#shepherd graveyard

[petsincollections]

Strother Athey with His Dog at the Shepherd Graveyard, Shepherdstown, W. Va.

Identifier: 013204

Title: Strother Athey with His Dog at the Shepherd Graveyard, Shepherdstown, W. Va.

Description: Gate to old Shepherd graveyard, and east end of Episcopal rectory. Strother Athey and dog.

Acquisition Source: Williams, H. H. Acquisition

Method: Loan

Medium: print

West Virginia History OnView

[darktyrannomon]

Grimmelfeld’s Death

The howl and rush of the blast echoes in your ears, so loud that you feel that you may lose all your senses at once. The dragon, as large as a small hamlet, shields the best of it from you, his hulking shadow the only protection from true annihilation. You can hear his pain reverberating in the forest that is shaking all around you, with the trees being forcefully ripped from their roots and turned to ash, creatures screaming as they too splinter into dust. Anything and anyone who was lucky enough to be close to you has rushed to the shelter of the elderwyrm, his kindness protecting predator and prey under one ailing body. The wolf and deer, the fox and rabbit, humanoid creatures that some of you have never seen before all huddle against his body, forming an island of green against a sea of grey ash and golden flame. Those who weren’t flash fried by the blast staggered into the circle with shrapnel tearing their bodies apart, legs crushed by falling trees or splintered with rocks and metal from the war machine. 

Your eyes slowly open to the hellscape, first only noticing the trembling creatures and persons able to seek this only shelter in the explosion, then noticing the wounded, of which there are many. The stench of blood and fear hit you through the tang of sulphur, the cries of the wounded feeling like they are forever away as the blast threatened to deafen you, the ringing in your ears drowning out thought, reason, and rationality. You think you can hear shouting, howling, crying, but sound is so drowned out it you fear it could be your imaginations. 

Roll con saves, roll charisma saves

Successful saves see Janus, at a crossroads, two doors in the distance.

You see what looks to be a man, clear as a picture in the middle of the smoke and dust, two horns connect behind him and seem to connect to something on the other side. He is wearing a sharp business suit and gestures to you to a door behind him. He turns, and another face, on the back of his head, also with a second set of arms, gestures to a second door. “It is not often we get to witness a choice that shapes the world.” they say, overlapping each other in eerie harmony. You blink and they are gone, but the doors in your minds remain out of your peripheral wherever you cast your gaze. 

Everyone except odette and zach make a perception check

You see the Magpie King, standing vigil next to the huge body of Grimmelfeld, who with laboured breaths seems to be trying to speak. He does not notice the Magpie King, but perhaps that is the point. In a solemn, pained gesture, the Magpie King summons a weapon, a glaive, died with obsidian and mercury. The head of the glaive elongates to a scythe which glows a soft gold and it becomes clear to you, those that have died and have seen the Raven Queen herself, that Grimmelfeld has moments left to live. Unable to speak, a voice reverberates in your heads.

“I am dying. In my final moments I can provide for you a gift, a gift of which you have asked of me already, but I only have the strength to do one or the other. I can give my soul to you to anchor one of your weapons of fate, knowing I can never return to my body, as it will be not fit for me to go back unless I turn into a dracolich or similar. Or, I can heal your friend. I can cast wish for Mina. I will be nothing more than ash on a skeleton soon, you must choose quickly.”

Looking at his body reveals that scale, skin, and muscle are starting to pull away, disintegrating off of the skeleton in a slow, beautiful manner as though flames were drawn by a spider web. Radiant energy slowly consuming the flesh until only bones remain. You must make a decision and quickly. Harness the soul of the dying dragon to save the world, or heal your friend of a dreadful curse?

[soulofamutt]

Update photos! Ventus got his rally intermediate titles. For hisb3rd birthday we went to the sunshine cluster show and got meet some mudi!

[psychhound]

howdy all!!!

i'm doing a quick solo sale from today until October 4th (my little sisters birthday <33) in order to get me to her graduation!! :D it's in december and oh boy can that hotel and plane ticket cost cost so ... sale!! i really want to be able to be there for his graduation so please check out the bundle!!

includes:

the narrator paradox: narrate the protagonist of your story as they attempt to defy you and escape the game

dead man's hand: play as a collector of tales, using poker hands to divine paranormal stories in the wild west

little shepherd, little spy: use your bookshelf to pass along messages in the fairy war

osteotzee: use a yahtzee scorecard to augur the deaths of mythical beasts

little celestial fieldwork guide: grab your camera and explore your city looking for hidden spirits and little gods

the graveyard game: write an ethnography of a magical, haunted graveyard

with breath & sword: use therapeutic grounding methods to fight or tame monsters

you are thinking about silver: an autofiction lyric game about being 14 in a family of werewolves

if any of those sound appealing please check out the bundle!! :D

[blingblong55]

Jokes and all -Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request: Also, I was wondering if you could make a story where R/n’s past is like Ghost’s and R/n just makes jokes about the past🤔🤔🤔 ---- GN!Reader, platonic!relationship (no clue if this is even fluff) ----

War has always been a part of your life, much like Ghost's. It’s the constant hum in the background of your existence, the familiar rhythm you’ve grown up with. Your name? It’s R/n. But most people just call you Grim. It fits. Like Ghost, you’re a product of your past, a shadow of memories that echo through your actions.

You grew up in a rough neighbourhood in Manchester. Your father was a brute, a man who believed that fear was the best way to control a family. He’d come home drunk, looking for any excuse to use his fists. Your brother tried to shield you, but he was just a kid himself. Eventually, you learned to fend for yourself, to take the hits and keep going. The scars you carry are not just physical but etched deep into your soul. But you don’t let them define you; instead, you joke about them. It’s your way of coping, your shield against the pain.

Joining the military was your way out. The SAS became your new family, a place where you could channel your anger and your skills. You were good—no, you were damn good. It wasn’t long before you caught the attention of Lieutenant General Shepherd, and before you knew it, you were recruited into Task Force 141.

That’s where you met Ghost.

You were kindred spirits, though. Both of you had clawed your way out of hell, and in some twisted way, that formed a bond. He didn’t talk much about his past, but you saw it in his eyes, in the way he moved, always calculating, always prepared for the next fight.

One day, during a particularly gruelling mission in a remote part of Eastern Europe, you and Ghost find yourselves huddled behind an abandoned building, bullets flying overhead.

“Reminds me of home,” you quip, peeking out to return fire. “Except less screaming and more bullets.”

Ghost glances at you, his eyes crinkling slightly behind the mask. “You had bullets at home?”

“Nah, just the screaming. My old man loved to yell. Thought it would toughen us up. Guess he was right.”

He nods, understanding in his gaze. “Toughness isn’t just physical, Grim. Sometimes, it’s about surviving up here.” He taps the side of his head.

You chuckle, though there’s no humour in it. “Yeah, well, my old man did a great job then. Mental scars and all.”

You share a brief, heavy silence before Ghost gives the signal to move. You slip through the shadows, your training kicking in seamlessly. You’re a perfect team, your movements synchronized like a deadly dance. It’s in these moments of chaos that you feel most alive, and you know Ghost feels the same.

After the mission, you sit around a makeshift campfire, the rest of the team spread out, securing the area. Soap is tending to his gear, Price is on the radio, and Gaz is…well, Gaz is being Gaz.

You poke at the fire with a stick, lost in thought. Ghost sits next to you, his mask pushed up just enough to take a sip of water. “You ever think about going back?” he asks suddenly.

You snort. “To Manchester? Hell no. Nothing there for me but bad memories and a graveyard full of regrets.”

“Family?”

“Just my brother. Haven’t seen him in years. He got out before I did. Good for him, though. He deserves a better life.”

Ghost nods, understanding without prying. That’s the thing about Ghost—he never pushes, never demands more than you’re willing to give. It’s a silent respect you have for each other’s boundaries.

Days turn into weeks, and your missions grow more dangerous. Each time, you and Ghost fight side by side, your trust in each other is unspoken but absolute. You share dark humour to lighten the mood, your pasts becoming fodder for your twisted jokes.

One evening, after a particularly brutal mission, you find yourself staring at the stars, the weight of the world pressing down on you. Ghost joins you, his presence a comforting shadow.

“Do you ever wonder if we’ll make it out of this alive?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ghost is silent for a moment before replying, “Sometimes. But then I remember we’ve already survived the worst. This…” He gestures to the desolate landscape. “This is just another fight.”

You smile, a real one this time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’re survivors, you and I.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you. “We’re more than that, Grim. We’re warriors. And we fight for those who can’t.”

You smirk, wanting to lighten the mood. “Look at us, all noble and heroic. Think we can get capes with our uniforms?”

Ghost chuckles softly, a rare sound. “Only if they come with matching tights.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’d look good in tights. You, though? Not so sure.”

He tilts his head. “I make anything look good, Grim. Even tights.”

The banter, light and easy, wraps around you like a shield, deflecting the darkness of your pasts. In moments like this, you feel the weight lift, if only slightly, and you’re reminded why you fight.

The next day, you’re deep in enemy territory again, the tension high. As you navigate through a maze of crumbling buildings, you crack another joke. “You know, if we survive this, I’m buying you a drink. Or ten. You look like you could use it.”

Ghost smirks behind his mask. “You’re assuming I drink.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, Ghost. Everyone drinks. Especially after dealing with this kind of crap.”

“Well, in that case,” he replies, “make mine a double.”

The mission is brutal, but you and Ghost emerge victorious, your bond stronger than ever. Later, as you sit around another fire, you share a flask, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through you.

“To surviving,” you toast.

“To more than surviving,” Ghost corrects, clinking his flask against yours. “To living.”

As you lie under the stars that night, the past feels a little less heavy, the future a little less daunting. With Ghost by your side, you know you can face whatever comes next. In the end, you’re more than your scars, more than your memories.

Tags: @nyx129 @liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @iruzias @frazie99 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @honestlyhiswife @ikohniik @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @believeinthefireflies95 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @mychemichalimalance @noodlezz-bedo

[recycledraccoon]

Dawn of Justice - EPISODE 14

"This is like early-to-mid April. Your getting your kind of midterm report cards back." (1:11:02)

"However, you guys are in the lunchroom. They give you your midterm report cards. So today and tomorrow are the last days before you'll have your spring break..." (1:11:32-1:11:40)

"The next day you all come to school. Jawbone shepherd's you into Principle Aguefort's office. Where he takes the doorknob off the door, fixes on a strange, luminous green pearlescent doorknob, opens it, and all of you walk into the Last Standard Exam, AKA The Last Stand." (1:23:26-1:23:48)

Untapped Rage - EPISODE 16

"..'Hey Mazey. Just checking in. Maybe you wanted to hang out over spring break?' - 'Do you wanna take a picture?' - 'Okay, yeah. Everyone get close so you can't see the graveyard'..." (1:00:51-1:01:01)

"And then word gets our that your birthday's the 31st, which is election day. It's the Friday that the student elections are happening,...." (1:08:52)

The Name - EPISODE 17

"'Fabian's birthday, at this point, is like a week away, a week and a half away. The school's thing is still that they are on their spring break adventure, right?' - 'That's what they say about the Rat Grinders?' - 'About the Rat Grinders, yeah.'" (1:13:03-1:13:10)

Ragenarok (Part 2) - EPISODE 20

"Is there anything that you guys do before the school year ends?" (2:31:33)

Spring Break is in April, the academic school year ends in probably first week of June for Aguefort, and Fabian Aramais Seacaster's birthday is May 31st. He is also a Gemini.

[macnmooore]

Gravestone

I have like a few short fics i wrote and i kinda wanna post them because I'm bored so here is one i wrote, which is obv the outsiders and its a little sad but not too much

I walk towards the graveyard after track practice. I feel I need to dress better or at least shower before visiting Johnny and Dally but I just wanna tell ‘em  how I won at the track race, in Darry’s eyes at least. 

It’s been almost a whole month after Johnny’s and Dallas death, the gang pitched in to get them buried since we knew either two of their parents wouldn’t have. Even Two-Bit’s mother helped, it was real kind of her to do that for some hoodlums. No, Johnny wasn’t, he was just a kid so was Dallas, but you could see Dallas’ death from a mile away. He would die young and desperate and the gang knew it, I think he knew it too but never said nothing about it.  Would explain why he acted so carelessly the way he did.

The gang and I decided to save a bit,  so Dally had been cremated and Johnny would have a coffin, he’s been burned enough in his lifetime. They had Dally’s ashes spreaded in Johnny’s coffin, they’re like brothers, they'd like to be beside one another even if they died. I miss the two of ‘em a lot, even if Dally was a prick he didn’t know any other way to act, at least that’s what I think. 

Once I found Johnny’s name etched into the stone as well as Dallas I sat by the tombstone. I sighed and wiped the space between the top of my Cupid's bow and the bottom of my nose. I felt my eyes well up but I wouldn’t cry, not here. I looked at the grass, plucking a few blades. I feel like I can still hear Johnny’s and Dallas' voices.

“Hey Johnnycakes hey to you too Dallas, there was a major track race today, I was gonna miss it with the grades I had but my teachers said they knew the situation so they said if I didn’t place seventh I couldn’t continue doing track. I  got fourth place. I didn’t care all that much, I haven’t really lately. It feels- everything doesn’t feel real a lot of the time. I was just gonna give up but Darry says I need to do well so I can get more of a scholarship to college, and I rather run fast then run out and have a whole repeat of the Bob thing but with some other Soc and with like Curly Shepherd or something. I swear I feel like a bad luck charm.” I ranted, as I continued to speak to, well at Johnny and Dally I started to actually look at the stone while talking. “Two-Bit mentioned that if it wasn’t for me and the rest of the gang Darry could’ve been a Soc, that’s been stuck in my head, and you guys…”

i'll prob post another fic i wrote here too after i transfer it from my notebook to my computer

[mistydeyes]

CONGRATS 🫶🫶❤️❤️💐💐. no like fr congratulations on 1k. Personally speaking, your works are excellent.

oh, and can I request graveyard - "please i don't want to die" with Price? I got that Tony and Peter Parker when Peter turned into dust vibes 💀yk. Anyways, take care!!

aww thank you so much @lake-lilium! literally was dying at the vintage justin bieber pic but yes this prompt is so giving that vibe so prepare for some ANGST :')

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

prompt: graveyard - "please i don't want to die"

pairing: John Price x gn!reader

warnings: DEATH, angst, swearing, depiction of blood and violence

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

In Price's line of work, there was always a moment of panic when he was unable to get in contact with you. You remember you had to reassure him of your safety when you took a nap and missed a few of his calls. You couldn't blame him though for the worry. You didn't know much about his job but it was clear he had some enemies to be wary of. However, you would always reassure him as he left the house and you pet your German Shepherd by the door.

Despite seeing you off that morning, Price still couldn't shake the feeling building in his core. "Fuck, answer the phone," he murmured as yet another call went to voicemail. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel as he turned down your street. "Just give me a callback, love, on my way home," he said hurriedly as he hit the reddened button on his phone. "You're being paranoid, John," he laughed to himself, yet the feeling was still there. He pulled into your small driveway and turned off the car. All seemed normal as he closed the door gently and dragged the bag of dog food that you had asked him to get. However, when he saw the front door slightly ajar, he dropped it immediately and entered with caution mounting.

As he scanned the front foyer, he grabbed a firearm he kept in the hallway's closet. "You alright, love?" he called out as he searched for any sign of you or your beloved dog. His training almost seamlessly kicked in as he swept the house. He moved through the kitchen, finding a half-eaten bowl of soup, and prayed you had just gone up to the bathroom or bedroom. However, as he looked at the back door and noticed large muddy footprints heading in, he feared the worst. He opened it cautiously and could not have prepared for the sight in front of him. The normally fresh afternoon air smelled sickly of iron and blood. The muddy footprints ended at your feet and the grass was stained with crimson. You lay on your back your recently planted flower bushes with your hand over a gaping chest wound. He screamed at the sight and you looked over in shock. He rushed over as you spurt up blood and attempted to get up. "John," you whispered as he pulled off his shirt to stop the bleeding. "What the fuck happened?" he asked as he held you and grabbed his phone to call for the paramedics. "I don't know, John," you cried hysterically, "am I gonna die?"

He couldn't help but feel like he was going to be sick as you grasped at his shirt. His hands felt warm with your blood as he communicated the situation and tried to keep you awake. "It's okay, love, we'll find who did this," he whispered, trying to keep a level head as your eyes looked frantically around. "Where's Charlie?" you asked and he held your face gently. "We'll find him later, yeah? Just stay awake for me," John repeated and pulled you onto his lap as he propped you up against one of the flower beds. Price was always prepared for these scenarios on the battlefield. Keep watch, stop the bleeding, and make sure they stay awake. His mind was in overdrive as he never expected to bring this mentality home to you. "Hey, hey stay with me," he shouted as you began to close your eyes. He could hear the sirens approach and kept shaking your shoulder. "John, please," you began to say as your voice became weaker and your eyes began to flutter slowly, "please, I don't want to die." He could see small silver tears fall down your face as he held down on your sternum tightly. "Shhh," he tried to reassure, "just keep your eyes on me." "Please, I don't want to die," you kept repeating and wailing. The last words he would ever hear were your fearful sentiments coupled with the absolute horror in your dilated eyes.

[artemis-potnia-theron]

UPG things I personally associate with different deities -

(color, flower, food, animal, song)

☀️ Apollon:

- Orange

- Daffodils

- Glazed donuts

- Cardinals

- 'Inkpot Gods' by The Amazing Devil

🌙 Artemis:

- Gold

- Dandelions

- Crawfish boils

- Wild horses

- 'The Horror and the Wild' by The Amazing Devil

🗝 Hekate:

- Silver

- Lavender

- Gumbo

- Possums

- 'Black Water' by Reuben And The Dark

🐉 Tiamat:

- Ebony

- Irises

- Squid ink pasta

- Blue whales

- 'God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot' by Buffy Sainte-Marie

🌹 Aphrodite:

- Periwinkle

- Carnations

- Oysters on half shell

- Seahorses

- 'Love Like This' by Lauren Daigle

🧚🏼‍♀️ Aine:

- Teal

- Wisteria

- Candied apples

- Hummingbirds

- 'Flowers in my Hair' by Wes Reeve

🔥 Brigid:

- Maroon

- Sunflowers

- Shepherd's pie

- Rabbits

- 'The Bones' by Maren Morris

🐦‍⬛ The Morrigan:

- Crimson

- Jasmine

- Stuffed peppers

- Turkey vultures

- 'White Winter Hymnal' by the Fleet Foxes

⚔️ Ares:

- Bronze

- Snapdragons

- Beef wellington

- Hippopotamus

- 'Lion' by Saint Mesa

🐈‍⬛ Bast:

- Magenta

- Hydrangeas

- Sushi

- Mountain lions

- 'Metaphor' by The Crane Wives

🏵 Freyja:

- Violet

- Peonies

- Chocolate

- Parrots

- 'Dance in the Graveyards' by Delta Rae

🦢 Caer Ibormeith:

- Ivory

- Water lilies

- Angel food cake

- Herons

- 'Winter Song' by Ingrid Michaelson and Sara Bareilles

🌌 Nyx:

- Dark blue

- Orchids

- French onion soup

- Fruit bats

- 'Saturn' by Sleeping at Last

🌾 Demeter:

- Chestnut

- Cornflowers

- Eggplant parmesan

- Foxes

- 'Hallelujah' by Leonard Cohen

🥀 Persephone:

- Indigo

- Baby's-Breath

- Jambalaya

- Owls

- 'The Rockrose and the Thistle' by The Amazing Devil

🦁 Kybele:

- Burgundy

- Daisies

- Kebabs

- Elephants

- 'Sleeping Giants' by The Crane Wives

[snapeaddict]

Snapetober Day 30: Ghost + Minvember Day 2: Scotland

This is a real folktale, very slightly modified, from Uist, Scotland. It was recorded by M. F. Shaw from the bard Seonaidh Caimbeul.

"Have we not celebrated enough? The pumpkins? The gory food? The costumes? What more do you want, headmaster?"

Albus took a seat next to Severus, settling himself in the armchair rather carefully as he was holding a teacup, full to the brim. He merely smiled.

"You did not even dress up, Severus. And I was thinking - what about ghost stories? It would be a nice way to finish the evening. Wouldn't it, Minerva?"

The Potions Master rolled his eyes. He was still standing next to his chair, his arms folded and a usual scowl on his face; those who knew him well, though, could tell, after scrupulous observation, that there was a hint of amusement in it.

He sat in the armchair next to him unceremoniously, as though he had been forced to and not merely - and very civilly - invited to join the group. 

"I know one", Minerva replied, handing him a cup of tea with a cunning smile. "My mother told it to me when I was a girl. It is from Uist, I believe."

"Indulge us, Minerva", Severus muttered, accepting the hot beverage. "Albus seems to be in dire need of embracing his inner child tonight."

"And you should too, sometimes, my boy", the headmaster remarked humorously. "It would do you good."

"Now that sounds properly terrifying."

"Should I tell it, yes or no?" Minerva interrupted them, her eyebrow raised. 

Her expression was very teacher-like. Albus Held up his hands apologetically. 

"Pardon us, my dear. Do proceed."

Minerva put down her cup and cleared her throat, dusting her robes as she gathered her thoughts. Around them the staffroom was dark, save from the halo of light where they were sitting: it emanated from the fireplace behind them, and in it, the embers were dark red.

"There was a shepherd who lived in his father's cottage, on the high slope of Beinn Mhòr. He had a wife and a daughter, and the daughter was deaf and numb. His father was a very old man of a very evil temper, and one night he fell ill, and died. So the husband and his wife placed him in a bier, and the shepherd set out to town to bring back people to help him carry the body. The mother, with her little child, sat next to the fire in silence."

In the fireplace, a piece of wood, almost entirely consumed, fell from the burning pile with a thud.

"Suddenly, the mother heard the corpse move. And so the child looked up and spoke her first words: "Grandfather is rising. He will eat you; but he won't touch me."

Albus cast her a horrified glance.

"The mother caught the child and fled to the nearest bedroom", Minerva continued, "and she bared the door with everything she could find. The corpse rose and came to the door, and he began to dig away the earth under the lintel with his white hands. The mother and her girl saw his fingers, then his arms, then his head appear - but at this moment the cock crew and he led completely still."

At this point, even Severus had stopped sipping his tea.

"The corpse was there until the shepherd came back with men from the village and lifted him back onto the bier. The mother and child watched as he was pulled below the door, his horrible smiling face disappearing last. They buried him in a graveyard on the north side of Loch Eynort, at a place called An t-Uchd uidhe. There is a hole where he is buried, and you can still see it to this day."

Then, with a content smile and innocent countenance, Minerva picked up her teacup, humming softly while both her colleagues stared at her with their mouths hanging slightly open. Their own tea was long forgotten.

"That's your children's ghost story?" Severus finally said, pulling himself together. "That's the kind of bedside story your mother told you as a child?"

Minerva smiled facetiously.

"That's the Gaelic spirit for you, dear", she replied in an angelic tone.

"He will eat you, but he won't touch me?"

Albus still had not spoken. The Potion Master, turning his head slightly, glanced at him quickly. Then, turning back to Minerva, he said ironically:

"If he cannot sleep tonight and ends up knocking on your door, that is on you and the Gaelic spirit."

[theonlyren]

Ryme City Gengar

This is Kati

She's my Gengar partner.

DISCLAIMER: The following is my account of how I came to own my Gengar, Kati. It is a true story, however, I have falsified names and omitted the direct address of relevant parties in this story for their “protection.” Please do not seek these people out or harass them. They are not worth your time or energy. This is not a happy tale, especially if you like Ghost-types, are a Hex Maniac, or have a shred of common decency. Now, without further ado.

Consider the Gastly.

Gastly is one of the most well-documented, well-known, common ghost types across the regions. It’s in Oak’s original Pokedex and even shows up in Laventon’s old field journals. Its body is 95% gas, and it’s one of the lightest known pokemon in the world, to the point where a stiff wind will make the thing vanish (it’ll re-materialize later just fine, though). The remaining 5% of it is somewhat less clear. It could be argued that this 5% is undoubtedly what gives the Pokemon its Ghost typing. Some believe it is the souls of those its gas has killed, others believe it’s the ghostly essence of graveyard grievances, or forlorn memories of departed people or places.

All Kati remembers is waking up in front of the grave of a girl named Catherine.

I was backpacking through Galar at the time, I had the clothes on my back, the spares in my pack, some few thousand Pokedollars, basic Pokemon care and healing supplies, a phone, and my Eevee and Zorua, Vivi and Aka, respectively. I was looking for a place to crash for the night and wound up at a village in the southern edge of the region. Extremely quaint, very lovely, and I ran into the residents of a very old chateau, whose family had lived there for generations. They were trust fund kids, basically. The husband, who we’ll call John Doe, lived in the estate with his wife, Jane, his parents - his father being the local (and, if you’ve been following my Chatotter, a certain) reverend - and his grandparents. I met John and Jane at the town's only pub, and they were utter sweethearts; to this day, I still wish them well and the best for them. Upon telling them I was the son of Pokemon Rangers, and an Arceist, they asked if I could help them with an issue they’ve been having at the chapel.

Now, to a normal person, this probably would’ve set off every red flag in the universe. Supposedly rich family is inquiring about an outsider for “help”? Boi they’re about to steal your Pokemon and lock you in the basement. Turns out, something being locked in the basement was the issue. I initially declined, but then John made an offer to pay me a… moderately life changing amount of Pokedollars, provided I could solve the issue, which- er, piqued my curiosity enough to at least humor the couple. I figured I had Aka with me, and if things become sketchy he could use a clever illusion to help bail me outta there.

This village I went to was absurdly secluded, they hardly ever received tourists or travelers. The local authorities were in the back-pocket of John’s parents, which he was quick to explain as he led me to the estate. Once we arrived, he played me off as a guest of his wife’s side of the family, and I was introduced to this man’s elders.

I know the saying goes to respect your elders, but one look at this man’s family told me everything I needed to know about why John trusted an outsider with this. These were the most miserable, leery-eyed, snobbish, conservative-ass, “only polite because I have to be” motherfuckers I have ever had the discomfort of meeting and breaking bread with. The bread was the only good thing about their dinner as well, come to think of it, with unseasoned vegetables, beans, and… ok, the shepherd’s pie was alright, but still.

Later that night, John led me out as if to politely escort me off, but detoured around the back of the mansion to the village’s church, where we went through a cellar entrance.

And that’s where I would meet Kati for the first time.

As he opened the door, I saw paper talismans on the interior side. Cleanse tags. Prayer tags. The like. They dotted the stairwell down, to a locked door, which my escort unlocked to reveal a room, lined - wall-to-wall - with tags. And sitting, suspended in a cage, also laced with these tags, was a Gastly.

Cleanse Tags have long been a staple item for the traveling trainer, useful in helping ward off unwanted wild encounters, if a little uncomfortable for most pokemon to hold. A ghost type can handle holding one for the sake of their trainer.

An entire basement lined with them is torture of the highest order. Especially for a ghost.

This Gastly was well and truly trapped. Being locked in stasis inside a Pokeball would’ve been a kinder fate. Everywhere in this room that she could look, she saw searing wards and condemning reminders that told her in no uncertain terms that she was an unwelcome monster. She could not escape this place, the talismans well and truly suppressed any and all ghost energy she could even try and muster. No phasing, no vanishing, no shrinking or morphing, nothing.

John wanted her freed.

I was quick to agree.

It was clear the man was wrestling with the idea of freeing her for a while, and, when I pressed him about why the poor thing was locked away in the first place, he explained that the Gastly had been locked down here for generations, his late great-(great?)-grandfather had apparently caught the thing at the local graveyard, “communing with Giratina,” if you believe such malarky. So his family took it upon themselves to “catch” the ghost and seal her away in their church to cleanse or contain the sin within her, to the point where it’s become an obsession for the family, and they’ve never known peace since. So it was, she remained down there for something to the effect of over eighty years. 

At least three generations of Does is apparently what it took before one realized “hmm, maybe this Gastly down here is fine???”

So of course because things had to be dramatic, we heard the upper cellar door open the moment I tore enough tags off the cage to get the Gastly out. John told me to get my Zorua out and hide as he’d go distract whoever it was. I did so and told Aka to blend us into the wall. John went up, tried to tell his father the Gastly had escaped, and when he angrily came down to verify, well.

The Gastly didn’t like seeing the old man’s face.

She gassed my face to break free and immediately went for the old-timer. The illusion broke and I now had an angered reverend cursing my name, breaking every rule of engagement, since “the next coming of Giratina” was on the line as he threw his entire fuckin’ team at me. A “prize” furfrou, a machop, and a houndour. 

Trying to remember the fight as best I can, Vivi was strong enough to take out the Houndour, but the Machop made quick work of Aka. My new Gastly friend managed to poison the Machop in turn, but a bite from the Houndour nearly took her out instantly. Vivi weakened the Furfrou and Machop with a quick Swift, but, well, at the time my two team members were both weak to fighting, so the Machop was quick to take him out as well.

It was at that point I discovered the Gastly knew will-o-wisp as it cursed the Machop with its flames, taking it out, and I had an idea.

It was time to run from a trainer battle.

I kicked the Houndour in the face (sorry pup!) and told Gastly to set the remaining tags on fire. With the ones I had already desecrated, she had strength enough to set the room ablaze, which freaked out the reverend father and his pokemon enough that I was able to throw an empty pokeball at the Gastly to “catch” her, lob her out of the cellar as she struggled to break out, and get the absolute hell out of there.

John was waiting in a car outside. An extra broken-and-lobbed pokeball later to get the Gastly away from the reverend, we were driving from the estate and I had a very angry Gastly I was trying to calm down in the backseat of a speeding vehicle. It took a while, but she calmed down when it became clear we were tearing her away from that awful place.

John dropped me off at a graveyard, presumably (and, I would later find, purposefully) the best spot he thought to release the Gastly, - cliche, I know, - he wired me the money, and sped off. The Gastly tore itself free from me, and hovered at one particular grave. It was an old headstone, weathered and faint, but I could just barely make out the name “Catherine” on it. I sat near her as she stared at it. And we stayed there for a while; long time. Appropriately, I think we left at about midnight, when I offered her one more Pokeball and the chance to travel with me, safely, and see the world she was locked away from. Gave her the name “Kati” then and there, both as a shortening of her old name, and because it translates to “Pure.”

We beat feet from that village and never looked back. 

My backpacking journey was a lot more comfortable after that, I’ll say that much. Dude gave me bank.

But, here we are, me and the reverend, locked in something of an awkward stalemate where if either of us try and report what happened, we have to inadvertently confess to crimes we ourselves committed. Pokémon Abuse for the Does. And uh, Arson and Pokémon A&B for me. Trainer Disengagement too, but that’s a misdemeanor more ‘n anything. The fact that both of us have a decent amount of influence, should things get legal, doesn’t help either. Haven’t been back in or extradited to Galar since, and it’s basically been something like a 10 year cold case, so I’m not too concerned about this actually biting me in the ass, but the Reverend Father Doe sure is getting spicy with me on Chatotter.

He can rot for all I care.

Kati’s mine.

And she can burn through any holy tag you throw at her, now.

[camlannpod]

Hello! Sorry if it's been asked before, but how do you choose which legend/story to feature in the episode? Is it just something you really enjoy, it fits thematically or are there other reasons? Thank you!

Hello! It's definitely a mix of reasons - one part is certainly stories I enjoy, but they're also very much thematic!

Also this got so long, so I apologise. I hope you enjoy it!

For example, in episode 1, Twrch Trwyth and its story Culhwch ac Olwen is one of my favourite stories, but I also think of it as an iconic Welsh story and I wanted to situate Camlann within that tradition immediately. Plus Episode 1 is Dai's episode, and Dai is both very proud of his Welsh identity and very funny. Culhwch ac Olwen is maybe the oldest comedic Welsh story so it was a good fit.

With the Kelpie - there are a lot of different variations of kelpie / water-horse stories across the British Isles. Obviously the Kelpie itself is a Scottish story, that then travels to England. Welsh 'kelpies', the Ceffyl Dŵr, are universally benevolent. Part of the reason I used this story was that it was, to me, a really interesting 19th century English version of a Kelpie story (as recorded by Katharine M Briggs - a horse comes to a church at midday and says 'the hour has come but not the man'. Later a passing lord comes by at night and the priest tries to save him by keeping him away from the river and locking him in a room in the church. When they open the door just after midnight, they find the man has drowned on dry land.)

So partly I just wanted to use that because it's such a great rescension of the kelpie story. But it's also because Morgan, whose episode ep 2 is, is so tangled in conflicting traditions about Morgan Le Fay and her own understanding of both the character and her own identity. Morgan is Welsh, and a Ceffyl Dŵr wouldn't have hurt her, but she's terrified of the English corruptions of these stories, in many ways literally haunted by them. Was Morgan le Fay a victim or a villain? How do we interepret monstrous women in medieval stories? I wanted to play with that a bit.

The Lantern Man is another situation of a great story that really inspired me - an 1800s English midlands story I found in a book called The Lore of the Land. But also that's Perry's episode, and I needed to show you why Perry's paranoia is justified, and the flip side to Dai's urgent desire to find other people is Perry's terror of the monster lurking in shadows that they're trying to protect them from. Having someone knocking at your door - that idea of a human figure with a light - was perfect for that.

The dogs were a big one for thematic reasons. This is Gwen's episode, episode 4 - normally Shucky Dogs / Black Dogs / Grimms / Church Grimms / Black Shucks are benevolent and protective. They evolved as a story from an English practice of burying a dog in a graveyard first, as there was a superstition that the first person buried in a graveyard would be stuck in purgatory between earth and heaven. The idea was to bury a dog and let its ghost shepherd souls. This evolved into stories of huge ghostly dogs as protective, territorial spirits. However over time there's a little offshoot of that story - huge black hounds with hell-red eyes haunting stretches of road and abandoned buildings, the ghosts of murdered people whose killers were never found, seeking vengeance.

So on the one hand, from a literalist perspective, over thousands of years a lot of people get murdered, especially women and trans people, and I wanted to make a point in this drama inspired by medieval literature about violence against women and queer people. But I also liked the idea of the dogs being both - both restless spirits full of fury seeking vengeance and protective, territorial guardians who were wronged. That really resonated with me as a queer woman, and I really liked the idea of both Gwen and Morgan seeing a lot of themselves in these restless ghosts.

Then finally, most recently with Gwaine and the Green Knight. First, I wanted to blur the Green Man and the Green Knight because I think of the Green Man as one of England's most iconic folkloric creatures, and the closest we have to a clearly identifiable non-Christian folk deity, essentially. There are faces of the Green Man in York cathedral! From the 1200s! And the theme of the Green Man as the living embodiment of Spring - a giant who brings green mist to everything he touches - resonates for me with the Green Knights themes of renewal and change and life. Both are some of my favourite stories.

ALSO! This is a story about queerness. It's a story about finding ways for your queerness and culutral identity to co-exist. And it's about living in the shadow of history and tradition and everyone who's come before you and not feeling good enough. Gawain and the Green Knight is so much a story about courage, and integrity, and it was exactly the journey our Gwaine needed to go on. But with the monstrous twist that this is the end of the world, and our Gwaine shouldn't need to risk his life to prove he's a good man. That queer people shouldn't need to put ourselves in real social, political, even legal danger in order to love who we love and be who we are. That that's not a fair ask of anyone.

I hope you enjoyed these ramblings! I needed to walk a little around some spoilers but yeah!

[psychhound]

[ID: a banner that reads "immigration sale" in large light letters, with "8 games 40 - 60% off" in smaller light text. the background is a home's porch with a rocking chair, with a light brown translucent text box over it. end ID]

HEY YALL I'M DOING A SALE

so my little brother @hmooncreates and his partner @paladinbaby are working to move in together!!! faun does not live in america and the visa application is Not Cheap so im having a sale to help out!!!

the goal is $150 but literally anything is awesome!! all proceeds will go straight to paying for the visa application

the sale includes some big games!! if youve seen my sales before, you'll be familiar with:

little shepherd, little spy: a solo or duet journaling game where you are a spy in the fairy war, delivering messages through your spy ring through coded messages in the books on your bookshelf

dead mans hand: a solo storytelling game where you travel around the weird wild west learning peoples stories through a poker hand oracle system

little celestial fieldwork guide: a solo or multiplayer city exploration photography game where you use tarot cards to get hints as to what objects little spirits are hidden as to catalogue them for your research

familiar field trip: a competitive multiplayer game where you are all witches' familiars causing havoc in the village, teaming up or betraying each other to get the most mischief points

some BRAND NEW GAMES that have NOT been on sale before are:

shadow/giant: a duet game where one player is a gruff, jaded adult and the other player is the magical child now under their care

the graveyard game: a solo journaling game where you interview people to write an ethnography of a magical, haunted graveyard

with breath & sword: a solo journaling game where you gear up and fight monsters in order to calm down from real-life anxiety, using grounding methods and breathing techniques

the narrator paradox: a solo narrating game where you have to wrangle your protagonist into listening to the story you're trying to tell and not defying the narrative

each game 40% off or get all 8 for only $18!!!

also check out hollis's fundraising sale with a zine and dating sim inspired ttrpg (its so so fun) and faun's fundraising sale commissions (theyve drawn most of the art for my dnd game theyre amazing)

checking the games out and spreading the word so appreciated!!! thanks yall!!!

[im-immortal]

Small Miracles

Beth Greene is not dead. Though it is not for a lack of trying.

After eight long years spent in the CRM's grasp, struggling to find reasons to continue surviving, Beth finally finds her reason: Rick and Daryl are alive, and they are closer than she ever could've guessed. Now she must take advantage of her only opportunity to escape and track them down.

Along the way, she revisits all of the places that changed her into who she has become. And she is forced to remember who she truly is at heart despite how unrecognizable she finds herself.

But she has an unexpected ally along for the journey. Just the same as her, he is somewhat of a living miracle. Except he's no longer living... he's a walker.

[Moonshine Awards 2023 Third Place Winner for Best WIP ZA, and Second Place Winner for Best WIP Reunion/Fix It!]

Chapter 20 // Part 12: Nuevo Atlanta II

She can see everything from up here. The building is just tall enough to overlook the entire community, as well as the skyline of Atlanta itself. And just as Elba said, it’s a perfect spot for stargazing. For thinking. For breathing. Beth steps to the edge and gazes out at the community of Nuevo Atlanta, able to see countless windows and shadowy forms. If she looks further, she can see the top of Grady in the distance. She sits herself carefully on the edge, feet dangling, and just looks. Just thinks. Just breathes. She recalls the letter from Edwards, squinting and imagining that she can see where the helicopter picked him up and took him away. It must’ve been the same spot where they picked her up and took her away. And after her, they took Shepherd. Where is Amanda now, she wonders? Is she still with the CRM? Did they make her a soldier? If Beth had stayed a soldier, would it have been possible that she and Shepherd would’ve been reunited? She’s not sure that she likes to think about that prospect. She squints and gazes further into the distance, imagining that she can see the border of Georgia along the dark horizon. Imagining what she may find waiting for her. She wonders what Daryl is doing right now. Is he sleeping in a clean, warm bed in his safe community in Virginia? Is Rick sleeping in his own bed just next door to Daryl? She knows they wouldn’t stay too far apart from one another, not even in a safe place. They are brothers—not by blood, but by circumstance and, most importantly, choice. Even after all these years, she thinks they’d prefer to stay close. Just in case. Now she’s imagining the damn near impossible: the future. A future where she and Mae both make it to Alexandria. And she already knows that she won’t want to be more than a few yards away from Mae at any given time. She’ll want to be able to step outside and look over and see Mae sitting on the porch next door, drinking coffee and reading a book in the morning sunlight. If Maggie is there—if she and Glenn are there—will they let Beth live with them? She’d like to live with her sister again. It’s been so long. It would make it feel more like home. But what about Daryl? Would he want to share a home with her? Is there a world where it’s possible for Beth to live in one house with Daryl, for Glenn and Maggie to live in the one next door, and for Mae to live in the one on the other side? Then Beth would have all the people she cares about most right within reach. She would finally feel safe. Really, truly safe. Or would she rather live next to the graveyard in Alexandria? Closest to the people she relates to most? She pushes that thought away just as quickly as it comes. She tilts her head skyward and gazes up at the vast stars. The crescent moon. The endless black sky. It resembles a graveyard, she thinks. All dead stars casting their final light, leaving pinpoint marks in the darkness of the abyss. She takes a deep breath of fresh night air, filling her lungs with it and reminding herself that she is alive. She is alive. She is alive. She is alive. And for just a brief moment, she wonders if it’s possible that Daryl is gazing up at the same sky and thinking the same thing.

[creacherkeeper]

a little town in the desert that you have to be lost to find

{praise the rain - joy harjo / @coyote-west / the saint of lost causes - justin townes earle / @dappermouth / pissing contest (or an interrogation on behalf of a lover who is no longer mine) - @silasdenvermelvin / unknown / their eyes were watching god - zora neale hurston / old black train - the blasting company / once in a while you get shown the light - crystal dipietro / last stand - adam joseph}

[ID: a 10 image litstack

image 1: black text on a white background. "praise crazy. praise sad. / praise the path on which we're led. / praise the roads on earth and water. / praise the eater and the eaten. / praise beginnings; praise the end. / praise the song and praise the singer."

image 2: a red, maroon, and light tan drawing on a tan background. it shows desert mountains with some scraggly plants, a cactus, a snake, and a big red sun. red text says "the west has made a deal with the sun"

image 3: black text on white background. "you know the folks that's most afraid of the wolf / if you really stop and think / throughout time, between a wolf and a shepherd / who do you think has killed more sheep?"

image 4: a digital painting of a black wolf in a dim, snowy landscape. text underneath it reads "you feel you've been here, once before, in a memory that was not quite yours"

image 5: black text on a white background. "have you shot a gun? is your / blood authentic? is your blood / authentic? is your blood authentic? / can you prove it to me?"

image 6: a traditional colored print of a skeleton wearing a black cowboy hat and a red bandana. we see their bust floating over a scene of a graveyard with crosses, cactus, a bull skull, and two human skulls wearing hats. theres a mound of dirt with a shovel in it and a large rising sun. the text reads "live fast / die last"

image 7: black text on white background. "half gods are worshiped with wine and flowers. real gods require blood"

image 8: black text on a burnt orange background. "come on now, young strangers / weren't you someone's son? / how'd you find this depot / cause it aint where you belong"

image 9: a realistic traditional painting of desert shrubs and mountains with a cloudy sky. the painting is done in steel blues and bright orange

image 10: black text on white background. "i'll bet you thought this'd last, cowboy / but nothin ever does - / it's just this wasteland / and it's just god / and it's just us." end ID]

[scotianostra]

On 12th April 1941, Scottish poet, Charles Murray died at Banchory, Aberdeenshire.

Charles Murray has been described as a skilled and popular poet who wrote in the pure Scots of his native Aberdeenshire, "The Doric”.

Charles was born and raised in Alford in north-east Scotland. However he wrote much of his poetry while living in South Africa where he spent most of his working life as a successful civil engineer. His first volume, A Handful of Heather, was privately printed and he withdrew it shortly after publication to rework many of the poems within it. His second volume, Hamewith was much more successful. It was republished five times before he died and it is this volume for which he is best known. The title of the volume, which means Homewards in English, reflects his expatriate situation.

In 1969, twenty-eight years after Murray's death, poems which had not appeared in book form during his lifetime were published as The Last Poems, with Preface and Notes by Alexander Keith.

Finally in 1979, Murray's friend, the novelist Nan Shepherd, edited Hamewith: the complete poems of Charles Murray. These publications were supported by the Charles Murray Memorial Fund.

HAME

There’s a wee, wee glen in the Hielan's,

Where I fain, fain would be;

There's an auld kirk there on the hillside

I weary sair to see.

In a low lythe nook in the graveyard

Drearily stands alane,

Marking the last lair of a' I lo'ed,

A wee moss-covered stane.

There's an auld hoose sits in a hollow

Half happit by a tree;

At the door the untended lilac

Still blossoms for the bee;

But the auld roof is sairly seggit,

There's nane now left to care;

And the thatch ance sae neatly stobbit

Has lang been scant and bare.

Aft as I lie 'neath a foreign sky

In dreams I see them a'--

The auld deer kirk, the dear auld hame,

The glen sae far awa'.

Dreems flee at dawn, and the tropic sun

Nae ray o' hop can gie;

I wander on o'er the deser lone,

There's nae mair hame for me.

You can also read more and quite a number of his poems here

https://electricscotland.com/.../Murray,%20Charles...