Emerging from the crypts and catacombs to give this social media thing a try.
The Bonewife, it/its.
I write, I read, I divine.
My Ao3 rests under the same epitaph.
I cast the runes upon Hermitcraft and the Life Series presently. I keep an eye upon the auguries of Danny Phantom and The Magnus Protocol. Idly, I observe the signs and omens of a handful of other media. I am a myriad.
Tags as foretold by the celestial vault:
#strung with sinew for my web weaves
#grave goods for collected pngs
#epitaphs for favoured passages
Profile picture is "Melted Faith" by Ramon Maiden
My prescence here waxes and wanes with the moon; visitors must have patience.
Hot Scarian New Year 2026: Distorted Reflection | Longing | Thunderstorms
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Scar/Grian One-shot (4.4k words)
Wing preening, Uncanny Life Series Worldbuilding, Memory Mistrust and Alteration, Limited Life SMP Setting
Grian scoffs, "Yeah, cause we have all the reason in the world to trust you." Grian's body trusts him — his mind doesn't, has no reason to see him as anything but a dangerous foe, one that has killed him multiple times at this point, but his heart rate calms at his presence, his fight or flight dulls to a whisper, his hypervigilance focuses in on an us. Protect us, it screams out, no care in the world for protecting him from Scar.
Scar trots further into the room, "Exactly! I've done so much for you guys, I even kept you safe during your whole sleepy episode."
"Right, and you did such a good job at that. Remind me, how many times did you blow me up? Two? Three? I wasn't exactly around to keep count."
"Sure, sure, I didn't say there weren't… imperfections. A little TNT here and there may have gotten misplaced along the way. But my goals were as noble as can be."
(In which Scar preens Grian during a storm, and the world ticks along as per usual)
(1. Ceramic ghosts by Lisa Agnetum, 2. “Timeless Magic” by Naoko Fukumaru, 3. “Fukushima No. 5” by Paul Scott, 4. Staffordshire Bowl by Richard Prentice, 5. “Translated Vase” by Yeesookyung, 6. Sea globe by Richard Prentice, 7. “Rosa” by Billie Bond, 8. Bowl by Naoko Fukumaru, 9. “Aster” by Bille Bond)
i start inventing fables of myself to keep the fire fed—girl made of obsidian spit / girl stitched together with copper thread / girl who bleeds salt so thick it preserves everything she touches until the world around her is embalmed stiff & gleaming / i whisper these inventions quick as lies into the oven & in return it offers me molten silence / i begin to bargain: if i shatter then scatter me across the orchard & let children mistake me for fallen fruit / if i hold then turn me into a window too bright for anyone to stare through without wincing / i am no myth only a girl gasping hard enough that the breath rings & rings & still the furnace yawns wider demanding all of me
i once pulled the fur from a rabbit’s belly with my own clumsy hands // the small body trembled // i am sorry for that / i am not sorry for that / remorse, like mildew, accumulates in the grout between my fingers // to love is to hush a living thing with your own trembling / i learnt this from the knife my grandmother kept on her bedside, to pry open peaches in the yellowdark // if i peel myself open will sweetness spill out / or just pith, bitter and useless? // nobody tells you how many small violences live under a girl’s nails // nobody tells you how sorry you’ll be, over and over, for breathing
II. PLASTER CAST OF A GIRL UNCHOSEN
my mother says [she is reciting from a field guide to wild animals] you want too much / you swallow the room like draught // but i have spent years shrivelling myself into a salt-blind relic // the other girls refuse to sit beside me // i make them uneasy, a wasp in a matchbox // i want to be small enough to fit into their absence // i want to crawl into the empty & live there, soft as wishbone // i sprawl: anxious, too pink, uneven as thawing ice // i should be grateful for the inconvenience of my body, but i am not / i want to be dissolved // i am too much, i am nothing, i am too much, i am
III. UNGLOVED
i sleep with my hands hidden / i am afraid of what i’ll wake holding // last night i dreamt my fingers grew eyes / hundreds, blinking wetly at the ceiling // i looked away but they kept staring [the cost of seeing] // when i was young i believed in salt circles, in old stories where girls transform themselves into swans or snow or a storm at sea // i have only managed to turn myself inside out, red ribboned & sore // if you touch me i will startle, collapse in a heap of apologies / you won’t touch me // i wouldn’t either // i want to leave / i want to leave / i want to
IV. NIGHTSHADE IN THE LARYNX
the woman at the market says these berries are poison // but the colour is impossible, the colour is the bruise on a plum, the colour is the ache behind my knees when i stand too long // in another world, i am easy: i answer the phone, i laugh at jokes, i am not a riddle made of wet leaves and trembling // here, i eat the berries // they burst between my teeth, sharp & sour // my mouth stains purple and i let it / i want to be marked by something that will not heal
V. HOUND HOUR
my bedroom is a kennel, meaning it is thick with breath and clawed wanting // i watch the shadow of the streetlamp crack across my thighs / have never known aa love that did not feel like a disease, a fox with blood in its mouth / i collect heartbeats in old jam jars, label them with dates i want to forget // i am an archive of disappointments / he says, why are you shaking // i say, because i am alive // i say, because i don’t want to be // the dogs outside bark until morning // i bark back, i want to be understood by something with teeth
i say: [the absence of refusal is not agreement] but you cut your thumb against my hesitation anyway // the blood looks ceremonial // but there’s no altar in the absence of intention // you asked if thought was a form of mercy // i replied with [a nervous system flaring like a detonated orchard] // pardon—let me say instead: flesh flinches the same way a lie does before it’s formed // involuntary twitch / a compression in the sternum / an offering made out of misunderstanding
there is no [salvation] in the equation of touch = want // you prove nothing by bruising the hypothesis into submission
so i unlearn skin as declaration / erase wrist from wristwatch // i want to see time undone / i want to see time gagged / i want to see time with her knees pressed to her chest / saying nothing
the cavity in the chest is not designed to hold contradiction // but we do it anyway / bone against blade against longing
i turn the jaw a degree toward midnight. i am trying to measure the fluorescence that sprints through cranial tunnels like contraband light // my pulse goes staccato in the wrists and the tongue tastes of antiseptic fennel // i am orderly-disordered // a lab note written on living tissue // the cortex purrs // sweetness arrives disguised as gauze and exits as iron filings across the palate // i keep saying it's nothing and the zygomatic muscles disagree // they twitch like minnows i cannot name because sea life here is theoretical and brackish and very pink // the innocence i borrowed from childhood cartoons ferments into something bristled and pearlescent // a toy with pins tucked beneath its velvet smile // look // i divide desire into organ systems // pituitary glitter // thymus recanting // bile with opinions // syrinx of breath whistling through a throat built for yes/no binaries // and then the cuter thought arrives–a little lamb made of frosting and formaldehyde // docile on the tray // i'm embarrassed by how quickly my gaze becomes a scalpel // how i trace from manubrium to sternum tip (polite & clinical) while a sugary fog slithers behind the teeth // innocence // not clean // i am obedient only when it serves me // i do not need hard narratives // i need phosphorescence draped over cartilage // i need a minor quale in the temporal lobe to put glitter on embarrassment // darling cleverness // darling rotunda of thought // keep sprinting along the myelin // the body says proceed and i proceed // gleeful // clinical // a little wicked with the frosting knife
and then a correction // i invent a detour under the scapula where heat gathers // i open nothing // i observe everything // i chart without charts using finesse and low light // the innocence-creature smirks // thorn-lipped // honey-voiced // something saccharine with razors // i keep my mouth neutral // i taste peroxide grapes // i annotate in slashes instead of that other thing you're expecting // [note] when the parietal region flares // the world gains a border // not a mirror // not glass // just a gloved like between urge and act // i stand on the safe side and lick my teeth // tachycardia against ribs-that-are-not-ribs // cartilage drums a private meter // soft percussion // clean // sterile // then a little laugh hatched in the epiglottis // poor bird // just sound wearing feathers // i let it fly into the ceiling of my skull // where everything sheds glitter and nothing breaks
lastly // to reconcile the dangerous darling who tastes like spun sugar and antiseptic // i dose myself with quiet thunder // an internal weather // in that climate i am doctor and specimen // velvet and wire // i lick the beaker clean // i refuse remedy // i preserve observation // and if sweetness knocks.. // i pocket the scalpel shaped thought for later
Collage cover and web weave based on @entropyhours's Scarian Yuri Musician AU Aria in H. Micacea.
[Which I insist you all read posthaste.]
[Ahem.]
A BELATED BIRTHDAY TO MY DEAREST BELOVED. This one ballooned a little from the original concept I had planned out. One became somewhat lost in the sauce of reading moth poetry. I think Grian's half of the weave wound up a little denser than Scar's, though that might be because she's suffering more.
Anway, the poem at the end is a truncated version of the lesson of the moth by Don Marquis, sources for the rest follow thusly:
Cover
Assorted moths in flight mostly by Roy and Marie Battell at moorhen.me.uk, others from Ganesh H. Shankar's Moth Ballet and the Warren Photographic Image Library of Animals in Action.
LED Heart Sign by ValueLights
Web
3 Ways to Linger by Reductress
Anna Haifisch - dog thoughts (2018)
Street lamp by nicepng.com
Moths' Attraction to Light Wikipedia Entry
"Besides being gay, I'm also afraid of people." Panel capture from Go for it, Nakamura! by Syundei
I cannot find the person who put together the Lesbian Gregor Samsa meme but the illustration it uses is by the artist Rich Johnson and the flag is designed by Emily Gwen.
I've also found the 'talking stages' and 'hierarchy of needs' memes are essentially untraceable after their time in the mill of uncredited meme reposting. 'that was the stupidest shit i've ever heard' is my own.
Moth on the keyboard.
Very Hungry Caterpillar pin and Big Cats pin via the internetarchive.
'i desire intimacy' by naurpilled
'I am a moth' patch by Lempi on Pinterest
Vintage illustration of a butterfly cat - unknown attribution.
Moth pupa
Moth on the guitar.
Music Notes Crochet Garland by Golden LucyCrafts
The 'unraveled human heart' image is from a pseudoscience campaign so you're not having that one.
'Take the moment' - You're On Your Own, Kid, Taylor Swift
'tits or ass' capture from leilakulas_ on TikTok via x.
'The moon is high' - Paper Rings, Taylor Swift
Thumbnail art for the faux YouTube screenshot by starling_stumble.
I have not been able to trace the photograph of the hand holding the white moths, nor the first two articles of firework photography however the heart-shaped firework is via Priscilla Huang.
Iron railing from 1stDibs.
Finally, the two moths at the end are also from PNG blogs (brown and green) and the backing image of the country sunset is this photograph by Nancy Aguilar.
