#Central Burying Ground

[scholarofgloom]

[faithandarisadventures]

Central Burying Ground Boston Common November 4, 2023 Boston, Massachusetts

[ria-starstruck]

if anyone out there knows any songs that are desperate and/or insane lmk i have a petra roxanne animatic idea that needs a song

more specific vibes would be like tam lin but add more desperation (the couple of versions ive listened to were p calm), or as the world caves in (the sarah cothran cover)

[plutosunshine]

Where you will find your healing?

The ruler of the 12th house

The 12th house in astrology is often called the "house of the unconscious," dealing with themes of spirituality, isolation, and hidden realms of the psyche. However, it is also deeply connected to healing—particularly on a spiritual and psychological level. Healing in the 12th house is not about the physical body but the soul, mental health, and the release of karmic burdens. It's where we confront and resolve deep-seated fears, self-sabotaging behaviors, and unresolved emotional pain.

The ruler of the 12th house—depending on which house it governs in your natal chart—can offer key insights into the paths or methods through which you may experience healing. 

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 1st house

You might be highly sensitive to the energies around you, often feeling that your inner struggles are visible, even when trying to hide them. Healing, in this context, requires self-awareness—acknowledging and understanding your hidden wounds instead of avoiding or suppressing them. Practices like journaling, introspection, and therapy can help bring these subconscious patterns to light.

With this placement, there is a strong need to express what is typically hidden. Healing may come through showing up authentically in the world, revealing your vulnerabilities, and allowing yourself to be seen, flaws and scars included. Art, creative expression, or public speaking can serve as powerful outlets for releasing buried pain, transforming those deep-seated wounds into something that empowers you.

Because the 1st house relates to your identity, self-image, and physical body, healing may also come through developing self-compassion and acceptance. Often, with this placement, there's a tendency to be too hard on yourself or to internalize the suffering from the 12th house. You may feel like you're carrying a heavy burden without even understanding why. However, developing compassion for yourself, recognizing your limitations, and being kind to yourself are essential steps toward healing. Mindfulness and meditation practices can help cultivate this sense of compassion.

This placement can indicate that spiritual growth and healing are central to your life path. You may find that your healing journey requires a spiritual or mystical approach. Meditation, energy work, or even time spent in solitude and retreat (a key theme of the 12th house) can help you process these deep-seated issues and bring peace to your soul.

Since the 1st house also rules the physical body, there's a direct connection between your subconscious and your physical health. Healing your deep-seated wounds may require body-based therapies, such as yoga, breathwork, or somatic experiencing. This can help release stored traumas in the body, making the connection between mind and body essential for your healing process. Attending to your body's needs and listening to what it's telling you can be a profound way to address long-held emotional or spiritual pain.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 2nd house

Healing may come through working on your sense of self-worth and how you manage your material resources. Since the 2nd house relates to finances and possessions, you may find that grounding yourself in managing money, acquiring security, and building stability can be therapeutic. Developing a healthy relationship with what you value materially can help ease deeper anxieties rooted in the unconscious.

The 12th house represents isolation and the subconscious. Placing its ruler in the 2nd house suggests you may find healing by withdrawing from the material demands of the world at times. You might benefit from moments of solitude, where you can reflect on what you truly value and connect with your inner self. Meditation, spiritual retreats, or creative solitude can offer profound healing and allow you to realign your priorities.

This placement can suggest that certain old beliefs about money, self-worth, or material security, rooted in the subconscious patterns, must be let go for healing to occur. You may be carrying hidden fears or anxieties related to scarcity or self-worth that, when confronted and released, will open the door to both spiritual and material abundance.

Healing with this placement often requires you to blend the spiritual and material worlds—finding a sense of peace, security, and self-worth by tapping into the deeper, unconscious layers of your psyche. Reflecting on your relationship with money, possessions, and inner values will be crucial.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 3rd house

Healing can come through communication, learning, and connecting with your immediate environment.

In this context, you may find that expressing your deeper thoughts and emotions—whether through journaling, talking with siblings, or close friends—helps you release buried feelings and heal inner wounds. Healing could also come through engaging in meaningful conversations or learning something new, particularly in areas that help you better understand your inner self.

Activities like meditation, mindfulness, or even writing about your experiences may also serve as powerful tools for self-awareness and emotional release. Traveling within your local area, taking short trips, or spending time in familiar environments also offers a sense of peace and healing, helping you process your emotions more consciously. Finding ways to bridge your inner world with your everyday interactions can unlock powerful healing energies for you.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 4th house

Healing involves connecting with your home, family, and deepest roots.

In this case, you may find that healing is deeply tied to your family history or your relationship with your home life. Addressing unresolved issues from your past, particularly childhood experiences or family dynamics can bring you peace and closure. Spending time in your home, creating a nurturing and safe space for yourself, or even reconnecting with your family can help you heal emotional wounds that you may have been carrying unconsciously.

This placement also suggests that inner peace may be found through introspection and solitude at home. Practices like meditation, journaling, or simply retreating into the quiet of your private space can help you process and release deep-seated fears or anxieties. You might also find that exploring your ancestral roots or understanding family patterns offers powerful insights into your subconscious and aids in your emotional healing journey. Ultimately, grounding yourself in your personal and emotional foundations will be key to unlocking deep healing.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 5th house

Healing comes through creative self-expression, joy, and embracing your inner child.

In this case, healing is found when you allow yourself to engage in activities that bring joy, fun, and spontaneity. Creative outlets such as art, music, writing, or any form of artistic expression can help you process unconscious emotions and release internal tension. These mediums connect you with deeper parts of yourself, channeling hidden emotions into something positive and uplifting.

Romantic relationships and love experiences can also help you heal. You may find that engaging in heartfelt, playful connections helps you heal emotional wounds tied to fear or vulnerability. Likewise, embracing your inner child—reclaiming a sense of play, adventure, and excitement—can unlock healing by releasing the weight of hidden fears and anxieties.

The 5th house also governs self-confidence and individuality, so healing comes when you allow yourself to shine and embrace who you are unapologetically. Finding joy in hobbies, spending time with children, or indulging in your passions can help bring about deep emotional and spiritual healing, reconnecting you with your true essence.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 6th house

When the ruler of the 12th house is in the 6th house, healing is found by merging your subconscious or spiritual needs with practical, everyday actions. You heal through routines, work, health care, and service to others. Daily habits, such as regular exercise or mindfulness, help bring emotional stability, while serving or helping others can provide a deep sense of healing.

Work environments might reflect subconscious fears or anxieties, offering opportunities for self-growth. Holistic practices—like yoga, meditation, or energy healing—are especially beneficial, as they connect the mind, body, and spirit. Addressing psychosomatic symptoms or hidden emotional patterns tied to past experiences is also key to healing.

In essence, healing comes through structured routines, health-conscious habits, and service-oriented actions that balance physical and spiritual well-being.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 7th house

Your healing process is likely to be intertwined with your relationships. Partnering with others—whether romantic, platonic, or professional—can help you access parts of your subconscious that need resolution. Issues like trust, boundaries, or hidden fears may surface in partnerships, but these relationships also offer profound opportunities for growth and healing.

Since the 12th house has a spiritual or karmic nature, its ruler in the 7th house suggests that certain partnerships may feel destined or karmic. You may be drawn to partners who help you uncover deeper spiritual lessons, and through these connections, you can find peace and emotional healing.

Relationships may force you to confront fears or unresolved issues from your past. Through the mirror of partnership, you can see your own subconscious patterns more clearly. This can be challenging, but facing these fears with a partner’s support leads to healing.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 8th house

Your healing process is deeply transformative. This placement indicates that in order to heal, you may need to face significant internal changes. You are likely to go through cycles of release and rebirth, shedding old psychological baggage and emerging stronger. This process can be intense but ultimately leads to profound healing and personal growth.

The 8th house is where we encounter the shadow side of life—fear, trauma, loss, and taboo subjects like death and sexuality. The 12th house ruler suggests that you can heal by diving into these areas, bringing hidden fears and traumas to the surface to process and release them. This may involve facing past wounds or subconscious fears that have been buried but are ready to be transformed.

The 8th house rules intimate, deep bonds with others, especially through emotional and physical closeness. Healing can come through these powerful connections, where you learn to trust and surrender control. Vulnerability in intimate relationships allows you to release long-held emotional patterns and find healing in shared experiences.

Since the 12th house relates to spirituality and the subconscious, the ruler in the 8th house suggests that your healing may also involve spiritual transformation. Exploring mystical or esoteric practices, meditation, or engaging in inner shadow work can help you transform subconscious fears into personal empowerment.

The 8th house is often associated with crisis or loss, and while this can be challenging, it also represents opportunities for deep healing. You may find that healing comes after significant life transitions—whether through financial change, the ending of a relationship, or confronting mortality. These events push you to go deeper within yourself, leading to healing through acceptance and transformation.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 9th house

Healing may come from exploring spiritual teachings, religious practices, or new philosophical ideas. Engaging in deep contemplation about the meaning of life, purpose, and the universe can provide clarity and inner peace.

Travel, particularly to foreign lands, can offer solace and rejuvenation. Exposure to different cultures, spiritual traditions, or sacred places can bring about profound healing experiences.

The 9th house also rules higher education. Healing could come through engaging in study, whether formal education or self-guided learning. This can include reading philosophical works or even studying healing modalities like yoga, meditation, or psychology.

The 9th house, with its connection to belief systems, offers a potential path to healing. Reexamining your personal faith or finding a new belief system that resonates with your soul’s deeper needs can provide a strong foundation for emotional and spiritual healing.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 10th house

Healing and spiritual growth are closely tied to your career, public life, or social status.

With this placement, you might find that engaging in meaningful work, pursuing a career that helps others, or taking on a role in the public eye brings deep personal healing. You could also be drawn to professions that involve caring for the less fortunate, working in hospitals, mental health, or spiritual fields where you support others behind the scenes. Healing can also come through achieving a sense of purpose and recognition in your work and overcoming any fears of failure or feelings of being unseen.

Balancing your private spiritual needs with your public responsibilities is crucial. If you use your professional life as a vehicle for service or healing, it can be a source of profound fulfillment.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 11th house

Healing and spiritual growth are closely connected to your friendships, social groups, and long-term aspirations.

With this placement, you might find healing through meaningful connections with like-minded people or by being part of a group that shares common ideals. Participating in humanitarian causes or working toward collective goals can be a source of deep fulfillment and spiritual renewal. You may feel drawn to helping others within your community or engaging in social movements that bring healing to yourself and society as a whole.

Additionally, your spiritual growth can emerge through your ability to connect with people who help you expand your consciousness and allow you to express your unique vision for the future. Your healing journey might also involve balancing your need for solitude with your desire to be part of a larger collective, finding ways to contribute to the greater good while nurturing your own inner world.

The ruler of the 12th house is in the 12th house

This placement signifies a deeply introspective and spiritual journey toward healing.

You may find that solitude, meditation, spiritual practices, or time spent in retreat from the outside world are essential for your healing and personal growth. You’re likely to feel a strong connection to the unseen or mystical realms, and engaging in these areas can provide significant healing. There could be a natural affinity for helping others in quiet, behind-the-scenes ways, such as working in hospitals, spiritual centers, or charitable institutions.

This placement may indicate a need to confront deep-seated fears, unresolved emotional issues, or hidden parts of yourself that have been suppressed. Healing might come from understanding and integrating these aspects of your psyche, working through karmic patterns, or releasing past traumas. Your spiritual journey is one of self-discovery, compassion, and perhaps even surrender, allowing you to experience profound transformation through solitude and inner exploration.

[gothhabiba]

@ anon

I think it might be actually dangerous to publish your ask, but I'm sure from my response people will be able to tell what it's about anyway.

You're full of actual, absolute shit if you're pretending not to know by now that verification processes to ensure the legitimacy of Ghazzawin's fundraisers have been undertaken, and that details about what these processes entail have been shared by several people. Several people, some of them currently in Gaza, put themselves through countless hours of work video-calling people, judging their knowledge of dialectical Arabic, seeing their faces and their children's faces and their living conditions, seeing IDs and bank information, asking invasive, personal questions that they didn't want to be asking & that the people responding probably didn't want to be answering, and physically visiting people in Gaza and video-recording their interactions, just so that people like you could be sure that these fundraisers were legitimate. If you're ignoring all of the blood & tears that went into that process just so you can hand-wring about scams, no one needs to be concerned with convincing you of the legitimacy of anything, because you were never going to donate to these people anyway. You are just looking for any plausible-sounding excuse not to do what you already didn't want to do.

If, by some miracle, you actually didn't know about the verified fundraiser spreadsheet (which is frankly still blameable bc, where on earth have you been?), then there it is. The post of mine that you're referring to never even mentioned responding to asks; using this spreadsheet is an absolutely valid, reasonable way of donating directly to families.

Now let me treat some of your statements as though they were questions (which, they were not).

How do people in Gaza have internet access?

Internet infrastructure in Gaza is very robust (e.g. in what cables are made of, how deep they're buried, amounts of redundancy in the system, &c.) because they have been getting bombed by Israel all the fucking time for decades, so they expect this infrastructure to be put through a lot. There have still--if you've been following the situation at all--been several outages caused by damage that Ghazzawin have needed to repair. Though I do have to say that I find it odd that you doubt Ghazzawin have internet access, but also say that you buy eSims...?

A lot of people right now are indeed connected via eSim, which to my understanding only need to connect to wifi once, right when they're activated. People put themselves at risk to connect to eSims because they need to get a good wifi signal, which usually means walking for several miles trying to find high ground. One of my contacts once urgently called me (this is the only time he hadn't just texted) because he had been told his friend had found a signal and so they needed an eSim right then, before they went back to their tent.

I've been trying for some time to connect another of my contacts in Gaza to an eSim, but we're not having success. At Crips for eSims for Gaza they / we (I'm on the server getting advice and helping out but I'm not using their funding; I'm using what people on tumblr have given me to purchase eSims with) keep a constantly updated sheet of which eSim providers use which networks and which networks work in which areas--because the situation is constantly changing. Because my contact doesn't have an eSim on a personal phone, she has to go to a central location to be allotted three hours of internet access from someone who has managed to get connected. Lots of people, on their fundraising posts and pages, specify exactly how they've gotten internet access, how difficult it's been for them to get it, and how stressful it is to be relying on this tenuous connection, spending hours away from their families (at high risk of being shot at by IOF soldiers the whole time), just to message people for hours straight and then go home again.

2. How do people in Gaza have tumblr accounts?

This is a stupid question. Anyone with an email address who is capable of picking a username and password can make a tumblr account. I have personally helped several of my contacts in Gaza with the process.

3. How do people in Gaza know to come into people's tumblr accounts?

This is also a stupid question. I don't really see how you could ask this question if you saw Palestinians as, like, real humans beings. You understand that people talk to each other, yes? Like with words? As soon as a few people had success fundraising to evacuate Gaza on tumblr (nearly a year ago... this news has had a lot of time to spread), obviously they told other people about it.

One of the ways that Israel conducts its genocidal war is through the destructiveness of frustration and boredom. It's a strange situation because everything is extremely dire, urgent, terrifying, and dirty, but there's also seldom anything to do. People are singing, telling stories, going to the beach, inventing games and contests, to entertain children, but also to entertain themselves. And this is the situation--with a bunch of desperate, bored people packed into a tiny piece of land--this is the situation that you think it's impossible for people to talk to each other in? Come on.

If you want to donate to Anera and World Food Kitchen and buy eSims, that's fantastic. Please do that. But if you are as ignorant of the particulars of what this situation is like as your ask makes you appear, then I hope you refrain from speaking on what the situation is like.

I've been nattering on for a long time so here's my call to action:

Decide what you're capable of giving right now, or the next time you get paid

Scroll down on the vetted fundraiser spreadsheet and find someone very low on funds, or with injured children who urgently need treatment or evacuation, and give that money.

AND / OR give it to the PCRF or the IRW

[trisshawkeye]

I can't now find where I mentioned it earlier but I wanted to expand on a thought about Black Sails as a tragedy. It's not so much about individual characters reaching particular endings. Rather, I think the central tragedy is that there is this fight - this war against the world, against civilization itself, which is the driver for everything Flint does and arguably the entire plot - that then doesn't take place. The story goes right up to the brink of this conflict, and by the end it's not just Flint raging alone against the world with whatever pirates can be persuaded to follow him, but it's Madi and the slave revolt and an entire people driven by what has been done to them and to their ancestors, it's something so much bigger than the individuals involved, with potentially world-changing consequences, history-changing consequences, an entire overturning of the colonising powers in the Americas.

And therein lies the tragedy, because we know the history, and we know that this story isn't just a Treasure Island prequel, it's interwoven with historical individuals as well and places itself in that context, and invites us to imagine what could have been while at the same time haunted by the spectre of how history actually plays out. The tragedy is that the war never happened. We know from the beginning that the war against civilization could never have been won in this story, but it still invites the imagining - what if, what if?

And so the audience is forced into the position of Silver, who is confronted with this vision of the future so ardently pursued and believed in by Madi and Flint, and cannot imagine it playing out. Silver, because he never believed in this fight to begin with and only knows that he will lose the ones he loves to it; us, because no matter how much we may believe in the cause, we know that they don't win, that there never was a slave uprising and pirate revolt that overturned the entire New World. Silver cannot bring that future about. All he can do is end the story.

Black Sails asks us to imagine, what if the treasure was not just a chest of gold, but an entire possible future that was killed and buried in the ground on a lost and forgotten island?

[my-religion-greek-myth]

Freedom far away

It's been burning my brain ever since the finale of Agatha All Along.

This blog isn't for the writing purpose but I'm bending my own rule in the name of Agatha XD. I might upload one more if I can organise my imagination on these two

Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio

You were the firstborn of an esteemed aristocratic house, a position that brought both privilege and a constant, heavy gaze upon you. Eyes followed every room you entered and every event you attended. Though the title of heir would never be yours solely because you were a lady, it never seemed to matter to those around you. They treated you as if the future of the house rested upon your shoulders. The elders murmured of marriage alliances with royalty or influential families, whispering that your union could change the fate of your house. Other noble families saw you as a formidable rival, watching closely, ever-ready to seize on the slightest misstep, to turn it into fodder for gossip and criticism.

But you despised the role thrust upon you. While others revered the traditions, the traditional rules and propriety that dictated your every action, you only saw them as chains, binding you to a life scripted long before you were born. You longed to live on your terms, laugh freely, speak without calculation, and defy the mould others sought to press you into. You knew well that the path to freedom would not be simple—but that only made the dream burn brighter.

Besides, you possessed a power that would bring fear and scorn if anyone found out. In a world so bound by tradition and superstition, it was a power that might get you branded as a freak or, worse, stoned to death. You knew the origin of this ability, even if the elders dared not mention it. One of your ancestors had been a shaman, a fact buried under layers of silence and shame. Shamans were both revered and despised—consulted in times of desperation, yet viewed with suspicion and disdain due to their mysterious power.

Only your parents and siblings knew of your gift; not even the current lord of the household, your grandfather, had any inkling. You could command animals, bending them to your will. It had always been that way. At first, it simply seemed that animals were drawn to you. Birds would land beside you without fear, perching on your shoulder or finger. Dogs and cats would flock around you whenever you went outside, rolling onto their backs, begging for your touch. When an agitated horse reared at the central market, a single whisper from you could calm it. It was a charming quirk to everyone else—a testament to your vibrant, gentle nature. But you knew better. This wasn’t mere kindness; it was a hidden power that connected you to the earth's creatures in a way no one else could understand.

But then, it did not matter.

You sighed deeply, resting your chin on your hand. If anyone from the household saw you like this, they would scold you, demanding you act like a noble lady and not lounge on the ground like some street thug in your fine dress. The thought made you scoff.

Earlier, you had overheard a conversation between your grandfather and parents about a potential marriage proposal, and as soon as the word "marriage" came up, you’d bolted from the house. You ignored the calls of your servants and dashed out, uncaring of the stares you attracted along the way.

You kept running, heading toward the edge of the city to the well at the foot of the mountain, next to an ancient willow tree. It was a public place but one where you felt most free. Hardly anyone came here, as it was too remote, and many were scared in case of tigers coming down from the mountain. There was another well closer to the city centre where people preferred gathering and drinking water. Besides, this well was near a shaman’s house, marked by the colourful ribbons tied to the trees nearby—a symbol of ritual and mysticism that kept most people away.

You savoured the solitude of this place, where you could escape the eyes and expectations of others, if only for a moment. Then, you saw them; a couple approaching the well where you sat. The man was wearing a garment in a shade between blue and green, a black fan flicking in his right hand as he spoke. The woman beside him was clad in a dignified violet and purple dress, her posture commanding, though her face was drawn into a faint scowl. They seemed to be in a heated exchange—not quite arguing, but the woman was rolling her eyes while the man chuckled, clearly amused by whatever they were discussing.

As they came closer, a realisation struck you. The man's voice… it was softer, lighter than you had expected, almost too gentle to belong to an adult man. In fact, there was something subtly feminine about him, something that made you look again. He moved with an effortless grace, and though his features held a certain softness.

You couldn’t help but feel a spark of curiosity. Strangers rarely ventured to this remote spot—especially not ones with the dignified grace this pair exuded. As they noticed you, the man gave a slight nod, acknowledging your presence, while the woman raised a single eyebrow, appraising you with an air of amusement. Despite your longing for freedom, the ingrained teachings of etiquette tugged at you, urging you to be polite. You rose to your feet as gracefully as you could manage, offering them a courteous greeting. The man’s dark brown eyes were warm, but behind their softness, you saw a glint of sharp intelligence and a touch of mischief, as though he saw through everything around him. Then, your gaze fell upon the woman. Her eyes—a striking shade of blue—were unlike any you had seen before, deep and captivating, like the ocean’s endless expanse. You found yourself unable to look away, entranced by their beauty. Noticing your gaze, she offered you a small, knowing smile, soft yet tinged with a subtle seductiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Why would a noble lady be here without anyone to protect you?" the man asked, his gaze drifting over the surrounding deep mountains looming over them.

Hearing his voice so clearly, you began to suspect the man was, in fact, a woman. Her voice was captivating, with a rich, melodic quality, yet there was a subtle softness in her frame—a faint curve at her chest that might go unnoticed by most.

"I always come here," you touched your wrist. "Whenever I feel the need of an escape." You leaned back against the well, feeling the cool stone pressing into your back, grounding you.

The woman exchanged a look with her companion before shifting closer and leaning against the well wall beside you. She gave you a mischievous smile. "Wanna talk about it, doll?"

"I don't even know you," you replied cautiously, sizing them up.

Both exuded a quiet authority, an unmistakable presence. It was obvious they were not ordinary travellers—they bore the poise and refinement of nobility. But were they friends or potential adversaries?

The woman in men’s clothing smiled, her eyes briefly darkening as a cloud cast a fleeting shadow over the sun.

“I’m Rio,” she said, her voice lilting like a soft melody as if each syllable held a secret. Her gaze slid toward the woman standing beside you.

“I’m Agatha,” came the whispered reply, the words warm and close, her fingers grazing yours, sending a shiver of electricity down your spine.

"Rio, Agatha," you murmured, savouring the unfamiliar rhythm of their names as they lingered on your tongue.

This was how you met them, how they welcomed you into their embrace. And it was at this moment that your status as a noble began to crumble, all in the name of seeking freedom. To be with them.

Part A | Part B | Part C&D | Part E | Part F | Part G | Part H | Part I&J | Part K | Part L | Part M | Part N | Part O&P | Part Q | Part ? | Epilogue

[evandsolo]

Home is where you are. | ft. Choi San.

choi san x reader genre : fluff, established relationship, slice of life words : 1,790. trigger warning : none ! if you see some, please tell me. plot : it's your first anniversary with the love of your life. you just spend the night together. side note : i just love San so much, i wanted to write the cutest thing with him ! I hope I gave him justice !

It’s already been a year. The best year of your life if you had to be fully honest. A year since he said he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. You knew San for a long time before, but could you imagine how amazing your life would be today ? You’ve never felt so loved before, so understood, so cherished, even though his work was taking a lot of his time. He always made sure to have enough time to spend with you.  

“I can't wait to be home and to be with you again” he said on the phone last night making your heart flutter so fast. “I Can't wait either. Will you be home when I get back from work?” You asked, hoping for a positive answer “I'm landing in the morning. I'll probably have to make a stop by the agency before heading home but I'll be there. I promise.” 

Your day was full of meetings and appointments, but you loved your job so much. You had a lot of responsibilities and you've never felt so accomplished in your life ever before. You kept on checking your phone every time you had the chance to. You wanted to make sure your boyfriend arrived safely, but the text did not arrive as soon as you hoped it would. He was supposed to arrive in the morning. He always texted you when landing. He probably had forgotten, you knew he had a lot of things to do. Or maybe the plane was running late. For a second you thought about checking his flight, just to reassure yourself. But it'd be a little bit extra. You let the hours pass by, until it was time for you to go home. Still no news of your lover. You can’t help but start to worry. It’s not usual for him to remain silent, especially when he comes home from a long trip.  

You hoppe in a taxi trying to call his best friend, who also became yours over time. “Yeah ?” answers Wooyoung’s voice on the other side of the phone. “Good lord, you’re alive !” Relief can be heard in your voice. “Of course I am ! Are you okay y/n ?” Okay ? How can you be ? “ I haven’t heard from San since you took off the plane, is he still with you ?” you ask. please please please, tell me he is with you. “No, he left the agency a few hours ago, but I'm pretty sure his phone died. You don’t have to worry, y/n” You try real hard to hold back your tears. “Yeah, I hope you’re right. Thanks Woo.” You finish, hanging out the call. Why hasn't he reached out to you yet ? On that day that seemed so special for the both of you. 

Your way home is full of questions and worries. You try to call him up but you end up again by falling on his voicemail without even a tone. Wooyoung was probably right after all, there was no need to be worried. 

You unlock your door and suddenly your heart stops in your chest. A soft dim light is diffused in the whole apartment, and the floor is covered in red petals. The room is filled with the sound of your favorite melody. All the pieces of the puzzle are assembled and you finally realize what was going on. Your eyes are starting to fill with tears as you move into the room. He stands up here, behind the central island of the kitchen. His eyes finally reach you and you can see the widest smile on his face. “ Hi gorgeous !” He says, in his joyful voice. 

Your bag falls on the ground, and you run into his arms, burying your face into his chest. You were so worried, that seeing him here was the biggest relief ever. “I’m happy to see you too, baby.” He chuckles. “ I missed you, and you didn’t send any text. I thought something bad happened to you.” You admit, keeping your face close to his heart so you could hear his heartbeat. “ My phone died before I left the agency and I didn't have any battery left in the other one. But I had to come home fast.” You sigh in relief. You finally took a second to reach out to his lips and pressed yours against it. “I missed that.” He says, when you step back. 

“What were you cooking? It actually smells so good !” You ask, leaning on the counter to see into the pot. “A Sundubu-jjigae. Your favorite.” He answers, putting a kiss on your temple. “You really make my life feel like a dream, Sannie.” You were so lucky to have him. The sound of your favorite jazzy melody echoed in the room. Everything was so damn perfect. “ Would you like to dance with me ?” He asks, behind your back. “Here ? But the kitchen is way too small, we don't have enough space to dance.” You say, pointing at the room around you. “We won’t be fancy waltzing for sure, but I just want to have you close and swing to music.” He puts his hands around your waist and you wrap your arms around his neck, and starts swinging softly around the room. Soft light coming from the little spots and candles around the room made it even warmer. That was comforting. You always dreamed of those kinds of moments, but never thought it could be real. But here you are, slow dancing in the arms of the love of your life. “ I’m so thankful for the life we share.” You whisper, eyes riveted in his. He was gentle, understanding. The most caring and beautiful soul you’ve ever seen in your life. He makes you turn around yourself and you can’t help but giggle. “I’m thankful for you, y/n” He murmurs in your ear. keeping you close to him. The music changed, and sadly you stopped the moment. 

It was time for you to freshen-up a little, as the dish was finishing to stew. You had a few minutes before you. Once you reach the room, you find a giant box on the bed. The bow on it doesn't fool you. You also had a present prepared for your lover, but this ! This was quite wild. “Love ? What's in there?” You shout from the room. “Open it, you'll love what's inside !” Curious, you pull the piece of fabric to open the box’s lid. It’s absolutely full of things, and every little detail makes your heart warmer. Twelve items, for twelve months of love. A giant bear plushie, some candies, your favorite perfume, a very pretty bracelet. amongst everything there was a silky sleepwear set. Two cats were embroidered on the top, right on the heart position. It was the cutest thing you’ve ever witnessed, and it was quite special to you. It was personalized and showed how much attention he puts in everything you said or shared this past year. You took the time to admire every single item, before heading to the bathroom for a few minutes. 

“So ? You like… Wow ! Hello Baby.”  He says, appearing in the door frame, making your smile become wider. The way he was looking at you, could make you fall in love again. “How did I get that lucky ?” He asks, as you turn to him. He had so much love in his eyes. That's something you have never witnessed ever before. And the way he looked just like a prince out of a fairytale. His half buttoned shirt, rolled out sleeves, perfectly adjusted to his good amount of muscles. He couldn't look more handsome than this. “ You ain’t bad either, love.” You answer him with a little voice both amused and lascivious. You loved the way his honeyskin stood out even more thanks to his white shirt. He probably would be even more handsome without, but you’ll keep that for later.

You grab the small box on the dresser before heading towards him and placing a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Here’s yours. Open it.” You invite him, a little smile on your lips. You waited for this for days. You knew he'd be so happy.  “What’s in there ?” He says, looking at it closely. But it was just a box, no brand, no distinctive signs of anything. “Just open it !” You press him with all your impatience. You couldn’t wait any longer. He opens the upper part, just to discover a gorgeous beige necklace. “Babe ?” He says, a little bit lost, when taking the object in his big hands. You can’t help but giggle. “You should just read the paper in it, before looking at me like that.” He took it with concern, and read the lines you handwritten him earlier on. 

Hi ! It’s me, Byeol. 

Apparently, you told mom you were hoping to grow the family one day. So here I am the first addition to our family. I may not be a human baby, mom says it’s a little bit too soon, but she said to me you’d be the happiest kitten dad in the world.  

I can’t wait to meet you ! You and mom will come and get me tomorrow morning. 

See ya, Byeol ! 

“Is it real ?” He said, lifting his head up to you, his eyes sparkling with joy. You nod your head quickly, happiness reading in your features. “But you said because of your allergy we couldn’t have cats !” His cautiousness made your heart flutters. “It’ll be okay, I've discussed with doctors and I was able to be desensitized, so we will be able to accommodate her.” You didn’t tell him anything to keep the surprise total. And it worked just as you expected. “ You did that for me ?” He asks, wrapping his giant’s arms around you. “ Yeah. You wanted to have a cat for so long now. I knew you’d be happy.” He leans to you, to kiss you deeply. “Do you know how much I love you ?” He says against your lips, making you smile as you step back a little. “I’d probably love you more after the diner. Because you cannot imagine how hungry I am.” You say, leaving his arms to run to the kitchen. 

From the hallway you can hear him yelling with joy and saying "Guys! I’m going to be a cat daddy!" Probably a voice message he sent to his best friend, impatient to share the big news. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

Life was so good by his side, you hoped it would remain like that, forever. Even how fast, crazy and amazing it is. It’s just as perfect as you expected it to be.

I really hope you appreciated it, do not hesitate to reblog or to leave a note i’d love to read all about your thoughts. ✿

[hummussexual]

Excerpt:

The development follows the recovery of hundreds of bodies “buried deep in the ground and covered with waste” over the weekend at Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis, central Gaza, and at Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City in the north. A total of 283 bodies were recovered at Nasser Hospital, of which 42 were identified. 

“Among the deceased were allegedly older people, women and wounded, while others were found tied with their hands…tied and stripped of their clothes,” said Ravina Shamdasani, spokesperson for the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights. 

[amjustagirl]

Chapter 3

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 3.6k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

The fight with Number 12 is exhausting, but Hoshina Soshiro emerges victorious. 

Not that he had any doubt (lies, what a fuckin’ lie, cos there was a point where he thought he’d drop dead from exhaustion, because Number 12 really was the new improved Number 10, who’d damn near run him into the ground), but other than the fact that he’d very much like to curl up in his bunk and sleep for the next week, he is pleased with himself. 

He wonders a little about the choice of location of Number 12’s appearance. Chofu airport is outside of central Tokyo, mostly suburban other than the circle of industrial Izumo Tech buildings a few streets down which he’s too familiar with (you come to mind, but he dismisses that thought immediately), but evacuation efforts seemed relatively complete, so he doesn’t pay any of this a second thought.

Because, of course, Number 9 tries to get its dirty paws on Captain Mina Ashiro. And, as everyone knows, if Captain Mina Ashiro is absorbed by Number 9, so too with her would be the rest of Japan’s hopes of withstanding the kaiju threat. 

Hoshina Soshiro therefore has no space in his mind to deal with anything but that.

By the end of the entire ordeal with Number 9, he can barely prop his eyelids up. He has reports to make, the casualties in his division to account for, troops to rally because the kaiju threat is never over, they’ll hit exactly when his back is turned. The Captain deserves a break with all that she’s gone through today, so it’s his time to step up and support her wherever he can. 

Still, he sneaks a look at his phone. 

 <stay safe>  <don’t be eaten by a kaiju>  <eat ‘em for brekkie instead>

He’s tempted to respond, but tells himself that he has no time to. It’s not that he’s avoiding you deliberately. Things have been hectic, and you wanted distance, hadn’t you, to give your friendship breathing space, let it recover from any awkwardness that lingers. It feels strange, being bereft of you these past few months. His fingers draft texts to you before his brain catches up to remind him that he needs to stay away from you. He wanders about the base on his days off, tracing an aimless circuit between his room, the gym and his desk, burying himself in paperwork and relentless training.

He tells himself this is how it should be. Duty never stops its call. 

“Okonogi san, report on any casualties in the area.”

“Mostly clear”, she reports. “Most civilians managed to clear out with the help of the Japan Ground Self Defense Force.” 

He closes his eyes in relief, though there’s still a prickling feeling of unease. “What about the Izumo Tech buildings?” 

He recalls blowing right through some of the buildings in the compound, blasting through concrete, leaving nothing but rubble behind. Surely no one remained in those buildings. 

“Mm”, Okonogi hesitates. “We can’t say for certain but rescue workers said they may have had some people trapped in the wreckage.’

It’s not his purview to concern himself with rescue efforts when his speciality is to fight and exterminate monsters. So he returns to base, doles out back slaps and hi fives to his officers, especially his baby ducklings, as he teasingly names his latest batch of recruits, swallows perfectly marbled beef courtesy of Izumo-kun, which reminds him - 

“I may have knocked down some of your family’s buildings in a fight”, he jokes. “Send the bill to Number 12 instead of me though, a vice captain’s paycheck won’t cut it.” 

Instead of laughing at his joke, Haruichi remains pensieve. “Last I heard, a couple of our employees were being dug out of those buildings”, he says somberly. 

Soshiro forgets how to breathe. 

“There were people in those buildings?” he demands. 

“Not everyone left when the evacuation signal went off”, Haruichi replies. “Apparently some people got trapped in the weapon forge -”

His body reacts before Haruichi has a chance to finish. He doesn’t bother if he makes a scene by shooting to his feet, racing outside the mess hall to punch your number into his phone. “Pick up, damnit”, he snarls, pacing outside, pinching his nose bridge because his calls go unanswered, your phone isn’t even connected to the network - 

Perhaps you just dropped your phone in the chaos. There’s no way you’re still stuck there. You should’ve been smart enough to run at the first sign of trouble -

“Vice Captain, do you want me to check -” 

He blurts out your name. Bless Izumo Haruichi who springs into action without asking questions. 

“Hey, nii-san - yeah, look, could you help me look into something?” 

He’s probably overreacting. For all he knows, you’re warm and snug in your bed in your cramped apartment, not buried beneath tons of burnt concrete and twisted pillars. Now, in the valley of despair, he admits what he’s always known - he misses you dearly, has felt the loss of your easy friendship over the last few months, mourned the absence of your laughter and smiles. 

It hurts enough to miss you. It’s unbearable to even consider he might never see you again. 

“Yeah”, Haruichi says, face dropping. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

His blood goes cold. 

“They pulled her out of the wreckage a while ago. She’s undergoing surgery right now.” 

For the first time in his life, he rails against his duty. He can’t leave his post, but the Captain orders him to go when she catches him harassing the hospital staff with endless calls throughout the night, asking only that he return before sunrise. It’s three quarters of an hour, maybe less if he floors the car he borrowed, weaving through kaiju decimated streets. 

He’s listed as one of your emergency contacts, probably because the rest of your family’s hours away in Osaka, so the doctors fill him in on your condition, even though he’s not family. 

Bones broken, by concrete crushing your body. Right side covered in burns, from a fire spread through the wreckage. Internal bleeding, probably a severe concussion, and they’re not sure your body will withstand the combined damage from all your injuries. 

“Too soon to tell”, the doctors shake their heads. “We’ll keep you updated.” 

Soshiro wants to punch the walls. Instead, he clenches his teeth. “Please do”, he replies tightly. 

There is nothing he can do but go back to base and wait. 

The hospital probably would put him on a blacklist if it weren’t the aftermath of a national emergency considering the way he bombards them every morning and night with calls to check on your status. You go through skin grafts for your burns, and he promptly loses his mind with worry when they tell him you’re on severe antibiotics to fight off the infections. Two nights ago, the doctors called him to say that they’re wheeling you back into surgery, having detected the source of bleeding in your stomach, and after another long sleepless night, all they can tell him is that they hope your condition should stabilise eventually. 

He’s on the verge of raising his voice to tell them to shove their half baked updates up their ass, when he remembers it’s not their fault you’re lying unmoving and broken in a narrow hospital bed. 

(it’s his) 

(he did this to you)

When they finally give him the okay to visit, he rushes to your side late at night with leave from the Captain, who merely reminds him not to break the speed limit. It’s past visiting hours but the nurses know better than to get in his way as he throws open the door to your room. 

You’re hooked up to machines which pump your lungs full of air, bruised and puffy and wholly unrecognisable under bone white bandages that wrap around most of your right side. You’re so still and unmoving that - if not for the beep of the machine registering your heart beat - 

He’s not going to finish that train of thought. He’s not. 

“Hey”, he breathes. He doesn’t dare touch you, lest you shatter. 

He stays by your bedside the entire night, slouched in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs. “My week’s been awful”, he tells her. “It’s been hell trying to cobble together reports about what happened in the fight with Number 12. Plus, we have to rebuild our division and our base, so everyone’s running on fumes.” 

He talks and talks until the sun rises, and he gets up to go. 

“Don’t sleep for too long”, he says, and adds softly. “Stay safe, please.” 

The next day off he has, he returns, a large bouquet of flowers in tow. Your parents are there, finally able to make the trek from Osaka, almost impossible after the shinkansen schedules were disrupted and the highways unpassable. But they’re here, and though they look at him in askance, they quietly thank him for looking after you.

He wonders what they’ll say if they find out it was him who buried you deep in the ground. He’s too much of a coward to confess this to them when you might not wake up to see them again. 

He can’t quite put his finger on why, but he’s always been sure your mother dislikes him. Her smile, when directed at him, is too tight. She insists on you addressing him as the “young master” instead of his given name, which he prefers, and now, she laments the fact that it’s him who’s come to visit you instead of ‘that lovely Yamamoto-kun who sent those nice flowers’, when the door closes behind him. 

It’s a little petty, but he sends an even bigger bouquet of blooms a few days later, making sure to sign his name on an exceptionally large gift card. 

More information comes in on his fight with Number 12. He flips immediately to the section on civilian casualties, of which there are thankfully fewer than expected, though there’s a brief section on employees trapped in the Izumo Tech compound, of particular note because of its national security significance, though it states that several weapons technicians managed to retrieve a substantial amount of tech (specifically, blades) before the building came down on them. 

His stomach turns. He has to dash to the toilet, the taste of vomit burning acid in his mouth. 

The recruits all mutter why Vice Captain Hoshina’s in such a foul mood, forcing them to run laps for the most minor of infractions during training. He’s rude to the doctors when he calls them at night, claiming they still can’t be certain if you’re going to pull through, and even if you do, they also can’t say for sure that you’ll ever open your eyes again. 

Unable to sleep, he takes his frustration out on the training room. 

“Vice Captain.”

He snaps into a salute. “At ease, it’s after hours”, Mina Ashiro takes a seat beside him. “Staying up late to train?” 

“Yes, ma’am”, he replies. It’s the only thing that keeps his mind clear from worries. His sleep is marred by nightmares, his body unable to relax, anticipating the call from the hospital that he fears will inevitably come. 

“You were just doing your job”, she tells him. 

Despite the dark cloud he’s found himself trapped in this past week, his lips can’t help but quirk up at his Captain knowing exactly what’s on his mind. “I know”, he replies simply. “Still.” 

“Strictly off the record”, Mina says. “I’d behave exactly like you if it were Kafka in that hospital bed.” 

“Pretty sure it’ll take a nuclear bomb to take out Hibino-san but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Hmm”, Mina hums. She’s a woman of few words, so it’s rare that she seeks him out for a conversation on anything that isn’t work related. “Do you ever wonder if we’re too focused on our jobs?”

“With due respect, Captain”, he replies. “That’s probably how we’ve managed to stay alive.” 

“Yes”, she says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But sometimes I think we forget what we do this all for.” 

 “And if I may be so bold”, he ventures. “What do you do this all for?” 

“When I was eight, a kaiju attacked my hometown. It wasn’t very large, now in hindsight, but it was large enough to destroy my childhood home, horrible enough to kill my cat.”

“So you resolved to grow up and be the best sniper the Defense Force had ever seen.” 

Mina chuckles. “I don’t think my eight year old self even knew how to be so ambitious.” Her expression sobers. “No, I just never wanted to see my parents cry again.” 

“It seems you’ve achieved your goal.” 

“Have I?” she asks, pulling at her hair absentmindedly. “I haven’t been back to visit my parents in years. I didn’t even keep in touch with Kafka despite us being close friends who grew up together. Yes, maybe in the grand scheme of things, I’ve kept the wider public safe - but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve lost years of friendship, I’ve lost time I could’ve spent with the people I love.” 

“And you’re saying I’m the same?” 

Mina’s smile is serene. “It’s for you to decide that.”

She lets him ponder on her words in solitude, closing the door to the training room behind her. 

He still remembers the day he met you. 

You’re hiding behind a pillar, dressed in your kimono the same shade of blue as the hydrangeas that bloom in June. The presence of someone his age watching him spar spurs him on, makes him want to show off everything he’s got and give Sochiro a good fight. He’s convinced that the fight pushed Sochiro hard enough to grab you as a distraction from the fact that he’s actually being challenged by his younger brother. 

He doesn’t care if Sochiro’s bullying ways are directed at him. But when he makes you cry, he intervenes without thinking, even though it results in being beaten black and blue. 

But you look at him with stars in your eyes. “You’re amazing”, you tell him. For the first time in his life, Soshiro Hoshina believes that he is strong. 

It’s a cliche, but it’s easier to bear his older brother’s bullying and teasing if you’re there to spur him on with your cheerful words. You’ve always been in his corner, always happy to make a fuss over him, ooh and aah over every new move he learns, making him feel seen when everyone else’s attention is always focused on Sochiro, his more brilliant, gifted older brother

(to be seen is to be loved) 

You’ve supported him through every rainy day, every snowy day, every day of his life since his childhood, making it your life goal to craft the swords he wields. “I’ll make the sharpest blade so you can go be the best swordsman in the world!” you promised him, and so you have. You took up your family’s craft despite being but a slip of a girl, spending hours in the choking heat to learn a dying craft. You worked with an unerring focus in school, first to get into the country’s top engineering course, then graduating with flying colours to land a job at Izumo Tech, spending years subsisting on cup noodles and energy drinks. 

He’s never once even considered the toll it must’ve taken on you, the sacrifice of any semblance of a social life, the sacrifice of leaving Osaka, the comfortable cocoon of your family and friends to follow him to Tokyo. He’s ashamed to admit that he never gave any of this any thought, never really considered what it was like for you, only taking what you were too happy to give, your attention, your time. Every choice you’ve made, you’ve only made for him.  

And how has he repaid you? 

By running away when you admitted to feeling more than friendship for him. He convinced himself at the time with the excuse that he’s too busy, he really has no space in his life for anything but work and the art of the sword. It is all he’s lived and breathed for his entire life. 

But now - 

Now that he’s on the cusp of losing you, he thinks about the sun in your smile, the steel in your spine. He thinks about how much he admires your work ethic, your talent, your warmth and kindness. He remembers how much your friendship chased away the shadows of his self doubts, how you helped shoulder the burdens of chasing his dreams. 

Every rest day he gets to spend off-base, he chooses to spend it with you. Either at a cafe, which you always let him pick, allowing him to satisfy the cravings of his sweet tooth, or in the cramped apartment you call home, indulging in a fizzy can of beer as he talks your ear off about everything and nothing at once. With you, he can be Soshiro Hoshina without pretence, because there’s nothing about him that you haven’t seen. 

He’d ignored that twinge in his chest when you asked about getting yourself a boyfriend, fighting the urge to blurt out that he doesn’t think there’s a guy out there good enough to deserve you. So much so that he buries his relief when you admit that you’re not actually dating anyone by flippantly downplaying how much you mean to him, giving you instead the impression that you’re only worth as much as your usefulness to him. 

No wonder you’d been avoiding him. He didn’t even give you a chance to lick your wounds in private, cornering you, pressing you until you reveal your feelings for him. He’s so thrown by your confession that he reacts by running and hiding, doesn’t spend the time to unpack how he truly feels, doesn’t spare a thought for how you might feel, having your feelings thrown in your face so cruelly. 

How had he been this stupid? 

Worse yet, it’s his fault you’re fighting for your life in a narrow hospital bed. Collateral damage is unfortunately part and parcel of kaiju extermination, he knows that, but he was having fun swinging his sword, never thinking that he might be the cause of you never opening your eyes again. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve the chance to look you in the eye, never mind stand by your side. 

Your mother makes that clear the next time their paths cross that she’s of the same view. She’s stiffly polite, as if too painfully reminded that she has to be cordial to the second son of her husband’s longtime business associate, but after she pointedly asks him to shift his flowers to the side to make room for Yamamoto-san’s potted monstrosity, he goes in with a direct attack.   

“You don’t seem to like me very much.” 

To her credit, she doesn’t try to lie. “I care for my daughter”, she replies. 

“So do I”, he retorts without pause.  Because he does, even if he’s stupid enough to realise it a decade too late. 

“Hm”, she grunts, her doubt clear. 

“Since I was eight and she was seven”, he says, the words awkward in his mouth because it’s strange to admit how he feels about you to your mother who clearly disapproves of him, but it’s also a relief to put it to words. “I think I’ve always cared.” 

“I don’t think she knows that”, your mother says, the gentlest he’s ever heard her.  

“If she wakes up - ”, he corrects himself immediately, “when she wakes up -”, but even then his voice falters, because it’s been so long that you’ve been still and unmoving in this bed, swaddled in hospital sheets that too closely resemble a shroud. 

By the gods, what if it’s too late -

“When she wakes up”, your mother says without a tremble of uncertainty in her voice, “you should tell her that yourself.” 

He wishes he had an ounce of your mother’s unwavering faith in fate, because weeks later, your room remains colourless, white and sterile. He places yet another bouquet by your bedside, an array of blue and purple hydrangeas, the last of this year’s summer.

“Wake up”, he tells you. “Last chance for us to catch the fireworks festivals and eat shaved ice. I won’t have to steal your ice cream if we go.” 

You don’t move. 

“Your brother’s wedding’s been postponed because everyone’s waiting for you. Better get up soon, cos’ no one wants to get married in the winter.”

The room remains silent. 

The linoleum of the floor is so beige it makes him want to stomp a hole right through it, make it a little less bland and unappealing. He can’t bring himself to nod at the terrified nurse who squeaks at him to leave the room when it’s time to change your dressing. He’s not known to be emotional, but grief claws up his sternum, longing has his throat in a chokehold. 

“When you wake up, I’ve got a question to ask you. Don’t you wanna wake up to find out what it is?” 

He doesn’t know why he expects a response. 

“Stay safe.” A quiet sigh. Seeya soon.” 

It’s almost dawn by the time he pulls into the base.

Rain drums on the roof of the car, the morning a greyish, cloudy blue. He pulls on his combat jacket, the skin at the back of his neck prickling into goosebumps. His phone rings just as he gets out of the seat, thumb swipes right promptly when he sees the hospital’s number light up the screen. 

“Vice Captain Hoshina speaking.” 

“S-sir”, it must be that nervous nurse from earlier in the night. “You asked us to call if there’s any change in the patient’s condition -”

The beat of his heart grows thunderous in his ears. 

“Yes?” 

a/n: *dum dum dummmmm* another cliffhanger!!!

[fettuccin-e]

Hey! Congrats again on your follower milestone! <3

From the smutty prompts, can you do number one from the nature category with Miguel, please? :))) xoxo

Hi!!! omg this prompt is soooo soft and sweet and MIGUEL FUCKING DESERVES IT!!! so thank you so so so much for requesting this is some sappy crap that i had just a grand ol time writing!!!

Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, established relationship, outdoor sex (but they are literally the only ones there so no exhibitionism), unprotected piv (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), riding, sappy very cheesy very fluffy many cavities (w/c: 1.1K)

Prompt: sensual sex in a secluded meadow during a picnic. 

He doesn’t like to go away often, but sometimes, the need to just spoil you gets to be too much. He’s away from you far too much, burying himself in work and experiments, to the point that he’s sure you’ll leave him. But you’re always there, waiting for him with a beaming smile and reaching for him like he never left.

So of course he has to spoil you.

It didn’t take LYLA long to find this dimension at his request: one where New York is empty, Central Park grown over the entirety of the city, the pavement covered in soft flowers, and skyscrapers covered in creeping vines. And God, you had practically glowed when he showed you the little picnic he had set out, a soft blanket nestled in a little grove of wildflowers, a rainbow of petals and leaves covering the lush earth. A little piece of paradise just for the two of you.

“I didn’t, um,” he stumbles over his words, heart beating out of his chest at how fucking beautiful you look, eyes alight as you look up at him with a gaze so adoring, his knees might give out on the spot. “I just brought some food from the cafeteria, since I can’t cook for shit and I um- I wanted to surprise you.”

You collide into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs as you kiss him fiercely. “It’s perfect, Miguel,” you murmur against his lips, “absolutely perfect.” He feels like you're talking more about him than the picnic, but smiles nonetheless.

You feed him little bits of fruit and empanada from the cafeteria back home, but he swears that it tastes so much better from your loving hand. He feels a little out of place here, crushing flowers beneath his hulking body. But you’re ethereal, little butterflies flitting around you, drawn to you, just as he is.

He recklessly plucks a purple flower from the ground, the prettiest one he can find, and tucks it behind your ear. Hobie would tease that he’s getting soft, but the way you giggle, light and airy and effervescent, makes his chest tight with delirious happiness, and it’s all worth it.

You meet his lips in a gentle kiss, and you taste of the strawberries he brought for you. You’re so warm, warm like pure sunlight in his hands and he can’t help but pull you into his lap, picnic forgotten, holding you like you’ll disappear in a moment. But you break from his lips, cupping his jaw and smiling in a soft, gentle way that feels like you’re here to stay forever.

He peels your dress off, slowly and deliberately, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your tits, as he bares your body to his gaze. He only takes his own clothes off when you beg him for it, rucking his shirt up over his stomach as you whine into his mouth.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and your breath catches in the back of your throat as he rubs gentle circles into your clit over your panties. “So beautiful, can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers, and with the way he’s playing with your pussy, the only thing you can do is desperately lick into his mouth as you rock your hips into his hand.

You lean into him, pushing on his shoulders ever so gently as you lay him back onto the plush blanket. He could fight back, push you onto your back instead, but something about this, the sun shining on your hair, the way you taste, how soft you are in his hands; it’s all making him melt back into the flowers as you lean over him. I can have this, he thinks to himself, I’m not going to lose this. There’s no rush.

When you eventually pull your panties to the side, letting him sink into you ever so slowly, Miguel is sure that he’s found heaven. You’re practically shining, an angel in real-time, as you roll your hips forward, clenching around him as you rake your nails down his chest in a way that makes him gasp beneath you. 

“God, look at you,” you say, before it tapers off into an agonized whine as Miguel’s cock plunges into you just right. “So perfect for me, treating me so fucking- ah, good.”

Miguel grasps desperately at your hips, trying to help you as you drop onto him over and over and over again. Your praise makes him whine, his hips jerking up to plunge into you even deeper as his mind goes fuzzy with need. ”Can’t believe you’re mine Miguel," you whimper, "Can’t believe you chose me.”

He lunges up on his arms at your words, pressing his lips to yours in a sticky kiss that has the both of you moaning in tandem. “I’ll always choose you, princesa. Mi vida, eres mi vida.”

The grove is quiet, the obscene sounds of your bodies meeting over and over mixing with the sounds of his groans as you fuck yourself on his cock. You practically wail when his calloused fingers come to rest on your achy clit, rubbing hard, slow circles that have your head spinning. His cock reaches so deep like this, stretching you out, owning you in only the way that he can.

“You going to cum for me, beautiful?” he husks, sounding like he’s just run a marathon. “C’mon, baby, soak my cock with this pretty pussy.” You’re nodding furiously, bouncing desperately on his fat cock as he rubs your clit just fucking right-

You gasp, soundless and overwhelmed as you cum around him, leaning forward to kiss him, hoping to ground yourself with his mouth. Miguel curses against your lips, mumbling something in Spanish as he pulls his hand away from your clit to wrap around your back, like he can’t possibly get close enough.

He thrusts up into you once, twice, before stilling with his own orgasm. You imagine that you can feel him filling you up, claiming you in the most intimate way possible.

You break the kiss, pressing your forehead against his as you both catch your breaths. As he blinks up at you again, eyes round like he can’t believe that you’re actually here, that it wasn’t all a dream, you can’t help but giggle softly, pecking him quickly on the lips.

And he smiles, in the only way he does with you. No holds barred, unabashed happiness radiating off of him. “I love you,” he whispers, like it’s a secret.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. You breathe together, letting the calm coolness of the air rush over you both, the sounds of the breeze rustling the flowers and trees, the incessant beating of your hearts.

This is home, Miguel thinks, wrapping you tighter in his arms, I’m finally home.

[sayruq]

The development follows the recovery of hundreds of bodies “buried deep in the ground and covered with waste” over the weekend at Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis, central Gaza, and at Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City in the north. A total of 283 bodies were recovered at Nasser Hospital, of which 42 were identified. “Among the deceased were allegedly older people, women and wounded, while others were found tied with their hands…tied and stripped of their clothes,” said Ravina Shamdasani, spokesperson for the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights. Al-Shifa discovery Citing the local health authorities in Gaza, Ms. Shamdasani added that more bodies had been found at Al-Shifa Hospital. The large health complex was the enclave’s main tertiary facility before war erupted on 7 October. It was the focus of an Israeli military incursion to root out Hamas militants allegedly operating inside which ended at the beginning of this month. After two weeks of intense clashes, UN humanitarians assessed the site and confirmed on 5 April that Al-Shifa was “an empty shell”, with most equipment reduced to ashes. “Reports suggest that there were 30 Palestinian bodies buried in two graves in the courtyard of Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City; one in front of the emergency building and the others in front of the dialysis building,” Ms. Shamdasani told journalists in Geneva. The bodies of 12 Palestinians have now been identified from these locations at Al-Shifa, the OHCHR spokesperson continued, but identification has not yet been possible for the remaining individuals. “There are reports that the hands of some of these bodies were also tied,” Ms. Shamdasani said, adding that there could be “many more” victims, “despite the claim by the Israeli Defense Forces to have killed 200 Palestinians during the Al-Shifa medical complex operation”.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Inn Love Chapter 3

one two

cw: money issue talks, feelings of failure, james and reader being in love and idiots, a little angst (?) friends to lovers

wc: 2.6

“It’s not looking good,” you mutter to Mary, head in your hands as you go over the accounts one more time. 

“It’s the off season, we’ll find something else to do.” 

She’s too kind, too understanding. You wish she’d blow up at you and quit for not being able to pay her on time. 

You sigh, long and hard. You have to figure it out. The Secret Garden is your baby, and even though this is your second year owning it, you’ve still not figured out how to supplement the off season so you make a profit. 

You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to. 

“We might have to. How do you feel about starting up line dancing lessons for a little bit? Just until I figure it out?” 

Mary grins, nodding her head. “I’ve missed it some. Won’t exactly be hard to get back into.” 

Mary’s the best worker you have. The only one you have really, but she’s still the best. 

You close up your books, and double check that all the rooms have been checked out of and begin locking up. 

James is waiting for you on your front steps, hat tipped low as he leans against one of the beams. 

“Hey Jamie, didn’t know you were stopping by.” 

You try for chipper, a smile in your voice as you hold your tote bag on your shoulder. 

“Wanted to see if you wanted to get lunch with me.”

You pause, reaching right in front of him. It’s instant, the way a frown fights for the space of your smile. It’s also instant the way James notices. 

“What’s wrong?” He takes your bag from you, leading you to his truck. 

“Nothing. Where are we getting lunch?” 

James frowns a little bit, but doesn’t press. “Had Chinese dropped off to the house, got all your favourites.” 

You grin, James does this a lot and it makes your stomach flip every time. 

“Meet you there?” 

James frowns again, then shrugs. “Yeah, darling.” 

You double back to your own truck, James setting your bag in the bench seat. 

You watch James pull out first and take a moment to collect all your worry and all your anxiety and stuff it deep in your chest, burying it with a bit of hay before sighing. 

You can’t let James see you’re worried or anxious, he’ll sniff the information out of you and if you tell James then you’d have failed. 

The first year it was understandable, the second year; you’re not sure you could tell the person who helped you build the inn from the ground up that you’ve been having months of money troubles. 

You pull up behind James, sliding out of your car and racing him to the front door. 

“You still cheat.” he says with a smile, you shrug while pushing open the door. Inside James’ house, you’d think it was hot, all the southern heat trapped in the walls, but it’s always cool. 

He’d explained it to you once, the stone and wood kept it cool, but also he had put in a central air con to maintain the chill. 

“I got shorter legs than you James, it’d never be fair.” 

James shakes his head, following you to his dining table where all the boxes are already laid out. 

“How much noodles am I allowed?” James rolls his eyes. You always eat most of it and he always gets you your own box because why deprive you of your favourite thing?

James doesn’t think there’s actually anything he could deprive you of. 

“Does lack of sleep mess with your memory?”

You grin when he passes you an entire box, and then the rest of what you usually like.

As you eat, the talking kind of subsides, which is weird by yours and James’ standards.

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” He asks when you migrate to the living room, laying out long on his sofa while he sits with your feet in his lap. 

“What do you mean, Jamie?” You try hard not to stiffen your body as you respond. 

He sighs, hands squeezing the arches of your feet. “I dunno, something feels wrong. Like you feel down.” 

God you could cry right now. James has always been in tune to you like this, as you are with him, but it sometimes gets to be too much because lying to your best friend hurts. Especially when he can tell something is off. 

“Just tired I guess.” you shrug one of your shoulders. James hums but doesn’t say anything and you feel guilt like a hot poker in your stomach. 

You wiggle your toes in his lap and his hands fall back to massaging them. 

“Wanna watch ‘How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days’?” 

James never has to ask twice. 

You don’t mean to, but you and James fall asleep right there on his sofa. Some time during the night you’ve shifted, he’s laying under you and your head is on part of his chest with your legs tangled up. 

The only reason you wake up is because James’ alarm is blaring and you’ve got the worst crick in your neck.

“Make it stop,” you grumble, hiding your face in his chest as he stretches. It’s comfortable even for friends, the way James holds onto your waist as he leans over you to grab his phone. 

“Shit, s’nearly four. You gotta go darling.” 

You’d lasted nearly a whole three minutes without thinking about the fact that The Secret Garden wasn’t doing well. 

Almost awkwardly, which is strange for you and James, you sit up. As you stretch all your joints crack and you sigh where James winces. He’s always hated how you can just crack your bones like that- he worries you’ll break them one day. 

“Nah I got the day off.” 

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “So the TSG is closed today?” 

You wish your friend wouldn’t ask so many questions. Lying to him is hard work. 

“Mary’s running the morning shift today.” James looks a little sceptical but drops it, making his way to the stairs. 

“M’gonna get ready. You staying on the ranch then?” 

You nod, what else is there for you to do? Plus if you use your ‘day off’ to be anywhere but the ranch, say going job hunting or to the bank, your quiet little town will somehow have your going-ons back to James in no time. 

“Heat up breakfast and I’ll make us coffee.” James is back down in ten minutes, showered and changed into his wranglers, a thin white t-shirt and his work boots. 

You’re sure you’ve got yours around here somewhere.

James and you work like a well greased machine, making breakfast and coffee and doing the dishes all in one go. 

He tilts his head to the screen door in the kitchen that leads to his side porch.  

“Wanna watch the sunrise with me and then go round do some ranch chores?” 

“Still got my boots in the coat closet?” you ask and James rolls his eyes. 

“When has anything of yours left this house? You’re everywhere in here.” His gaze is too intense for you to laugh it off. It also makes you feel like you’ve caged race horses in your stomach and they’re butting their fences. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Jamie.” is all you can manage before going in search of your boots.

James doesn’t think it’s a bad thing at all. Honestly, he wishes there were more of you in his house; he’s just not sure if saying that to you will cost him everything. 

Shoving your feet into the boots you sigh, then take a peek out at the sky and shiver. “I’m taking a coat.”

“Take anything you want.” 

This is why you can’t tell James about your money troubles. He’s going to give you anything to turn it around, but you’re not sure if anything he can give will. You also can’t use him anymore than you already do. 

“Race you to the stables!” James takes off before you can even put down your empty mug. 

“You’re such a cheater!” You whine as you race behind him, his laugh floating back to you as you reach the stable doors. 

“Takes one to know one,” he says playfully, causing you to roll your eyes.

James holds the door open for you and as soon as you get in you head for Snowglobe. 

“My baby,”  you coo, already kissing the side of his face while James lets his own horse, Landslide, out.  

“You’d swear he wasn’t nearly twenty three.”

“Don’t remind me Jamie.” you grab a brush and go through the usual maintenance just as James does with his horse. 

“We’re riding up to the fences to check on the horses, then we’re feeding them.” James talks about his day like it’s easy, but you remember the hard work that goes into ranching. You’ve got your work cut out for you, and you’re not even doing the hard stuff like moving hay or any of that. 

“Lead the way, Cowboy.” 

After a couple hours, you go back to the big house and take a shower, well and truly exhausted. James wouldn’t let you haul hay, so you’d been feeding the animals, cleaning the stables and doing a bit of general cleaning up around the ranch while he and his farmhands mended parts of the fence, herded the cows and hauled the dried heaps of hay. 

By the time James comes in, you’re halfway through preparing dinner- beef stew. 

“I would’ve cooked after my shower, darling.” James says as he hangs up his hat and boots. 

“Yeah, but now by the time you come back down, we can eat together.” 

James frowns again, you’ve never been away from TSG for this long since it’s been opened and it’s worrying him that you won’t talk to him about it. 

If he’s honest, you haven’t gushed about the inn since you left it yesterday- which is very unlike you. That place is your pride and joy and everyone knows it. Especially James. 

He holds his tongue on his worry and nods. 

“I’ll be back in ten.” 

Through dinner, you’re on your phone, checking your accounts, trying to see where you can make more money or if you’ll have to do the one thing you don’t want to. 

After your sixth sigh in ten minutes, James sets his cutlery down and reaches a hand for you.

“Darling, I know you said it’s nothing, but it’s clearly not. Can you tell me what’s wrong, please?”

Before you can answer, Sirius bursts through James’ house. 

“Did you see TSG’s been closed all day? Wonder if everything’s okay.” 

You freeze in your seat when James turns to you with wide eyes and a slack jaw. 

Sirius coughs to dispel his embarrassment. “Sorry doll face. But why are you closed? Is everything alright?” 

You can’t even be upset with Sirius because for all of his faults, he’s always concerned about you. He feels very much like an older brother in that way, even when he’s giving you shit. 

You rest your head on the table and sigh. 

“Don’t be upset Jamie,” you start, slow and more than a little nervous. You don’t know how you’ll feel if James is angry with you. You don’t want to feel like a failure to him. You don’t want to fail yourself even more. 

“I think I’m gonna have to close the inn.” 

Sirius gasps, James frowns. “Forever or for a while?” 

You lift your head, “For a while. I’m not sure how long. I’ve got to go over the account but we’re not making a profit right now.” 

“Darling,” he says at the same time Sirius swears. 

Tears spring in your eyes. “I know, it hasn’t been making profit or any sort of money for a couple months but I thought it would pick up again, but I guess late summer is not our season.” 

James stands quickly when your first tear falls and Sirius ruffles your head. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about, it happens. I can help you work through it.” You shake your head at James’ proposal. 

“You helped me start it up and I can’t even keep it running through the entire year. I can’t expect you to help me every year that I have a slow period.” 

Sirius tuts, “You could always sell your bakes in the off time, dollface.” 

James wipes your tears away, “I can still help. I don’t mind helping out.” 

You shake your head. Sirius seems to get it before James does, and what it is you’re trying to say. 

“No Jamie, I think maybe working on the ranch or doing a little baking on the side would be good. Right doll?” 

You nod, “I don’t wanna keep using you Jamie.” 

James tuts, tilting your chin up. Sirius takes his cue and goes into the kitchen, looking through James’ pantry. 

“You don’t use me. You’ve never used me.” It’s hard to argue with James when he speaks with such conviction but you know you have. 

“But I did. When I was opening up TSG, it was you helping me.” 

James smiles then, “Yeah I helped, darling. It was a mutual thing. We’re friends, of course I helped you. And I can help again, but if you want to do this part on your own, I’d get it.” 

James wipes your tears, gentle and sweet as ever. “I need to go do a final closing for the season and set some things in place, but can I stay here in the meantime?” You force the words out, soft and whispered against the space between you and James. 

“You can stay here as long as you like,” 

“Thanks Jamie.” 

He shrugs, dimple poking out in his cheek as he smiles at you. “You’re always welcome darling, c’mon I’ll drive you to TSG and help with lock up.” 

As it turns out, telling James you’d been struggling wasn’t that bad. It was hard and you’d felt like a failure for a little bit, but he talked good sense into you and now you’re staying with him till the start of autumn. 

“I can work the ranch, Jamie.” You proposed on your second night on his sofa. 

“You cannot work the entire ranch.” James wasn’t even being funny about it either. You really can’t. You get cut up easily and you blister worse than he does. 

“Okay, I can work the stables.” 

James rolls his eyes good naturedly, tossing a bit of popcorn at you. You’d both been watching a new horror that James had seen advertising. Watching is a generous word because you both talk through all the dull parts and you squeeze his fingers in anxiety during the freaky parts. 

“As opposed to?” 

You giggle, “Hey, I can work the garden or help milk the cows.” 

James chuckles then, his dimple on display making you want to poke your finger in it. “Same cows you’re afraid of? You can work the stables darling, you know your way around it.” 

You squeal, leaning up and closer to James to kiss his cheek. You love doing it because James goes red hot and can’t stop his flush. Even as kids he’d go beet red the minute you gave him a kiss to his cheek. 

“You’re the best James. The best ever.” 

He grins, “I’m glad you finally noticed.” The pillow behind your head whacks him in the face as you groan. 

“That was yuck, don’t ever say that again.” James laughs through your disgust, slotting your pillow behind your back again and holding your feet in his lap as the horror builds. 

[typhlonectes]

Western Spadefoot (Spea hammondii)

If it (kinda) looks like a peanut, is the size of a peanut, and smells like a peanut, it must be… a western spadefoot. Western spadefoots really are about peanut-sized, about 1.5 - 2.5 inches long. Plus, they do actually smell like a peanut too. At least to some people. They secrete an irritant from their skin to deter predators that, by some accounts, smells like peanuts. While it may smell tasty, it’s not a good idea to put this peanut-like frog near (or in!) your mouth. To grow peanuts, growers start with raw, uncooked peanuts and bury them in the soil. Western spadefoots bury themselves in the soil too. They use the hardened spade-like appendages on their hind feet to dig themselves into the ground. They stay there for most of the year and emerge for only short times, usually around late fall and into the early spring, and it’s highly dependent on when it rains. These ‘lil peanuts inhabit parts of central and southern California. Photo: © Tony Iwane, CC-BY-NC

via: Amphibian and Reptile Conservancy

[five-rivers]

Funeral

“I’m sorry,” said Danny, speaking to the headstone in lieu of anything else to talk to.  He certainly wasn’t going to speak to the empty and expectant grave a few feet away.  “I wanted to wait.  I want to wait.  It’s just–”  He cut himself off, curling his hands into fists.  “There are so many things I haven’t seen, haven’t done.  Jazz got married, you know?  She’s pregnant.  If I was– I could have–”

He fell silent and adjusted the collar of his overcoat, trying to keep the frigid Ghost Zone wind away from his currently human neck.  

“Sam and Tucker are thinking about getting married, now that we’ve all graduated,” he said softly.  “I would have liked to see that, too.  And have a career.  Travel.  I know you wanted to do that, too.  But–”  

He broke off as his voice pitched weirdly, too high, too loud.  Sparks jumped off his fists as his emotions rose.  He flickered in and out of sight and tangibility, and his skin started to–

With an effort, he wrenched himself back together.  

“I’m sorry,” he said again.  “This is why I have to go.  I’m too unstable, and it isn’t like you.  I’m not just a danger to myself.”

(A premonition: Disturbed soil, a hand reaching out, a solid body… but there was nothing there now.  The ground was troubled only by slowly growing grass.)

He turned away from Dani’s grave and walked back to the mortuary shrine.  

The wind kicked up again.  There was ice in it.  

A motto was carved above the threshold of the shrine.  It read, LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR OWN DEAD.  Appropriate.  No one fully living would be here tonight.  Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had all wanted to be, just like they had all wanted to be there for Dani, but there were rules about this kind of thing, old rules, and–

Ice feathered out from under his feet.  And it wouldn’t be safe for them.  

The mortuary shrine was cozy on the inside, not at all like a morgue, or an embalmer’s studio.  There were some similarities, overlaps in function, but the shrine was not organized with decaying fleshy bodies in mind.  The central altar, for example, was high off the ground, for ease of access by the celebrants, but it was soft, bed-like, for the sake of the one who’d lie there.  The other altars were filled with other things, like candles, foods, oils and wines, salt, cloth, books, and strange implements Danny couldn’t name.  All things needed for a burial.  

There was other furniture, too, and the associated accouterments.  Elegant ghost lanterns and a fireplace, burning with cold fire.  Lovely chairs and small tables carved from bright wood.  Plush footstools.  Tapestries and curtains, softening the stone walls.  

Three ghosts waited for him there, the proper number for a rite like this.  Frostbite, his horns only inches from the ceiling.  Pandora, who had taken a smaller form for the occasion.  Clockwork, who looked much the same as he always did, except that he wasn’t changing forms, instead wearing a guise of solid middle age.  

(Danny still had to look up at all of them.  He'd managed to catch up to Jazz, but he'd never reached his father's height.)

“You are ready,” said Clockwork.  

It wasn’t really a question, didn't necessarily call for a response, but Danny understood.  This was his last chance to back out without any more consequences than the ones he was currently experiencing.  

But those consequences were bad enough.  He shuddered as intangibility and invisibility rippled through him again, and he just barely kept a grip on his more destructive powers.  

“Yes,” said Danny.  He looked around the shrine, nervous.  He hadn't been here when Dani did this. He didn't know what came next.  Not in any detail.  “Should I change?”

“No,” said Pandora.  “Not unless you feel the need to.  The ritual will be a guide, as it was for your younger sister.”

“Then we shall begin,” said Clockwork.  

Danny nodded.  

Frostbite came forward fist, and leaned all the way down to kiss Danny’s forehead.  “You are dead, Great One, and we will remember you.”

He stepped back, and Pandora took his place.  “You are dead, little warrior, and we will send you on with honor.”  She pressed a kiss to his forehead as well.  

Then, Clockwork came up.  He looked down at Danny for longer than the other two.  “You are dead, Daniel, and the time comes for all the dead to be laid to rest.”

When Clockwork’s lips brushed against Danny’s forehead, he felt the first strands of the ritual wrap around him like silk.  Still thin and tenuous enough that he could break free, but not without damage to both the weaving and himself.  

Frostbite, meanwhile, had turned to one of the lesser altars.  There was a small teapot chilling there, above a braiser of cold fire.  Frostbite poured its contents into a large mug, then added three scoops of shimmery white powder, each from a different small pot, before stirring three times.  

He held the mug out to Danny.  “For your nerves.”

“Is this drugged?” asked Danny, taking the mug.  He kept his tone light.  Considering the parts of this Danny knew were going to happen, that was really the least of his worries.  

“Drugged and poisoned,” said Frostbite.  “We did research into the best way to ritually account for your continued life.  This is it.”

If Danny was younger, he’d ask if it was going to kill him.  He knew better, now, about how durable half-ghosts were.  Memories of long-ago history lessons, of trivia, of drugged drinks and gentle, honored deaths on cold mountains ghosted through Danny’s mind.  But those were children.  

He raised the mug to his lips and took a drink.  It tasted of chocolate, cream, and a bewildering array of spices and herbs, from capsaicin to vanilla to rosemary.  There was also a bitter undertaste, and Danny would have pulled away instinctively, but as soon as he’d started the reflexive motion, Frostbite put a friendly but firm hand on the back of his head, and another on the bottom of the mug, keeping it tilted back.  

(A premonition: Other hands hovered nearby, ready to assist if Danny resisted.  He could feel them.  One over his nose, another stroking his throat, taking advantage of the remaining reflexes of his human body.  But they weren’t there.  Not yet.)

The rites, now started, would not be so easily refused.  

Danny drank deeply, finding a strange sort of enjoyment in the extended physical contact.  He’d been avoiding touch ever since a nasty scare with his ice powers and Sam’s skin.  There had been close calls before that, too, with his newer, more esoteric powers, but until then…

Frostbite tilted Danny’s head all the way back, ensuring the last few drops of the drink fell past Danny’s lips, then pulled the mug away.  Danny licked his teeth and lips, and swallowed one more time.  He didn’t feel anything yet.  

“What next?” he asked, wincing at the edge of power behind the question.  He should probably just.  Not talk.  Especially not with drugs in his system.  

“After a death, the first step is to clean and prepare the body,” said Pandora.  

Of course.  Danny nodded.  The mortuary shrine… wobbled.  

Frostbite swept Danny up into his arms - which would have been more embarrassing if Frostbite wasn’t huge - and carried him to one of the lesser altars.  It was smooth-surfaced and the neighboring, even smaller altars had bars, bottles, jars, basins of water, and washcloths, all arranged to stand at precise angles from one another.  He was laid down on the altar, and Frostbite and Clockwork started to undress him.  

At first, Danny tried to help, peeling out of his overcoat and sweater quickly.  But then, his movements seemed to… blur.  His mind was still sharp, as far as he could tell, but his limbs were becoming clumsy, slow.  

It was Clockwork who untied his boots, and Frostbite who unbuttoned Danny’s shirt.  By the time they got to his underthings, it felt like there was a barrier between him and his body.  Not anything solid, he could still move, still react, but something muffling, slowing.  Frostbite laid him down so that he was flat on his back on the lesser altar.  Clockwork started going through Danny’s hand with a wet, lightly perfumed, comb.  Frostbite, meanwhile, took out a set of dentists tools and eased Danny’s jaw open with one claw.  

Across the room, at the main altar, Pandora laid layer after layer of cloth.  Some of them were patterned, others plain.  Some were thick with embroidery, others were gossamer thin.  Some were edged with beads or woven with gold, others looked tattered, as if they’d been previously used for something else, the scrupulously cleaned.  

Clockwork, done with Danny’s hair for the moment, moved on to his feet.  It was hard to describe the intimacy of being cleaned like this by someone else.  By someone he knew.  He wasn’t a patient, Clockwork wasn’t a nurse.  He wasn’t an infant, and Clockwork wasn’t his parent.  But this was an act of care and love, offered without judgment.  It was also embarrassingly efficient and thorough.  When a body was cleaned, prepared for internment, it wasn't just the normal surfaces that were cleaned, but areas generally considered private.  

As Clockwork moved upwards, the powers that churned along the surface of Danny’s skin quieted.  They did not go silent - they never did, these days - but they were no longer so maddeningly active.  

Finished with Danny's mouth (which now felt much more clean than it ever did after the dentist's) Frostbite moved on to his nails, clipping and cleaning them, smoothing rough edges and cuticles.  Danny tried to be helpful with this, to at least hold his hands in the right way, but the effects of the drugs were progressing.  His movements were slowing, growing smaller.  

He should be panicking.  The loss of control, at least, should bother him, given the constant vigilance his rapidly growing powerset required.  But, as a human, his emotions were still principally dependent on physical systems and chemical reactions.  His heartbeat was slow, and growing slower.  

They turned him over to work on his back, and Danny half-dozed, eyes barely open, as they diligently scrubbed him clean.  

Then, he was on his back again, anointed with oils and perfumes, smokes and incense wafted over him.  Something wet drew a line from his lips to his groin.  

Danny's heart twitched to a stop. 

Blue-white rings flared from his core in an instant, painfully arresting the moment of death, then swept out to Danny's extremities.  He flinched, twisting on the table, onto his side, suddenly able to move again.  Everything was too bright, too loud, too close, too present.  He covered his face with his arms.

The panic he’d missed earlier was in full force now, shining bright and pure and crystalline in the way only ghostly emotions could.  He was in danger.  He was dangerous.  He could feel his powers coiling, ready to strike, whether it be his will or against it.  He fought them, and paid the price, bones and skin going soft, their fine, detailed structures destabilizing, running like wax, like the flesh of a caterpillar in a cocoon.  

A hand scooped through his sticky, melting flesh and pressed a cool, hard, surface to his lips.  He drank.  It was the same thing Frostbite had given him before, but without the bitterness.  With every gulp, the ritual spun onwards, strands thickening, multiplying.  By the time he was finished drinking, his skin was sticky and damp, but solid again underneath that.  

“No poison this time?” he asked.

“Just because you cannot taste it does not mean it isn’t there,” said Frostbite.  “Do you know what separates a medicine from a poison?”

“Dosage?” hazarded Danny.  Jazz was an MD.  He’d picked up a few things.

All three of the older ghosts chuckled.  Frostbite went as far as to ruffle his hair.

“He does learn,” said Clockwork, unzipping Danny’s jumpsuit (it had grown with him) and gently pushing aside Danny’s hands when he moved to help.  

Whatever was in the second drink, if there was anything at all, it didn’t act nearly as quickly as the first.  He could feel so much more, his sense of touch unblunted.  It made the process of Frostbite, Clockwork, and Pandora undressing him all that much more, especially when they chided him (ever so gently) for trying to help them, for doing anything but lying there like a corpse.  

(Deja vu: Rituals as old as humanity, reaching back, reaching forward.  The preparation of the dead, laying them to rest.  The duty of the family, to clean and prepare, to stand watch, sit vigil, to March the wake, to mourn, to celebrate.  The dead did not move to help.  They did not move at all.)

They washed the spaces between his toes and fingers, his teeth, the backs of his eyelids, the insides of his ears, every nook and cranny they had cleaned when he was in human form was cleaned again.  The stickiness from his earlier destabilization was wiped away, replaced with a dry, fresh feeling.  Invisibility and intangibility stopped wisping across his skin, too tightly bound by the ritual to be used even by accident.  

The perfumes they used now were different, they tickled at his brain and core both, summoning feelings of nostalgia, regret, longing, grief, quiet, peace.  They traced symbols in them, in languages Danny didn’t know but could feel the meanings of, of linear past and spreading future, of the pinpoint present, of decay and rot, of the loosening of muscles, of the blurring of boundaries, of reconstruction, of change, of stability, of things remade, of things caught in time forever.  

Frostbite picked him up and brought him to the main altar.  It was soft, piled high with cloth.  They felt cool and silky on Danny’s bare skin and there was a pillow under his head.  Absently, he ran his palm back and forth across the top cloth.  Or, no, not quite the top one.  The main one he was touching was large, large enough to hang off the altar and pool on the ground, but there was a smaller strip of embroidered cloth, almost like a long belt or ribbon, at the height of his biceps.  

There was, he noted, another such ribbon under his ankles, and another under his knees.  He wondered what they were for.  

He didn’t have to wonder for long.  Clockwork picked up the long ends of the ribbon and wound it around his ankles in a complicated fashion.  The twists and turns showed off the intricacy of the abstract embroidery.  He finished it off with a knot that disappeared under the rest of the ribbon.  

The strings of the ritual gathered faster, wound thicker, tighter, with a physical anchor.  

Clockwork moved on to the ribbon at Danny’s ankles.  The weaving was slightly different, but had the same effect. 

He expected the one under his arms to go the same way.  But instead Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork gathered flowers from another altar.  They were all black and white, so it took Danny a moment to recognize them.  Lilies, roses, marigolds, carnations, asphodel, nettle, nightshade, poppies, lycoris.  Flowers for death, for funerals, for mourning.  

Clockwork wrapped Danny’s hands around the bouquet, and pressed the ring finger of his left hand against a rose thorn.  A drop of blood welled up.  Blood, not ectoplasm.  Danny stared, surprised.  But he didn’t get to stare long.  Clockwork produced another ribbon, and wrapped it around the flowers and Danny’s wrists.  

Then, he picked up the other ribbon under Danny and tied it around his upper arms and elbows before tucking the ends into the ribbon around Danny’s wrists.  

It all felt very secure.  

Under normal circumstances, Danny would have been able to escape such flimsy restraints in a hummingbird’s heartbeat.  But it wasn’t just the ribbons that held him.  He could still escape, yes, but it would take a great deal of effort.  

He twitched his shoulder, just to check that he could.  The motion was slow, heavy, and smaller than he expected.  

Pandora put a stilling hand on his shoulder and held a coin up in front of his face.  It was large and silver, inscribed with symbols from languages both long dead and never alive.  Danny wondered if they had made it just for this occasion.  

“A last chance,” said Pandora.

His last chance to back out, is what she meant.  To say something.  He could do it.  He could stop the ritual and suffer the consequences.  He could be a danger to everyone around him for the rest of his existence, however long or short that was.  

He gave Pandora the tiniest shake of his head.  She smiled and pressed the coin against his lips.  He opened his mouth, just enough to take the coin.  It fit comfortably on his tongue, in between his teeth but not jostling against them.  If it wasn’t custom made and sized, it might as well have been.  It tasted metallic and sweet, as if, given enough time, it would dissolve on his tongue. 

Pandora took out one more embroidered ribbon and wrapped it around his jaw and the top of his head, holding his mouth closed.  There was enough tension in the ribbon to press, but not enough for its edges to dig into tender flesh.  Taken together, the coin and ribbon made an effective gag.  

His wail was now bound just as effectively as his intangibility and invisibility, as effectively as his tongue and voice.  For the first time since the incompatibility between his powers and his body became clear, the stress of keeping his wail under control was lifted away.

(A possibility, unraveled: Danny standing at the center of a crater made with his own voice.  No, kneeling.  No, weeping, curled on the ground, head touching dirt and fractured concrete.  He knew those buildings, teetering on the edges of new cliffs.  He knew them.)

This was the right decision.  

The three older ghosts busied themselves at the other, smaller altars briefly, allowing Danny to collect himself and sink deeper into that sense of relaxation.  The wail wasn’t the only thing that had been taken off his shoulder.  All his other voice-based powers were similarly locked away, and he hadn’t even noticed losing his shapeshifting, but he couldn’t touch that, either.  

When Pandora stepped back into his field of view, she was holding a mask.  A death mask, more specifically, styled after Danny’s own face.  Frostbite, next to her, held a small, square cloth, like a handkerchief and a small bottle.  

Clockwork reached out and touched Danny’s face, briefly tracing each of his features.  His lips, his nose, his eyebrows.  He slid his fingers down, pressing Danny’s eyelids closed.  The motion was gentle, but held a strange sort of finality.  

Danny found that he could not open his eyes.  

Fabric, soft and smooth, whisper thin, covered his face and was adjusted, straightened.  Something fragrant dampened it from above, near his nose.  More perfume.  He inhaled.  Exhaled.  Stopped.  

Stopped.  

Stopped.

Before he could have any more thoughts about not being able to breathe, the death mask was pressed into place.  The weight of it pressed the thin shroud over his face snugly into his skin.  It made his other limitations - his eyes, his breath, his general immobility - more acceptable, somehow. 

Other talismans were placed on his skin or tucked into the ribbons.  Some, he could identify by touch.  The ticklish barbs of a feather.  The cold roundness of another, smaller coin.  The familiarity of his childhood stuffed bear.  Others, his powers identified for him.  The sparkling wonder of a lunar meteorite.  The shiver of a carved piece of ghost ice.  The thrumming power and glory of a vial of ectoplasm shed by a god Danny had fought and defeated.  He hadn’t known they’d kept that.  

But other things were too strange to identify by touch alone.  He could make guesses.  Maybe that was a flower petal, maybe this other thing was a coil of string, and while he was sure that last was paper, he couldn’t say what was on it.  

With every token placed, another one of his powers was called up and locked away, like bound by like.  His awareness of the stars winking out as the meteorite was placed was sad.  The powers he’d ‘earned’ from that god being placed firmly out of his reach, however, was only a relief.

He was verging on helplessness, now.  Helpless, but unburdened.  

Clockwork started to speak.  None of the words were recognizable, but Danny knew the feeling of a prayer.  This one was old.  Old old.  Old even by the standards of ancient ghosts.  They hummed briefly in his bones before settling in them like lead weights.  Or golden ones.  

The edges of the sheet he was lying on were lifted up and folded over him, then tucked under him.  Wound around him.  It was a winding sheet.  Of course.  Of course.  The next cloth, too, was pulled up and over him, the motion a little more brisk now that the tokens were held in place by the first sheet.  Then, the next.  Cerecloth and cerements.  

Danny twitched a little, at first, at certain unexpected touches, but when the third wrapping added  its comforting, soothing pressure he was reduced (or, perhaps, elevated) to a state of perfect limpness.  

They added more tokens between the third layer and the fourth, but Danny couldn’t even begin to guess what they were.  They were too muffled by layers of silk - those layers being both the literal layers of cloth and the figurative layers of the ritual.  

Clockwork’s prayers were getting harder to hear, but Danny felt like he could recognize some of them, now.  Snippets of Akkadian, Egyptian, Greek, Latin, a word or two off the Oracle Bones.  Prayers for the dead, for their revenge and their remembrance, for their reverence and their reward, for their repose and their return.  

He was wrapped again and again, until the pressure, the gentle rocking motion necessary to wrap him, and the nearly unintelligible rhythm of Clockwork’s prayers threatened to lull him to sleep.  

He could hear snatches of Esperanto, now, and English.  

“... rest, and rest in peace… until waking… to hope… blessing in memory…”

Some parts of it felt familiar.  Others were strange, so strange, but he was bound so securely, now, that he almost felt as if he was floating.  

“... iron and wood, we entrust this most precious… an embrace… the hallowed graves… deliver and defend…”

No, he was floating, sort of.  He’d been lifted up, sheets and all, and now he was being moved sideways.  Sideways, and now down, down, into a snug cavity.  Was he bordered by flowers?  Pillows?  Both?  He couldn’t tell.  

“... into silk… like dust by sunlight into gold… changed… after a long day, to sleep…”

A faint weight draped over him, a final sheet covering him.  He felt, with a strange sense that lay deeper than instinct, further down and closer to his heart and soul, that Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork had drawn closer, that they were kneeling beside his casket or coffin, heads bowed.  

“Now we lay thee down to sleep,” whispered Clockwork, words startlingly clear despite his voice being harder to hear than ever, “we pray thy grave thy soul to keep, until thou choose the form thou take, and the hour thou shall wake.”

“And should thou never wake,” whispered - someone.  It was getting harder to tell the muffled voices apart.  “We shall mourn for thy sake.”

Very slowly, the force pushing in and down on Danny increased, deliciously.  It was almost enough.  

(Danny didn’t know where that thought had come from.)

A loud thump shuddered through Danny.  Another.  They were nailing him in.  Another restraint.  Another limitation.  Another step towards the cumulation of the ritual.  Almost.  Almost.  

Thirteen nails sealed Danny into the coffin.  

(He had been snug before.  Now, he wasn’t sure he could have moved even if the ritual hadn’t removed the ability from him.)

(All his powers were bound.  There was no more sense of responsibility keeping him awake.  His body was cocooned in every way possible.  There was no more fear about destabilizing and melting.  None of his choices would change what would happen to him next.  Only a curiosity about what it would feel like to be buried kept him from succumbing to his soul-deep exhaustion then and there.)

Vaguely, ever-so-vaguely, Danny could feel his coffin lifted, moved.  He knew where he was going.  Out of the mortuary shrine, across the lawn, down the rows and rows of graves, and to one grave in particular.  He’d wanted to be buried next to family, and Dani was his only family available.  

They stopped.  He was lowered.  Down.  Down.  Stopped again.  

A chill stole over Danny, like the cool side of a pillow, but all over his body, as if it meant to draw out the last of the warmth of life from his ectoplasm.  Restful.  

The dirt came down in sifted shovelfuls, like rain on a roof, like distant thunder.  And– he did have more powers, either so subtle he didn’t notice them as such or as of yet undiscovered.  These were buried as thoroughly as the others.  

Up and up the dirt piled, until he could barely feel it as it came down.  Until all that was left was the weighty, solid thump of a headstone coming down.  

Then there was nothing.  Nothing but silence, stillness, silk… and sleep.

.

Danny woke with the comfortable confusion of someone who had gotten their blanket wrapped around them unevenly while they slept.  Slow, unhurried, well-rested, but just slightly less cozy than expected.  

He shifted, mumbling and rolling over.  No, that wasn’t any good.  He made a face.  There was something on his face.  He reached up to wipe it off, and the sheets wrapped around him tore like cobwebs.  

That roused him further.  This… he did not think this was his bed.  It was his, but not his bed.

He wiped something thin and crackly off his face and inhaled deeply.  Dust.  Salt.  Dust, salt, and something like decay, but sharper, fresher, cleaner.  

He breathed, remembering.  His mouth tasted like silver and sugar.  His hands quested outward, seeking, seeking, until he found the edges of the space he was in.  

This was his grave.  His coffin.  

It was bigger than he’d imagined.

His eyes opened to a darkness relieved only by his own faint glow.  The many sheets he had been wrapped in had been reduced to fragile scraps, except a very few that remained stubbornly wrapped around his shoulders.  His mask was a thin shell.  The flowers were desiccated, colorless strands and flakes.  The pillows were flat and torn, showing the wooden sides of the coffin in places.  The only token he could see and identify was the plush and pristine form of Neil Bearstrong.  He gathered the toy close, pressing him against his chest.  

He’d made it.  He was awake, aware, and apparently stable, when before he’d been bracing himself for death.  He breathed out, breathed in.  His breath caught in his throat, and he giggled.  

Did that mean Dani had made it, too?

He rolled onto his back and put a hand against the lid of the coffin.  It looked strange there.  Disproportionate.  But of course it did.  His body had just finished reformatting itself into a stable form.  Frostbite had told him that he’d probably look different, maybe even radically different.  Clockwork had even confirmed that medical opinion, from a temporal perspective.

Positives: his hand was a recognizably human hand.  He was awake.  

He didn’t dare turn human - if he even could - until he had Frostbite and the others look him over.  He wouldn’t be able to phase through the Ghost Zone’s soil.  Teleportation was inadvisable while he was this disoriented.  So were portals.  And most powers, really. 

He’d have to dig his way out.  

Bracing himself, making sure his limbs were free of restraint, he drew back his fist to punch the lid.  The dirt would come in fast, and he wasn’t sure how deep he was.  Six feet was traditional, of course, but it was also traditional for the dead to stay that way.  So.  

The lid flew upward under the force of his strike, all the dirt overhead bending away.  He grabbed the edges of the hole and pulled down, widening it enough for him to claw his way out without warping his body.  He… wasn’t quite ready for that, after the whole melting thing.  

He burrowed upward, feeling like something between a worm and a badger, batting away dirt, crawling, squirming, reaching upward.  Despite his best efforts, some of the winding sheets came with him, clinging, slowing his passage.  Still, his hand hit free air.  Grass tickled at his fingers.  He set his palm down on the ground, and pulled.  

The dirt did not want to let him go.  It pulled back, its embrace offering an eternal peace, but Danny was firm, eager to go, to see, to live.  He pushed himself up, and out, then lay, panting, on the ground.  

That had been… more tiring than expected, actually.  

Someone propped him up, large hands bringing him into a sitting position.  “Daniel,” said Clockwork.  A loose and oddly cut robe was wrapped around him.  

“Mm,” said Danny, his voice cracking.  

A cup was raised to his lips.  He drank greedily, the sweet, floral liquid soothing his dry throat.  

“Shall we get you cleaned up?” asked Pandora, another hand, laid on the center of his back.  

“Can you walk?” asked Frostbite.  “Or fly?”

“Yes,” said Danny, hoarsely.  He reached up to put his hand on Clockwork’s shoulder.  It took some to get it there.  It was further away than he’d thought.  

He was smaller than he had been.  Not entirely unexpected.  Returning to one’s appearance at death was, apparently, one of the more common ways for this to go.  But had he really been this small at fourteen?

They did not go to the mortuary shrine, but made their uncertain way to the other shrine in the graveyard: the revival shrine.  The structure was much the same inside and outside, but it had only one altar.  The rest of the space was reserved for a bath, bed, and mirrors.  

Pandora guided him to a chair in front of one of the mirrors.  Danny stared.  He wasn’t much to look at right now, but what he could see of his body… 

It hadn’t been a winding sheet dragging at him as he’d crawled through the dirt.  It had been wings.  He shrugged the loose robe off his shoulders to see them better.  They were patterned with white and black, star and moon shapes on a dark background. He had antennae.  Long, soft, feathery looking things curving up and back from his temples.  

Clockwork brought a damp cloth to his face and, slowly, began to clean away the dirt.  

“Surprised?” asked Clockwork.  

“Are you?” 

Clockwork chuckled.  

“Did Dani– Is Dani–?”

“She woke seventeen years ago,” said Clockwork.  “She is quite smug about technically being older than you in terms of lived experience.”

“She would be,” said Danny.  

He pulled away from Clockwork’s ministrations to get another look at the mirror.  He had about the same proportions he did when he was a teenager, and his hair was as white as it ever was in ghost form, but it sparkled, as if someone had dusted it with silver glitter.  His antennae matched the color pretty well, too.  Star-shaped freckles littered his cheeks, and when he tilted his head this way and that…  There was an effect like a hologram, depending on the light, of a dark or glimmering domino mask around his eyes.  

And, beneath that, his basic features, the structures of his bones…  They looked about the same as they had when he was young.  Except… softer, somehow.  More neutral.  The change, as subtle as it was, gave him a genderless mien.

(The idea of that trend continuing elsewhere on his body didn’t bother him nearly as much as he would have expected before this.)

He wondered what he would look like in human form.  But… later.  Later.  

For now, Pandora was running a tiny brush though the delicate hairs of his antennae, removing irritating bits of soil and grass.  

“In fact,” said Pandora, “I would wager that she will be smug about physically appearing older than you.”

“She looks older than me, too?” asked Danny.  “That’s hardly fair.”

“That is the way of things, I’m afraid.  She hadn’t truly died until she was buried.”  

“But she’s okay?”

“She’s doing very well, last I saw her,” said Frostbite.

“And Jazz?  Sam and Tucker?”

“All fine,” said Clockwork.  “They visit you frequently.”

Pandora did something complicated with telekinesis that pulled most of the dirt from Danny’s skin and left him feeling distinctly fluffed.  The fuzz along the bases and upper edges of his wings stood on end.  He shook himself all over, then plucked the washcloth from Clockwork’s hands so he could clean behind his ears and in-between his toes.  

“Clothes?” asked Clockwork.  

“Cut for wings?” challenged Danny.  

“Of course.”

[catcrumb]

CATCRUMB FIELD NOTE 3

(Note 1:)

going out to the grave oak grove today for sediment collection + trap check

arrived at Grave Oak Grove with little incident

sediment churn +2% in shaded grove areas. inhabitants have been raising carrion again

lumch break 12:13

LEAVING EARLY DUE TO ATTEMPTED BURYING. BY NEW BEAST. SKETCH:

[hasty black ink sketch of a dark silhouette of a furred creature with tall ears and a long tail, leaping across the note with paws in front of it]

digging claws, tufted ears, long bushy tail

back in van. can hear it trying to get under hood. car isn't starting

(Note 2:)

It's in

I'm out of the dirt. Night now. Feeling weaker. Tree above me heavy with acorns. Took some for sample. Scratches all over me. Grave dirt everywhere. No sign of the creature but some tracks. [sketch of a paw with visible claw marks]

(Note 3:)

Back at base. Took a nap. Feel a bit better. Can't stand up for long w/o feeling dizzy. Going to spend day analyzing acorns + soil.

Calls aren't connecting. Judging by scratches, might be same beast. Cool cool cool good

Better sketch: [a sketch of the same creature with much more definition, a small oval head and a sloping back, with a curled proboscis under its snout]

Features:

needle proboscis, like an over grown mosquito

muscled powerful forelimbs with massive sharp claws.

hind legs more for jumping.

BIG.

(Note 4:)

Holing up in the attic - figured it'd be better to get away from the ground. Found these notes in the desk up here. Worrying

(Note 5:)

[a blank ink sketch of the same creature but by a different artist this time. it looks similar to the other sketches but there is more definition to it: more fur, more coherency to the way it is shaped. it looks like a creature that can dig and attack. it is labeled "fig 1." a closeup of a curled proboscis is in the corner, labeled "fig 2."]

(Note 6, written in a different hand than the other notes:)

A Tumulus Lynx (Fig 1) bound to the nearby Grave Oak Grove has been stalking the station for the last 6 days. It already made an attempt to bury me beneath the central Grave Oak. I managed to fight it off, but have not gone out since. I'm going to make a break for my jeep at daybreak. Leaving these notes for any future researchers in case I cannot get this station abandoned, whether through the guild's stubbornness or my death. If you see this animal, VACATE ASAP. It will only grow bolder after its first taste of marrow. -- M. Shadow

(Note 7, back to the original hand:)

Going to try and leave at dawn. Can't do much else - don't have any water left. Leaving these with the other notes. -- C. Crumb