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which-qsmp-egg-would · 2 months ago

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Reduce Reuse Recycle

It is finally time for Tequilla's backstory! This has been a story long in the making. It's nearly as old as him! I have been ITCHING for the chance to share this with all of you so I really hope you enjoy this fic.

PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS FIC CONTAINS POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING MATERIAL. For the sake of anyone wishing to go into this with absolutely no spoilers however, I will be putting the content warnings into the ALT text of the following picture. I hope you all enjoy :)

Click on the alt for content warnings!

---

There's something pressing in on him, building pressure in his ears and a burning in his lungs. Light shimmers above him, endlessly drifting farther and farther away and he descends into the darkness below.

He reaches a hand out to the light. ‘No. This can't be it.’

A hand reaches for him, reaches, brushing against his cold claws.

His burning, panicked lungs force him to breathe, to try and recognize the figure above him. He sees blue, pink, brown, gold. blue, pink, brown, gold. And then…

—

“Momma!”

The little orange dragon giggles as he bounds up to his mom. Sharp claws tug at her large skirt. He woke up bright and early to come visit her gazebo, up on the hill that overlooks their little nook of the island. She glows against the warm tones of the sunrise where she sits on her wooden chair overlooking the ocean. Her pink dress compliments the sky as her curly brown hair compliments his own, framed by her curled horns and long ears.

She laughs with him, lifting him up into her arms. The golden bands on her wrists brush coldly on the underside of his arms. “Hello my little peanut, good morning darling.” She kisses his nose, and he kisses hers in return. “You just keep growing don't you baby? Pretty soon I won't be able to hold you like this anymore.”

Tequilla squirms and giggles as she hoists him onto her lap.

Momma laughs, squishing his face. “You look so much like me these days, peanut.” She pokes his face, intentionally getting a laugh from him. “But who gave you these freckles! Do you have another parent I don't know about? Where is he?” She feigns searching around the area.

He bats her hands from his face. “M-omma!” he laughs.

��Alright, alright. Tell me peanut, what brings you up here this morning? I can tell by that look in your eye you've got something to tell me.”

“Bea-ch today.” He says, pointing towards the ocean.

“Oh,” She scratches the back of her neck. “Today is beach day? Are you sure?”

Tequilla nods. “You a-and dad said- said.”

She strokes his hair and sighs. “That's true, we did promise you beach time after the last time.” She draws her communicator from a pocket in her dress and opens it, looking through the list. “Dad and Pipi are still asleep, do you want to wait for them? You know how much your Pipi loves the beach trips.”

Tequilla presses his hand against his mouth and furrows his brows. Dad wouldn't go into the water because of his leg. And Pipi is really protective of him in the water. And he really wants to go right now.

“Now please.” He finally says. His wings readjust as he wiggles.

“Alright,” she sighs, closing her communicator. “Your Mom is awake so let's go get her first, okay? We can grab the beach towels from the pool deck and your clothes too.” She picks Tequilla up again, out of her lap and onto the wooden floor where she can hear his claws click.

He holds onto her dress as they cross the rope bridge that connects her gazebo and the roof of his house. It sways slightly in the wind and movement of their bodies. His tail flicks and vibrates excitedly.

They descend the stairs, past Tequilla's bedroom, and onto the deck of the second floor. He scoops up his and his Momma's beach towels from by the pool as she walks around the corner and up to the large garden plot where his Mom sleeps. There are large lumps of dirt where she likes to fall asleep, amongst stones and small plants beginning to sprout.

She knocks on the wooden frame of the plot, calling out to the dirt covered lump in the middle. “Good morning Belladonna~” She sings, “Up and at ‘em, Tequilla wants to go to the beach and I need you to help him get dressed.”

There's stillness for a moment.

Then the mound begins to shift.

Slowly, a head of star leaves emerges from the dirt, large black-purple berries like buns on the sides of her head stand out against the green. She stretches, soil falling from her thin arms and chest. Her flower tail emerges last, shaking itself free of debris. She squints at the two of them, backlit by the ever rising sun.

“Doll. Sprout.” She nods to each of them.

“G-good mor-ning Mom.” Tequilla grins.

“Good morning Donnie.” Doll says, far more focused on their egg than the nightshade dryad in front of her.

The dryad lifts herself from her soil bed, running a hand between her leaves as she opens up the chest tucked just behind the plot. “So I'll get the kid dressed while you grab everything else, yeah?” She shrugs on a well worn, light weight white dress like a dandelion from the chest.

“Mmhm!” Tequilla answers, “Momma s-said tha-at I get to go to the beach.”

“Oh, so we're finally doing that? I thought that Doll and Gin would never let you leave the nook again after-”

Doll clears her throat, glaring at her co-parent with a silent ‘not here.’. She takes the beach towels from Tequilla and ruffles his hair, careful to not catch his horn. “I'm going to get everything ready at my gazebo. I'll meet you at the front door.”

She disappears around the corner with a huff, dress swaying.

The dryad pokes Tequilla. “They have me dress you because I'm the only one that can fit through your little door frame, did you know that, kid?”

Tequilla nods, feeling his tail wrap around his leg anxiously.

Donnie glances at it, and rests a hand on his face. “Don't worry about it sprout, it doesn't bother me any.” Her own flower tail subconsciously wraps itself around his.

She places her hand on his back as she leads him to his bedroom, up the stairs and through a door too small for a man but just big enough for a child. She tells him to pick out whatever outfit he wants, just as long as it is beach appropriate. The last thing they need is for him to burn his scales again or get caught by a particularly curious catfish. He emerges from the closet several times, each time showing off a different outfit as Donnie vetoes parts of the previous one. Eventually, he decides on an olive green shirt paired with dark blue swim trunks.

They pass Papa’s room as they go down the stairs, walking quietly as they listen to his snores through the locked door.

Doll is waiting just outside the front door, tapping her foot impatiently, arms full of everything they'll need for the beach trip. She had changed out of her large poofy pink lolita dress, and into… essentially the same thing, but shorter with even more frills that cover her from hips to mid thigh. The top of the swimsuit is also decorated with ruffles, and Donnie notes just how low cut the front is. In the center around her waist, of course, is Doll's signature bow. All to hide the problem, of course.

The dryad whistles, clearly trying to get a rise out of the hybrid. “Looking fancy, princess.” Tequilla bounces out from behind Donnie and hugs his mother tightly.

“You l-l-look pretty, momma!” He beams.

“Aw, thank you peanut. I'm sure that if Donnie could swim,” She glares at her, smiling in a devilish way that really makes Donnie remember she has horns, “She would have an even prettier swimsuit.”

Donnie huffs, readjusting her dandelion dress. “It's salt water,” she says pointedly, “Do you have any idea what that does to my leaves?” Her tail flicks in annoyance.

“Hence, the umbrella.” Doll rolls her shoulder, making the rainbow umbrella propped against it bounce. “You'll get to stay on the beach while I have fun with my egg.”

She readies a retort, but is interrupted by a very frustrated child voicing his displeasure by silently tugging on their skirts.

Doll immediately pivots, her voice taking on a much softer and more motherly edge than the voice she uses talking to Belladonna. “I'm sorry peanut, were we ignoring you? Here, take the towels and we'll start walking to the beach if you're ready.” She lets Tequilla lead the way, the egg walking triumphantly in front of them like a general. Donnie grumbles, annoyed at how quickly Doll forgot about her, yet follows closely behind anyway.

–

Doll is already wincing by the time they finish the short walk to the beach.

Tequilla runs ahead of them, flopping onto the wet sand with a thud. He wiggles, trying to bury himself into the beach like a desert lizard he saw once.

It takes her a moment to catch up to him, putting her luggage down gently in the sand before crouching in front of him. There's a smile on her face but her eyes are serious.

“Peanut, can you tell me the beach rules?” She prompts.

“N-no kicking ss-sand towards people,” he counts on his fingers as he recites them from memory. “No wan-dering away without supervision, no diving w-without pipi, a-and no venturing far.”

“And why do we not venture out too far?” She asks, brushing sand from his scales and hair.

“Because the beach ends quick.” he says carefully. They've told him this hundreds of times but her kid can be too adventurous for his own good sometimes. The beach itself is… safe, mostly. She scratches at her midriff absently. The area they usually go to is well scouted, with jutting rocks marking where the beach dips suddenly into the cold ocean floor far beneath. The beach is littered with shells and soft rocks from years of waves. Occasionally if they dig around they can find sea glass and small pieces of metal under the grains of sand. Tequilla loves to bring Gin here to dig with him.

“Momma?” Tequilla pulls on her golden bands. “Play?” He asks, pointing towards the ocean.

She glances at the salty expanse of water, and winces.

“I'm sorry baby,” she brushes his hair from his face as she speaks, “I'm still feeling tired from last time. But I'll be right here while you play, okay?” She and Tequilla glance at where she had put their stuff. Donnie sits on her now unfurled green beach towel, the large rainbow umbrella already open and propped up in the sand.

Her own beach towel is also laid out neatly under the umbrella.

“Make sure to stay in our line of sight, baby.” She calls out behind her as she stumbles towards the umbrella. Tequilla lets out an affirmative, excited baa in return, the sound of splashing water following immediately afterwards.

Doll collapses onto the towel with a huff of exhaustion. Pain pulls at her muscles and forces her to wince.

Donnie prods her side with her flower tail, brushing lightly against the slick fabric of the swimsuit. “Y'know, if you actually rested and stopped wearing your corset all the time that would probably heal a lot quicker.”

The hybrid lowers her head and glares at Donnie. “I don't know what you're talking about.” she growls.

She rolls her eyes at the clear display of aggression. “Well, it's pretty hard to not notice the swimsuit, princess. Your usual one is a lot more revealing. You're hiding your bandages. Did you even get Gin to check it out?”

Doll doesn't respond. She watches her son as he splashes water around with his wings.

Belladonna glances between her co-parent and her kid.

“You don't want the sprout to feel guilty, huh.” She doesn't even bother to frame it as a question.

“He has no reason to feel guilty, it's Aurelia's fault.”

Donnie groans. “Oh, cut the shit, none of us expected a shark to be there in the first place, don't blame this on the octopus.”

“She could have at least warned me that they're aggressive,” she pouts, “they weren't aggressive like THAT where I'm from.”

“Doll. You don't even remember where ‘where I'm from’ even is.” She says deadpan.

That finally makes her take her eyes off of Tequilla.

“At least I wasn't dug out of the ground by some nutcases in lab coats and transplanted to a tropical island.” Doll leers. “Maybe if you were bigger than a bush they would have had a harder time kidnapping you.”

Donnie whips up to her feet, glaring down at Doll as her tail cracks like a whip behind her. “Well at least I didn't choose to come here willingly!”

Doll rises to her feet too, now towering over the much shorter dryad. “Well excuse me,” She stomps her foot in the sand, “I guess next time I'll know better than to trust a postcard that looks EXACTLY like my sister's handwriting. I'll anticipate that it's going to lead me to an island full of crazy people and murderous bears!” Her ears flick, face dark. Her ears and cheeks are flushed with emotion.

Donnie seethes at her. “Yeah, well… w…” she trails off, looking towards the ocean with a look of growing panic.

“Well what, what other insult do you have to sling at me?” Doll shouts.

“Doll.”

She groans in anger, eyes following the dryad's gaze. “What could possibly…” Her eyes go wide as ice floods her veins.

“Doll?” Donnie says quietly.

The beach is empty.

“Where's Tequilla?”

Doll bolts upright, injury be damned. She runs through the sand, feet sinking as she feels the grains below her bare feet push against her skin, getting more waterlogged as she approaches the water. He should have surfaced by now, she thinks, He's a better swimmer than I am by now.

She scans the waters, looking for any sign of her son.

Nothing.

Suddenly, just a few feet ahead, she sees bubbles.

Without a second thought she dives into the water. The bandages around her wound fill with salt water, making the injury itch. But the adrenaline in her veins is drowning out everything but her son.

Her eyes sting as she opens them, but through the hazy vision of salt water she can see Tequilla thrashing, panicked, trying to resurface. Precious bubbles of oxygen escape his lips. She doesn't know how long he's been down here, but she has to get him out.

His hand reaches out to hers and four fingers meet five.

She gets her arms under his and tries to swim up, but is met with resistance from below.

Her eyes scan him, trying to find what could be keeping him here. His body shudders.

His tail.

His tail is caught in something far below them.

Her own lungs are screaming for mercy, but she can't pause for even a moment, not while her baby is in danger.

She dives, gripping his tail and the offending object, not even taking a second to process what was keeping him in its clutches.

She rips his tail free, blood oozing slightly from where it was caught.

Tequilla begins to float upwards and she follows, grabbing hold of his far too small body as she hauls them both up to the surface. The light of the sun glimmering ever brighter as they ascend.

It feels like an eternity has passed when they finally break through. She gasps roughly as fresh air enters her lungs.

“Come on Tequilla, just a little farther,” She rasps as they approach the beach.

She holds her son close to her chest as she swims, trying to keep her own heart from escaping her burning chest as she feels how still he's become.

“Hold out just a little longer baby, please hold on.” She mutters.

It feels as if they're crawling towards the shore.

Finally, finally, finally, she feels her toes touch sand.

There's a ringing in her ears she didn't notice until just now. It fades as she hauls herself and her child onto the sand, and she becomes acutely aware of how Belladonna is screaming her name. She doesn't even acknowledge her. She crouches over Tequilla and prays that his heart is in the same place as hers.

“Go get Gin and Aurelia.” She says between chest compressions.

Donnie hesitates. “But.. Doll-”

“Don, go get them now!” She yells.

She doesn't even look up as she hears the sound of footsteps as Donnie runs back into the forest. She just continues her chest compressions.

“Please peanut, come back to me, I'll give you anything you've ever wanted.” she pleads. She plugs his nose as she gives him mouth to mouth, then continues with her compressions. “I- I promise I won't fight with your parents ever again, just please baby-” she gives him mouth to mouth again, gives him chest compressions until she's sure she must have broken a rib, again and again and again.

But he remains still.

Unmoving. Unbreathing.

Lifeless.

Dead.

Her baby is dead.

“No no no no no,” she cries, clutching his clothes, his face, all far too small and young for a fate like this. “No no please, this has to be a joke, I-I can't go through this again.” She presses her head against his chest, hearing only silence. “Please Tequilla, don't leave me again.” she sobs.

The tide washes up against her feet. She needs to move him, get him away from that wretched ocean.

“I'll take you home baby.” She says to his body. It's already becoming cold under her hands as she lifts him into her arms. His limbs are limp in her grip. She tucks his wings and tail in just like he always would. It's more comfortable that way, he says. She brushes the soaked hair from his dulling cheeks and limps into the forest. He's coming home with her.

—

The other parents meet her just outside the house. Gin is barely dressed in the early afternoon light, far too bright for the tragedy that has befallen them. His short black hair is ruffled up and sticking out, clearly showing the gnarly scar over his eye. He and Tequilla match in that way. He's in a white tank top and dark sweatpants, leaning hard against his cane. Aurelia looks similarly underprepared. Her tentacle hair shifts around as water drips from her, soaking the grass below. Her ringed pattern shifts to bright hues from stress. Doll can see her tieing on her robe as she approaches.

Donnie meets her halfway, her eyes never leaving Tequilla.

Doll's composure finally breaks. She falls to her knees and sobs, clutching Tequilla's cold body as if it would bring him back.

Her co-parents crowd around her, shouting over each other, clambering to see their son.

The dryad tentatively brushes his drying hair with her fingers. “Is he…?”

“Dead.” Aurelia confirms. She crouches next to his body, inspecting it gently. “What happened, Doll?”

“I looked away for… for just a moment…” She looks up to Gin, stood above them in barely disguised horror. “Gin…? What do we do now?”

His knuckles go white as he tightens the grip on his cane.

“I don't know.” He says slowly. “I just don't know.”

“That was his last life.” Aurelia says.

“Maybe we could take him to the Federation.” Donnie says. “They brought him back once, maybe they'll do it again.”

“That never worked for the others.” Aurelia points out.

Doll chuckles hollowly. “What other choice do we have?” She looks to Gin. “Do you think you could take him? They'll listen to you.”

“I don't…” He hesitates.

“Please, Gin. I can't. I just… can't do it.”

He sighs. “Yes, I'll do it. I'll do what I can.”

“Thank you, Gin. Bring his bag too. He'll want that when he.. he wakes up.”

Gin nods.

—

Gin never thought he would be back here so soon.

It's been a very long time since he worked for the Federation. It at least felt like one. Could it really have only been a few months?

If he hadn't gotten injured, hadn't disobeyed orders in that exact moment, he wouldn't be… he wouldn't be in this mess. Hurt. Crippled. Demoted.

…

Attached.

Taking care of an egg was meant to be a punishment. Some form of atonement. He was just supposed to monitor the thing until further notice, integrate himself with the assigned family, do something useful. Instead he got attached. And look where that got him. Stood in front of the place that ruined his life, pristine white walls mocking him. A dead child in his hands. and a small bag draped over his shoulder.

He knocks on the doors.

And IT comes out to greet him. That damn bear. It towers over him, staring with that blank eyed smile beneath a brown mustache.

“Hello.” It greets him. “You are not allowed in this facility until further notice. Please leave the area now.”

“I can't do that.” He says.

“Why?” It asks.

He takes a deep breath. “My.. assignment,” MY SON, his mind screams, THAT'S MY SON, “My assignment has ended. This is causing significant distress to the other residents. His death was an accident, and they sent me to request that he be given another life.” Slipping back into the character of a mindless office drone comes easily, the emotional distance making the feeling of his dead son pressed against his hands farther away.

His boss stares at him for a long, long moment.

It grabs Tequilla from him.

“Wait, wait please take his bag too. He'll want that when he wakes up.” Gin pleads. He places the bag atop Tequilla's chest.

“Yes. Yes. Ha Ha Ha.” It says. “I hope you enjoy the island. Please vacate the premises.”

The door slams shut before he can answer.

—

The place he's in feels familiar, yet not at the same time. It is dark and light, feeling and not. He floats in the everything nothingness. He feels something touch the edges of his consciousness, a flash of black lace, dark lipstick, a sunhat. A frown, a promise, a large hand. It beckons him, apologizes to him. Promises that it will protect him however it can. He trusts her, leans in, whispers back something that he can't remember.

And then he wakes up.

He gasps, memories of drowning still fresh in his mind. He coughs trying to expel the water that is no longer in his lungs.

“You've woken up much quicker than the others.”

His head whips around, and he finally notices his surroundings. He's in a white room, something he's far too familiar with. The memories of the tests he and his clutch were put through far too vivid in his mind. He strains against his bindings, strapped roughly and painfully to a cold metal table. He's in a fully white outfit that he has no memory of wearing before. There's lab equipment all around him, and a scientist at his side. He turns to him and growls.

“Tsk, that's not very polite. Where's my thanks for bringing you back to life?” The scientist asks, his faceless form void of expression.

Tequilla tries to speak, but the burning in his throat and fear in his heart cause him to stutter far too much to make out even a syllable.

The scientist seems to understand what he was trying to say. “Yes, you did die. Due to drowning it would seem. Terrible way to go, dreadful. Nothing that we can't fix, of course.” He must see a glimpse of hope on Tequilla's face, because he quickly corrects; “That doesn't mean you're going home to mommy and daddy. They knew that they only had two chances with you. Instead we're going to save some resources.” He walks slowly around the table he's strapped to, adjusting the equipment that Tequilla has no hope of understanding. “Do you know how expensive it is to create one of you? Of course we do them in batches of twelve, it's such a nice even number of eggs. But between the cloning and the incubation and the genetic manipulation? The costs add up. Luckily for us,” He turns a dial with a sharp click. “There's an easy solution to this dilemma. Reduce, reuse, and recycle.”

In one swift motion he clips something to Tequilla's ear, a sharp sting following just behind. Tequilla yelps and lunges to bite his hand, but misses.

He glares at him, rubbing the assaulted hand. “Rude.”

Tequilla huffs and growls at him, low and afraid.

“Oh it's not like it will hurt. And even if it does, it's not like you'll remember by the end of it. You'll just be.. a blank slate, in a way. A body is just a vessel for memories and experiences after all. If you don't have either, well you're back to square one. Just like a newborn egg, fresh off the printing press~.” He says in a singsong voice.

The dragon begins to start struggling in earnest, whimpering and baaing and crying. He calls for his Momma, his Mom, his Dad, his Pipi, ANYONE to come and save him as the scary man in the scary lab coat in the scary white room readies the machines that will ensure he'll never live to see another sunrise.

“Take a deep breath and close your eyes, dragon.” The scientist says as he brings a bright light down onto his eyes. “Or don't. It doesn't matter to me either way.”

A humming sound fills the air.

And everything goes white.

—

His head is ringing.

The world tilts around him, his head rings and throbs in time with the sirens behind him, but he's out. He escaped. The scientist used… Something. To steal his memories. And he thought it was working for a while there! But then he… he…

How did he get out here?

He's standing just outside of a white building. There's alarms blaring from it. He doesn't know what it is or why its making that noise, but he knows he needs to get away from it. He runs, runs towards the nearest trees he can find. Trees mean home.

Home? Is that right? There were trees at his home, right? He knows that if he just follows the path he'll end up home.

His run slows to a stop as he looks around. He doesn't know where he is. There's a bag over his shoulder. His bag. He hates to be without it. There's no scars on his arms like there should be. Not even a trace of them. And there's blood caked under his claws. He remembers swiping the scientist as he escaped. Why is there blood under his claws? He decides to worry about it later. He hears a stick snap behind him and continues running into the forest beyond. Maybe he'll find what he's looking for there.

—

Tequilla wakes up. He's in a tree somewhere. How did he get here? His muscles burn with exhaustion. He wracks his mind, trying to remember what happened before, but comes up blank. Absolute zero. A sob leaps into his throat for reasons he can't even remember. There's blood under his claws. He'll have to wash that out before it gets icky.

—

Tequilla wakes up. He's in some kind of burrow. How did he get here? His stomach growls sharply. He tries to remember what happened before, but comes up blank. He can't worry about that now. He needs to find food. He doesn't know why he knows this. He doesn't know anything at all.

—

Tequilla wakes up. He's by a small pond. How did he get here? Fear clutches the edges of his senses, telling him he needs to keep moving. That there's something out to get him. He tries to remember what that is, but comes up completely and entirely empty. His claws are clean. He doesn't know why that confuses him.

Tequilla wakes up. Tequilla knows nothing.

Tequilla wakes up.

Tequilla knows nothing.

—

Tequilla wakes up, but somehow it feels different this time. Despite this, he's still very confused and frightened to realise he has no idea where he is. There's a bag over his shoulder. His bag, something tells him. It's covered in dirt by now but it's definitely his. He's covered in dirt too. Plenty of scratches against his scales. He's in clothes that used to be white, now stained various shades of brown and green and red. There's something tickling the side of his face. He panics and pulls at it, only to realize too late that it's attached to his ear which is attached to him. He hisses as it is pulled free from his ear, followed by a droplet of blood. It's a tag, a white tag. Like something you could put on a cattle. “Res: 1” it says. He wracks his mind, trying to remember what happened to him and where he is.

But he comes up blank. Completely empty.

He continues to wander the forest for several days, listlessly trying to figure out where he is and where he's going. Something feels different. Sharper. Like his mind is working when it previously wasn't. He doesn't think about that. He focuses on getting food and shelter. He just knows that he has to keep moving until he finds somewhere safe.

snap

He freezes, and looks forward to where he heard the sound of a branch snapping.

There's a person there.

They're short, shorter than he is. Their scales are blue with yellow bands and diamonds adorning it. They stare at him with dark blue eyes, a pink flower crown holding back brown hair. Large ears flop as they tilt their head. Wings twitch behind him and their tail wags. They're the first person Tequilla has ever seen.

They smile wide, practically vibrating with excitement. “Hi, I'm Poll! What's your name? Do you wanna be friends?”

#not a poll #qsmp #qsmp eggs #Tequilla the egg #Poll the egg #Captain's egg OCs #hiiiii hows everyone feeling after that :3333 #I COOKED SO HARD #AND NOW I CAN F I N A L L Y TALK ABOUT STUFF I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO #AAAAAA #I might be just as excited as some of yall about this #major character death #If this needs any specific tags lmk #doll the goat hybrid #Belladonna the Nightshade dryad #Gin the human #Aurelia the blue ring octopus hybrid

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 1 year ago

Text

Holy Ground | Hallowed Bodies Update #1

LONAN CLARK ERA LONAN CLARK ERA!! Welcome to instalment 1 of the Hallowed Bodies updates! :) HB is a literary fiction novella I finished in August (WIP intro) and a companion to BODY BACK.

Let's talk about magical beginnings, how life impacts writing, grieving potentials, & Lonan's internality!

Update under the cut!

Logline: When his girlfriend leaves to travel, Lonan carries out his typical daily routine which includes visiting a church and walking a strange route home.

Hallowed Bodies taglist (pls ask to be +/-):

@subtlefires @dallonwrites @saintedseraph @cream-and-tea @rownanisntwriting @euphoniouspandemonium @iwannawritepls @thefruitonyourfly @olive-riggzey @silassghost @thelivingdeceased

Beginnings & more beginnings

When I got the original idea for Hallowed Bodies, it was March and I was on the other side of the country at the intersection in front of my old apartment building. It was raining on my walk home from a journalism class and I was listening to My Dying Spirit by Greyson Chance when I had the thought... "okay if Harrison is alone in Las Vegas in BODY BACK, that must mean LONAN is also alone for a while in Las Vegas--so what's he doing?"

For about two days, I was really consumed with the idea of what this book *could* be--eerie church imagery, a contemplation of faith, an exploration of Lonan's relationship with his dead mother. Then time passed, I moved, life got weird, I finished BODY BACK, and by the time I got back to HB, something in me had changed.

When life changes writing & grieving potentials

I've given that preamble because HB didn't turn into the thing I thought it would turn into on that initial walk back home. I think there's sometimes a tendency in writing advice spaces to be so blasé about how life circumstances impact writing. I don't think there was any possible way June 2023 me could've written the Hallowed Bodies I'd dreamt up back in March 2023. I changed SO much despite staying fundamentally the same and the idea also had to change because *I'm* the one writing it.

With that said, sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I stayed exactly where I was in the spring (which is an extremely Lonan and Harrison-core thing to consider LOL). In a way, a big part of writing this book was grieving what it could've been. I still have a distinct vibe of the early vision which is very similar but adjacent nonetheless to what I actually wrote. I think that's what made writing this project so hard because I didn't understand what I wanted from it--March me was conflicting with June me and in the end, what we got was a mixture of both!

A positive start... for now!!!

I've always heard of writers talk about "shiny new idea syndrome" but I never really understood it. However, drafting Holy Ground completely clarified what shiny new idea syndrome even is which left me feeling perhaps overly confident (honestly which I'm grateful for because I didn't feel that way again until the last chapter LOLLL).

I drafted the first paragraph of this book back in April, and the rest of it only took a day or two in June. It's very short (for me) at 1500 words and illuminated two structural elements for HB: short chapters and "vignette"-like scenes.

Inspiration & vibes:

Okay so SORRY if you already know this but Greyson Chance got me unwise & his music video for My Dying Spirit is MY FAVOURITE THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD. I always thought of MDS as a really solid Lonan song, but the music video's Catholic imagery had me spiraling MORE. I basically wanted to recreate the vibes of that video in the form of a book.

We were really going for THIS as the vibe (from the video)!

Hallowed Bodies as Antithesis

One of the first things I knew about HB was that I wanted it to be a mirror of BODY BACK. I wanted to see how Lonan got to be a better person BEFORE FH in contrast to how Harrison becomes a worse person before FH. Thinking of Hallowed Bodies as the antithesis of BB is really fascinating to me! If BB is loud, HB is quiet. If BB is maximalist, HB is minimalist (as much as I could help it haha).

Internal narratives as a trap

Something I LOVE about this project in general is that it's SO internal. I don't think I've ever been so deeply rooted in Lonan's voice before, but Hallowed Bodies as a project warrants intimacy. Lonan's alone for a week in Las Vegas basically doing nothing, which is a precursor to Feeding Habits (the novel that comes after this) where he's really "settled" into being a completely subordinate person in his own life.

I wanted to use internality as a means to make the narrative feel confined, like Lonan does. Because of that, I focused on adding a LOT of descriptions that directly reflect Lonan's desires and internal conflicts (the excerpt with the couple reflects this the most). What he notices is EXTREMELY important. What do his observations reveal about him?

Listlessness and Lonan

Something that became clear to me early in the drafting process is that Lonan is soooo listless. Like direction? Drive? Passion? He has NOTHINGGGG. He's really living a settled, "domestic" life, and he clearly can't handle it. This is setup for Feeding Habits so it's not as intense as it is there, but this man is BORED and ready to romanticize ANYTHING for some serotonin. This is critical setup for later when we meet "the man" (whose name for efficiency's sake is Dallas bc he looks like Matt Dillon in The Outsiders <3 that was the reason <3).

HB is a really transitional project for Lonan. He comes off Moth Work a better person to others but not quite a better person to himself. We get to see him crave gentleness a LOT in HB, a feeling that seems so foreign to him, which I think also contributes to his feeling of displacement. In a way, it was also transitional for me--it's the first thing I've written in full as a graduate!

The plot

CW: religious trauma (Catholicism)

Scene A:

In a church, Lonan recalls a memory of him and his father praying.

Scene B:

Lonan starts his walk home, aware the route is nonsensical.

Scene C:

Lonan recalls the last time he saw Eliza before she left for her week-long trip.

Scene D:

Lonan considers Las Vegas' warm autumn.

Scene E:

In memory, Eliza finds Lonan's father's rosary in her apartment.

Excerpts:

The first "scene" (aka vignette). This is one of my favourite openings EVER!!! It's just Hallowed Bodies core!

Lonan doesn’t pray anymore. At least not the way he used to. As a child, he and his father prayed everywhere: begging for forgiveness at Crater Lake, repenting in line for an oil change, supplicating in a windstorm. On Sundays, they’d wake before dawn and nestle in front of the bathroom mirror, recite the first chapter of Genesis, Paul’s letters to Timothy, Psalm 22. Lonan preferred the Apostle’s Creed. He’d watch his young mouth repeat I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, and he did believe. After hours of this, sunlight misting the open window, mass a half hour away, their lips would be so numb they’d have to pinch them until they were bloody mouthed and ready, at last, for God. The truth is, Lonan believes in nothing now. He’s as fatherless as he is motherless as he is godless. This should be a good thing. But bowed against a pew, the church around him hollow like Jesus’ empty tomb, his eyes trained on the dangling crucifix ahead of him, he’s certain this is wrong. He needs a mentor, a shepherd, an idol. He needs someone to follow.

This is the second scene/vignette. Something I love here is that we can tell Lonan's a hopeless romantic lol. Like hey you're looking awfully fondly at that couple, why?? You want that?? You want love?? Also! If you read the recent Changing States excerpt, you'll notice I also mention a café in the arts district which is an easter egg to say Lonan and Jeremiah love the same café (they need to be friends):

He takes the long way home. The long way home entails cutting past a wedding chapel near Lewis until he nears a second wedding chapel by a dollar store. He then turns around and retraces his steps back to the church, then walks all the way to a café bakery in the arts district where he stands and watches patrons from across the street. A man always meets a woman. They swipe off milk foam mustaches, lean against each other to fill out a crossword. The sun sometimes hits their faces and pales their eyes till they’re transparent like vapour. They never walk out together. He leaves the moment the first one goes, then continues back to the church where he finally walks ten minutes to Eliza’s place. The walk takes over an hour. It’s inefficient. Nonsensical. He makes this route every day.

This is just such a typical Lonan and Eliza interaction:

She’d left groceries in the fridge—no need to go shopping—and if he wanted, she’d also left a fifty-dollar bill on the counter for takeout. As he stared at the ceiling, she kissed him and complained about her mother’s plans to go horseback riding that coming weekend. “I know what a horse looks like,” she said, then explained they’d also be touring Stowe with a gaudy tourism agency. “She’s exhausting me already.” She sighed, having gone completely still. Lonan didn’t notice until she took his face with her hand, squishing his jaw, and asked “Are you okay?” An hour later, she was gone with a pre-packed suitcase, and he was still lying in bed wondering if she’d been there at all, if he’d been there at all, if in actuality they were both dead, or at the very least, both ghosts.

Do you fear bodies of water to the point where you practice holding your breath in full sinks so if you're ever close to drowning at least you're prepared:

It’s September in Las Vegas. The asters that grow outside Eliza’s apartment building have started to bloom, shockingly purple. The severe summer heat has barely faded, weather Lonan isn’t used to. Sometimes he crouches right in front of Eliza’s oscillating fan so it blows right in his face. At other times he ruffles up the freezer until he finds something suitable to drape on his forehead—a bag of peas, a Ziploc of homemade perogies, a hard plastic ice pack Eliza almost always forgets to return after work. Though sometimes, he cranks the bathroom sink all the way to cold and fills it up, sticks his face in there like it’s nothing, waits there for what feels like a few hours.

Lonan examining how fucking weird dating Eliza is lol:

Eliza doesn’t know about his visits to the church. He started his daily trips about two weeks back, ensuring he got home before she did from a shift. As they ate canned beef stew on the couch, as she spoke to him about an irritating coworker, as she rested her hand on his elbow then looked at her bedroom door, he kept this secret from her. He’s not sure why. He knows he doesn’t have to. Eliza already knows his father was devout to something—on the last day of August, she rummaged through a filing cabinet in her bedroom and pulled out a bronze rosary. Lonan didn’t need to look at it to know who it belonged to. He’d learned to identify it by scent alone. “That’s your dad’s,” she said, something sober in her voice. She was essentially providing him a confession—a crime she unknowingly participated in. The rosary dangled like fuzzy dice from a rear-view mirror. When he didn’t move from where he leaned in the doorway, she stood and pocketed it. “I didn’t know. He gave it to me when…” Her voice trailed off when she realized he still hadn’t reacted. What had she expected from him? He’s not wholly illogical—he’d accepted that his father had likely given her things and that she’d kept them. They’d dated. That was normal.

^^ (IS IT NORMAL THO I COULD WRITE A TAG ESSAY ON THIS)

Eliza backtracks (CW: implied abuse, blood mention):

Eliza promised she’d go through all her things—make sure she didn’t have anything else “from Jason.” Hearing his father’s name said aloud like that was a normal thing felt even stranger than having his rosary. Lonan took a step back that was really more a stagger; he narrowly caught himself on the bedroom doorframe. His cheeks were hot—with embarrassment, but also tears, and the tears worsened the embarrassment which worsened the tears. He couldn’t explain to her that when he was too young to memorize a phone number, that rosary had been wrapped around his hand till his fingers turned blue. Or that one silty night, he’d clutched the cross so tight under his pillow that his palms bled. “Sorry,” he said, pawing at his eyes.

The aftermath of that scene:

In the end, he sat on the balcony, silently crying as he stared out over the city. He tried to think of ways to reverse time—perhaps if he pretended nothing happened, Eliza would too. They’d start the afternoon all over again, her kicking off her shoes at the front door, setting her purse down on the small dining table. “You want to grab dinner?” she would’ve shouted through the apartment, already fumbling for the coupons she’d tacked to the refrigerator, knowing he was listening to her. Instead, he stared at his trembling fist.

And the last paragraph of this chapter! (Lonan really said "I don't have thoughts stop bothering me")

He needs to eat something. There’s raw celery in the vegetable crisper. A new pack of whole wheat tortillas atop the toaster. It’s when he’s pulling them out to eat, the low static hum of a radio station left on gritting midair, that he realizes perhaps that’s exactly it—he can’t tell Eliza about the church. Not because she won’t care, but precisely because she will. She’d follow him every time he goes, ask what he was thinking of every time he bowed his head to pray. He doesn’t know what he thinks. Most of the time he isn’t thinking at all. But what he knows for certain is the church and his meandering walk, that couple in the café, the fact that one always leaves, are not just routine for him. This is his holy ground. Luminous, alive. Somewhere to flee, even when he’s not sure what he’s running from.

And that's it! I'm really excited to introduce y'all more officially to Hallowed Bodies! :) And because I vowed to make these updates feel more cozy, here's this Lonancore gif LOL:

#writing #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #writing update #writingupdates #mothwork #hallowed bodies #everyone say hiiiii lonan :3333 #he's everything to me <33333

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