#Quietus: Comfort/something that causes death

[she-had-many-names]

Northa gets a long, thin silvery sword, with a pink bow on the hilt.

Easton gets a small, sleek, old-fashioned, silvery rifle with infinite ammunition. A small blue bow is tied on the handle.

Guinevere gets a new staff, made of smooth, polished white wood with pink blossoms on the short branches at the end. At the top is embedded a pink jewel.

Aoki gets a…caster’s halberd?… It’s made of elegant dark wood and has a few blue leaves on it. It’s shorter that Guinevere’s, but still over half of his height. A blue sapphire is embedded in the blade at the end.

As for Arthur?

He gets a sword. A beautiful, powerful sword, the kind of thing you’d see in old stories of heroes and knights. I’m sure we’ve all heard its name: Excalibur.

x1 Auxilium added to inventory!

x1 Custodio added to inventory!

x1 Avalon added to inventory!

x1 Quietus added to inventory!

x1 Excalibur added to inventory!

[lowkeyren]

quietus!

to find peace in eternal rest ; "death or something that causes death, regarded as a release from life."

in which — elio finally fulfils blade’s wish for death, in an unexpected way. 

pairing — blade x gn!reader

✧��⋆｡° — wc: 1.1k, grgrrrr angst, haha cry hurt/no comfort, bladie my fav edgelord, tw blood but dw there’s no detailed gore, spoiler for blade’s previous name, okey thats all enjoy!!!! likes n reblogs r appreciated <3

the promise of death was a distant yet tantalizing dream for blade. years of endless suffering, a paradise he's been yearning for— finally comes to an end. no longer will his body stitch up the wounds caused by his own hands; the scars holding memories, marked by countless battles fought and the years that went by, to be forgotten.

shackled by the chains of immortality, you too, know how it feels like. you knew yingxing like the back of your hand, both of you had witnessed xianzhou's rise and fall, and felt the crushing weight of loneliness as time went on inexorably. though you managed to find solace in each other, blade never stopped his pursuit for eternal rest.

coming home to you as the scent of blood wafts through the air, a reminder of the price he had to pay, and the sacrifices he made in pursuit of a “dream” that remained just out of reach. his body, marred by countless wounds, bore the scars of a life spent on the knife-edge between life and death.

for too long, you had been bound together by the scripts given by elio. you had played your parts, adhered to the lines etched into the fabric of your existence. but now, as the last act draws near, you feel the impending doom pressing down upon you.

perhaps it's unfair that blade gets to taste the sweet release of death, the peace that has eluded him for centuries. perhaps it's unfair that you are the one who has to deliver his timely demise, to be the hand that grants him the freedom he has longed for.

despite understanding his desire for peace, it tears at your heart.

you grasp at blade’s sword as he stands before you. you meet his eyes in a wavering look, the steel gleaming in the dim light, reflecting both your dishevelled state.

"why…" you whisper, your voice breaking as tears cloud your vision. "why must it be me?"

blade reaches out to touch your face, his blood-stained fingers gentle against your skin. a softness reserved only for you behind closed doors.

"—because only you can understand the depths of my suffering, and only in your hands can i find the peace i seek."

you know he’s right. no one else could understand the torment he has endured, only you were there with him throughout every part of his life. you were there when he was yingxing, a name lost to history; and now blade, a mere tool burdened with the curse of immortality.

but i don’t want to lose you

blade seems to know what you’re thinking at this very moment as he reaches down to your wrist, his touch is firm yet tender, guiding your trembling fingers to align the sword against his own neck. the cold steel presses against his skin, and when he begins to speak, the slight movement causes the sharp edge to bite into his skin, a small trickle of crimson welling up and tracing a delicate path down his neck.

“i love you.”

his eyes remain boring into yours, you’ve always hated when he deliberately hurt himself, but this time it’s different, because now you are the one hurting him. you start to quiver at the thought, breaking eye contact and just as you retract your hand, you feel his grip tighten.

he continues, “…aren’t you going to say it back?” his blood glistens in the dark, a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. “i love you too…yingxing.” you dare not meet his gaze when you uttered those words back, your voice visibly quivering.

an uncharacteristic smile spreads across his face at your predicament. “don’t regret it now.” he whispers under his breath as he uses his free hand to pull you closer by the waist, the sword digging slightly deeper in his flesh, drawing out a fresh gush of blood.

your face immediately contorts with worry, and instinctively, you try to pull your hand back. however, he laughs at your attempt and keeps his grip firm on your wrist. “don’t resist. you have to follow through”, his voice tinges with an indiscernible emotion.

as a final expression of his love that he rarely ever shows, blade leans forward, his lips capturing yours in a tender, desperate kiss. his free hand moves to cup your face, gently wiping away the trickling tears with his thumb.

“do it now."

the scent of blood mingled with the faintest hint of regret.

with a final, shuddering breath, you push the blade deeper. as he guides your hand to the side, the steel slices through with a sorrowful finality. he collapses to the floor.

you fall to your knees beside him in despair, cradling his head in your hands. a spread of crimson staining your clothes, seeping through your fingers. his eyes, though dimming, remain solely fixed on yours, a faint smile still playing at the corners of his lips.

“thank you… for everything.” he murmurs, barely audible.

your tears flow like a ceaseless torrent of waterfall, streaming uncontrollably. you want to scream, yell, but nothing comes out, you could only stare as the life in his eyes gradually ebb away. the world around you fades into a blur, you clutch him closer, your hands trembling as you feel his body get heavier for each moment that passes by.

you press your forehead against his, your gut-wrenching sobs linger in the air. "yingxing," you whisper, your voice cracking. "please… don’t leave me"

i love you, i always will

for too long, you had been bound together by the shared burden of immortality. blade had endured more than any soul should bear, and the memories of his suffering now yours to carry. his body remains motionless, indicating that his agony has finally found its end; and with it, a part of your soul now irreparably torn. every breath you take, every dream you’ll have, every thought that occupies your mind will be engraved by his final moments.

you brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your fingers tracing his features, committing every detail into your memory; your heart clenches as you weep silently. the thought of facing eternity without him is unbearable, a pain sharper than any blade.

✧˖⋆｡°

masterlist

[rockerb0y]

     ❝  as much of a chance as a one-legged guy has at winnin' an ass-kicking contest but hey, don't let that stop you. if you've got such an insatiable hankerin' for my  sloppy seconds,  got my blessing to give it the old college try. over at the afterlife, getting your balls publicly busted by rogue is practically a rite of passage so far be it from me to deny you of that. the regulars don't mind a show — more  bang  for their buck, really.  ❞

     ACIDITY  bled through the cracks of seasoned sangfroid, inwardly envenomed by her name's targeted mention as lidded stare held with steadfast focus. limerence for rogue had long since receded into comfortable  amity  yet neither lacked the will to meaningfully sever attachment. unequivocally was he certain that she still spoke of him in the same manner: callous and paired with vituperative affront to mask persevering bias. regardless of their  unamicable  separation years ago, enough familiarity existed between the two of them to conduct an educated assessment on rogue's taste in partners on her behalf and corporates seldom enticed her  consummate  palette; rogue's standards may have questionable on occasion but never to an  inexpiable  extent.

          she was damn lucky to have him in her corner.

     ❝  endgame's gonna happen with or without me, choom.  i'm just flint for the fire. want people to know that 'saka isn't as indestructible as it seems, that megacorps can still bleed like the rest of us. they need  you,  not the other way around. the more people wise up to that, the closer we get to a systemic overhaul. the masses have a right to know what's at stake and who they're fightin' this war for — or fuck it, maybe i  am  doing all this simply 'cause i like the sound of my own voice. either or, maybe both. dealer's choice.  ❞

     whiskey glass lifted pointedly towards his corporate counterpart before a mouthful of smoky amber conquered thirst, thin wisps of cigarette smoke twining and coiling into themselves during cursory interlude. denunciation of his temerarious disposition and methods was expected and while the screamsheets were repeat offenders with their  inculpatory  smear tactics, an in-person confrontation boasted a certain  intimacy  which couldn't quite be replicated in text. provocation and mutual pillory fueled engagement and fortified attention proper, far more than  unreciprocated  derision ever could.

     ❝  got some good news for you, though. not too late to switch sides. you can chalk it up to entertainment, morbid interest, or something else entirely — don't give a shit, whatever tickles your taint. fact is, your eyes are on me and  something's  sticking if you're here to pick my brain. you know i'm not just spinnin' my wheels. arasaka won't twice about taking you out to pasture after they've squeezed you dry of all value, tenure be damned. no severance to pay if the body's cold and  guarantee  that they'll come to collect.  ❞   tautly between index and middle finger did the cigarette remain captive, even as paired digits motioned towards the other to accentuate outspoken evaluation.   ❝  you're a tax write-off, an asset which isn't paid to think for itself or have any kind of identity. they  own  you, in life and in death —  that's  the fine print on your contract,  that's  what happens when you hand them the leash. it's  your  endgame until you grow a spine and bare your teeth.  ❞

     lungs swelled with a prolonged inhale which further  deteriorated  nicotine supply, more ash joining the tray's plentiful pile as it was tapped loose. not unlike his patron, his own cigarette was tragically nearing its end but its quietus was detained by a desire to first deliver appraisal's denouement; a replacement had already been passingly contemplated.

    ❝  won't get a  christmas bonus  for sniffin' around the rubble when it all comes crashing down — figuratively speaking, that is. maybe you ought'a think long and hard about whether you're genuinely  satisfied with how things are and why. tell you this much, most  purebred  corpos don't seek me out to play a round of twenty questions or offer up a cig in good faith. should consider what that says about you.  ❞

the cherry at the tip of his cigarette flared a bright, angry red, mirroring the mocking glint in his spheres, his structure finding repose once he leaned back. the insurgent's swagger, that effortless rebellion laced with bitterness, was as loud as the city's ever-present hum outside, yet it never failed to amuse ryker. ❝ expense it? hell, johnny, you act like i didn't already file that under 'corporate entertainment' last quarter. ❞ his tiers curled into a sardonic grin, the kind that spoke of an arrogant amusement more than any real sting. ❝ let the execs think i'm winin' and dinin' some foreign dignitary. you? ❞ he flicked his cigarette, ashes falling into the pristine ashtray betwixt them, his gaze, however, naught but cemented on the other. ❝ yourre just the sideshow. the flavour of the night. ❞ he let his words simmer for a moment, the smirk never leaving his lineaments. they both shared a recklessness that was almost innate... but ryker himself used it to scoff at from his tower, back when he was drowning in corpo luxury and blinded by his own ambition. now, however? he saw the cracks in the system. the rot. and johnny, with all his rebellious bravado, was starting to look more like the antidote to a poisoned world than the joke he used to be in ryker's mind.

❝ what am i hoping to get outta this? mhm, silverhand... maybe... i'm here for the entertainment value, pure and simple. watching you tilt at windmills is like my favourite late-night show: tragic, but entertaining. though, i mean... if your band ain't working and you need extra cash... well, we can always discuss other options. ain't using my hand when i can have another. ❞ he paused, the cigarette hanging loosely betwixt his digits whilst his smirk hardened, almost predatory in its amusement. ❝ besides, we both know you're the one who's always on the clock, even when you don't want to admit it. got that rebel brand to protect, don't ya? can't let the world forget that you're the big bad rocker boy who'll take down the system one power chord at a time. ❞ he gestured vaguely, his cigarette tracing an invisible arc through the air, mocking the grandiosity of johnny's cause. ❝ just curious about your next move... i'm a great listener, you know? ❞

but even whilst he mocked, there was a flicker of something else in his gaze ⸻ respect, buried deep beneath the layers of sarcasm and cynicism. because no matter how much he taunted johnny, no matter how much he enjoyed poking at the cracks in his armour, ryker could not deny that he had guts. the kind of guts that had started to appeal to ryker more than the cold, calculated world of corpo backstabbing ever had. he had spent so long playing the corpo game, bending to the system's will whilst pretending he was in control. seeing johnny, someone who refused to bow, ryker could not help but feel a flicker of… what? envy? mayhap. ❝ let's be real... you're not just in this for shits and giggles. you're not just throwing Molotovs 'cause you like watching the flames. you've got a plan. a real one. ❞ he crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, leaning forward slightly. ❝ would you like to share with your old friend what's your endgame? ❞ for once, ryker was not mocking. he was not taunting. he genuinely wanted to know. because if there was one thing ryker had learned from his time in the corpo world, it was that everyone had an agenda. everyone had an angle. ❝ i've spent so much time in afterlife to hear your name everywhere... and rogue, oh... damn, you think i might have a chance with her? ❞ and there he was, with jest crawling in, if only to stir the fire.

[mira-shard]

Marina Willow Profile

I had to use this once I saw @hogwartsmysterystory AMAZING template!

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IDENTITY

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Name: Marina Madeline Willow 

Gender: Female

Age: 15 (In most of my works)

Birth Date: 2/2/1973

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-Blood (Father is a pure-blood, the mother is a Half-blood)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Alignment: Chaotic neutral

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: British

Residence: Willow Manor

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ENTP

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THE MAGE

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1st Wand: Acacia wand, 12 inches, unicorn hair core

Acacia wood:

A very unusual wand wood, which is found creates tricky wands that often refuse to produce magic for any but their owner, and also withhold their best effects from all but those most gifted. This sensitivity renders them difficult to place, and Ollivanders keeps only a small stock for those witches or wizards of sufficient subtlety, for acacia is not suited to what is commonly known as ‘bangs-and-smells’ magic. When well-matched, an acacia wand matches any for power, though it is often underrated due to the peculiarity of its temperament.

Unicorn hair core:

Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic, and is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard.

Minor disadvantages of unicorn hair are that they do not make the most powerful wands (although the wand wood may compensate) and that they are prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may ‘die’ and need replacing.

2nd Wand: 11-and-a-quarte inches, ebony wood, Hippogriff and Fwooper feather

Ebony wood:

This jet-black wand wood has an impressive appearance and reputation, being highly suited to all manner of combative magic, and to Transfiguration. Ebony is happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be themselves. Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of outsider, ebony wand owners have been found both among the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix and among the Death Eaters. In my experience the ebony wand’s perfect match is one who will hold fast to his or her beliefs, no matter what the external pressure, and will not be swayed lightly from their purpose.

Fwooper feather:

Fwooper feather wands are said to be a mark of ill omen for the wizards they bond to, as, like the birds they come from, they are rumored to slowly drive their wielder mad. Despite their poor reputation, they do well with Charms and Care of Magical Creatures. However, they have a near-inability to cast Quietus. They are commonly combined with another feather core, such as the phoenix for health or the hippogriff for stability.

Hippogriff feather:

Hippogriffs are noble animals with a reputation for not taking a slight. These wands require constant respect, and if the wielder does not give it, they can watch its formerly stable and versatile magic backfire on it. It is not the strongest core, but it is one of the most adaptable. These wands are most common amongst Gryffindors, but they are rare overall.

Animagus: Jaguar

Misc Magical Abilities: Legilimens

Boggart Form: A younger version of herself and her brother, clinging to each other in fear while a threathening shadow is towering above them. 

Boggart meaning: A simple moment that makes her remember all the times Marina and her brother spent together, unable to trust anything in their own home, their own parents included.

Riddikulus Form: The shadow turns out to be their mother, who casts spells that create butterflies and other pretty things, leaving the siblings in awe.

Amortentia, what she smells like: Sea salt and lavender.

Amortentia, what she smells: Butterbeer, a smoldering fire and cinnamon.

Patronus: Jaguar

Patronus Memory: Besting the ice vault with her friends, being one step closer to her reunion with her brother.

Mirror of Erised: Her brother and her playing at the cliff sides near the manor, while their mother watches over them with a smile. 

Specialized/Favourite Spells: Musicis Ludere (A spell that allows instruments to play whatever song the caster was thinking of without a musician) is her favourite spell in general. Her favourite combat spell is Bombarda.

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APPEARANCE

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Faceclaim: None.

Game Appearance: 

Voice claim: Morgan Berry

Height: 173 cm

Weight: 58 kg

Eye Colour: Greyish green

Hair Colour: Brown, dyed purple passed her shoulders.

Skin Tone: Pale

Scarring: Scar on her left cheek from the fight with the ice knight in her fifth year and a burn mark on her back from the dragon in the portrait vault.

Inventory: Pet food, lots of empty notebooks, stuffed kneazel, at least 1 sweater, a walkman, a beanie and reading books.

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ALLEGIANCES 

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Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House: She would have been a Pukwudgie

Affiliations/Organizations: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of the Phoenix.

Professions: Cursebreaker at Gringotts, helper at the Willow home-away-from-home, her brother’s business.

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HOGWARTS INFORMATION

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Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: Outstanding

Charms: Exceeds Expectations

DADA: Outstanding

Flying: Exceeds Expectations

Herbology: Dreadful

History of Magic: Acceptable

Potions: Exceeds Expectations

Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations

Electives: 

Care of Magical creatures: Acceptable

Divination: Exceeds Expectations

Extra-Curricular: Slytherin beater and prefect.

Favourite Professors: Professor Kettleburn. She adores his passion for his subject and can see herself in his recklessness when it comes to dealing with said passions. He might be a tad crazy but she enjoys talking to him and can often get away with misbehaving in his class.

Least Favourite Professors: Professor Snape. Marina enjoys challenging authority figures and has a strong sense of personal justice that sometimes goes against Hogwarts rules which rubs Snape the wrong way. She has gained some respect for him when she learned he distrusts Rakepick as well. To quote her exact words, "Well, turns out Snape is less of Dumbledore's bootlicker than we thought."

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RELATIONSHIPS

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Brother: Acacius "Jacob" Willow.

Marina and Acacius have a very loving and protective relationship. Being born with a neglectant mother and an abusive father, the two learned to rely on each other at a very young age. When Acacius started studying at Hogwarts, he made sure to teach Marina everything he learned during the holidays and the summer.

Much like his younger sister, Acacius is not one to look away from injustice, having to watch his family suffer from his own father’s cruelty for so long. Thanks to the support of Duncan Ashe and Olivia Green, he learned how to stand up to his father and how to quietly rebel against other sorts of authority figures, something he passed onto Marina.

Acacius tends to say ‘fuck it,’ when someone talks shit about his family or muggleborns and just fight them the muggle way. He finds it a good way to get his aggression out but it got him into loads of trouble and a reputation as a delinquent at Hogwarts. It was one of the few things he didn’t pass onto his baby sister.

Father: Emeric Lorenzo Willow

Emeric is a faithful follower of Voldemort, his ambition of furthering his family legacy based on power instead of blood purity being the only thing more powerful.

He married Marina’s mother merely for the natural born skill of legilemncy that ran trough her family, hoping it would pass onto their childeren. As far as most of the wizarding world knows, this marriage nor the childeren it produced exists. Emeric has another family elsewhere to keep up his reputation as a powerful and clean man. 

He controlled his hidden family with fear and his connections, making a show of torturing aurors during Voldemort’s reign and forcing his childeren to watch. 

The abuse was never physhical but mental torture, as a punishment for Acaius and Marina for not having legillmens abilities as far as he knows.

Mother: Abigail Kowalski-Willow.

Abigail is a witch who was born and raised in America and transferred to Hogwarts after an experiment gone wrong and got her expelled from Ilvermorny. 

A naïve yet determinded soul who enjoyed using her legilemens abilities whenever possible, but her ambitions got her into huge financial debt after graduating from Hogwarts.

Enamored with Emeric’s affections and interested in his wealth, she agreed to marry him after a few months of flirting.

When Acacius hid his talent from Emeric, the wizard took his frustrations out on Abigail, torturing her with the cruciatus curse. By the time Marina was born, their mother had passed the brink of insanity. Neither of the kids truly got to know their mother and never learned they got their curiosity and determination from her.

Other Siblings: To be Revealed :3

Love Interest: 

Canon love interest: Jae Kim

The two of them had met during detention and connected by making fun of professor Snape. When the two gradually started hanging out more often they bonded further about their authority defying traits and humor.

The two had been flirting quite often, sometimes even kissing one another on the cheek or forehead, or cuddling in one of their common rooms, but they both played it off on them just joking around,afraid of rejection from the other.

It wasn’t until the Circle of Khanna was estabalished when Jae decided to act on his feelings, but Marina was sadly emotionally unavailable. However, once she worked trough her grief and finished the quest for the vaults, they began a relationship in their seventh year.

Friends with Benefits: Marina and Merula had an agreement that lasted from their sixth year until the first half of their seventh year. Eventually Merula broke things off cause she knew the relationship wouldn’t go anywhere and they parted ways. Marina rediscovered her feelings for Jae Kim a few months later.

MC love interests:

Molly darling ( @mollydarling-hphm ) :

Marina is ride or die for her girl, simple as that. You have a problem with Molly? Marina would like to know your location. They’re the equivelent of “Don’t mess with my badger or you’ll never see the light of day again.”

Best Friends: Rowan Khanna and Ben Copper.

Rival: Merula Snyde and Acacius Willow

-She never truly saw Merula as a rival, more as if they were two sides of the same coin

-Jacob made himself her rival the moment he refused to work together on finding the vaults

Enemy: Rakepick and R

Dormmates: Rowan Khanna, Merula Snyde, Liz Tuttle and Night Rhea ( @nightrhea-hphm )

Pets: Fritzgerald (Her kneazle) and Tiberius (her owl)

Closest Canon Friends: Merula, Rowan and Ben.

Closest MC Friends: Stephanie Alexeev, ( @hanihonii ) Helene Adler ( @heleneplays , Alice Beaumont ( @mizutoyama ), Luna Silvermore ( @lunasilvermore ), Kyril Vasiley ( @kyril-hphm ), Samantha O’Connell ( @samshogwarts ) Feen McKenzie ( @sam-winchester-is-my-bitch​ )

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BACKGROUND/HISTORY

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Born to Emeric and Abigail Willow, the younger sister of Acacius "Jacob."

A sadistic, death eater for a father and a mentally unstable legilimens for a mother. The first part of her life Marina always kept to Acacius and her mother, scared to leave the house and unable to befriend the kids of her father's associates. The few happy moments she had in her early childhood was whenever her father was working or at a meeting and her mother enchanted the music instruments to play her favourite lullaby as she and Acacius danced and chased each other around the ballroom.

The order of the Phoenix managed to capture Emeric Willow before Voldemort’s defeat at the Potter house. By then Acacius had already dissapeared, leaving Marina alone in an empty household. The few house elves that worked there took care of her as Abigail was taken into St. Mungo’s.

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PERSONALITY

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Positive traits: Curious, Determined, Ambitious, quick thinker, understanding and protective.

Negative traits: Cynical, distrusting, rebellious, impulsive, sarcastic, wants to do everything by herself.

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MISC

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-Marina was against going after the cursed vault at first but had a change of heart in her second year when she found a secret attic in the manor filled with Acacius’s stuff.

-She's so busy she often forgets to eat.

-She’s affectionate

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 4, Number 10

Underworld and Iggy Pop photo by Rob Ashton Baker

The fall rush of record releases is in full swing, and unopened promos are piling up like leaves on hard drives, kitchen counters and office floors. We’ll never catch up, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying, as Dusted writers crack open the obscure and the celebrated, the familiar and the new to us, the comfortably in our lanes and the way out there. As always this edition of Dust covers a lot of ground, from retro New Orleans R&B to grind to dream pop to some eyebrow raising cross-genre collaborations. There is also a surprising amount of improvised bass music. Contributors this time include Jennifer Kelly, Ian Mathers, Bill Meyer and Jonathan Shaw. 

Carlo Ditta — Pass the Hatchet b/w Life in Heaven (Orleans)

After a lifetime of making other people sound good — as the songwriter for the Mighty Sam McClain, Willie Deville and others and as the long-time proprietor of Orleans records — Carlo Ditta carves out a space in the front for himself in this smoldering R&B single. “Pass the Hatchet” on side A revives a slithery 1966 classic by New Orleans songwriter Earl “Stereo” Stanley Oropeza, with Oropeza himself in tow. The song is a marvel of shimmery swamp guitars, squalling sax and back-slanting swagger, like Andre Williams in a deep ruminative groove. “Life in Heaven” is slower, blearier and more rickety, like a Tom Waits cut lost in the rain. There’s no hurry anywhere in these two sides, no particular urgency in catching your ear, but give it time and a moody magic will take hold, hot, humid and indolent.

Jennifer Kelly

 EMA — Outtakes from Exile EP (City Slang)

As you might expect from an EP of offcuts from a very strong album, only a few of the five tracks on the newest release from Erika M. Anderson are truly essential, but nothing here is really lacking either. And those two tracks are at near opposite ends of the spectrum of EMA’s work; the 20-minute “Breathalyzer Instrumental (EMA Long Cut)” is pretty much what it says on the tin, one-third of an hour worth of the sinister, fuzzed out, gradually shifting drone and clang that underscored one of the highlights of Exile in the Outer Ring. To listeners not into this kind of thing it probably feels indulgent; for the converted, it could easily be doubled or tripled (or just, you know, looped). Whereas “From the Love That We Made,” which Anderson feels strongly enough about to play at recent shows is more distinctly song-like and intensely emotional in a way that links it to everything from Exile opening track “Seven Years” all the way back to Anderson’s “Cherylee” from her years in Gowns. The other three songs here are worthy of being collected (two being fun, darkly electronic tunes and “Anything Good” feeling like a dry run for “Down and Out” from the album with different subject matter) but it’s in those two tracks, one of which it feels like a shame there wasn’t room for on Exile and one which absolutely would not have fit in, that are the best reminders of EMA’s talents.  

Ian Mathers

  Billy Gomberg — Beginners (Dinzu Artifacts)

Beginners by Billy Gomberg

Billy Gomberg is no beginner. He’s been releasing music of his own and with Fraufraulein, a duo with Anne Guthrie, for nearly a decade. And the sound sources he uses on this tape are familiar ones — electric bass, urban field recordings, synthesizer and hand-manipulated objects. Even so, it feels like something new is happening here. Gomberg’s music has often seemed to stretch away from the listener, luring you to follow it through virtual expanses of space and time. Now it seems closer at hand, the sounds like sunning fish just under a pond’s surface. They’re simultaneously more recognizable and more processed that what he’s played in the past, creating a discreet reality that never quite loses its mystery no matter how often you play it.

Bill Meyer

 Brandon Lopez — Quoniam Facta Sum Vilis (Astral Spirits)

quoniam facta sum vilis by Brandon Lopez

One door closes, others open. Barre Phillips, the grand-père of solitary improvised double bass performance, has just closed out a half century of exploration with a final solo CD. In the same year, two musicians young enough to be his grandkids have taken up the gauntlet by releasing albums on Astral Spirits. Luke Stewart’s wasn’t quite solo; he gave his amplifier a co-starring role. But Brandon Lopez’s Quoniam Facta Sum Vilis is full-on mano a contrabass. Each of its eight tracks zeros in on a particular way to attack the instrument. Fittingly, “Vanitas” sounds like it arises from some great sonic depth to ascend to a writing platform. On “Lay,” stark figures blossom and twist like bursts of turbulent cloud erupting from a soon-to-blow volcano. The energy that Lopez expends on each track might give the listener pause. Will he stay in his corner? Will he throw the fight? No, he comes back for another round, and the listener’s the winner.

Bill Meyer

 Stefan Neville / Greg Malcolm — A Nuance (Feeding Tube)

A Nuance (2017) by Greg Malcolm + Stefan Neville

Sometimes you can listen to a record and know who engineered or produced it. Steve Albini, Steve Lillywhite, Roy Thomas Baker — these guys have a signature sound or respect for certain kinds of sound that stands out no matter who they’re recording. To that number, add New Zealander Stefan Neville. He’s mostly recorded himself, performing under the name Pumice, and anytime he gets his hands on the two-track he favors a blown-speaker distorted quality that’s unmistakably his own. That sound meets a song selection process that could best be described as “let’s call our favorite tunes and whack ‘em down” on this record, which was mostly recorded live one night in 2015 in Ohope, a surfer’s haven situated on the Bay of Plenty. Research turned up no evidence that Neville, who plays drums, keyboards, and tapes, and Malcolm, a marvelously idiosyncratic guitarist whose aesthetic cherry-picks the best of rock, jazz and the folk musics of the world, caught any waves while making this record. But their treatment of the Klezmer tune “Sirba” evokes mental images of dudes with sidecurls riding their boards right through that hole in your woofer. They aren’t confined to one mode of transportation, though; in their hands “Telstar” becomes an ode to a rocket ship held together by duct tape and the Scottish hornpipe “Banish Misfortune” soundtracks a dogged march through ruins.

Bill Meyer

 The Papercuts—Parallel Universe Blues (Slumberland)

Parallel Universe Blues by Papercuts

Jason Quever’s sixth album as Papercuts gets the balance between daydream and muscle right, shoring up his delicate melodies and shimmery guitar textures with drums in a way that much of his work between the stellar Can’t Go Back and now have not. Thus while tremulous organs and feathery fretwork strew glitter dust on tracks like “Mattress on the Floor,” while lush, choral harmonies buttress its wistful wondering, you don’t get lost in the clouds. A swaggering Spector beat punctuates airy “Laughing Man,” underlining the keen ache of its melody and resolutely preventing the cut from evaporating into mist. “Clean Living,” with its strident bowed cello and pounding toms, is even more emphatic, a drifty melancholia anchored to the here and now, and “Walk Backwards” slips a drum-pumping adrenaline into its narcotic haze. Quever’s world maintains its soft, evocative edges—there’s plenty of space for moody contemplation—but runs a through line of rhythmic motion from one end to another of his songs. Always lovely, his songs here are unusually purposeful and gripping.  

Jennifer Kelly

  Pig Destroyer — Head Cage (Relapse)

Pig Destroyer’s new LP opens with 20 seconds’ worth of Ray Noble and His Orchestra’s “Midnight, Stars and You” (which some listeners will recognize from a certain scene in Kubrick’s The Shining); over the strings, a cultivated English voice, sounding much like Margaret Thatcher, intones, “We will not be held responsible for any hearing impairments or damage caused to you from excessive exposure to this sound.” Then the record proper starts. It’s not a particularly new device, but it’s sort of funny, and it signals something about this record: Pig Destroyer are making music you can enjoy. That’s a big shift. On 2012’s terrific Book Burner, the band distanced themselves from the gratuitous gross-out splatter (and the even grosser misogyny) of earlier records like Terrifyer and Prowler in the Yard. But like that early music, Book Burner was a grindcore record: uncompromising, unrelenting, deeply pissed off. Head Cage varies the sonic palate. There’s still a heavy dose of grind, but there are also hearty portions of death metal, hardcore and even suggestions of slam. That’s not to suggest that the record is incoherent or opportunistic. Pig Destroyer have been at their craft for the better part of two decades, and all that experience shows. Songs this precise and athletic are hard to perform, and harder to compose. In addition to all the pace and volume, Pig Destroyer have discovered a groove: check out the supple bottom end and nigh-danceable riffing of ��Army of Cops” and the first minute of “The Adventures of Jason and JR.” There’s even a sort-of love song. Fun may not have been on the agenda when Pig Destroyer were creating these songs, but it’s hard not to have some fun listening to this madly pinballing, energetic album. 

Jonathan Shaw  

 Quietus—Volume Four (Ever/Never)

Volume Four by Quietus

Geoffrey Bankowski makes slow, somnolent, surreal music, employing the usual tools of bedroom recording—hushed voice, lingering tones of guitar and piano, tape hiss—in hypnotic, idiosyncratic patterns. Here, simple melodies course through complex architectures of noise and music. A clarinet soars over clatter and dissonance. Odd, evocative fragments of lyrics drift in and out of focus. It’s a gentle ride, but surreptitiously wild, lulling you into calm, even as it takes you to some very odd places. “Airfield” for instance has a sleepy indie rock surface, all strummy guitar backdrop and whispered fantasies. Still anarchy lurks in the sounds between phrases, muted clashes and hums and booms suggesting a fight in the room down the hall. Likewise “Whisper into Muddy Cloth” slouches into being, a dirty rain of guitar chords pelting slack murmured phrases; it could be home-taped Pavement or nascent Silver Jews. And yet, a scrim of noise obscures whatever’s pop at the core of these songs, grounds them in a lo-fi bank of decomposing organic matter and makes them both realer and harder to grasp than you’d expect.

Jennifer Kelly

 Underworld/Iggy Pop — Teatime Dub Encounters EP (Caroline International)

Other than, er, both appearing on the soundtrack of Trainspotting (the sequel to which was the catalyst to this EP, where soundtrack supervisor Rick Smith met with Iggy Pop and to the latter’s surprise were ready with a portable studio if he was willing to seize the moment…) it’s unclear how much overlap the fan bases of these two titans in their fields actually have, but the unexpectedly winning Teatime Dub Encounters ought to have something for both. “Bells and Circles” immediately establishes the mood, with a clearly whimsical Pop talking about having wings and smoking on airplanes and trying to pick up stewardess while Karl Hyde and opera singer/Smith’s daughter Esme Bronwen-Smith (both in fine voice) coax him into a refrain of “sunlight on my wings” that’s as beatific as anything on Barbara, Barbara We Face a Shining Future. While much of the EP’s material works in that register, with beautifully sculpted productions from Smith given an appealingly ramshackle feel by Pop’s vamping about losing his shirt and being trapped in the suburbs, there’s also the slightly melancholy, surprisingly moving “I’ll See Big,” where Pop reminisces about the nature of friendship and the way life changes relationships. As one element of a more joyous overall work it’s strongly effective, but much of Teatime Dub Encounters suggests neither Underworld nor Iggy Pop need are in any hurry to stop creating.  

Ian Mathers

 Various Artists — Seed Blunt / AC DC (Gilded Records)

Seed Blunt / AC DC by Vibrating Skull Trio // Packard/Hoogland

When two ensembles share a recording, one hopes to find some shared resonance. You could listen for a while and keep puzzling, but you don’t have to look too far to find the common vibe on this tape. Both sessions were improvised in Chicago, mostly by Chicagoans. Vibrating Skull Trio, which includes drummer Phil Sudderberg, prepared guitar player Eli Namay and clarinetist John McCowen, obtain an electronic-sounding foundation from the latter’s contrabass clarinet. Further pursuing paradox, their music feels patient even when it arises from the collision of agitated actions. Flip the tape and you’ll find a more fractious encounter between Dutch keyboardist Oscar Jan Hoogland and Chicago-based drummer Ryan Packard. Both men bring plenty of electronics into the fray, so that it often sounds like a sound clash between a drum machine and an old radio tuned to somewhere east of Istanbul. Electric sputter gives way to reluctant exchanges of feedback squiggles punctuated by cheap electric key plunks. The two sides of this tape don’t sound like each other, but they jointly make a strong case for not sounding like those who have come before you.

Bill Meyer

  Matt Weston—This Is Your Rosemont Horizon (7272 Music)

This Is Your Rosemont Horizon by Matt Weston

Chicagoans of a certain age will get the reference. But for the benefit of everyone else, the Rosemont Horizon was once the name of an arena situated just northeast of O’Hare Airport. Depending on your age and tastes, you might have had your life changed there by Madonna, Andrea Bocelli, Taylor Swift or Queen; this writer cherishes memories of a pretty rocking night involving Sonic Youth, Neil Young & Crazy Horse and thousands of pissed-off Neil Young fans. Matt Weston might have been there that night, but this record doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever heard coming from any stadium PA. People move on, and Weston’s moved into an idiosyncratic extension of INA-GRM electro-acoustic composition filtered through some more contemporary rock and glitch moves. Keyboards dance, needles scratch and bump and monolithic sound walls grow out of the splatter and evaporate in the echoing space of some airport terminal. It’s just the thing for when you don’t want any questions answered.

Bill Meyer

 Xylouris White — Mother (Bella Union)

George Xylouris and Jim White have, for three albums now, shown that their collaboration is among the best places to catch these two supremely talented musicians. Even existing fans of the Xylouris musical dynasty in Greece (George specializing in the lute-like laouto) and White’s drumming with the Dirty Three and Nick Cave’s band might have been surprised at just how much the two have shone together. With Mother, for the first time one of their albums begins with the big bang rather than moving towards it, with the one-two punch of the forbidding “In Media Res” and the incredibly fun “Only Love” beginning things strongly and the album gradually exploring less urgent rhythms until it winds up with a beautiful closing “Lullabye.” About the faintest praise you can damn Mother with is that it’s another excellent, compulsively listenable album from the duo, but whereas 2016’s Black Peak marked a leap forward from their debut, here there’s less of a significant progression than a refinement. And that’s not really a criticism; when you’re as adroit and compelling in conversation as Xylouris White is, it’s hard to hope for much more than many future albums like this.  

Ian Mathers

[welovekpopscenarios]

Quietus (Ghost!Hoshi x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

When Hoshi died, he thought that was the end of everything as he knew it, and that he would be doomed to a life of isolation for the rest of his miserable existence. That was until the day you walked into his abandoned house and made him feel a little less lonely.

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Hoshi x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/blood/violence, Ouija boards, alcohol

Word Count: 4413

A/N: Hoshi is (one of) my bias and I never wrote for him before. I got inspired after the Lilili Yabbay video bc he looked like a ghost in that video, and since the spoopy festivities of Halloween are upon us, I was in the mood to write for the occasion! I put up the warnings for those who aren’t comfortable with it (obviously lol) but honestly, it isn’t that graphic or scary. It might seem a bit grizzly at the beginning, but that’s the worst of it, I promise you. That being said, I hope everyone likes this and that you have a good October/Halloween!

Soonyoung doesn’t remember the day he died. At least, not perfectly.

He remembers the unease he felt, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing up much like a cat’s when it arches its back in fright, preparing for attack, ready to strike. He remembers a large black mass entering his vision, a shadow of doom coming to swallow him whole and make him disappear from the world forever, cursed to the darkness for no reason at all other than being at home when he shouldn’t have been. Lastly, he remembers the pain, the sharp edge of a demon’s blade as it pierced the pure tissue of his heart, the searing pain crawling across his body like maggots and tearing at his skin as he struggled to fight it, fighting until he took his last breath and his body gave in to the desire of being in a painless state, turning paler and stiffer than the coldest of snows in winter.

Soonyoung doesn’t remember the day he died other than that.

But what he does remember, is waking up sometime later from that horrible, dull slumber and watching as paramedics placed his body on a stretcher and wheeled him out of his bedroom as hard men in suits held onto his weeping mother. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his father as broken in his life as he had then, his father’s eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, trying to listen to the policemen as they rambled on about possible reasons why poor Soonyoung’s life was taken so suddenly from him. But as he looked around his room that fateful night, examining the wooden floor that was now stained darker than before, examining just like the detectives that invaded his personal space, he thought it was painfully clear what had happened. He was murdered in the confines of his bedroom as his parents were out of the house late at night.

Everything after that was just a rapid blur of watching his parents cry deep into the night at the loss of their only child to standing over the shoulders of the police as they took notes, screaming at them, wondering why no one could see him despite being right in front of their eyes. But he wasn’t, was he? He might think he’s standing, breathing, but he knows that’s not the case when he watches as he’s- his body, is put into a casket in his Sunday best and lowered into his grave on a dull and wet Wednesday afternoon. He knows that he is, essentially, gone from the land of the living, no longer able to hug his parents, to wave at his friends as they walked mournfully to school, to dance as was always his passion. Yes, everything in the days following his death was a blur of sadness, regret and confusion.

But what he does remember, clear as the crystal vase his mother polished religiously and never let him touch as a child, was the day he stood behind his parents’ small forms and gazed upon the detectives as they detained the dreaded black mass that stole his life and threw him into the backseat of the police car to be locked up for the remainder of his pathetic life. He supposes it was some sort of consolidation for his parents: they had caught the man that ruined their life forever. But it still doesn’t erase the grief of his parents discovering that it was a simple robbery, that Soonyoung had just been in the way and the man panicked when he was caught, doesn’t erase the heavy hearts caused by this terrible accident, a community shocked by the loss of the brightest boy its ever seen.

But now Soonyoung is terribly alone in crowded places, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He stays at home, lies in the bed he’ll never sleep in again, guards the parents he’ll never talk to again, walks beside the friends he’ll never laugh with again. It frustrates him to no end, this isolation, the unhappiness he feels settling deep into his gut and causing him to sob tears that will never fall down his chubby cheeks. He’s never been this alone, this quiet, and it’s such a drastic change from the boy he once was that if anyone were to see him (he prays they do) they’d ask if that really was Soonyoung. Soonyoung, who was once so vibrant and enthusiastic, was now just a dull shell of his former self. And there was never a sadder sight.

He’s met a few of his kind before; other ‘spirits’, or ‘souls’ as they’d call themselves, wandering aimlessly on the streets of his hometown before moving off. Some knew how they died, others didn’t, completely in the dark and confused, afraid. It was a slight burden off his shoulders, knowing he wasn’t the only one out there. But he was still on his own, no spirit ever staying long enough to acquaint, moving on in search of the great beyond that might never come.

Soonyoung spends his days roaming the halls of his home until he overhears the dreaded words slip free from his parents’ mouths. “Let’s move away.” He doesn’t blame them for wanting to leave – he would too if his child was killed in his home. But he still feels like a little boy, even more so now, and he needs his parents by his side, needs that constant to keep him strong. But in what feels like the blink of an eye the house is emptied and his parents have left a few months after his death. Now he guards an empty home, eyes trained on the dust gathering on the kitchen counter tops his mother would prepare his favourite chicken dinners, watches the insects crawl from the cracks in the corners of the living room where his father would read the newspaper in the cushioned chair by the window.

The house looks unbearably bigger now that it’s just Soonyoung and his thoughts. Too big, he thinks, even if he’d hear his mother complaining it was too small when he was a child. Much too big for just himself. Too quiet yet the howling of the wind was too loud for his pale ears. He barely registered the strangers visiting the house that was now on the market, too busy actively ignoring the truth blaring in his face that he was slowly losing whatever life he had, piece by piece, and yet he refused to give up on this house. His home. His home that no longer felt like a home.

Except for the day you walked through the front door, freshly cut keys jingling in your hand as the other struggled to drag your packed suitcase behind you, small grin on your face as you basked in the glory of finally finding somewhere to live close to your college near five years later.

He doesn’t recall seeing you in the house before, figures he would have remembered a face as mesmerising as yours, so utterly entranced he was at your soft visage that he felt as if his scarred, dead heart has started beating again. At first, he had somewhat hated you for stepping into his home and making it your own, changing it from the safe haven he once knew and he despised that. But as you settled in, buried your head in your textbooks, sang the sweetest notes as you cooked in the kitchen, danced foolishly throughout the house in a ratty t-shirt and shorts as you cleaned the house, hoovering up that wretched dust that covered his memories, he found he didn’t mind you as much.

The company was indeed welcomed after years of silence, the house a little less lonely now that he had someone new to watch over, and you were certainly an interesting one. He’d laugh whenever you’d bang your head on the open cupboard door in the kitchen (which was always, you never seemed to learn from that) and swore under your breath as you rubbed the bump on your head. He’d raise a brow at when you went on one of your ‘creative sprees’, and you’d ruin the floor of his parents’ bedroom (your bedroom, he needs to remember that), various assortments of glitter and paints and stickers covering the dark wood in whatever creation you had in mind that day. And he’d join you as you turned up the music to prance around the room as you got ready for the day, both dancing to your hearts delight, and for once, Soonyoung felt a sliver of the happiness he’s been deprived of.

But things got even more interesting when you walked straight through Soonyoung’s ethereal form. And you shivered. And Soonyoung nearly dropped dead (if he could).

It was the first time since becoming a spirit that anybody had any sort of response to walking through him despite having done so unknowingly on numerous occasions. And Soonyoung almost, almost missed it, if not for the little sound of discomfort you made that drew his eyes back towards you once more. He watched as your body gave a slight shudder, your face contorting into a miniscule scowl before shrugging and continuing about your day as if nothing happened. But something did happen. Soonyoung saw it with his own eyes, heard it with his own ears, and it sparked the tiniest of flames inside his soul of a body, a spark of hope, something he had not had in the longest time, hope that for the first time, he would be seen.

And since that day, Soonyoung has been nothing but a pest throughout your house; moving your letters from one place to another, pots mysteriously falling from their spot on the counter to clang on the floor, random taps resounding through your walls in the middle of the dead of night. At first you were frightened, who wouldn’t be? All these strange paranormal happenings in your house would scare anyone, and while that wasn’t Soonyoung’s original intent, he was still determined to make his presence known, to make you notice him. After weeks of observation he was ecstatic to find that you no longer feared the unknown presence in your home, and instead, with your strange quirkiness and caring side that he’s come to love, you’ve accepted him, even calling out to him if he fiddles with something in your line of vision. You’ve even given him a nickname, called after the little star decoration hanging over your mirror that he pays special attention to when you’re getting ready for the day. Hoshi, you named him, and he was sure his smile could have cracked his face if he wasn’t dead, was sure that the brightest of blushes would wash over his face. Hoshi was perfect, and it was beautiful, like you, and he was proud to wear the name.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and it felt like Hoshi was stuck in the same spot; forever fiddling with things to get your attention, walking through you to earn a reaction. The flame inside his heart was beginning to dull the more time went by, losing hope that he would ever get to talk to you, to be acknowledged for once since his untimely end. He was hopeless, until one October night you held a small party with your closest friends and someone had the bright idea to bring a Ouija board to play with while you were all drunk. Hoshi thought it bizarre at first, do people just carry these sorts of things around with them like it’s nothing? But then he heard the light tone of your voice, albeit slightly slurred from the fruity drinks you’ve had, saying that you wanted to meet Hoshi, and he nearly melted. You should have been more careful, he thought momentarily, Ouija boards were dangerous and not something for drunk college students to be messing around with, but soon enough he heard your voice calling out to him, and he stood in shock for a brief second.

This was his chance, for him to finally have some way of actually speaking to you, for you to know he’s been here all along, to know what happened to him, to know how he feels, and suddenly he’s scared. After living in silence for so long he finally gets the opportunity to speak to the one person who’s brought him an ounce of joy and now he’s hesitant, his feet unwilling to move from their spot. He doesn’t understand why, his mind screams at him to make a move, but his fear stops him. But, one look at your dejected face from your friends mocking remarks about him being fake, suddenly Hoshi’s moving towards the board and placing his pointer finger upon the planchette.

“My Hoshi, are you there?” you inquire, a drunken lilt to your voice as you look aimlessly around the room, your eyes meeting his unknowingly for a few seconds before moving off. Hoshi could almost laugh at the ominous setting of the room; dark except for the few faintly lit fairy lights scattered throughout the room, fake store-bought cobwebs lining the table you and your friends sat around and bottles of drink pushed to the side to be dealt with tomorrow morning. He stared at your face, your pretty eyes wide in what looked to be slight apprehension, nibbling softly on the skin of your lower lip as you awaited his answer, and he was soon pushing his finger towards the ‘yes’ that sat in the corner of the board.

You all gasped aloud when the planchette moved, some friends quick to question each other which one of you moved it to freak the others out, but when all of them firmly denied ever even pressing hard on the planchette, it soon dawned up on you all that there was another presence in the room and it was met with mixed reactions. Some reacted in fear, wanting to put away the board altogether and go home, others in shock and awe, but you, you were the only one smiling, stretching from ear to ear and your eyes twinkling brighter than any of the lights littering the space in the room. Hoshi’s face matched your own, a heart once so dead and cold now full and bursting with warmth, so overjoyed that he could experience this moment with you, the moment he actually made contact with you. Part of him wishes to not have the intrusion of your friends on what he considers an intimate moment, but he wasn’t able to think on it too long before you were asking more questions.

“What’s your real name?”

Hoshi’s fingers moved the planchette to the respective letters of his name, spelling out S-O-O-N-Y-O-U-N-G while one of your friends wrote down the letters. Someone recognised his name, a dark tale that drifted throughout the town and city years ago, and recalled what they knew of him: a boy killed unjustly, taken too early, someone who had so much to live for be it in dancing, school or simply being the bright person he was. Hoshi’s heart deflated when your face fell the more his story was revealed to you, sorrow marring every inch of your graceful features and causing his stomach to do uncomfortable twists as if it were still a functioning organ in his body. You took a deep breath before speaking again, but this time no question was asked.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve it, and I hope the person who killed you rots wherever they are,” you said, poison lacing your honey-like voice, and once more Hoshi was shocked. He never thought he’d have those words directed at him before, never thought he’d hear it for himself than told to his parents. He didn’t know how to reply, so he said the first thing he thought was right.

T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U

You smiled again, the lightest of blushes spreading across your cheeks and your nose scrunching momentarily in delight. Another question came to your mind, your features taking on an inquisitive look again. ���Do you want me to call you Soonyoung instead?”

Hoshi chose to ignore how your name made him feel weak-kneed for a second, and answered you quickly.

I-L-I-K-E-H-O-S-H-I

It was a bit tedious, having to spell out everything while your friends freaked out beside you, filling the room with squeals and shrieks, but his focus was only on you and your reactions. You giggled at his answer, and he laughed alongside you, a giddiness coming over him that he couldn’t control. He gave a frown of annoyance when your friends elected to take over the questioning for the night, endless dreary questions like ‘have you seen other ghosts?’, ‘have you ever met a demon?’, or the most baffling one that they spent some time talking about, ‘could ghosts have sex?’ Both you and Hoshi balked at the question, whether it be for the same or completely different reasons, but you were coughing into your hand when your friend sent an obvious wink in your direction. When it seemed like they would never shut up with their curious questioning, they eventually grew bored on Hoshi’s deliberate bland answers in the hopes that they’d turn the questioning back to you. But to his horror, everyone began to announce they were going to go home before putting an end to the connection. In his panic, Hoshi’s fingers sped over the ‘no’ in the opposite corner, subsequently stopping the group from saying goodbye. Everyone paused, staring at the bold letters silently and then looking towards you who wilted underneath their gazes.

“It’s dangerous to break the circle, isn’t it?” one said, eyes flickering uncertainly around the others who returned the hesitance to mess up the circle.

“Well,” another perked up after a beat of silence, “he doesn’t seem like an evil spirit. I guess we could take our hands off and end it there, but I say we should keep talking to him for a bit, at least until he’s satisfied.”

“What do you want to talk about?” someone asked, and Hoshi pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Y/N he spelled, and your jaw dropped.

“You want to talk about me?” you asked, a waver of nervousness in your voice as you furrowed your brows. His fingers flew across the letters again, your friend struggling to keep up with the letters as she wrote them down on the page.

I-W-A-N-T-T-O-T-A-L-K-T-O-Y-O-U-O-N-L-Y

“Oh.”

Your friends shared looks of bewilderment, looking to you for guidance on what to do. You thought for a moment, staring at your fingers that were accidently touching the tips of Hoshi’s spectral ones. “Lift your fingers off the planchette,” you announced, and slowly, one by one, your friends obeyed, their hold on the spirit world evaporating until it was just you and him left. They packed up their things and called cabs, not that you payed them much attention, keeping your focus on the board despite not saying anything, and wishing you good luck before they left, they bid their goodbyes and closed the door behind them.

The silence that filled the room was almost deafening, Hoshi waiting in anticipation of your next move, eyes trained on your face that was softly illuminated, as perfect as the day he first saw it. Licking your lips, painted a blood red hue in the spirit of Halloween, you began to speak.

“What do you look like?” you asked, and Hoshi should have expected a question like that but it still made his eyebrows raise in surprise. He thought for a moment on how he would show you, his parents long having packed up every picture you could possibly find of Soonyoung in the house. Then it came to him.

I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T. Surely the news would have put his pictures in the papers or on the article online. You made a soft ‘ah’ sound and grabbed your phone from its place beside you on the ground, searching his name as quick as you could with one hand to type. Within seconds the results popped up on screen, page upon page of his tragedy, all telling the same sad story. You ignored them in favour of heading to the images page, and your eyes widened at what came up. Multiple pictures of the same boy – no, man would be the better term, dark haired and smiling the cutest grin you’ve ever seen, causing his wonderful eyes to squint in the most unique way you’ve ever seen. Without realising, the words “he’s so pretty” slipped ever so quietly out of your mouth but it was not lost on Hoshi’s ears, who was positive said ears would be burning right to the tips if you could see him, the goofiest, love-struck smile overtaking his face. You smiled softly as you looked through the pictures, wondering how such a gorgeous and bright young man like him could ever have been so brutally murdered as he was. Life was truly cruel.

“How long have you been here?” you questioned, phone placed on the ground once more.

F-I-V-E

“Five years, wow…did you ever think about moving off? Can ghosts explore the world or are they tied to the place they, you know…died…?” you mumbled, afraid of offending him somehow. Hoshi chuckled sadly.

D-I-D-N-O-T-W-A-N-T

“Oh, you wanted to stay here? Makes sense, it was your home after all. I’m sorry I took it,” you said sheepishly, scratching your head with your free hand. “Are you angry at me because of that?”

The planchette was immediately moved to ‘no’, followed by I-L-I-K-E-Y-O-U.

He watched as you ducked your head shyly, a giggle of disbelief escaping you, all the while shaking your head. Hoshi smirked, pleased that he was able to elicit that kind of response like it was one of the old romance movies his mother used to play when he was young. He was also pleased he could relieve some of his feelings to you, despite you probably not taking it for face value, for Hoshi did like you, he really did. Probably more than someone in his situation should, what with being dead and near invisible and all, but he couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. After seeing you every day for the past few months, learning all your quirks, joys and insecurities, Hoshi felt more a part of your life than he thinks anyone has been since you moved here. It was just an unfortunate nightmare that he would never get to treat you as well as you deserved to be, to hold you when college got too tough or laugh when you bump your head on the cupboard door again, never learning your lesson.

He sighed wearily, biting at the inside of his cheek. An unfortunate nightmare indeed, he thinks as he gets lost looking into your eyes, the colours of which he’d know as well as any dance routine he learned as a teenager.

“I like you too, Hoshi,” you gushed, and his lifeless heart felt like it skipped a beat, warming his body from head to toe. “Tell me more about yourself,” you asked, and for the next while, he did to the best of his ability. He told you about his old life and his new one, his hobbies as well as his dreams, and he learned about yours too, your wishes for when you leave college, your job, your friends and family. It felt like a date, almost – a very strange one, couples normally don’t talk through a Ouija board, but Hoshi was never as content as he was now, the one girl who made him smile in his miserable and dull world talking to him as if he were an old friend, an old lover. He never wanted it to end, but as life seemed to hate him, luck was never on his side. You yawned into your free hand, rubbing at your eyes cutely that made Hoshi ‘aww’ out loud and a smile of adoration tug at his lips.

“I’m tired, I think I’m going to go to bed now,” you explained, and Hoshi elected to ignore the disappointment sinking into his bones, favouring your wellbeing more than his. “I better lock up and stuff, make sure no burglar gets in and steals what little stuff I have,” you laughed softly, fatigue washing over you in waves like a lazy river. Hoshi began moving the planchette again, and you dragged your eyes to the letters, sleepy mind scrambling to keep up and make sense of what he is saying.

I-P-R-O-T-E-C-T-Y-O-U

You smiled a gentle, lazy smile once you realised what he had said, heart beating faster than usual for a person. “Thank you, my Hoshi. I feel better knowing you keep me safe every day,” you breathed out a sigh of content, one that made Hoshi feel lighter than a feather that fell from a dove, a sense of pride swelling his chest to the brim. He was glad he could make you feel good for such a simple act, but he does it diligently, from simple things like moving your closer to the centre of the table so it doesn’t fall off the edge to turning off hot appliances that you left on in a rush to leave the house. Anything to make your life just that bit easier and more enjoyable, he’d do it.

“I think I should buy a board for myself so I can talk to you more, I like talking to you,” you murmured, eyelids drooping as the drink from earlier in the night made you feel drowsy. Yawning once more, you stretched your back, heaving a satisfied sigh at the pops and cracks that left you feeling like a noodle. “Goodnight, Hoshi,” you said quietly, and Hoshi swallowed his sigh of disappointment, bitterness welling up in his mouth and tasting like a copper coin. There’s always tomorrow, he thinks, as he moves his pale fingers on the planchette for the final time that night. He’ll talk to you again tomorrow. And maybe, someday, he’ll get his wish and hold you tightly as he rocked you to sleep, whispering only loving things into your ears.

Hoshi moved the planchette over the letters G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T before hovering over ‘Goodbye’, and he was alone once more as sleep dragged you into its sweet clutches.