe, and a sketch group, and their compositions flit between high- and lowbrow signifiers in a way that feels prescient of today’s culture.

Side One is dedicated to shorter compositions, classical sound poetry conceits like dismantling a single loaded word into discrete phonemes (the word “Assassin” dissolved into startled AHHs and hissing esses) and deftly syncopated sequences of non-verbal glottal noises and grunts. On “From Beast/Matthew’s Line,” Paul Dutton (I think) opens with a snippet of an Irish-sounding folk song; he breaks off, allowing Rafael Barreto-Rivera and bpNichol to exchange repeated non-sequiturs in Spanish and English while Dutton keens in the background; Steve McCaffery begins speaking over them, intoning John Clare’s nineteenth century poem “I Am!”; as McCaffery nears the climax of the poem, the others gradually transition into raga-style vocalizations. The effect is quadrophonic, not unlike Glenn Gould’s “contrapuntal radio” piece The Idea of North (1967), which layered recordings of spoken monologues to see how their meanings and sounds complimented and “splashed off” one another. It also anticipates the sampling era to come, but the analogue physicality and precision required to pull the piece of without the aid of electronics gives it a spark all its own.

The elaborate collaging of “Matthew’s Line” previews the two longer pieces on Side Two, “Mischievous Eve” and “Goodbye Stagelost.” On these quasi-theatrical pieces, the Horsemen lean into the characters their voices suggest: the plummy British accent of the Sheffield-born McCaffery makes him a natural for playing the role of a fusty square, though he is never far from descending into gibbering imbecility; Barreto-Rivera’s Latin-accented good cheer provides an earthy counterpoint, even as he often lapses into Spanish passages that deepen the complexity of following their ratatat chemistry; Nichol has a measured, precise cadence, leading his colleagues like a conductor even as he often dives the furthest into abstraction; little Paul Dutton’s boyish, wiseacre Ontario deadpan sounds like one of the Kids in the Hall, making him the perfect foil when things need deflating. These longer selections resemble a slapstick update of the overlapping dialogues in the second part of Eliot’s The Waste Land, found writing and original material and classical literature swirled together to capture life in the charnel house of modern culture, but with more jokes (a special tip of the cap to Dutton’s passing allusion to Nichol’s “dick-washing habits”).

Fifty years down the line, sound and concrete poetry have little presence in the Canadian scene (or internationally, for that matter) outside of a few holdouts of the old guard. Almost nothing on the shelves or the stage feels as genuinely creative or lively as this old record does. I haven’t the space or energy here to litigate the institutionalization of the genre, but I know in my bones that the world could use a little more nastiness like this.

300/365

[arcanejellycult]

#dungeon23: 1.2 the wheel house

1. the fetid mausoleum 1.2. the wheel house

Outside of the charnel pit, the stench of death and decay begins to fade, only to be replaced by the overwhelming aroma of raw and flowing sewage.

It becomes clear that where you and your now-compatriots may be, it is a dumping ground for that which is unwanted: corpses and human waste alike.

Upon exiting the pit, you find yourselves situated upon a large platform hovering over a seemingly bottomless pit. Sewage and other questionable liquids and viscera flow from overly large drain pipes underneath the platform in each of the cardinal directions.

Zones 1-3:

Scattered about the wheel house's platform are several Walking Dead. The Walking Dead mutter and moan to themselves and only react if harmed. They will stop pursuit once their attackers are more than one Zone away.

Walking Dead d6+4 appearing HD: 1d6 AC: 11 ATK: 1 lazy strike, d6 MOVE: 1/2 Zone

Zone 4:

A massive metal drawbridge is located on the eastern edge of the platform next to a rusted lever which looks to noisily activate it.

Zone 5:

A guard shack stands in the southeastern corner. Inside the shack is a single sleeping guard and a rotted treasure chest. It is unlocked.

Sleeping Guard HD: 2d8 AC: 12 ATK: 1 rusted longsword, d6, and 1 simple bow, d MOVE: 1 Zone Special: If startled or the drawbridge activated, the Sleeping Guard will ring a warning bell for any guards located in 1.3 or 1.4.

Treasure Chest: unlocked and untrapped roll d6 times on the Weapon Table roll d6 times on the Armor Table roll d8 times on the Tools & Supplies Table

[theblackbookofarkera]

Drezdandorf

This city on the northern coast of the Holy Vantari Empire was doomed at the start being located below sea level, at the mouth of the Guvald River and adjacent to Lake Kristov. Despite the dangerous geography the city was in a prime location for trade making it well worth the risk of settlement. For centuries Drezdandorf was the hub of the Holy Vantari Empire’s northern trade with enough money pouring into the city to stave off its many environmental and social woes.

This changed when a trio of crises struck the city, the first being the blasphemy of the ruling Braach family. The unholy rites being practiced by the Braach family was uncovered when the youngest daughter clandestinely sent a letter to inquisitors of the Imperial Temple detailing the goings on. An inquisitorial investigation revealed the Braach family had indeed been worshiping in secret an outlawed god sacrificing their own people for youth, vigor and fortune. A battle ensued between the Braach family and the inquisitors which ended with the death of the ancient family but at a great price.

Upon his death the wicked patriarch of the family, Horst Braach unleashed a terrible curse upon the city - the Sallow Death. The Sallow Death was a plague with symptoms akin to bloody flux but resistant to known forms of treatment. Efforts to quarantine the city were proving successful until the third tragedy struck, a great storm battered the city causing the city’s desperate residents to break quarantine and flee.

Despite fears the plague would spread across the empire it suddenly faded but between it and the storm Drezdandorf was devastated. Desperate citizens and Rohark pirates pillaged much of the city picking the meat from its bones with nothing to stop them.

Centuries later Drezdandorf lies nearly abandoned with some five thousands residents in a city that once held nearly a quarter of a million souls. The remaining residents quarter themselves in a single ward of the city protected (mostly) from the danger of the ravaged city around them. Still used as a resupply port and way station no traveler stays in Drezdandorf a second more than required.

Though well compensated for remaining in the city the few citizens live in fear from the darkness that lurks in the city. Fanciful tales of bloated corpses walking the streets, fish demons and screaming ghosts are among the more tame stories that come out of the abandoned wards of this once prosperous city. Tales of the lost Braach family fortune attract dozens of foolish adventurers to the cursed city each year most of whom flee on terror or are never seen again.

“Despite the warm hearths, brightly painted houses and vigilant guards the Port Ward Drezdandorf still feels like the waiting room of a charnel house…”

-Arthur Downs, Agal sailor

[charnelrivercomplex]

It's no secret that an insatiable beast lies at the foundation of all shopping malls, but at Charnel River Complex this may be more than a metaphor.

When the lights go out and the security guards do their last rounds, what lurks within the halls and behind the walls of the Complex? And, more importantly, what lurks there even in the daylight?

When they said their prices were to die for, they meant it.

Charnel River Complex: A Horror Anthology

Indulge this spooky season with nine original short stories exploring the supernatural influences of the modern mall.

Available in Kindle and Paperback

[drownmeinbeauty]

I WENT BACK TO MOMA

Since my first visits as a teenager MoMA has been a temple, a sacred place. I remember the building in the 1980's, and the indelible position each painting commanded inside. There was a majestic Clifford Still skimmed with light from an adjacent window, a Florine Stettheimer tucked at the end of a low corridor, and René Magritte's False Mirror hanging just off the lobby entrance on the highest floor. Their positions seemed essential, immutable.

The Yoshio Taniguchi expansion and renovation in 1997 upset this order. Galleries were added and reconfigured around large lobbies. Crowds flowed through listlessly, riding escalators to big white-box galleries scaled for blockbuster installations. After this I began to visit the museum much more strategically: identifying a single show to see, asking a guard how to get there, getting there, and then retracing my steps back out. Moving through MoMA became as enervating and depressing as moving through an airport.

Now, after an expansion and reconfiguration by DS+R in 2018, I just feel lost inside. There are more hallways and stairs than galleries, and the curatorial emphasis has shifted from modernism to niche interests contemporary art. On a recent Saturday morning, standing at the digital Program Board on the ground floor, watching descriptions for shows fizzle in and out, I understood sadly that there was nothing I really wanted to see, no show that promised flat-out pleasure.

A hit-me-over-the-head Barbara Kruger installation in the atrium looked like an exercise in branding (for Kruger that is, not MoMA). So I slipped into the permanent collections in the new extension. These have have been rechristened Dynamic Collections and reorganized around themes including Intimate Visions, Responding to War, and According to the Laws of Chance.

Wandering through the warren of galleries, I spotted Pablo Picasso's The Charnel House hung on the side of a far wall, surrounded by smaller framed works. Completed in 1944-45, in the grim newsprint tones and tortuous linework of Guernica, it renders a monstrous jumble of human body parts, the aftermath of great violence. The blunt formal, narrative, and moral charisma of the work simply flattened the drawings and paintings around it. It was like a scream; it tore apart the space of the room. Why didn't it have its own gallery, or at least its own wall? There's an obvious need to reexamine the canon and open the museum to all. How can we do this and still recognize greatness?

Photo by , courtesy MoMA.

[an-eccentric-devil]

new hobby: find 40k space marine chapters with almost no lore and give them the love they deserve

meshes by Joazzz2, textures and rigs by me. Programs used include Blender, Substance Painter, GIMP, and Unity.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Nia just needed a friend to do a hard mall trip. Trying out dresses. For a formal dance. And hey, maybe Lena and Kara are mad at each other but... She just needs Lena okay?

When Lena receives a call from an unknown number, she almost ignores it. But just enough people spread her phone number that she answers it on the off chance it might be someone who needs her.

“Lena Luthor, how can I help you?”

“Lena, please don’t hang up.”

The voice is familiar, but Lena can’t place it until the voice continues.

“It’s Nia. Nia Nal? And I know--” Lena almost hangs up right then-- not because it’s Nia, but because Nia treads dangerously close to a subject Lena is dead set on avoiding. Almost. “I know you have no reason to take my call, but… I need your help.”

Lena almost hangs up. She doesn’t.

“What do you need?”

---

The crisis, Lena learns, is that Nia has been given the assignment of her life covering the Golden Globes ceremony being hosted in downtown National City, but has nothing even remotely appropriate to wear. The mundanity of it all is so far from what Lena expects that it’s long moments before the words fully register.

“Uh, Lena…?”

“I’m here,” Lena says quickly, clearing her throat. She leans forward in her chair, rattling off an address. “Meet me there tomorrow at 11am.”

The next day, a few minutes after eleven, Nia walks up to Lena outside of Sylvie with hesitation all over her face. “Lena?”

Lena tucks her phone away and turns towards Nia with a professional but bright grin. “Nia, you made it.”

“Uhm, yeah actually… I kinda thought I’d gotten lost…”

Lena looks at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Lena, I can’t afford anything on this boulevard, are you crazy??”

Oh.

“You’re not paying,” Lena says simply.

Wide eyes blink at her in shock. “What? No! No, Lena, I can’t ask you to do that--”

“I’m offering.”

“Look, I was thinking we could just go to the mall--”

“The mall.”

Nia quails under Lena’s judgement, and Lena softens.

“Nia, you are about to be on the red carpet, covering an event that could catapult your career into the stratosphere. I think that warrants something a little more than what a department store can offer.”

“But…” Nia continues to protest, but uncertainty colors her features, and Lena knows she’s slipped under her guard. Carefully, Lena places a hand on Nia’s wrist.

“I won’t force you to accept what I’m offering,” she says gently. “But calling a Luthor for help means calling for a Luthor solution-- and nothing says Luthor more than shopping at the best boutique in town.”

Nia nods, but she ducks her chin with a swallow. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I don’t want you to think that’s why I called, you know?” Nia expels a sigh, working a harried hand through her hair. “It’s just that Kara was supposed to come with me for moral support, but she’s had to cancel four times and the ceremony is in three days and if Andrea hears one more time that I don’t have a dress, she’s going to kill me…”

“Nia,” Lena says softly. Nia stops, and meets Lena’s gaze with a hesitant one of her own. “I would never think you were calling for a hand out. I’m offering.” Nia still looks uncertain, but Lena holds her gaze. “You asked for help… so let me help.”

Nia considers her words, studying Lena carefully. Finally, she wraps her arms around herself with a steadying sigh. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

Nia follows a few paces behind as Lena turns and approaches the door to the shop, lingering to let Lena be the one to press the buzzer to be allowed in. But as they near, the door opens for them, ready and waiting to admit them.

Luthors don’t use buzzers.

“Welcome to Sylvie.” A pair of well groomed attendants relieve them of their purses, exchanging their bags for a couple flutes of champagne offered by a third.

“Thank you,” Lena replies easily, well versed in the practice. Nia fumbles a step behind, her movements stiff and uncertain. Instead of moving directly into the belly of the store as she usually did, Lena lingers, allowing Nia the chance to take in the shop for the first time. The showroom looks much like any other, as could be glimpsed through the windows, styled with clean lines and immaculately dressed mannequins. The true Sylvie experience, however, happens further in, beyond the curtains that separate the dressing rooms from the rest of the store.

“If you’ll follow me, ladies, I’ll show you to your dressing room.”

Lena wonders what Nia expected as they approached one of the curtained off areas. Perhaps a cramped alcove like the hollywood thrift stores shown in coming-of-age films, where your elbows knocked the walls as you changed and you’d be lucky to find a stool to put your own clothes. Certainly it isn’t the plush, spacious room that awaits them, if Nia’s wide eyes are anything to go by.

Charnelle waits for them at the curtain. “Welcome, ladies,” she greets, parting the curtain so that Lena and Nia can slip inside. “Lena, lovely to see you again.”

“And you,” Lena returns.

“I’m Charnelle,” she introduces herself to Nia. “Wonderful to meet you. I’ll be assisting the two of you today.”

“Thankyousomuch,” Nia says in a rush, her shoulders tight as she shakes Charnelle’s offered hand.

Charnelle allows the curtains to close behind them, isolating them in their own little pocket of divine luxury. Lena settles herself on the central chaise lounge, folding her legs elegantly before her. Nia perches on the edge beside her, her gaze flicking to the small boudoir in one corner and another curtain that shields the actual changing area. Inside there, Lena knows Nia will find a plush bench to sit on as she undresses, and gold hangers to hold her clothes while she tries on various gowns. It’s designed to be beyond comfortable, a place where one could spend hours-- and lots and lots of money.

“So, what do you have for us today, Lena? Another benefit gala to dazzle?”

“Actually,” Lena replies, “Miss Nal here is covering the Golden Globes this week for CatCo Worldwide.”

“How exciting!” Charnelle rounds on Nia. “And what are you looking for in your gown?”

Caught with a mouthful of champagne, Nia freezes, then swallows audibly. “Um…” she coughs out. “Something nice? I probably shouldn’t be outdressing the stars or anything, so nothing too crazy?” She shrugs. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“Charnelle,” Lena intercedes, “could you bring us some formal options in black, maroon, or blue? Floor length, of course.”

Charnelle nods, beaming. “Absolutely.” She gives Nia a wink. “She has your colors nailed, honey. What are your measurements?”

Nia stares at them both. “Uh. A six, usually?”

“They’ll need your measurements to ensure a proper fit,” Lena delivers gently. “Do you mind if Charnelle--?”

“I’m trans!” Nia blurts, her chinks coloring a solid ear-to-ear pink. “Sorry,” she adds quietly. “But-- yeah. Just so you know.”

Lena stares, surprised more by the outburst than its content, but Charnelle takes it in stride. “So am I, baby girl,” she responds smoothly. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have a dress that fits.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Nia finally, finally relaxes. She offers a shaky grin. “Okay. Yeah. Let��s do this.”

Charnelle gives Nia’s wrist a squeeze on her way to the boudoir to pull a tape measure from the top drawer. While she’s busy, Lena catches Nia’s eye and lifts her glass in a silent cheers of support. Nia rewards her with a small smile, before Charnelle returns and makes quick work of measuring Nia’s bust, waist and hips.

“All right!” Charnelle chirps, wrapping up her tape. “I’ll be right back with some options. You two stay here and get comfortable, all right? I’ll be right back.”

She disappears, and Nia all but collapses onto the chaise next to Lena. “I can’t believe I did that,” she groans.

Lena pats her on the knee. “You’re all right. Sylvie only gets my business because they know the value of discretion.”

“Yeah.” Nia lifts her head with a hum, surveying the dressing room once more. “This is nice. Thank you for talking me into it.”

Lena smirks. “Just wait.”

As if on cue, the curtains part to admit not Charnelle, but the woman who’d offered them their drinks. This time, her tray holds an array of small finger sandwiches. “Refreshments?”

“Oh, wow!” Nia exclaims, quickly helping herself to three. “Okay, yeah. I could get used to this.”

Lena grins, snaring a cucumber sandwich for herself. “Thank you. And another round, if you could,” she adds, seeing Nia’s empty glass.

The woman nods. “Of course.”

When she has disappeared again, the dressing room fills with quiet, and Lena realizes that she doesn’t have a clue what to say. She’s gone shopping with her mother, and with Andrea, and in both cases the conversation flowed easily, for better or for worse. But she’s never been shopping with a girl several years her junior, and never one in the middle of Lena’s biggest heartbreak.

“It happened the last time I went shopping for a dress too,” Nia says, breaking the silence. “The anxiety about… you know. I guess something about formal wear brings out the worst of it.”

Unsure of how to respond, Lena looks at her. “When was the last time?”

Nia sighs. “Prom. I’d transitioned by then, and most people were used to me, but I didn’t have a date, and part of me just internalized it as a fixture of me not being girly enough, and not, you know, the fact I didn’t know how to talk to boys, let alone date them. I didn’t even know if it was worth it to go at all, and I just-- started crying, right there in the dress shop.”

“What happened then?” Lena asks gently.

Nia smiles fondly. “My mom. She just hugged me, and told me how proud she was to have such a beautiful, confident daughter. It was sort of embarrassing at the time, but… it was something I needed to hear, you know?”

She pauses then as the server returns with their champagne. Afte the woman dips out again, Lena nudges her. “And did you ever find a dress?”

Nia snorts, nodding. “Yeah. Like, two minutes after I calmed down I found my dream dress. And my friends and I had a blast at prom, so I’m glad I went after all.”

“Good,” Lena murmurs, sipping her drink. “Well, I can’t promise anything about a dream dress, but I’ll call it a win if we get out of here without any tears.”

“Cheers to that,” Nia concurs, lifting her own glass for a deep sip.

In that moment, Charnelle returns, wheeling a short cart of long dresses along with her.

“All right, ladies-- who’s ready to see some gowns?”

---

Nia settles on a bias-cut gown of sky blue, accented with beaded embroidery at the bust and straps. It may not have qualified for dream status, but it’s perfect for the Globes, and Lena can tell Nia is excited by the time they step back out onto the street, garment bag draped over her arm.

“Thank you, again,” Nia offers, hiking her purse higher on her shoulder. “You really didn’t have to do all this, especially with how weird things are right now. I know it probably wasn’t easy to say yes when I called last night.”

Lena blinks. It honestly hadn’t occurred to her to say no. “Nia?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you call me?” It’s her turn now to shift uncomfortably on her feet. “I’m always happy to help, but… as you say, things are weird. Why me?”

“Honestly?” Nia asks. Lena nods. “You remind me of my mom. I can’t begin to tell you how or why, but you do. And the thing is… my mom was probably the kindest person I’ve ever known. So-- if you reminded me of her, I figured you were a pretty safe bet. And the worst you could do was hang up on me, so…”

Right.

Lena nods, her throat locking painfully around a sudden lump in her throat. Forcing a smile, she clears her throat. “Okay. Well… I’m glad I was able to help. Are you okay to get home?”

Nia nods easily. “Yeah, I’ll just catch the bus. Thank you again. This was really nice, and it was really good to see you.”

Lena nods, but before she can turn away, Nia catches her by the wrist.

“I mean it, Lena. I owe you one. If you ever need anything…”

Lena turns her wrist, allowing her hand to settle into Nia’s palm. Giving it a squeeze, Lena offers her a smile.

“I know who to call.”

// prompts are closed