#running through the gardens (and cemeteries lol)

[dawn-moths]

"Epitaph"

Undertaker x Female Reader

word count: 15,900+

(requested by @anxious-chick // After running into the mysterious guest known as “Undertaker” at several of Rachel and Vincent Phantomhive’s weekly parties, the two of you eventually take an interest in one another, even if your part in that begins as somewhat reluctant. However, over time, as you grow more comfortable around one another, you find perhaps there's a reason you two were destined to meet, starting with the fact that he's the first one to show you physical touch isn't something to be afraid of.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! plot heavy in the beginning (sort of slow burn) with smut at the end, loss of virginity, best way i can describe this is like a one-sided reluctant acquaintances to lovers lol, bittersweet ending, some mentions of drinking/alcohol.

*ao3 mirror*

***

The cemetery beyond the mortuary was empty at this time of night, the small, early morning hours just beginning to creep over the horizon, staining the dark velvets of night with a fine veil of ghostly greys, the moonlight breaking through the thick shield of clouds overhead. Through the latticed windows of the kitchenette, silver beams slipped through the glass to lay on the cool tile floor, the table by the sill where you used to sit and read your mystery novels now overgrown with houseplants.

It was all he had left of you— ferns and pothos and calatheas.

Houseplants, and the loop of your hair that was preserved behind the glass of his mourning lockets.

Out of the countless bodies he’d seen through death, tended to and prepared to be placed perfectly in their eternal resting place, you had been the most beautiful and the most heartbreaking.

It had been years since he’d shed even a single tear over one of the deceased— decades— maybe even over a century— but for you, after all this time, he guessed he still had a few lingering shreds of humanity left in his crypt of a heart after all. No matter how far he tried to bury his grief, his mourning, your passing had finally been the thing to unearth it.

Standing before your headstone beneath the kitchen window, facing the direction of the setting sun, your favorite time of day, tracing the letters of your name with his sullen chartreuse gaze, slivers of emerald slipping through the gaps of his curtain of silver bags, he just let the tears fall. If anyone else had been around to see, they would’ve never believed the funeral director was actually crying over one of his corpses.

But you had been so much more than just a body, once upon a time. It haunted him to think one day he might be the only soul left to remember you’d even existed at all. But then again, those were all memories he still held dear. He could recall them as if they’d occurred only yesterday, could see the curve of your profile from across the room, feel the way the dip of your waist fit perfectly into his palm, hear the lilt of your laugh, able to amuse you with anything he said if he really wanted to once he’d finally deciphered your sense of humor.

Those days were over for you now, but he could still relive pieces of them, their echo reverberating through his mind as soon as he plucked the first string on one. No matter how melancholy the tune, the melody was still just as sweet.

Strolling away from your resting place, venturing further into the garden of graves that lay beyond, he began to hum a quiet song to himself, one he’d heard time and time again back when you two had first fallen into each other’s orbit. Despite the sadness, it made him smile. He wished he would’ve asked to dance with you sooner, danced with you more, once he’d finally gotten the chance.

He could almost feel the waltz welling within him, doing a turn and imagining your hands clasped with his, twirling you gracefully, allowing you to unravel just far enough to give the illusion of breaking away only to return to him, wearing that mischievous smile he so adored.

How he longed to revisit those nights in more than just his memories— the mysterious gatherings, the lavish parties, no matter what menagerie of wealthy, well-bred guests were in attendance, his interest always locking in on you.

But even he couldn’t have guessed, back then, that he would’ve ever grown so attached as to weep for you once you were dead…

***

It had all began at one of the Phantomhive’s illustrious, notorious nighttime banquets, each and every guest hand picked and carefully curated, placed strategically within the mansion’s hosting perimeter, down to the seating arrangements at dinner and the order in which the carriages arrived to deliver you all home at the end of the event.

The first few times you’d been invited, you hadn’t a clue why you were there. Because what could Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive possibly want to do with a local news column writer such as yourself? They’d barely spoken to you upon your arrival, too busy mingling with the more important guests, but as you’d awkwardly skirted the corners of the room, the neglect had given you the opportunity to do what it was you were best at.

Survey the crowd.

People watch.

Discover the strengths and weaknesses of your fellow party-goers all while remaining anonymous and tucked away into the shadows.

It was how you’d quickly began to rise through the ranks of the journalists at your press department, sniffing out mysterious stories and the savage truths behind them before anyone else even had the chance to pick a direction to start in.

To yourself, you thought it just made you a good journalist. To others, it made you dangerous.

And if anyone besides the hosts of the evening knew just exactly how lethal you could become with a pen and notepad in your hand, they’d all be anxiously vying to convince you they weren’t like other arms dealers and black market traders or any other less-than-ethical variety of underworld rat skittering through London’s secret mazes.

But that had all been a part of Vincent and Rachel’s plan. Have you stir things up just enough to have the vermin scatter, then all they’d need to do would be to divert them towards the trap.

By the fifth time you’d accepted their ominous invitation— why you kept returning despite the uneasiness it all gave you, you weren’t sure, other than your innate curiosity and just so happening to have most nights free from your busy work schedule— your hosts had finally found it appropriate to introduce themselves to you personally.

Even before you’d begun attending the parties, seen the infamous Phantomhive’s with your own eyes, you’d heard the rumors— not just of their wealth, but of their beauty as well.

Rachel and Vincent both bore striking appearances. They had this air about them, something you just couldn’t put your finger on, that made you both weary and trusting of them on sight. Like a siren singing from a rock near the shore, they lured you in with their elegant charms, but get too close and you’d find yourself drowning.

“Ah, there she is,” Vincent had said as he and his wife gracefully approached you. “The woman of the hour. Welcome, welcome.” You gave them a respectful courtesy, bowing your head and clutching your skirts, hoping to hide how your hands had begun to shake, your nerves getting the better of you.

“Thank you for having me,” you replied, trying to sound actually grateful instead of skeptical. You were going to keep your confusion to yourself, just let it go and enjoy being able to attend while it lasted, but then something inside you decided against it and you asked, “But— and excuse me if this is out of turn— why, exactly, have I been invited…?”

Rachel and Vincent both laughed and, for a moment, all air of intimidation seemed to disappear from them. Until they’d looked at each other, then looked back at you, smiling like cats who’d just caught a mouse and intended on teasing the poor creature for a bit before sinking its fangs down into the rodent’s throat.

Vincent leaned in, close enough to make you flinch, close enough to raise a slight heat into your cheeks. “Because, my dear journalist…” he’d whispered, “Rachel and I have a very important favor to ask of you.”

The favor in question, as it turned out, was more so a job. The Phantomhive’s couldn’t be discovered as double agents or else their entire cover operation would be blown, so naturally they sought out second hand services. But your willingness to spy on their guests for them didn’t come for free. They’d never even dream of inferring that you work without compensation of some kind. So, in exchange for your services, they were willing to put in a good word for you at the top newspaper in all of London.

“Just take your pick of the columns,” Rachel had said with a sly wink. “Any one your heart desires, do this for us and it shall be yours.”

At first, it almost seemed, and felt, too good to be true. But you were tired of getting stuck with the inane, mundane, and oftentimes completely domestic stories handed off to you by the other men at the office. If you came in with a headline worthy story, it was always one of them who got to claim it, making you do all the work only to sign it off with their name, as if any one of them could ever even hope to be half the writer— half the detective— you’d been with half the time in the game.

It was tempting, though, what was it they said about temptation again? Something about surrending to it in case it never came your way again?

Perhaps that was the reason you’d been so inclined to accept their offer in the end. Because, if they really were the sirens you suspected them to be, this opportunity felt like a liferaft tossed out to sea. You’d already made the mistake of drawing too close to the beast. Now all you could do was grasp onto the first thing that could help you escape the icy waters unscathed.

So, from there on out, every event of theirs that you attended you made sure to stay diligent, deceptively demure as you shied away from the thickest crowds, wearing clothes that looked nice enough to blend in but not so extravagant as to be the center of attention, your hair fixed into an elegant, albeit modest updo, always seeming to be holding a glass of whatever alcohol was being served that night that never found itself empty. Although, unlike most of the other guests, that wasn’t because the servants kept coming around to refill it. You had to stay focused, so, raising the rim of the crystal to your lips, you merely pretended to drink, yet another way to blend in.

However, despite the fact your eye for booking someone as shady or salacious was a very sharp, very skilled one, there had been one guest that, no matter how hard you studied him, how carefully you watched, gave nothing— absolutely nothing— away as to why he belonged in the room among the rest of the guests.

You were supposed to be the secret outlier, you thought, and the man’s presence haunted you from one week into the next. By your second soiree as a spy, you’d already gathered ample information on the ones you’d deemed guilty, still keeping a watch on the others out of the corner of your eye while you continued trying to dig a deeper hole for the rats to fall in, but at the end of that night drifting around the manor like your own kind of phantom, you still came up empty on your mystery man.

Until the very end, just as you were about to head out to the carriage arranged to take you home.

“I must say, Vincent,” his gravelly voice sounded from a little further into the main foyer, the remnants of a laugh fading off the end of his words, “If the Queen knew her watchdog had such a sense of humor, I think she’d prefer to take you on as her personal entertainer instead.”

You stopped, pretending to search your purse for something as you listened in.

The Earl let out a devious chuckle of his own, going on to reply, “Yes, but if I did that, then who would be around to entertain you, Undertaker?”

You clasped your purse shut with a muted click and continued towards the carriage. For tonight, you had all you needed. And though it was just a title, barely even a name to know him by, the moment you got home and scribbled down the ten letters of Undertaker onto your growing web of information gathered from these parties, you could already sense that he was the key to the biggest mystery you’d been faced with yet.

***

Though you couldn’t see his eyes through the thick silver curtain of his hair, from across the room you knew— could practically feel it as a fresh wave of chills spiked up your spine— that Undertaker was staring straight at you. You stared back, lips slightly parted as your next breath caught halfway up your throat, his silent acknowledgment of you making you feel suddenly naked, vulnerable under his recognition.

He offered you a mischievous crack of a smile, all teeth, and a playful, waggling wave of his black-nailed fingers. You felt your cheeks heat, feeling startlingly self-conscious, though not entirely sure why, and turned to excuse yourself to the nearest washroom to collect yourself.

Staring down your reflection in the mirror, you reminded yourself why you were here. To investigate. To uncover. To expose. Not just for the promotion that had been generously promised to you, but for the sake of the common good as well. Or, at least, that’s one of the stories you’d started telling yourself to make your duplicity to all the people who you’d pretended to enjoy the company of a little less guilt-tripping.

Besides, the Phantomhive’s also knew you couldn’t resist a cause where injustice was being done, and while it sort of made you sick to watch this group of miscreants chatting and laughing like they’d never harmed the orphaned or the sick or the poor week after week, you knew, in the end, their evil would not prevail.

Resolute in your mission here once again, you exited the washroom, intending to migrate back into the lion’s den, when all of a sudden that familiar, bone-chilling voice sounded from behind you, making you flinch.

“You know…” Undertaker began, who’d been leaning against the nearest wall before pushing off with one shoulder to lessen the gap between you, the layers of black fabric he wore lightly billowing behind him with each heel-to-toe step. His arms were crossed, and his shadow began to creep over you, seeming as if it could swallow you up at any moment. But still he wore an amused grin like he was about to tell a charming joke and was simply awaiting the perfect moment to deliver the punchline. He continued, “The guest list of these parties changes every week, yet, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there are only ever two who get invited every single time…”

You had noticed that actually, keeping the little tidbit of information close to your chest, sometimes purposely acting like it was your first time attending such a gathering if you noticed the roster was entirely fresh, but he was right.

The only other person besides yourself who graced the Phantomhive manor on a weekly basis, other than the Phantomhives themselves, of course, was the silver shadow known as Undertaker. The man had been nearly as elusive and calculating as you had thus far, but now, it seemed, he wished to show part of his hand.

Undertaker cocked his head to one side, seeming to study you through the shaggy fringe concealing half his face like a mask, and said, “Sort of odd, don’t you think?”

And it really wasn’t his sudden and unexpected presence that had caught you so off guard. You were used to potential targets confronting you, whether to try and scare you off from a possible story they were at the root of or convince you there was nothing to see here. This, however, was different. Because the increased pounding of your heart and the sudden loss for words didn’t seem to be out of fear, but, perhaps, out of the kind of flustered intrigue that comes with finding a stranger very, very attractive.

“I, uh…” was all you had time to say before Vincent Phantomhive was approaching from down the hall, seemingly with something urgent to discuss with Undertaker, giving you a smile and a nod as if to say keep up the good work before he and his guest continued down the hall and disappeared around the next corner, all that black fabric fluttering in his wake.

You spent the remainder of the night distracted, off your game, growing frustrated with yourself and with him for having your thoughts interrupted by that shining scar that cut diagonally across his pale face, the lilting hum to his tone that had indicated something you didn’t even dare explore, even within the confines of your own imagination, and all those long strands of silver that looked like threads spun from moonlight.

Needless to say, you didn’t gather much intel that night, and you were honestly just counting down the hours until it would be time for you to go home. But as each guest departed, one after another, their carriages formally announced to be awaiting them, something else strange and rather off-script happened to you.

Normally, you were among the middle group to say your thank yous and goodbyes to the hosts before exiting through the grand entrance, heading down the curved double staircase before being whisked away back into the grey-toned city. But tonight, after watching the last of the guests thank the Phantomhives for their glittering hospitality and departing the manor, you found you were the final guest that remained.

You, and, much to your dismay, surprise, and general curiosity, Undertaker as well.

You were sure your carriage would be pulling up any moment now, and so you hung close to the doors to search out the horse pulling it through the dark. You hoped this served as an indicator you wished to be left alone with your own thoughts, but, alas, that looming shadow of a man who’d suddenly and quite unexplainably taken an interest in you was hovering by your side again like a crow waiting for you to drop some crumbs.

“Do you think it’s true?” he unceremoniously prompted, voice hushed to a low, sultry whisper, making the thin hairs on the back of your neck rise with suspense.

You cast him a glance over your shoulder, trying to act indifferent and completely unbothered. “Do I think what’s true?” you asked, an edge of irritation splicing through your forced boredom.

Undertaker breathed out a knowing chuckle, something from beneath his wide sleeves clinking and chiming together lightly before he applied more pressure to silence it. He then cleared his throat and said, “This place, they say it’s haunted, you know.”

“And?” you pressed, and though you were trying to make it seem like you couldn’t have cared less, your skin was crawling with the anticipation to know more, more, more.

“And,” he mimicked, leaning in a little closer to you, testing to see how far you’d let him invade your personal space, “do you think it’s true?”

You turned to face him, scrutinizing him now, a crooked mask to hide your true intrigue, wanting nothing more than to reach up and gently push his bangs away from his eyes just to discover what color they were beneath the curtain that so carefully protected that information. You wanted to trace the lines of his scars, especially the one wrapped around his neck like a collar, a chain, a reminder of something horrific he’d once endured, and learn the story behind every single mark.

You wanted to learn his name, his true one, not just his job description or whatever morbid title Vincent had given him as part of some kind of inside joke they shared.

You opened your mouth to say something— what, you weren’t entirely sure— but just then, the feeling in the air seemed to change, an energy charged in the small space between your bodies, the scent of a storm carrying on a breeze, an invisible electricity sparking through you, lacing through your bones and frizzling your brain.

“They say sometimes you can feel them touch you,” Undertaker continued, and for a moment, just a mere hair of a second, you swore you could see a glint of light shimmering from behind his bangs, a flash of emerald here and then gone again before your eyes could even register the color. “They say it’s heavy, and cold as ice, like a stone lifted from a freezing sea, the sensation coming and going as quick as a breath in a winter’s breeze…”

The first time his pale, cold hand had brushed against the dip of your waist it had already been too late. His long, lithe fingers had lingered there for but a moment, just long enough to allow the shape of his touch to drape itself upon your body, the memory of it a thrilling, frightening thing. But when you’d flinched away, drawn in a sudden, sharp gasp under your breath, he retracted. Still, despite the new distance put between you two, he wore that mischievous smile, his broad shoulders shivering with the containment of some kind of mean laughter.

It was then that your carriage arrived, the Phantomhives’ butler announcing this to you, but just before you could turn and leave, Undertaker said, “Remember, miss journalist, sometimes the answers to our biggest questions are found in the things we can’t see…” as he slinked back off into the dark, leaving you standing in the center of the foyer alone.

If you hadn’t seen Vincent interact directly with him just earlier that evening, you would’ve deduced that he was the very spirit he’d warned you of, but then, about halfway home as the carriage traveled over the country’s uneven terrain, you realized something even more terrifying.

You’d never told him you were a journalist. The Phantomhives had assured you that no one besides themselves were to know, lest your cover and this whole operation they’d gotten you involved with be blown.

It kept you up at night, his words, his scars, his touch. But now you had an entirely new mission, one that was all your own.

And that was to discover just exactly who, or perhaps, what, this man called Undertaker truly was.

***

Some time passed before there was another party, what with the celebration of the Phantomhives’ sons’ birthdays and the Christmas holiday falling a little under two weeks apart. But, with the arrival of the New Year of 1885 quickly approaching, you weren’t surprised when you received yet another one of the crisp, cream and gold colored invitation cards in the mail announcing a grand celebration event at the manor.

This would be the biggest crowd you’d hidden amongst thus far, though, surely, you thought, the Phantomhives didn’t intend for you to be working too hard on such an occasion? Besides, you’d already turned in the extent of information you’d been able to gather on their people of interest. As far as you were concerned, this case, or at least your part in it, was closed. They’d already assured you they’d hold up their end of the deal as soon as you chose your desired position at the new press company you’d be working at come the new year too. Now, all you had to do was sit back and relax as the hours ticked down until midnight.

At least, that’s what you would’ve been able to do if not for the incessant appearance of him.

All night, Undertaker seemed to trail you like a shadow. No matter how many times you tried to slip out of one room and into another unnoticed, tuck yourself within a new crowd, folded between different nobles, it was only a matter of minutes until you looked over and saw his pale figure swathed in layers of black. A few times, he even dared to give you one of those cheeky grins and teasing waves, as if tormenting you was his most favorite game, and every time you met the gesture with a huff of a frustrated sigh and a swift turning on your heel, heading off to pick at the many food options set up around the different rooms or grab another drink as a servant carrying a tray of them passed by, not pretending to sip this time but actually allowing yourself to indulge.

But you should’ve really known by now that showing your back and trying to ignore him was probably your worst bet at actually being left alone. He was like a naughty child, continuously doing that which would get him the most reaction or attention, despite the consequences. And, like the tired parent who would do just about anything to get the child to behave, you eventually caved in and gave him exactly what he wanted.

“What?” you asked, walking right up to him where he was leaning against a wall, your arms crossed and attempting to wrestle your features into a look of grim displeasure rather than fluster-fueled nervousness. It was like a spell had suddenly been released into the air once you two were standing face to face, your prior agitation slowly but surely melting away until all you could focus on was the way his silver hair caught the dim light and those scars that just barely peeked out from his collar and curtain of bangs as if too shy to properly say hello.

“Good evening to you too, miss journalist,” he sarcastically greeted, though you detected no hint of malice, merely an air of teasing charm. Instead of irking you that time, the sentiment made your cheeks heat. You pretended to cough and look away, hoping it wasn’t showing too clearly on your face. He gestured to the party encircling you both, an endless, overlapping barrage of laughter and conversation filling the room, and asked with a slight raise to his voice, “What a wonderful way to ring in the new year, don’t you agree?”

Frankly, you realized you were still far too sober to be in this situation right now, but when you searched the room for any more of those silver trays holding flutes of bubbling liquid, you found, for once, there were none in sight.

“Listen,” you said, lowering your voice despite the loud chatter that tried to drown it out, clearly still in the investigation mindset despite your earlier resolution to enjoy a night away from work, “let’s just stop with the smalltalk. Off the record, why don’t you just tell me what it is you want and why I have to be a part of it?”

When he found it appropriate to laugh at this notion, one of which you were sincerely serious about, you found yourself flaring more towards anger than intrigue. “What’s so funny?” you hissed, suddenly wanting nothing more than your own shadow to hide inside of when you glanced around and noticed a few other party-goers trying to listen in on your conversation. You were used to coveting and collecting gossip, not being the source of it.

But Undertaker seemed largely undisturbed by the growing sets of eyes landing upon your shared corner of the ballroom, flicking one black-nailed finger beneath the hem of his fringe to wipe away a tear of amusement before replying through a chuckle-laced breath, “You are, my dear. Simply hilarious.”

Wanting to turn and stalk away from him again, you resisted the urge, now determined to beat him at his own game, the rules of which you still weren’t entirely clear on. “Oh, so you like jokes then?” you baited, a smirk beginning to curve up on your lips now. “Well why didn’t you just say so? How about you and I make a deal then?” At this, Undertaker’s expression turned comically inquisitive, regarding you with a new kind of focus, his silence prompting you to continue. “If I can tell you something funny enough to make you laugh before the end of the night, you leave me alone after that.”

“And if you lose?” he posed, beginning to circle you until it was your back towards the wall instead, a hunter closing in on its prey. “What do I get if I win?”

You took a moment to think about that. You didn’t have much to give, if you were being honest. So you made the mistake of asking him, “What do you want?”

The smile that carved across his pale features then sent another one of those cold, electric shivers down your spine, and instantly you regretted allowing him so much freedom in choosing his prize. Tapping his chin with a finger as he pretended to sort through his options, he quickly and proudly settled on, “How about you have dinner with me?”

Aghast, you truly didn’t know what to say. Wanting to play it cool, not show how ridiculous the idea seemed to you when stated so shamelessly out of the blue, your throat bobbed with a particularly hard swallow and your voice shook slightly as you began to say, “That’s really what you want?”

Undertaker nodded, his smile not faltering. “That’s what I want.”

Not happy with the consequences but still clearly up for the challenge, you steeled your expression and agreed with a semi-confident, “Alright then. All I have to do is make you laugh before the clock strikes twelve,” and then I’ll never have to be bothered by you again. Should be easy, if he thought you were so hilarious without even trying.

However, as you searched the far corners of your mind for a joke or anecdote you thought would knock him out on the first try, you suddenly found your temporary confidence dying like an ember fading out in its hearth. You resided in the world of logic and facts, not entertainment and tomfoolery. You had a sense of humor, sure. Someone in your line of work had to, once in a while, lest they go mad when constantly being reintroduced to the bleakest parts of humanity.

Finally, you recalled a particular story that you’d nearly cried at upon hearing the first time, you’d laughed so hard. Surely, this was the one. You remembered it perfectly too, only, the further you ventured into telling it without so much as a twitch of a smirk appearing at the corner of Undertaker’s lips, the more you began to sense that you’d been lured right into a trap.

“Amusing,” he stated, monotone and mocking you. “But if you want to win, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

You stood there, staring at him, seething, knowing this had all been according to his plan all along. You figured you could always just find a moment to slip away from the party and into one of the carriages already lined up outside before the new year rang in, perhaps voiding this odd and informal little contract you two had entered into together, but a part of you also knew that, whether a week or a month or a year from now, you’d find yourself faced with him again some way or another. Perhaps it was better to just keep trying even if only to prove to yourself you’d fought instead of running away.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you taunted, some of your indignance slipping through the vengeful grin spreading across your lips, “I’m just warming up.”

Undertaker tapped his wrist, miming where a watch would be, if he wore one, and said, “Tick tock… Only five more hours till midnight.”

And thus the game began.

***

Every hour that passed, with every attempted joke that was told without the desired reaction, the more dejected you began to feel.

And now, with less than half an hour to go, you’d already accepted your imminent defeat.

There had been a few times you could tell he was seriously having to hold back, the promise of a chuckle choked out behind his teeth or a burst of a laugh strangled somewhere deep in his chest before it had time to rise from his lungs. He had a lot more self control than you would’ve originally given him credit for, that much you couldn’t deny, but it almost seemed the brunt of his amusement came from how each attempt you made became more desperate, some of the words leaving your mouth shameful enough to make your mother faint had she been around to hear you say them, digging up the darkest, most shocking lines you’d ever uttered in your entire life.

You were a few drinks over the limit of caring if any of the other ladies in attendance that night heard you saying such depraved things in public, and to a man you barely even knew on top of it all, but one thing was for certain.

Undertaker was cracking.

You’d nearly gotten him on a few of the last ones, suddenly grateful for all the horrid things you’d heard the men exchanging and laughing about in the press office— another place you were used to acting like a shadow within. Though, even if you felt like you were maybe getting closer to winning, your dignity would lose regardless. You felt as if you were stooping to some unacceptable level you’d normally turn your nose up at, behaving in such an undignified way, yet the itch to prove him wrong and reclaim your pride was hard not to scratch, and right now there was only one way to do so.

“You know,” Undertaker said, only fifteen minutes to midnight, “I will admit, you’re really starting to make me regret entering the mortuary field and wishing I’d gone into journalism instead. Do your colleagues truly say such audacious things?” Just then he nearly made himself laugh, though you figured that wouldn’t count.

By now, you had a few cards left to play, having saved your best ones for the final hour, just in case, though that bank had nearly run dry. You had one last ridiculous tale left up your sleeve before you’d truly have to hang your head and admit defeat, and for a moment, you let hope get the better of you. It truly seemed this would be the one to best him, and as you loudly and, thanks to the several glasses of champagne flowing through your veins, very confidently delivered the perfect punchline, you counted the seconds until he’d inevitably burst with laughter and be forced to forgo his mission to unexplainably irritate you.

But he swallowed it down, dousing it with his next and final gulp of champagne, having drank nearly as much as you throughout the night, probably more, yet somehow unaffected, and as he sighed out a satisfied exhale, sans the expected howl of laughter, your expression of victory crumbled down to forlorn.

“Are you kidding me?” you confronted, clearly fed up— with him, mostly, but also with yourself— before you began stammering out a mess of jumbled syllables proclaiming how this entire thing had been rigged in the first place.

“Technically there’s still a few minutes,” Undertaker reminded you, nodding towards the grand clock adorning the mansion’s foyer. “Though if I were you…” he leaned in, so close his lips were practically pressed against your ear, his breath tickling the side of your exposed neck, “I’d just count myself lucky you didn’t wager a kiss at midnight in the case of your defeat.”

Between the warmth of the alcohol and the dizziness those words had just washed over you, you feared for a moment you might faint, your posture suddenly swaying before Undertaker instinctively reached out to help steady you, both his palms pressed firmly to your waist, reminding you of the night he’d tried to spook you with ghost stories and gotten a little too close for your comfort.

Only this time, you didn’t flinch away instantly. Instead, you allowed his hands to stay there for a moment, staring up at him with perhaps the softest expression you’d worn all night. You felt your mouth opening, though again found yourself unsure what you would say, when suddenly, faster than you were ready for, the chorus of counting down the seconds until the new year filled the room and startled you back to reality.

You pulled away from his orbit, smoothing down your skirts with your sweaty palms, and turned your gaze to the smallest hand on the clock, barely mouthing the numbers of the countdown until it was only ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

“Happy New Year!” Undertaker chanted, shouting out with the crowd but looking straight at you, as if the celebratory words were meant for only one person in the room. He raised his empty glass your way, wearing one of those sinfully sly smiles, and said, now only loud enough for you to hear, “How’s next Friday at seven sound, hm?”

You could barely understand what he was talking about. You were already too far gone. All you could remember at that point was the sinking feeling of dread laced with a familiar sense of excitement, as if you’d just been the key witness to a very important event and now had the chance to give the first testimony of the case.

But isn’t this what you’d wanted all along? A way to get closer to him and uncover whatever it was he was hiding— because you knew he was hiding something.

Your initial intrigue had never really faded, no matter how much you’d tried to convince yourself you loathed him, that he was insufferable, more trouble than he was worth. But, then again, if it was answers you wanted, it should be easy for you to get them.

You’d always been good at solving mysterious events. How would solving a mysterious person really be any different?

***

You’d upheld your end of the bargain and joined Undertaker for dinner, which had been stranger than fiction but a rather good story to file away for your personal collection. Much to your surprise— and perhaps slightly to your disappointment— things had started and ended with dinner. Just dinner. You’d tried to pry, tried to get him to open up, learn more about him, but somehow he always found a way to seamlessly direct the topic of conversation back around to you.

You’d decided he maybe wasn’t so bad afterall, had even agreed to do it all again sometime. 

But now, a year later, there were no more parties. 

All that had been left in the wake of the once pristine and lively Phantomhive manor was ash and the crumbing, scorched remains that had outlasted the fire. Not even the children had survived, and though you’d only seen them a handful of times as their nanny had led them up the grand staircase by the hand to put them to bed just as the first batch of guests were beginning to arrive, it still made your heart twist with the tragedy of it all.

At least they’re together, you tried to console yourself as you stood before Rachel and Vincent’s graves, your previous hosts reduced to nothing but a matching set of stones sticking out from the cold earth. You wouldn’t exactly have considered them friends, per se, more so something closer to employers, but you couldn’t help it. You’d grown more attached to them than you’d originally intended.

“Do you think it’s true?” a familiar voice suddenly asked from right behind you, making you jolt and turn to face him. You’d already known it was Undertaker, yet, as you tried to meet the glimpse of green you’d once caught shielded behind all that silver, you still found a part of you was surprised to find him standing in the same graveyard, as if having completely forgotten he was, after all, a mortician. 

“Do I think what’s true?” you asked, a slow wave of deja vu rolling through your mind.

“That humans really go to a better place after they die…?” The way he said it, gazing almost longingly down at the tombstones as they lay still and heavy on the frost-laced grass, made you start to see him in a new light. He was holding a shovel in one hand. You realized he’d probably been the one to dig the ditches and then bury the couple six feet deep.

Instead of giving him an answer though, you instead turned your view back to the graves, reading their names, their dates of birth and death, and then, carved beneath the proof that there were indeed people sleeping beneath the slabs, the matching epitaphs marking the smooth stones.

“Potentia Regere…” you repeated, more to yourself than anyone else. “What does it mean?”

Stabbing the shovel’s sharp tip down into the ground, Undertaker simply stated, “Power to rule…” It was the Phantomhive’s motto, in a sense, the latin words appearing on the family’s coat of arms. You were just about to make a comment about how surreal it all seemed, the fact that something that quickly had become so commonplace in your weekly schedule was now no more, but then the gentle clinking of a mysterious sound you’d heard before interrupted your reminiscence.

“What is that?” you asked, searching for the source. When Undertaker gave you a confused look, you clarified, “That sound? I’ve heard it around you before…”

“Ah…” he answered, a small, sad grin cracking on his lips. Then he pulled a brassy strand of several lockets from beneath his coat, the mementos chiming together more aggressively as he dangled them before you. “That would be these.”

As if requesting permission to take a closer look, you shyly cupped your hands out before you, allowing him to settle the chain into your palms for further investigation.

“They’re beautiful…” you sighed, inspecting each one individually, reading the names spelled out in neat cursive scrawl, the different shades of the hair tied into simple loops and pressed beneath the glass. Some of the dates engraved went back far before you were born, and, though his age often presented itself as ambiguous, definitely far before Undertaker could’ve been in this business. Though, instead of inquiring about this curious detail, the journalist part of you always hungry for answers, for the truth, you just swallowed and said, “There’s so many…”

In reply, Undertaker offered, “Well, I’ve known the Phantomhive family for a very long time.”

You handed the lockets back to him, watching as they disappeared back between the many folds of black fabric, and then the two of you stood in silence before the graves for what felt like a long time, the only sound the quiet whisper of the winter breeze.

Without even realizing, you found yourself crying, crystalline tears welling in your eyes, sparkling on the edge of your lashes, and then rolling down your cheeks in pairs. You tried to stay quiet, as if that alone could hide the emotion from the man standing directly beside you. And he wanted to reach out the moment he’d seen the tears welling, toss his shovel to the side and pull you into his chest, just let you cry into all his dark clothing until you had no more tears left.

But he remembered how you’d flinched the first time he’d tried to touch you, withdrawing from his proximity as if it were a plague. So instead, he settled for reaching for your hand, which was clenched into a fist and trembling by your side. That time, you didn’t pull away. Just shot him a sort of terror-struck look before your gaze softened and you used your free hand to cover your mouth, catching the first sobs that escaped through your lips, even giving his hand a squeeze as if to help ease your own pain.

Sensing that, perhaps this time, his touch was actually offering you some comfort, he decided to chance gently pulling you into his side, one long, slender arm snaking across your shoulders and back, hand rubbing up and down your arm as your body continued to shake with sorrow.

“I don’t even know—” you began, voice cracked and broken as you sucked in panicked, gasping breaths, “why I’m crying. I mean— they were— I was— it’s just—”

I know, he wanted to say, giving your shoulder a light squeeze, hoping the message was still delivered despite being unspoken. I know, you’re in pain right now.

And I’m sorry.

Human lives were so fragile. The only thing more delicate were their emotions.

Once you were finally able to catch your breath and calm down a little, you seemed to register his touch and quickly, albeit much more elegantly than before, distance yourself from it, clearing your throat as you settled your stance across from him, unable to meet his eyes— or at least the space that they should’ve been— that time around.

“I suppose we won’t be seeing each other quite as often anymore,” you noted, trying to force a smile, but it just came out crooked and sad. “I know we didn’t start off on the right foot but…” You paused, feeling yourself wanting to hold the rest of your sentiment back but then forcing yourself to say it anyway. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m glad we both skirted the edges of those parties before.”

Now you allowed yourself to look up and offer him a new kind of smile, this one bittersweet and almost apologetic. And he could feel you already trying to sever the invisible tie that loosely stretched between you two, the purpose of your shared proximity suddenly gone and therefore pointless.

You were just about to turn and bid him farewell when he spoke, more urgent than you’d heard him yet. He said, “Would you like to join me for some tea?”

You considered him, as if this were another one of his games, a riddle to solve. “Wha— Now?” you asked, as if it were the most preposterous proposition anyone had ever presented you with.

“If now suits you,” he said, trying to regain some of his composure, pulling his coat tighter over his shoulders as the wind picked up. “I can’t say it’s as grand as the Phantomhive manor, but where I live isn’t too far from here.” He smiled again, soft and soothing, as he continued, “Though, I can promise the quality of the tea is just as refined.”

It was his last ditch attempt at making a joke in the current situation and, over the more personal time you’d spent with him, you’d come to gain a new appreciation for his dark sense of humor, so you gave a timid nod and said, “Alright then. Lead the way.”

He dropped the shovel and started walking, you trailing beside him over the stone spotted hills.

***

Undertaker’s living space was indeed a far cry from the luxurious, spanning halls of the Phantomhive manor. It couldn’t even really be considered a house, as far as you could tell. It was, in all honesty, a mortuary practice that just happened to have a small kitchenette and an even tinier bedroom hidden behind a curtain in the back. You supposed it made sense when he’d said he didn’t live far from the cemetery, when that was his workplace. But you didn’t care right now. The tea in the mug between your palms was hot, the aroma sweet as the steam rose from the surface of the liquid, Undertaker generously leaving the small jar of sugar cubes on the table before you to scoop in to your preference.

He was sitting across from you, your legs nearly intertwined under the cramped table, Undertaker more relaxed while you just tried to stay within your own personal space. Again it occurred to him, your aversion to physical touch, and he took a moment to study you, as if tracing the features of your face beneath the thin black netting of the mourning veil or the intricate lace detailing of the collar of your dress— black, to match him for once— could uncover your truth to him, your past.

“Been to a lot of funerals in your time, I imagine…” you commented, suddenly overwhelmed by the pressing silence, the steady ticking of the wall clock unbearably awkward. “If I may ask, what made you choose this line of work to begin with?”

Undertaker took a sip of his own tea, which tonight was bitter and black. It would’ve surprised you to learn he usually stirred several cubes of sugar into his tea, no matter the strength or blend of it. Looks could be misleading, this you knew first hand from all the undercover work you’d done, as well as the many apparently innocent faces that had turned out to be gruesomely guilty. But also, on the opposite hand, some people really did show you exactly who they were right from the start.

You were starting to think maybe he was nestled somewhere in between.

“It’s a solitary kind of life…” Undertaker replied, masking loneliness under a grin. “I suppose, at the time, I was suited to it.” He gave a shrug as he raised the cup to his lips again, like that answer didn’t pave way for a hundred more questions.

“At the time…” you repeated. “Meaning, not any longer?”

You weren’t even sure what the purpose of that inquiry was. Normally, every question you posed was carefully chosen, hand-picked in order to serve a specific purpose that would paint a broader picture of the overall story.

Undertaker’s picture had so far just been one big canvas filled in with black, a few streaks of silver, and a flicker of green. There was no clear shape, no clear narrative, but suddenly, by slipping into something a little more specific, something to fulfill your own personal curiosities rather than that of straightforward facts, it was like you’d decided to take your own brush to an artwork you’d only ever been an observer of.

You were not a painter, but sometimes even an inexperienced hand could craft a masterpiece.

Undertaker’s smile didn’t falter, but something in the lines of his figure tensed, as if you’d shone a light into all that darkness expecting a gruesome beast, only to find there was something vulnerable living inside after all. Something genuine. Something lonely. Something you could relate to.

“How about you answer me something…” he began, pitching his weight slightly forward to lean closer to you over the table, his chin now resting in his palm. “You don’t like being touched…” At first, he said it more as an observation than a question. Then, after allowing discomfort to fill you during the pause, he concluded with a curious and perhaps even slightly sympathetic, “Why?”

At this statement, you felt yourself stiffen. Undertaker didn’t so much as flinch, just continued to consider you as if you were a puzzle he was trying to solve, working through every angle before making his first move. After a while, with you offering no answer or comment to this, he added, “If you’d rather not talk about it—”

Your throat bobbed with a thick, dry swallow, as if you’d just been caught for a crime you’d tried desperately to cover up, like the word GUILTY was branded into your forehead. Your mouth opened and closed and opened again, some excuse or alibi withering and dying on the tip of your tongue. Then you said, “It’s not that I don’t like it, I just…” You were absentmindedly toying with a piece of frayed lace off the hem of your sleeve, searching for a believable story to tell him that wasn’t a complete lie, but also wasn’t the entire truth either. But then you sighed, defeated, and looked him in the eyes, that glint of emerald peeking through, and admitted, “It’s just hard for me. I’m not used to it, it’s… complicated.”

The legs of his chair scraped softly against the uneven hardwood as he leaned in even closer, his arm draped over the surface, palm facing upwards, beckoning you to reach into it, to give him a chance. You glanced from his hand, a scar crossing over the love line etched into his alabaster skin, then back to his face, wishing you felt brave enough to take his invitation, wanting to, but finding the fear of physical contact swelling inside of you like a balloon that was one breath away from bursting.

It was so hard for you to trust. It always had been. Had only gotten harder since you’d entered into your current line of work, all of humanity’s ugliest sides revealed to you on a weekly, sometimes even daily basis. But what did you do when you got scared while chasing a story?

You felt the fear and you did it anyway.

So, hesitantly inching your hand closer to his open-faced palm, merely hovering there for a moment, as if trying to figure out whether this was some kind of trap or not, you finally allowed yourself to make contact, fighting the urge to pull back upon the first flinch of his fingers beginning to curl around your own.

Once his hand had completely closed around yours, it was as if all the tension gathered within your frame burst like a firework, the glittering embers giving way to something uncharted. Something new, and slightly nerve-wracking, but pleasant all the same, once you actually allowed yourself to enjoy it.

Undertaker stroked his thumb along the top of your hand, his long, cool fingers brushing delicately against your soft skin, and you felt your next exhale stutter, eyes threatening to well with tears for an entirely different reason now.

“Perhaps I can show you…” he said, the words merely a whisper on his pale lips, “that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

When you met his gaze then, it was like seeing him for the first time, both of his emerald eyes on full display, as if he’d just decided you were worthy of his trust, to know and keep his secrets the same as he seemed so intent on knowing and keeping yours.

There was still a small part of you that wanted to protest, that had the urge to pull away and put as much distance between you and him as possible. But that voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well now, distant and unintelligible. What took over was a voice you’d never heard before, one you didn’t even think you had, and all it was telling you was to allow yourself to fall. That he would be there to catch you when you did.

***

Your breath hitched before his fingers even made contact with your skin, eyes fluttering closed, like you thought not seeing would make accepting what was about to happen any easier.

“I’ve got you…” Undertaker murmured, the cold press of his palm finally reaching your cheek. He gave you a moment, patient with you while you allowed yourself to relax against his touch, your gaze slowly opening and glancing up to meet his eyes. Being this close, you came to realize they weren’t just green, like you’d originally thought, but laced through with a webbing of ambers and golds, a thin ring of teal rimming the edge of each iris. You’d never seen eyes like that before, dangerously entrancing, enticing, and it once again resurfaced the notion that the question wasn’t necessarily who he was, but what.

“See?” he smiled, not a hint of malice or mischief tucked into the corners of his mouth that time, only gentle reassurance. “I’ve got you.”

You placed your hand around his wrist, grip light, just to let him know you wanted a little more time to let this sink in. He was right. There was really nothing to be afraid of. Only, your quick-fire heartbeat still seemed to want to convince you otherwise.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, you kept repeating in your mind, nothing to be afraid of.

You let your view of him slip shut again as he slowly moved his fingers further back to lightly comb through your hair, finding the pin that had been holding it in place and pulling it free, your locks spilling down from the tightly wound coil of a bun that had been perched at the back of your head.

He’d never seen you with your hair completely down, every Phantomhive party that you’d attended making sure to tie it back, keep it out of your way, so you could stay focused on your job and not find yourself fiddling with it. He gently combed his fingers through it, disturbing a few loose knots, smoothing it down and laying it over your shoulders after removing the veiled hat from its place on your head.

“Such a shame…” he remarked, voice still low and soothing. “You’ve been hiding such beautiful hair all this time.” You remembered his mourning lockets, the different shades of strands that had been encapsulated behind the glass. You wondered if anyone would ever grow to love you so much as to always keep a lock of yours on their person. The notion made your lonely heart pulse with a dull ache.

Letting out a stuttering exhale, you now set your view upon the cascade of silver that framed all those black clothes of his, the strands almost sparkling under the low light as they shifted from white to grey and back again depending on how he moved. What you wouldn’t give to be able to carry a strand of it around, secured in a locket and resting against your heart, like capturing a sprinkle of stardust to call your own.

“Can I…” you began to ask, trying to swallow down the slight tremble in your voice as you gingerly reached one shaky hand forward. “Can I touch your hair as well?”

At this, Undertaker let out a silky hum of a chuckle, his long fingers finding the nape of your neck and resting there as he replied, “But of course.”

You let your fingertips brush against the silky silver, threading your fingers through and lightly dragging them down, not a single tangle or knot to be found. You wondered how long it had taken him to grow this much hair, how often he must have to brush it to keep it so pristine, how many others had admired or envied it the very same way you were now.

“Would you like to come closer?” he asked next, catching you a little off guard. You let your hand fall back to your lap, his returning to rest on his knee, and your eyes filled with uncertainty. Then he added, “Only if you’d like, of course.”

You scanned his form, unsure exactly what he meant by come closer, though, based on the way he was sitting, you could only really think of one possibility and the mere suggestion alone was enough to make your cheeks heat and your head spin.

The embarrassment must’ve shown on your face, because a quiet laugh trailed after his next exhale as he assured you, “If that’s too much for you you’re still welcome to sit by my side…” And then, knowing you had a habit of accepting challenges, he added on, voice sultry and only slightly sinister, “Though, if you’re worried about your skirts getting in the way, I’d gladly assist you in removing them and—”

“Oh, just hush for once, will you?” you cut him off, growing a little indignant and far more flustered than before. Even so, you still found yourself standing, eying his lap wearily as you approached, both hands curled into tight fists around your skirts, lifting them a little as you went to settle over the tops of his thighs, having to take purchase on his shoulders for balance halfway through assuming this position.

You’d never been this intimately close with another body before, not since you were very small and your mother had scooped you up in her arms and carried you off to bed, your little legs lightly wrapping around her waist and not wanting to let go, wishing she’d let you sleep in her bed to help keep the nightmares away.

But now, being at this age, in this body, and feeling the press of him as you relaxed with your legs straddling his hips, things were much, much different.

His hands brushed against your waist, hovering there before finally settling, giving you time to adjust to the foreign touch. “Is this alright?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper. “If you need more time, I can—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice also quiet, forcing your gaze back up to his, as if to defy your hesitance. “No, this is fine. I’m fine.”

“You know,” he murmured, his lips pressed close to your ear, his breath fanning featherlight over the shell of it, and you could practically hear the way he was suppressing a smirk, “I must say, it really is a surprise how a woman as striking as yourself has gone this long without being spoken for. So which is it? Too particular to find the right partner or too spoiled by being overwhelmed with choice?”

You coughed out an abashed chuckle. “No, nothing like that…” you said. Then, falling more somber, “It’s more like… Being alone has just always been so much easier. I don’t have to answer to anyone. I don’t have to pretend. I get to do as a please whenever I please and…” You flashed him a guilty look. “I guess I never saw myself as the marrying type, so…”

Undertaker stared at you, all that chartreuse alight as if finally seeming to uncover what he’d long been looking for. Then his expression softened and he said, “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Before you had time to think up some kind of rebuttal or rebuke, his fingertips were tracing the hem running up the side of your funeral dress, the dulled touch registering on your hips, then your waist, through your clothes, sending a gentle, ebbing wave of chills over your flesh, a delicate ghost of a gasp just barely sighed through your lips. His other hand came up to caress your neck, thumb brushing tenderly across your jaw, your cheek, allowing you time to decide you enjoyed it and sink deeper into his palm, the cool touch of his skin helping to soothe you.

And then, before you knew it, he was kissing you, taking the rest of your breath away as the hand that had found your waist began to roam, the careful path of his contact curving around to the small of your back, up towards your shoulder blades, your collar bones, down your arm to find the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, brushing against the faint thumping of your wild pulse just to feel the life humming from inside of you.

What surprised you even more was that you were kissing him back, leaning into the warmth of his mouth, chasing his tongue when he playfully tried to pull away, testing to see if you’d follow, if you’d try to seek him out once you got a taste. He let out a low chuckle, putting only enough space between your lips to look you in the eyes, see the way your pupils had blown wide with lust all from some simple touching and kissing alone.

“I wonder…” he murmured, that lilt of mischief stitched back into his tone, “if the other men who attended those parties ever fantasized about having you like this…” He then lightly took your chin between his lithe grip, slowly turning your view to face an old, dusty mirror perched against the wall, exposing the reflection of you straddling his lap, his hands touching you in a way you’d never let another man touch you before, and you felt your entire body catch flame, molten embarrassment welling from within the pit of your stomach and flooding up towards your head, the sudden, stifling heat making you dizzy with desire.

Undertaker sighed a puff of a laugh against the side of your neck before his lips found your throat, sucking a light bruise there, making something within you flutter, arousal flaring to life before settling to a slow, steady roll. And despite wanting to look away, shame halfway to choking you, you couldn’t tear your gaze from the view of your two bodies intertwined like this.

All this time, you’d thought it would be scary, being this vulnerable with someone, giving up that kind of control, but it wasn’t. It was like floating, rising from your body and leaving all the worry behind, allowing your world to become merely yourself, him, and the small, dimly lit room.

It was simple.

It was nice.

And, for once, everything just felt right.

But as his kisses became more messy, more urgent, and his hands were reaching under your skirts to knead at the bit of bare skin available on your upper thigh, his eager fingers hooking under the hem of your stockings, you felt yourself tensing, slipping from the moment as the fear of moving too fast flashed across your thoughts like a lighthouse beacon— just quick enough to warn of the oncoming danger that would befall you if you ventured too close to the rocky shore.

“Is this alright?” he asked, slowing down a little then, and you swore you heard something almost insecure flicker in his voice.

You took in a deep, grounding breath, nodded, and said, “It’s alright… I’ll tell you if it’s not,” and that was all the validation he needed to continue, his cool palms a relief against your heating skin, hands continuing to knead at the plush of your upper thigh, though a little more gently this time, fingertips nearly brushing against where you ran most hot and needy for him, causing a broken whine to escape your throat. Undertaker wondered if you’d ever heard yourself make those kinds of involuntary, beautifully obscene sounds before, if you’d ever pleasured yourself late at night once you finally found yourself alone, or if even the idea of that had been too much for you to bear.

He intended to introduce you to each and every one of your lovely, lustful notes tonight, wanting to discover just exactly what he could do to elicit specific moans or whines. You’d be upset with him if he told you his plan, surely, yet still, he couldn’t help himself.

Similar to how you couldn’t deny yourself a challenge, he had a habit of overindulging himself with his games.

“Wait…” you murmured, pulling away from the cradle of his chest just a fraction. “I want you to…” You swallowed, finding a lump in your throat that stuck like a dry pill, afraid to say what rested on the tip of your tongue. You looked at him through your thick curtain of lashes, almost feeling like you could cry again, so many intense emotions to face in a single day mixing together in your head. “I want you to take my clothes off…” The last half of your request all but withered and died into a pathetic whisper by the time it left your mouth, averting your gaze then.

Part of you expected Undertaker to tease you for your request, to try and rile you just to see the adorable look your face made whenever you were mad at him, but he didn’t. Instead, he hummed out a satisfied note, beginning to strip you of the many layers of your funeral attire one by one until all you were left wearing was your silky underclothes and stockings. He went to remove those as well, but you stopped him before he could, growing bolder in asking for what you wanted when you suggested he let you undress him first.

Unlike you, this was not Undertaker’s first experience with sex. It was, however, the first time he’d allowed someone to see all his scars in the fading daylight, usually preferring to hide them behind the shadows herded in by nightfall and the dimly candle lit rooms of London’s most high-end pleasure houses.

But he supposed this put you both on more equal ground, so he didn’t mind. Plus, he hardly thought you’d find them newsworthy enough to go around sharing to anyone who might ask. He also supposed, like you, he had some things that were complicated to explain too…

“Kiss me…” you sighed, your hands lightly settling back on his shoulders as you now stood mere inches apart, breathing in each other’s oxygen like the thick opium smoke that wastfed though the East End.

That time, neither of you seemed to hesitate. Hitching one of your legs up, a big palm splayed under the back of your thigh to keep it in place over his hip, Undertaker had your back pressed to the wall, the hard length of him that seemed to be growing more impatient by the minute nudging further into you until he couldn’t help but grind against your lace-clad core, pulling one of those delicate, delicious whines from your throat, swallowing it down into his own mouth and trading it for one of his choked-out groans as he pressed his erection even harder against you, both of you hungry— starving— for one another’s bodies by now.

You hadn’t even realized your hand had migrated down between his legs, just barely beginning to cup the bulge of him in your inexperienced little palm, until you felt him twitch beneath his underwear, suddenly gasping and going a little rigid with uncertainty again.

He was kissing you deep, the fervor of it all dying down a little once he sensed your hesitation. “Go ahead,” he panted, holding your chin between his fingers, searching your gaze, pleading with it. “Touch me. It’s ok…”

So you did.

You attempted to stroke what strained through the thin fabric until he just couldn’t take it anymore and reached under the waistband himself to free his cock from its confines, hissing through clenched teeth once it was in his hand, soon passed off into yours.

Truthfully, you were only half sure of what you were supposed to do. You’d heard some of the few ladies you’d grown close to occasionally share— or perhaps overshare— some of the details of their marriages, sex lives included, and whether they were bragging or complaining or just making a comment in jest, you’d picked up bits and pieces here and there throughout the years.

Whatever you were doing though, you seemed to be doing it right, because before long, Undertaker seemed to be losing any composure or control he had left. He braced himself against the wall with his forearm, hunched over you as a thin sheen of sweat began to break out over his pale skin like glazed alabaster, grunts and growls and groans slipping from his lips while you gripped him in your palm, hand sliding easily along his velvety length as more and more of his pearly pre-cum gathered and began to drip down the shaft.

“Fuck—” he swore, and for a moment, you feared you’d hurt him in some way, pausing and looking up at him with an apologetic worry tugging at your features. But then he was smiling at you, chest still heaving with labored breaths, but wearing a glow of pride. He’d meant it earlier when he’d said you kept finding ways to surprise him, but this was on an entirely different level. If he hadn’t already known what you did for a living, he would’ve guessed you hailed from one of London’s aforementioned brothels, the ones that only served the elite or those tied to them.

Though he was sure you still had some things to learn, he was glad he was laying claim to you first.

He’d be lying if he said he’d ever be willing to share you with anyone else after this.

“Don’t look so afraid, my dear,” he cooed, slowly beginning to guide you towards his tiny bedroom nook, your eyes locked on him, trusting he wouldn’t let you trip as you walked backwards, holding his hands to help steady you. “We’re only just getting started…”

Before you knew it, the backs of your knees were hitting the edge of the bed, you collapsing back to the mattress as Undertaker climbed atop you, all that silky silver hair creating a canopy around you as he admired the way you looked splayed out beneath him. It was too bad you were a fragile human, your years so numbered when compared to the countless ones he’d already lived and the countless more he’d experience long after you were gone. He wished there were a way he could keep you like this forever— so beautiful, so his—  but he knew that living souls weren’t as easily frozen in time as things like mementos and photographs.

If only he’d met you a few decades from now. Perhaps by then, he’d have found a way…

Before he could dwell on it for too long though, he became distracted with removing more of your clothes, the last shred of his lost somewhere along the short distance from the kitchen to the bed, and seeing you fully exposed to him now, presented in your rawest, ravishing state, it took his breath away.

He’d seen many bodies in his life, living and dead, only a handful of them on both sides that he’d truly considered stunning. But yours…

Yours was nothing short of divine. 

He wanted to touch every inch of you, learn your figure in a way he’d never forget. He wanted to know that, even long after you were gone someday, he’d still be able to remember the exact shape of your breasts, the raise of your ribs as you drew in breath and the dip of your waist, the soft curve of your tummy and the plushness of your thighs.

He wanted to be able to rewatch this night over and over again in his head, rewinding the film reel until it frayed, each and every frame already burned into his memory.

“Hey…” you spoke, quiet and concerned as you reached up to cup your little palm to his jaw, tracing the line of the scar that cut diagonally across his face by his cheek. “Is something…?”

Before you could utter the word “wrong”, Undertaker cradled his hand over your own, sinking closer into your touch now, soaking in its human warmth, and smiled for a moment, attempting to mask the melancholy behind amusement. “Are you sure you still want to do this?” he asked you, and it was then that any and all lingering uncertainty you had went out like candle flame swallowed by a strong breeze. You nodded, told him you were sure.

A part of you was still scared, but not of him. Just of the unknown.

Feel the fear and do it anyway.

You were choosing to trust him, but once you’d made up your mind about it, there was no going back. That’s just the kind of person you were, the kind of person he’d discovered you to be.

So, trying to help you further relax, he continued to reintroduce you to his touch, discovering the places you liked best and paying special attention there, earning more of those sweet, lilting mewls and whimpers that he’d quickly become so addicted to, until it came time for him to explore the most intimate parts of you, preparing you for what was to come.

“You’re beautiful…” you swore you heard him sigh, your pounding heartbeat drumming in your ears and drowning out the quieter sounds. As soon as he so much as brushed a teasing finger through your soaked folds, still careful to be gentle with you, you let out a choked cry, gripping his biceps for support, needing something— anything— to anchor yourself to.

“Just relax…” he said, voice low and soothing as he applied a little more pressure, spreading your growing slick further around, marveling at the way your sensitive little bud was already pulsing in pleasure, tight hole fluttering in anticipation. But you took a deep breath and tried to follow his instruction, allowing your body to sink further into the mattress. Praising you as he began to massage slow, skillful circles onto your clit, he said, “Just like that… So good, my beautiful girl…”

And then that thick, sticky heat was filling you from the inside again, threatening to spill out. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before and you didn’t want it to stop. For a moment, you wondered if this was all somehow some sort of very vivid dream, a fantasy, fearing you’d wake up to find you’d never even gone to visit the graves at all. But the way the sensation gripped you, body and mind and soul, was telling you otherwise, every nerve alight with the intensity of it all.

Warning you what he was about to do next might be a little uncomfortable at first, Undertaker slipped one of his slender fingers inside of you, causing you to wince at the slight soreness the sensation provided, but as he slowly pumped it in and out of you, helping you get used to the feeling, eventually you were wet enough that he could insert two, the stretch from his fingers alone causing a small squeak of pain to escape your throat, but still you didn’t want him to stop.

As he began to carefully scissor his digits inside your tight cunt he continued working on stimulating your clit to distract you from the discomfort. The mix of pleasure and pain was almost enough to put you over the edge, your back arching off the bed and your neck craning as you felt the coil winding tight within your core threatening to snap. Gasping out a curse, legs trembling as the crescendo crashed over every nerve in your body, you came undone for the first time that night, the high that filled your veins mixed with the fading adrenaline making your brain melt into a hazy, sated state.

He was whispering something to you then, pressing gentle kisses along your forehead, your temples, your nose, your jaw, as his sweet sentiments were lost amidst the thumping of your pulse between your ears. You exhaled a shuddering sigh, eyes fluttering closed, feeling as if you could drift right off to sleep. But there would be plenty of time for rest later.

Undertaker still wasn’t done with you yet.

Sliding his thick cock between the dewy petals of your folds, he guided you back to the waking world, being the most tender he had with you yet. “Are you still doing alright?” he murmured, brushing a few stray strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. He was gazing down at you like he couldn’t even believe you were there, with him, like this, the angel he’d lured into his underworld.

You gave a feeble nod, gasping when you felt the tip of his cock catch on your fluttering little hole. In all truth, you weren’t sure how he was going to fit. You just hoped he’d prepared you well enough, though knew the first time would be the most trying.

“Just breathe…” he instructed, interlocking his fingers with yours, your hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head. “Take as much time as you need. Just relax…”

As the first inch or two fought its way into your tight entrance, your body reflexively tensed to combat the pain. The stretch of him took your breath away, fragile, sensitive skin feeling as if it were about to tear to allow him more room, teetering on a razor’s edge of arousal and agony. But he was talking you through it, whispering reassuring praises into your ear, waiting until he felt your body adjust to him, rigidity melting away as he continued to pepper featherlight kisses across your skin, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you needed to until the sensation subsided.

Inch by inch, he worked his way deeper, and when you needed him closer, needed his chest pressed to yours to feel the stuttering beat of his heart, he obliged, scooping you up to straddle him again, both of you upright, face to face, him helping you begin to bounce lightly on his cock.

As the pace began to pick up speed, nearly every thrust into you had one of those melodic moans or lilting whines clawing their way up your throat, mouth remaining agape with silent cries as you felt yourself once again approaching that steep edge. With your head thrown back, neck exposed to him, Undertaker took the opportunity to suck a few more bruises into the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse, choking on his next growl as your cunt clenched around him painfully tight.

He gave one more harsh thrust upward into your wet heat, feeling you come undone, glistening arousal staining you both, before forcing himself to pull out, finishing no more than two seconds later as his warm, sticky seed spilled over your stomach and thighs, mingling with the sheen of your pleasure as it mixed between both your bodies.

Both of you were panting, shallow, ragged huffs fanning against each other’s skin as you slumped over him, completely spent, and he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close, never wanting to let you go.

He’d have to, eventually, but for now, he allowed himself to pretend you couldn’t be touched by things like disease or disaster or death, erasing your mortality from his mind, even if it were just for the duration he’d have you in his arms.

Suddenly, he was speaking your name, a gentle breeze of syllables leaving his lips as he rubbed soothing circles against your spine, coaxing you back to consciousness. Without lifting your head from his shoulder, all your limbs heavy, blood flowing slow and sweet as if your veins had been filled with honey, you nuzzled further into the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent.

His question barely registered to you, causing you to mutter out a sleepy, “What…?” which caused him to quietly chuckle, feeling the light mirth rumble through his scarred chest.

“I said,” he repeated, “Are you feeling alright?”

You felt more than alright. You felt fantastic, but not in the loud, excited, energetic kind of way.

More like waking up after a long, much-needed sleep, still floating off the edge of your dreams, feeling tired but fulfilled.

Once the high faded, you were sure you’d feel the soreness, a dull ache already beginning to pulse between your legs, but you didn’t necessarily mind.

It would just be another reminder of him and the time you’d spent together.

And, truthfully, there was so much you wanted to say then. Like how you’d never thought you’d be able to connect with someone in this way, feel completely safe in their hands, even feel— dare you say it— loved.

But instead, all you managed in reply was, “I’m ok…” before you felt sleep swooping back in to claim you.

As you drifted off that time, you briefly wondered what a life with him would be like. If you’d eventually have to learn to call this curious place home, a cemetery sprawled across your backyard, a closet full of funeral clothing. Or if perhaps he’d be willing to trade some of his darkness for the pale light of your apartment, if he’d remember to water your flowers while you were at work and leave scraps out for the stray cats that came begging by your front door.

And if those within your circle— the ones who were always badgering you about when you were getting married or if anyone was currently courting you— would be surprised if you told them that, yes, you’d started seeing someone despite the numerous occasions you’d written off such partnerships as just not for you…

They’d surely have some opinions on the matter, and that would even be before they saw him standing at your side.

But let them gossip, let them talk, you figured.

You didn’t care what people said, what they thought. You just wanted to be able to see him again, to be with him again, and for a little while, at least, discover all the things fear had once convinced you that you’d never get to experience for yourself.

***

A few years after your first night spent with him, having had many more in all the time between, fate had called you away, choosing to relocate further up north once your mother grew ill, spending her remaining days by her side. Once she was gone and you found yourself back in funeral blacks, for some reason, you’d decided to stay. You’d written Undertaker, of course, and for that first year apart the back and forth correspondence had been quite regular.

You awaited his letters with a childlike giddiness, excitement unfurling its wings within your heart whenever a black envelope sealed with shining silver wax appeared among your mail, already beginning to tear it open before you’d even gone back inside from retrieving that day’s delivery from the mailbox down the hill from your late mother’s home, the house you now called your own.

You’d sit down to write him back the moment you finished reading the last word of his looping cursive scrawl, elegance and sharpness somehow occupying the same space.

But then, after so much time away from London, away from the life you’d grown so accustomed to, you’d found yourself growing lonely. Only, this time, instead of the dull ache your former solitary life had nurtured within you, the pain was now a knife’s stabbing edge, carving a hole out in your heart until it nearly became too much to bear.

Until you’d eventually met someone. Another man whose hair was just beginning to grey at the temples, yet nothing like Undertaker’s silver shine, and whose eyes were a deep forest green, not the startling chartreuse of your former lover’s gaze. 

Six months later, you wrote back to London to inform Undertaker of the wedding that would be held in the spring. He’d congratulated you, though was glad it was only on paper— if he’d been forced to fake a smile and sweeten his words to you in person you would’ve known it was a lie, seen the heartbreak etched onto his face as obviously as one of those jagged, shining scars— and after that, the flow of the letters slowly came to a halt.

You had ten beautiful years with your husband until death’s kiss touched him, leaving you a widow and, once again, alone.

By then, the north had become so small, its claws closing around you until it began to resemble a prison, a cage.

You fled, returning to London, unsure whether you were running from things you wanted to forget or towards a flame you thought you might rekindle.

But in all that time away, you’d gotten married. Perhaps it was unfair to assume Undertaker hadn’t done the same.

However, once you found him, grateful the funeral parlor was still right where you’d left it nearly fifteen years ago, you entered the shop, expecting to be greeted by a man who was all at once familiar to you and also not, surprised to find him just as you’d left him like an image out of an old photograph.

You’d expected time to have touched him, run its fingers through his hair, turning silver to ivory, leaving the first signs of laugh lines cupping his smile and crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, similar to the ways it had begun to touch you. The sight should’ve brought you comfort but instead you found yourself feeling…

Uneasy.

The years had passed for Undertaker as quickly as the season’s had changed for you. But as you inched, slowly but surely, towards the winter of your life, there wasn’t even so much as a veil of frost creeping in to cover him.

Somehow, he had remained exactly the same, no matter how many days, weeks, months, or years went by.

You’d planned to smile and say something like, “It’s been a while, so I understand if you don’t recognize me,” but what came out of your mouth instead was a gasp and, “You’re—” before Undertaker stopped you.

“—Just about to sit down for some afternoon tea,” he filled in, his grin widening as if he’d been expecting you. And then, before you even had a chance to process the theories that were beginning to blossom in your brain, each one more ridiculous and paranormal than the last, he asked, “Would you care to join me?”

Your mouth hung open, any and all remaining questions dying on your tongue, a few sputtering squeaks catching in your throat before you closed your lips, cleared your throat and said, “Alright then.”

The time you spent sitting at that little table, legs nearly intertwined once more as you sipped at your cup of Earl Grey, two cubes of sugar stirred in, made you feel like no time— not years or over a decade— had passed at all since you’d seen him last.

Nothing had changed— truly nothing. Not his looks or his humor or the way being around him just made you feel calm.

He’d been in the middle of regaling some amusing tale to you from while you’d been away when all of a sudden you realized your eyes were welling with tears. His bout of laughter died down to a stark stoicism once he noticed, leaning forward, reaching out to rest his hand over yours, the familiarity of his cool touch only making more tears race down your cheeks in shimmering pairs.  He asked, “My love, whatever is the matter?”

You choked on a sob, gave his hand a squeeze. “I just missed you…” you admitted, trying to smile, though it just came out crooked and sad.

With his other hand, fingers partially warmed from holding his cup of tea, he lightly brushed away your tears, rubbing the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, soothing you until your sobbing subsided.

Then he said, “I’ve missed you, too… In more ways than you can even imagine.”

You felt a new wave of sorrow threaten to wrack through you. Something akin to guilt. To shame. To mourning the life you could’ve had if only you’d come back sooner. If only you’d stayed.

“But please,” he continued, gazing upon you with concern now. “If you’re weeping on my behalf, don’t. Now that you’re here, we can just pick up where we left off… A human life is only so long, after all…”

You looked at him, half confused, half afraid, and he almost told you then. Told you that he wasn’t like you, wasn’t burdened with the fragile shortness of a mortal life. But he didn’t.

He wanted you to ask first. Wanted to hear you say the words you’d been wondering since the very first night you met.

And you would, eventually.

But for now you just wanted him to hold you while you finished your tea and try and make up for so much lost time.

***

Twenty years later, you were unmarried, plagued by the illness that had claimed your mother, and had long given up tracking down shocking stories to fuel your own morbid curiosities.

But you were not alone.

You’d remained in the funeral shop, though made several more cozy additions to its decor over the years— a couple little houseplants dotting the windowsills, your mother’s cookbook placed up in the cabinets of the little kitchenette, lace hems and embroidery on the pillowcases fluffed upon the freshly made bed.

This place had become home before you’d ever even made the decision to stay, though perhaps that was more due to Undertaker’s proximity than anything else.

Even as your joints grew stiff and your movement became sluggish, your hair greying and your eyesight failing, Undertaker still remembered to remind you how beautiful he thought you were, how much he loved you, how you’d always be his most favorite girl. He’d dance with you by the light of the moon, leading you in a lulling waltz as he hummed out a melancholy tune. He’d carry you to bed when he found you sleeping in a chair, whatever mystery novel you were reading open face-down on your lap.

To experience love in this way was the greatest gift either of you had ever received, the devotion binding at times, yet there was still one last secret you had to uncover before you didn’t have the chance to anymore.

It wasn’t until you were nearing your life’s end that you finally asked him, “What are you?” and he actually gave you the truth.

“So you’re the dark cloaked figure who comes to guide souls into the afterlife, are you?” you joked after he’d given a surprisingly detailed explanation of what he was— what he’d been, before he’d defected— and what he’d continue to be no matter how long he tried to hide behind the mask of the eccentric funeral director. You coughed out a weak chuckle from where you lay tucked into bed, reaching out to run your rigid, wrinkled fingers through his long silver locks. Dreamily, quietly, as if only to yourself, you muttered, “I should’ve known…”

“I wanted to tell you…” he admitted, “Before, I mean…”

“No,” you said, “it’s better you didn’t. I don’t think I would’ve understood back then. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

Now, with your death so imminent, learning his identity actually made the thought of your final breaths more comforting. Because you now knew dying would feel like falling asleep in the arms of a lover, gentle and safe. Protected. Cared for.

And when that fateful day finally came to pass, it was Undertaker who claimed your soul, wanting to be the first and last person to lay their hands on it, not intent on allowing any of those dispatch drones to touch it with their sharp tools and sterile indifference. 

He dressed your body, laid you in your coffin, and dug your grave. Though it wasn’t in the cemetery among all the other headstones. It was right outside the kitchen window, where your houseplants continued to grow, the sun rising to shed its soft golden light upon the room through the eastern window and bathing the place in deep amber as it lowered below the horizon in the west, your favorite place to sit and drink your morning tea and read in evenings.

Losing you was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but whenever he was feeling lonely, he’d wander out and look down at your name etched into the smooth, pale stone, read your dates to himself, reciting them like a prayer.

You had been so much more than just an epitaph, once upon a time, but at least now Undertaker could come visit you as often as he liked, and tucked beneath his coat, pressed safe behind the glass of his lockets, was a strand of your hair, a piece of you he could carry with him for the rest of his days.

***

(A big thank you to @anxious-chick for your request! I hope it’s ok I sort of took your concept and ran a marathon with it lol, but once I started developing some plot I just got really into it and couldn’t help myself haha. Thank you for being so patient with me as well, I sincerely hope it was worth the wait.

Anyway, thank you to everyone for reading. I’ve been wanting to write for Undertaker again for a long time and I’m glad this opportunity presented itself. Hope everyone has a good day and remembers to be kind to themselves. See you next time <3)

[phantomansion]

Elizabeth could feel the eye roll that he held back and she couldn't help but let out a giggle. Her smile made the apple of her cheeks glow pleasantly. That smile only grew more when Gracey took her hand and whispered back a 'please'.

The beauty let him guide her away, sneaking in and out familiar alcoves. Away from the prying eyes of the party-goers yet sneakily enough that the whirling swirling guests wouldn't even notice their host's departure.

As they scurried down the winding empty hallway, Elizabeth couldn't help but let out another chuckle as they exited out of the Mansion with ease and onto cobblestone balcony, only feet away from the private crypt of the mansion and, of course, the gardens. The humid night air clung to her bare arms but it felt freer than the bustling ballroom.

His words made her ever-present smile beam in the moonlight. Elizabeth couldn't help but feel warm around him. Childhood memories fading into teenage dreams and gentle romance. Her gloved hand, still in his grasp, squeezed his fingers as she took a step towards him.

Hummed, her voice reverted warmly and pleasantly - as warm and pleasant as the magnolia trees shadowing over them. Elizabeth's thumb brushed up and and down over his knuckles softly.

"Whatever could you owe me, Mister Gracey?" she wondered before leaning close and baring her rose-flushed cheek to him playfully as she look at him through her eyelashes. Looking for a mischievous peck.

Rolling his eyes was a tempting notion at her teasing, but he managed to resist ... though the air of the gesture was still felt in the small shake of his head. As if the party was really for him ... and as if he really wanted to be there.

“ Please, ” he muttered so as to keep anyone from hearing, trying to hide both the delight at the notion of leaving and the lingering dismay from the party itself. He could not help a small laugh which accompanied the word — look at him, so desperate to escape ! What a lucky thing it was, that he had Elizabeth to escape with.

With his hand in hers, he spared a watchful glance at the eyes around them to ensure that none were watching. It appeared that all was clear, for at least that moment — so he ducked back and away, carrying Elizabeth with them. If one of the partygoers managed to catch glimpse of them, then perhaps there would be rumors ... but what care did Edward have to that, anymore ? If one where to have caught them, he hoped it would be one of the staff. At the very least, they may not be too ruthless ... and it may not spread past the kitchen.

Their escape was imminent, and each further step made Edward's breath lighter. Freer. Down the empty hallway they went, towards the nearest exist to the outdoors ( an exit that wouldn't be watched by partygoers, of course ) . Gracey glanced back over his shoulder to ensure no one had followed, then looked to Elizabeth with a growing smile. “ To what do I owe the one who saved me from that unbearable ordeal ? ”

[ettawritesnstudies]

Since I couldn't accept all the applications for interviews, I wanted to shout out a couple of the titles that didn't make the cut! These don't quite fit my target audience but that being said, I think the indie community should have solidarity regardless of age category and genre, so I still want to help y'all with promotion however I can!

If you want to support some cool authors, you can check out their books here, and if you want to support me, you can watch through my playlist backlog of interviews. My channel isn't monetized yet but the watch hours certainly wouldn't hurt lol

If you want to see the lineup for the rest of the year, you can sign up for my newsletter! I'll be sharing the list at the end of the month!

Oak King Holly King by Sebastian Nothwell @nothwell

queer romantasy; historical fantasy; adult

Shrike, the Butcher of Blackthorn, is a legendary warrior of the fae realms. When he wins a tournament in the Court of the Silver Wheel, its queen names him her Oak King - a figurehead destined to die in a ritual duel to invoke the change of seasons. Shrike is determined to survive. Even if it means he must put his heart as well as his life into a mere mortal’s hands. Wren Lofthouse, a London clerk, has long ago resigned himself to a life of tedium and given up his fanciful dreams. When a medieval-looking brute arrives at his office to murmur of destiny, he’s inclined to think his old enemies are playing an elaborate prank. Still, he can’t help feeling intrigued by the bizarre-yet-handsome stranger and his fantastical ramblings, whose presence stirs up emotions Wren has tried to lock away in the withered husk of his heart. As Shrike whisks Wren away to a world of Wild Hunts and arcane rites, Wren is freed from the repression of Victorian society. But both the fae and mortal realms prove treacherous to their growing bond. Wren and Shrike must fight side-by-side to see who will claim victory - Oak King or Holly King.

Spirits and Sunflowers by A.D. Armistead @adarmisteadwrites

MM adult contemporary fantasy romance

Devastated by the recent death of his husband, Adrian has been relying upon his necromantic gifts to try and bridge the gap between the living and the dead, feeling more and more like a ghost himself with each failure. After a young girl named Tula with an uncanny ability approaches Adrian on a visit to the cemetery, he begins to hope that the husband he lost may still be within reach. Over time, he falls into an easy friendship with Tula’s father, Lucas Halpern. As Adrian is drawn into the orbit of the handsome, mysterious single father, Adrian begins to emerge from his grief, wondering whether it’s possible to find love again. Together, in a contemporary world laced with magic, Adrian embarks on a journey in recovering from loss, building trust, and finding love and family where they are least expected. Spirits & Sunflowers is the first book in the Maligned Magic series, a group of cozy queer romances set in an alternate version of our world. There, magic is tightly regulated by a distant and inflexible organization. All stories can be read as standalone novels, but benefit from reading the previous books in the series in order.

Hills of Heather and Bone by K.E. Andrews (@/k.e.andrews on IG)

Fantasy, adventure, cozy dark fantasy

Hills of Heather and Bone The bones of the dead hold stories.

On the fringes of Errigal, Morana longs to exchange a life of hiding for a peaceful one with her husband, Percy. While Percy's bloodgift lets him grow plants and heal broken bodies, Morana's a boneweaver, despised and feared because she can hear bones and raise the dead. Morana doesn't want to be seen as a villain from the old stories and instead spends her time gardening, writing the stories of the dead, and fending off a spiteful chicken.

Morana and Percy's lives are shattered when a group of Failinis tasked with capturing boneweavers and rogue bloodgifted find them. On the run and battling the elements, ancient creatures, and the loss of all they called home, Morana and Percy search for any sanctuary left in Errigal. Morana must choose between the call in her blood or the family she holds so close to her heart if she and Percy are to survive.

Please be aware that this book contains some scenes of violence, death, depression, mentions of miscarriage, birthing scenes, suicidal thoughts, suicide, and cannibalism

Keep Me Breathing by U.R. Holm

Soft Sci-Fi/Subterrainean/Adult

Keep Me Breathing

Fubuki has no reason to leave the comfort of her home. No desire to see the cave system outside.

Sakura has no desire to stay put. Even as a single mom, she brings her son with her on her travels. But when her son goes missing, Fubuki joins her across the cave system to find him.

The pair is joined by Alexandr, the alternative drummer, and Casey, the fraud who insists he wants to help.

In the search for the boy they all have to face their own personal struggles and insecurities. And while they travel to find the boy, the boy is fighting his own battles against his captors and in a world between adults and children.

While Keep Me Breathing is a novel with fantastical elements, it's even more a novel about friendship, love and familiar bonds.

[nevergonnasimpyoumikey]

ahhhh your fic was amazing thank you for recommending it i loved it!!!! i haven’t played bury the hatchet in like 2 years but i think i mostly remember how it goes down lol. i have this hc that trevor watched the shootout go down from outside the cemetery after he took the keys from michael’s car & thought about stepping in (because if you’re like me mike defff got shot a few times trying to get to that car lmao) but decided not to & left him once cheng’s men caught up with him. it’s an idea i’ve been tossing around but i know i will never probably never write anything for it haha. but if you ever wanted to write something with that idea….. omggg i would be eternally grateful <333

Thank you so much!

Delicious idea... so I did a short oneshot. Hidden because of NSFW in the end.

Snake

It was the first time Michael had ever shot at him, and vice versa, although that realization only sank in much later.

At the time, he merely escaped through the gate and docked behind the wall of stone to be safe from the bullets — although before he had made the conscious decision to do so, he already found himself locking the gate after him. 

See, there was something salacious in the thought of a snake slithering towards freedom, tasting the dust of the ones it deceived, only to be thwarted by the ones it crossed. In that moment, Trevor was Eve, deciding to take matters of revenge into his own hands, to crush the serpent’s head before it could escape the garden, just as his kind had been burdened to do. 

This is what you get when you fall for a snake. You have to be the one to end it.

Except he couldn’t, now, not with the small army worth of men storming the graveyard; he needed to get the fuck out before they’d get him too. But he made his way around the site, hidden by the fence, wading through the snow towards the car he had stolen, and he heard the gunshots and Michael yelling back at the men, although the exact words were lost on him; he was attracted to the sound like a moth to a flame, imagining Michael getting hit and bleeding out in the snow — for real this time, not smoke and mirrors. His life spilling out for Trevor to enjoy.

If Michael was dying, he needed to see it. He deserved to see it. Watching Adam crushing the snake must feel equally as good as doing it himself, right?

He came to a gate at the side of the cemetery and risked taking a peek. He didn’t know if it was disappointing — by this rate, Michael would make it out alive — or exhilarating to see him taking out man after man, the skill he’d honed during years of crime and depravity, on full display. He didn’t linger for longer, continuing his way to the car. More attackers came in vans, which was why the one and only Sedan stood out like a sore thumb. It must be the car Michael had arrived in. 

The opportunity for sabotage was too delicious to resist. 

And so he stayed despite the risk; from his hiding place, he watched Michael run toward what he must have believed was safety, except he didn’t see what Trevor did — two more men in front of the church, guns trained at the corner behind which Michael would soon emerge, destined to hit.

Trevor could have stopped it. He almost did, mouth already opening to shout a warning, but he didn’t. If Michael was so adamant about not needing him, he would handle this as well, right?

One of the men wasn’t terrible at aiming, but Michael barely even flinched when he was hit, adrenaline undoubtedly making him immune to all pain. Trevor only had to imagine the red seeping out, Michael’s face as he aimed and killed the guys, but the delicious shout of pain rang in his ear even after Michael was taken from his car and dragged into one of the vans, clutching his arm. 

The wrath of betrayal mixed with the rush of escape mixed with the satisfaction of revenge — it was no wonder Trevor found himself leaning one arm on his plane, the other vigorously jerking his cock that didn’t even get fully hard in the cold, let alone the effort it took to actually cum. But rubbing one out while thinking of Michael getting hurt was worth it, one last middle finger to the king of snakes. 

[salsdemise]

Gundham and Korekiyo in a relationship hcs  (separate)

I had fun writing these lol.   TW/CW: slight V3 spoilers for Kiyo, other than that none! AU: non-kg/non-despair au Word count: 1,361(kinda long!)

HC’s under the cut!

Kiyo!

-I’ve done some on this but

-he’s a generally reserved person, not opening up about himself much if at all until farther into the relationship.

-His love language is giving you gifts!

-He travels a lot so by the time he’s back its like christmas lol

-if he comes home(assuming you live in the same apartment) at a time he knows ur asleep, he joins you in bed.  May not sleep if he’s had tea or something to drink, but he enjoys it when he gets in bed and you almost instantly cling to him.

-Doesn’t like to be touched, that being said he LOVES invading your personal space.  He’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders, waist, he’s spinning you around and goofing off, playing with your hair, ect. 

-try and do the same with him and he won’t tell you not to, but he will be quite stiff and still.  At least at the beginning of the relationship

-Loves 20’s and 30’s music? Like, Button Up Your Overcoat by Helen Kane? That shit slaps to him and if you like it too, then prepare to listen to it often.

-not one for public dates, loves dancing with you in your kitchen.  Loves picnics too!

-doesn’t matter if you can’t cook, he’ll eat it even if it’s mostly burnt.  He might even figure out a way to make what you make taste edible lol

-He loves taking photos of you randomly doing things.  Cooking dinner? He’s got a picture.  Drawing? Picture.  Reading? He’s got one. Picking flowers on a picnic date? Obviously.  You mid scream bc of a horror game jumpscare? He’s got two.

-If you end up asking about his bandages and stuff, he takes them off to show you various scars and marks.  If you ask, he tells you about the ‘welcoming’ he got from natives of an area he was visiting. He doesn’t tell you he almost died though lol.

-He’ll make you bracelets n stuff

-He likes falling asleep with you on top of him.  Helps him feel grounded and he loves holding you

-Fights are almost non-existent between you two.

-unless it’s about his trauma.  But you two don’t often talk about that unless he’s had a day where he can’t stop thinking and even then you just hold him while he cries and talks about it.

-healthy relationship <3

-If you have any trauma he’s more than willing to help you through your issues, making you tea, holding you, calming you down.  He’s a listener.

-He wants to know everything about you.  What you like, what you don’t like, what makes you happy, what to avoid.  He wants to make sure you’re comfy with everything.

-he always asks before touching you, kissing you, entering a room you’re in when the door is closed, calling you ect.

-You do the same.  You always ask if you can go into his room, if you can look when he has his mask off, if you can hold his hand and stuff.

-He has a little garden! Mostly roses, but he likes it.

-You’ve made him masks and he adores them.  His favorite has roses on the sides.

-Korekiyo loves you sm and you get along very well

-Valentines day you guys just stay inside and watch awful romance movies while cuddling.

-if you really want to go out, get ready because he’s not holding anything back. Gundham!

-Getting into the relationship is a LONG process. 

-And I mean LONG

-It probably starts when you find one of his Devas.  He’s looking for them and you’re just walking around with them on your shoulder and he nearly runs into you when he sees you have them and he’s like

- “Mortal, halt any further movement and unhand my Deva this instance!”

-ur just standing there with them on ur shoulder so you hold your hand out to it so it can climb on and then hand it to Gundham

-Mans shocked lmao like his devas clearly like you

-it happens three more times, all of them have gone missing once now

-He’s so confused???

-he starts following you around bc “your energy is...interesting, Mortal.  My Deva’s truly seem to like you and I'm inclined to see why.”

-just accept it he’s not leaving you alone.  Ever.

-if ur free after school he’s gonna ask you to go to the pet store he volunteers at too frequently (half the people there think he works there, he doesn’t but he might as well)

-if you say yes he’ll tell you about all the animals and let you hold them(might get you one if he likes you enough)

-Eventually he asks you out for real, he first asks you to go to the pet store again and you agree.  Then he takes you on a picnic near a cemetery (if you ask why not in he says “It’s quite rude to disturb the dead like that, Mortal.”)

-Durning the picnic his Deva’s bring out notes to you while he’s not looking

-they’re little notes with poems saying how much he loves you

-very sweet, very sweet.

-He notices eventually and mans goes RED.

-hiding in his scarf, he tells you how he feels

-obviously you say yes, and you two start dating (kazuichi would be over the moon lol)

-mind you this is like 4 years into the friendship, y’all are almost out of highschool by now

-It takes him a while to initiate contact with you, also takes him a bit to get used to you touching him in general

-one thing he’s used to quickly is having your arms linked.  He enjoys it.  The devas do too.  They can go from him to you!

-He’ll excuse himself 3 times a day to shower.  Man has hamsters on him constantly, wears no underwear and is a little paranoid about being smelly since he was bullied for smelling like a hamster when he was younger.

-You don’t mind at all, seeing him with his hair down is amazing every time.

-He likes it when you play with his hair but he won’t tell.

-the deva’s will though-

-when you guys get close enough(7 years friends, 3 years dating) he’ll be comfy with skin to skin.  And he adores it when you trace the many large and small scars on him from him training his animals.

-He isn’t someone to ask for cuddles, but when he’s had a rough day he’ll ask to lay down with you.  He likes laying with his head on your lap or stomach and his arms around your waist while you mess with his hair.

-He has hard days a lot when out of highschool.  So when he comes home from work (he works as a tour guide at a zoo change my mind) he likes to just,,,,collapse into you.  He likes when you hold his face and kiss his forehead

-he’s a very affectionate person in private!

-,,,clearly, as written

-Fights are super rare between you two. Like, super rare.  If you have an issue you both sit down to talk.  You listen and work it out, and then things are fine.

-he doesn’t eat most meats.  The only one he eats is fish.  He will not eat any other meat.

-meals are easy with him though, you try your best for him and he loves it. You can make meals with meat in them and remove the meat from half of it for him and when you do he’s so happy.  You think of him and he adores that.

-Lovey poems, notes, gifts, little things that make you both smile. 

-his love language is gifts and notes.

-He’s surprisingly popular with kids at his work, so when you go to visit him with lunch, you’re kinda surprised at first to see him crouched down with a group of 5-8 year olds, talking about birds and lizards.

-You wait till the kids are collected and then go over, smiling

-he’s a little embarrassed.

-Valentines day is a DAY for you two

-he goes all out with it and that’s all I'm saying

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 36- Addows

(what’s this, a chapter on monday? Yes! Starting today and for the foreseeable future, LoL will now update mondays and fridays! Hopefuly it will gain more attention when it updates more often,,,)

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

If the hermits hope to enter the most dangerous place in Lairyon, they need to know about the Forest of Memories. Xisuma, Cub, and Joe venture to the haunted city of Addows in search of information.

____________________________________

Mist swirls around Xisuma, his vision obscured by the thick fog of the city. Old, ancient buildings are all around him, once a city of the ancient ones still alive with the people of Lairyon. Massive stone temples, graveyards for heroes and legends, buildings with no known purpose that now house creeds and clairvoyants. 

Addows is a home of ghosts. Ghosts of the past, present in both tomes that the temples and libraries hold, and actual spirits that wander the eternally misty street. No one is spooked by the spooks, just another face in the crowd. 

And it’s the perfect place for the hermits to dig up ancient knowledge. If anywhere would have information on the Forest of Memories, it would be the hallowed halls of Addows. Cub creeps closer to Xisuma, not quite sure if he likes not being able to see more than a few feet in front or behind him. He’s sure there’s some sort of proverb that Joe would spew at him about this and the past or whatever, but right now he doesn’t want to hear it. Joe, meanwhile, is loving this atmosphere. The spooky vibes, the aged buildings and haunting people. He could write entire novels about this place, how much it fits his aesthetic. He may just have to build a new library on Eremita to match this.  Plus, his fuzzy cloak is comfortable and fits in well with the shadowed passersby. 

The three hermits wander the streets, walking through the midday mist, watching as buildings appear from nothing and disappear once again. Joe gets distracted every once in awhile on a witch’s shop, books older than the kingdom, apothecaries with all kinds of rare materials, and about a dozen different colored candles. And lots of rocks. TFC would have a field day. 

But after what feels like both hours and seconds of walking down the twisting streets of the ancient city, they finally arrive where they need to be. A building so old that the rain and forest has weathered it down, and a whole new layer of detritus has turned to dirt, ferns, trees, and vines growing down the massive stone pillars. In the weathered carving, the purpose of the ancient building remains the same. It’s a library, the largest in all the kingdom and filled with the most extensive, the most knowledgeable, and the most ancient of works. In languages long dead and unrevivable, written by ghost writers that now haunt these halls, and recounted by the living and the dead that wander the stacks. 

“And a delightful young adult section with some of my favorite works for young readers.” Joe hums. “Anything, and I mean anything-” He pauses, letting Xisuma and Cub fill in what he means, “can be found in the national library of Addows.” 

“That means if there’s anywhere that will tell us how to handle the Forest of Memories, or what could be hiding in there, it’s here.” Xisuma wanders down the stacks. All three hermits itch to reach out and pull books of their favorite genres or authors. Cub wants to dive into the deep end of the ancient ones history. Xisuma wants to study the great works of the best astronomers. And Joe wants to read the most mind boggling pieces that make absolutely no sense. He loves that feeling of being left confused about what he just read. 

They search the tomes, from geography to history, history to science. They search every section- even the young adult section. Cub resorts to portaling around rather than running the worn stone stairs, but to no avail. In the end, all three of the hermits are sitting in an alcove of ferns and vines, staring out over the thick misted city. 

“It wasn’t in anything. Has no one ever written about the Forest of Memories?” Xisuma grumbles, pulling off his mask. It’s not like there’s any sun, he doesn’t need his brother’s creation. 

“Someone had to. It’s been around for eons and is nestled in the heart of Lairyon. I can think of so many epics that could rely solely upon those two aspects.” Joe speaks with his head on his hands, looking over the library. Where haven’t they checked? “I’m starting to think it’s not even real, just a bunch of folktales.” 

Silence, until Cub’s eyes light up. “Folktales! Where do you put everything that you don’t know or understand?” 

“In the trash bin?” Joe’s dry humor is not lost on Xisuma, but Cub is too excited. 

“The folklore!” Cub summons his magic, a portal opening between the hermits, taking them to the very entrance of the library. The beginning of it all. He jumps through, skidding into a cracked pillar, but the stone is held fast by roots of the forest. Joe and Xisuma follow after, the portal collapsing behind them. 

“Forest….forest...forest…” Cub whispers, running his fingers along books, scrolls, even just tablets of stone. “Forest, Evernight. Nope. Forest, Creation of. No…” 

He stops, fingers coming to rest on a manuscript. Two wood planks pressing fabric pages together. It has no written title, but the front of the book is a tree with it’s branches intertwined like that of a brain. Cub grabs the manuscript, opening it with fervor. “Godsdamnit.” 

“What’s wrong now?” Xisuma sighs, peering over the portal mage’s shoulder. But the symbols scrawled on the fabric are meaningless to them both. Not even Joe, who purveys in ancient and useless knowledge, has no ability to read the book. 

“Ahh, The Journey to the Center of Lairyon’s Mind. A very good work. Quite dense.” All three hermits shriek, echoing in the quiet library as a misty head appears through the bookshelves. They should have been prepared for a ghost, but in the heat of the moment, they forgot they were in the most haunted city in the kingdom.

“H-have you read this? Can you r-read this language?” Joe holds the book out. 

The ghost steps through the shelves, her hand becoming solid enough to hold up the piece. “It’s old kipling. Before they integrated into one oceanic script. Back in the early days, when Lairyon was just a bunch of warring nations. Ah, the oceans were so peaceful in comparison.” 

“What does the author say? What does this mean?” Joe points at the fine print of a page that the kipling opened. 

“It’s the dedication! It’s to me!” She laughs, ghostly fin ruffling with joy. “My wife was such a wonderful author, she is still curious to this day.” 

Xisuma surges up to the ghost, no longer afraid. “The author, she’s still here? Where is she?” 

“Why, I’m sure she’s moping around our gravestone, waiting for me to come back so she can tell me more stories that she picked up from the other ghosts.” The kipling ghost pauses. “Would you like to meet her, or rather just read through this dingy old book? Why not meet the real adventurer Cielle DuNord? Bravest woman ever, only person to enter the heart of the Forest of Memories and come back sane. At least...only recorded person.” 

From the oldest library, the hermits follow the bouncing kipling down the street to the oldest cemetery. Sometimes they lose sight of her in the fog, her ghostly figure becoming a part of the mist and disappearing. But it just takes a laugh and a call from Lady Nellaime, her dress swaying like kelp in the waves, and they’re back on track. The misty glen opens to reveal ancient tombs and stones, but Nellaime waltzes through the historic graveyard as she would saunter through a flower garden. 

Despite the spooky feeling, it’s not scary. The hermtis feel a sense of calm respect among the gates. Rare flowers bloom at the entrances of mausoleums, trees sprouting from burial mounds. Candles provide light along the well cared pathway, and a child runs by, smiling as he trips and hugs an ancestor’s gravestone. 

From the mist, a glowing form appears, hugging the boy back. The ghost settles down in the grass, chatting with the family. Nellie continues past, deeper into the heart of the graveyard, seemingly bigger on the inside. The tombs age the deeper they walk, until Nellie stops at a raised crypt. Carved in the ancient coral stone, two smiling faces rest on their backs, the women’s hands intertwined at the center. Nellie skips onto the tombstone, knocking on the nose of the other kipling. “My sweet Cielle, you have visitors! More fans of yours!”

The eyes blink open, misty blue lashes fluttering. A noncorporeal form drifts from the stone crypt, dress flowing from existing to not, strong arms reaching over and hugging her wife. “You always make friends so fast. Living or dead, you just make people smile. Just like lighting up my life, my little ghost light.” 

“Not in front of guests.” Nellie giggles, her fins fluttering from the sweet kiss. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of such…” Cielle looks the three up and down. “Unique visitors upon my grave?” 

“Are you really the only person who has made it out of the Forest of Memories alive?” Xisuma wastes no time, which causes both ladies to titter.

“No, though I know Nellie here likes to be hyperbolic. Quite a few people have gone into the Forest without going crazy. But you have to be prepared to enter in.” Cielle leans forward, tugging a ghostly finger through Xisuma’s hair like a mother combing a child’s hair. 

“Prepare? What kind of spells do we need? Weapons?” Cub flips through the pages of the book, but it’s in a completely unknown language to him. 

“You can prepare yourself physically as long as you like, but it won’t do much. You have to prepare yourself mentally.” Cielle taps her head, and giggles. “See, for me, all I had to do was think about my fiancee back in Corelpi. I dunno how, but it was like a walk through a garden.” 

“But there is one place that knows all about the Forest of Memories. Where the most people have entered and returned relatively sane.” Nellaime grins, a few locks of hair falling from her messy bun. Cielle reaches over and fixes the loose locks. “Fielville!” 

“Of course,” Xisuma slaps his hand on his head, leaving a bright red mark on his skin. “Druids, insectia, the oldest traditions from the ancient ones are still practiced there.” 

“The elder there has entered and exited the Forest of Memories more than even I have- but then again, she lives longer than me, which isn’t fair.” Cielle sits back. “But be warned- no matter how prepared you think you are for that wood, it will be nothing compared to the true might of the forest. You will return with whatever trove you are in search of-” She pauses. “Or you will not return at all.”

[theballadear]

Over the Garden Wall AU Alchemy Bros!!!

Hey!!! So this is high key long. I got pretty carried away but like ENJOY!!!

So clearly Varian is Wirt and Hugo is Greg

Hugo was adopted by Ulla and Quirin

Also like this is taking place in the same time as OTGW cause the 80s slap and I’d kill to see 1980s Alchemy Bros

So like Varian and Hugo were having a cute Halloween

Hugo was like “Let’s trick or treat!” but Varian was like, “Nah, I wanna ask this girl out.”

Hugo has a rock pun rock instead of facts

Sara is Vex cause I MAKE THE RULES

So like they go to a freaking cemetery cause Vex would-

Hugo is like spooked like “woAh bro bro, this is most non triumphant-”

And Varian is all “Cool it. I wanna ask her out.”

I’m keeping Jason Thunderburger cause I really can’t think of anyone who can live up to the man of legend

But like the group Vex is with clowns Varian cause they’re all “Oh he needs his big brother to chaperone him lol”

But OOP! The police show up cause like it’s high key concerning when a group of teens are at the cemetery

So like run time but like Varian and Hugo jump the freaking cemetery wall

They land on train tracks

Hugo finds a mouse in the bushes he landed in and tries to make a joke out of everything that happened

Bad idea-

Varian screams about how he feels neglected ever since Hugo came and how Ulla and Quirin are HIS parents not Hugo’s

Hugo: Oh, I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience….

Hugo: I’ll leave…

Then they hear a train coming and Hugo pushed he and Varian into the water and they just-

Fall

Into the water

Unconscious

NOW HERE’S WHERE THE FUN BEGINS

They enter ‘The Unknown’

And Varian starts panicking and Hugo’s like “hehe I haz mouse”

Hugo does the whole thing of “Idk what to name it?”

So like then they see this woodsman but the woodsman is just Alec thinking he has the soul of his wife in there

So Alec’s all “BEWARE OF DONELLA!”

The Beast is Donella cause she totally would

So then the mill thing happens yada yada.

Then like the meet a talking blue bird, who’s just Belle cause the vibes

And Belle’s all “Hey I can take you guys to Cyrus the Good Man of the Woods”

And Varian and Hugo are like “Seems legit”

Then the pumpkin thing happens yada yada

So they find this school of animals

And Rapunzel is Ms. Langtree cause THE VIBES

Also they both had cruddy fathers, OOOP! Except the OTGW Dad is way better OOOOOP!

Jimmy Brown is Eugene cause it’s cute

Same thing happens yada yada

Okay but the Highwayman is that guard dude that apparently guards everywhere

Random Tavern Dude: Marriage?

Varian: nO-

Hugo: Lol, Varian’s in loooovvveeeeee.

Then like they steal a horse but it’s a talking horse and it’s just Jackie cause V I B E S

So then like they come across this mansion but it’s Hector-

Then like the blue lady is just some random person cause I don’t ship Hector with anyone tbh

ANYWAYS

All that plot happens yada yada

B O N D I N G

Yes, I am going fast to get to the angst

So like they’re on this ferry and like they sneak on to get to Cryus cause Cryus can send them back where they came from

Instead of Frog’s they’re mice

So like they bout to get caught

So they hide with the band

But OH NO!

The organist was flung over board

Belle: Can’t you play piano???

Varian: Uhhhhh

So like Varian play’s piano for a bunch of mouse 

Then Hugo’s mouse just starts singing 

AT NIGHT WHEN THE LAKE IS A MIRROR!

So then they make it to their destination

Hugo is pretty bummed because his mouse is being convinced to sign a record label with the other mece 

Hugo: Ya done good Mr. President, ya done good.

Then like Belle is laying awake cause she knows she’s sending Varian and Hugo to their doom cause like she wanted the scissors to save her and her family from being birds

She flies to Cyrus and is all “The deal is off”

And Cyrus is like “mhm, yeah right.”

Then like Varian and Hugo follow her and

Varian: We trusted you-

Varian: We-we TRUSTED YOU!

Hugo: Belle…?

Belle kills Cyrus to save them because she got attached

Varian: Come on, Hugo we’re leaving-

Hugo: But didn’t Belle help us?

Varian: Can you please just listen to me for once?!?!

So Belle’s alone and Varian took the scissors out of spite

Then like, they run into Alec again 

Then they run AWAY from Alec again

Then they find this cottage

And there’s this girl who we’re gonna say is Catalina 

And like Lance is taking the role of Auntie Whispers

LIKE SHIPS IS NOT SUNG HERE HON

They kinda just become buds

Then like Catalina transforms into a wolf and tries to eat them

But Hugo’s mouse ate the bell

Hugo: THE RINGING OF THE BELL COMPELS YOU TO GET OUT OF POOR CATALINA!!!!

So then the evil spirit leaves Catalina and happy times!

Varian and Hugo sail down a lake

Varian is losing hope while Hugo is still trying to have optimism 

They reach land and sleep for the night

Hugo has this dream of a cloud city and fights an evil wind cloud

The Queen of the Clouds rewards him with a wish and Hugo is like “I just want to go home with my little brother, ma’am.”

But the queen tells him that Varian has already been claimed by Donella

So Hugo asks to take his place instead

So Hugo is taken by Donella and Varian wakes up to find Hugo following Donella

Varian runs after then but falls through ice and almost drowns until Belle saves him

Varian wakes up to find himself in a nest with Belle’s bird family he thanks them then leaves to find Hugo

But Belle was already on the job

She sees him perform meaningless tasks for Donella 

Then a strong wind gushes her away and knocks her into Varian

Alec uses up what little Edelwood he had left then comes across Hugo being turned into an Edelwood Tree

Alec tries to free him (long shot I know but p l o t) and fights off Donella

Varian and Belle arrive as Alec disappears

Hugo hands Varian his rock pun rock and asks him to put it back in Mrs. Arianna’s garden cause he stole it

Varian: No no no! You can give it back to her yourself. I’m going to get you out of this. I promise.

Varian: Look! I have your mouse, cheese. Just please stay with me, Hugo. Please.

Suddenly Donella appears offering to keep Hugo's soul alive inside the lantern in exchange for Varian taking over the duties in keeping it lit

Varian considers this then refuses saying that it was stupid cause the lanter held Donella’s soul

Varian free’s Hugo and asks Belle to come with them but Belle refuses and says she’s going to just stay with her family as a bird but Varian hands her the scissors

Then Alec, outraged that Donella had lied to him extinguishes the lantern and kills Donella

Varian and Belle say goodbye

Then boom

Varian wakes up sinking in the lake he see’s Hugo and swims them both to safety passing out when everyone and the police show up

Then they wake up at the hospital and alls well ends well

FIN

@alchemy-bros-appreciation-week

[jaigny]

Titus Silvers

Successful Lineage / Genius / Hot Headed / Family Oriented / YA/ 26y

The Youngest son of Cassandra Goth and Sterling Silvers (My AU) for @everfallsims Double Shot at Lurve!

Personal info

- Loves action/thriller/horror movies his fave movie that’s to him a clasic is the Alien Franchise but has a soft spot for Doctor Sim (Doctor Who knockoff LOL) due to growing up as a child with his family cause secretly down deep their a bunch of adorable nerds

- His hot headed temper although rare does explode in tense business meetings sometimes or stressful days where the world is just being a big ol’ sucker ball punch to his lower regions

- Loves cats, had both 2 cats and 3 dogs during his childhood but sadly its been a long time and unfortunately as sad as it is they passed but they still like to every few months visit the Goth Manor in their cemetery where their other family members are buried.

- Used to be chubby as a kid but due to discipline himself in Tae Knwon Doe and Yoga is happy with how he is although he has a normal diet, where else is he supposed to stuff his face with yummy treats during movie marathons!

- Although his family and close friends know, Titus was born as intersex but at the age of 18 he decided to go under surgery and is now classified as a male, because of this he was bullied alot also when pre-teen started developing breasts and a more curvy full butt as well as female hormones were more produced etc. But he’s very thankful for his supporting family and friends that got him through the difficult unnecessary bullying and finding himself and who he is .

Backstory

Titus comes from the old blood of the Goths and is the grandson of Bella and Mortimer Goth. Since he is indeed a Goth but the 2nd youngest sibling of 4 (he has 3 older brothers and one year older then his younger sister) they certainly have known wealth but were always taught to use it responsibly and not be willy nilly with their fortune. Most of their own earned money was from some jobs both around Del Sol Valley and San Myshuno as well as family businesses.His mother Cassandra bloomed into adult age and was certainly a beauty where she certainly got quite a few admirers that she felt only wanted her for her looks and money until she met Sterling Silvers who at their first meeting of sorts bumped into him during a late coffee run in Strangerville’s Military and Science building pouring hot ass coffee all over them both and after that certainly had a very annoyed view of each other until they slowly after a few years started admiring the others goals and smarts that soon turned from good friends to love interests that more years later after the strange plants inhabiting Strangerville were finally dispersed and put to rest. married at beautiful cliff garden spot where they used to meet on their breaks that overlooked the lush vibrant desert wild flowers and other fauna to the red golden sands and the blue river of the goruge at sunset. Sterling Silvers was of course a higher clearance rank then Cassandra but worked the same department area as the supervisor.

After settling down in to a relatively happy marriage as most have some ups and downs decided to move to Del Sol Valley for a small period of time (3-8 years) where they lived on a large well looked after manor that used to be resided by Judy(that celeb chick with the big butt bun on her head) and renovated it up into a more modern version whilst still keeping some of the vintage flair. After all his siblings had grown and moved away some even moving to places over seas decided he’d rather be close to his graying parents after the death of their grandparents and unknown to him his sister following him along to San Myshuno where they rented a penthouse with beautiful fantastic views and converted it not only to a home but also offices for their businesses. his sisters florist business and Titus’s being the CEO of the Goth’s Business situated in the city.

He does however tire sometimes of the city, wanting to live in woodland places like Windernberg or Glimmerbrook, maybe when he finds the right lady and settles down to the constant parental nagging of his parents who would love some grandbabies that aren’t in their snooty pre teen/teenage years.So he  packed his bags for hopefully a long but well worth it adventure into love. What is he hoping to get from the challenge? In form of goals nothing more then the possibility of a quiet working from home life, with the woman he loves engaged or married that has a fiery passionate part of herself in their possible offspring and to be happy in the future of his children lineage.

[golbrocklovely]

twisted // colby brock - chapter five

A/N: sorry this is bit late but HOLY SHIT DO THINGS CHANGE DURING THIS CHAPTER. I kinda love this chapter because you learn a lot in it. this story is so fun to write because your girl here loves a mystery. anyway lol let me know what you think of the story. I think I might start posting this story every week instead of every other week just because I KNOW after this chapter, yall will want the next one soon. I’ll see yall later ;)

description of the story

taglist: @absolute-randomness-forever , @far-to-many-bands , @itsmoony , @mellissalox

trigger warning: just overall creepy, cursing

word count: 1803

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Colby’s POV

“I can’t believe that mall was a bust.” Sam sighed, running a hang through his hair.

I nodded my head. “Yeah. I thought online people said there was no security. Maybe too many people kept breaking in.”

Sam smirked. “You mean people like us?”

“Ha ha,” I laughed sarcastically. “So, we still planning to leave tomorrow?”

“Yep. Once we get home and eat, we can pack up and be ready. Are we gonna tell Angel that we’re only going to a couple towns over to a different hotel until our plane leaves Tuesday?” He questioned, turning to me.

“I haven’t said anything to her, but I have a feeling she won’t mind. Ever since we filmed last night, I have this gut feeling something’s off about Smitty.” I shook my head, my eyes glaring at the road.

“I think you’re reading into him too much.” Sam disagreed.

“I mean think about it,” I glanced over at Sam, who’s eyes were on me still. “How did it just so happen he was able to come in just as we were hearing all the bangs? Isn’t that a little strange to you?”

“Yeah, I guess. But he’s harmless. If he was gonna do something to us, he would have done it by now.” Sam argued.

“I don’t know, Sam. Something isn’t right about him. That’s why we gotta leave and just stay somewhere else. Find another abandon place to explore and then get the fuck out of Washington on Tuesday.” I grunted.

“That’s the plan.” Sam paused, mumbling to himself as he looked out the window. “I didn’t know there was a cemetery in this town.”

I noticed. “Apparently…”

I gradually lowered the car’s speed, passing by the graveyard slowly. Most of the graves were kept up very well, the names being easy to see. Suddenly, we passed by one that made me abruptly stop the car and pull over.

“What’s wrong?” Sam yelled.

I jumped out of the car and ran over to the fence, hopping over it hastily. I could hear Sam following suit, calling out to me. I stopped at a grave, staring at it.

“Dude, what’s wrong? What are you looking at?” Sam turned his head to the headstone in front of us.

 Agatha Smith

1969 – 1991

Loving Sister, Daughter, Friend

an angel has found its wings to go home

 “Smitty had a sister?” I whispered.

“Who are you?”

We both turned around to see an old man with a shovel in his hand. He was wearing overalls and gardener gloves.

Sam cleared his throat. “Um, we’re… tourist. We’re here for the-”

“Smith Bed and Breakfast. I know, I know. There’s no other reason to come here really. What’s your names?” The man questioned, gazing at the both of us.

“I’m Sam and he’s Colby.” Sam introduced.

The man nodded. “I’m John. Who’s grave are you looking at?”

We moved to the side lightly, showing him. He stepped closer.

A smile almost came to his lips. “Aggie… she really was an angel in this here town.”

“What did she die of? Do you know?” I jumped in.

“I know everything about this town. I’ve lived here my whole life and have buried most of the people here, including her.” He hissed, stumbling slightly.

Sam and I glanced at each other. “How did she die?”

“She was killed in a car crash. Her father was in the car with her. He was the only one that survived.” John admitted, walking away from us.

“What happened to her father? Where is he?” Sam and I followed him.

“According to Smitty, a couple years after she died, he left. He couldn’t handle the grief of losing his daughter. He never returned. He would be about 86 right now, so God knows if he’s alive.” John informed.

“Can you tell us more about Smitty? And the town maybe?” I chimed in again.

John stopped abruptly. “What would you like to know?”

I needed to ask something simple. I didn’t want him getting angry and leaving us unanswered. “Why does Deb bring food to him all the time?”

“She loves him like a son. She was never able to have children of her own. And Aggie used to work at the diner when it first opened.” John chuckled, continuing. “From what I heard Aggie told Deb to watch over Smitty and make sure he was okay. Smitty doesn’t leave his property. Ever.”

“What’s Smitty’s real name?” Sam blurted out.

John paused, and then spoke. “I don’t think I know. He’s always gone by Smitty, even when he was a kid. The only person that called him by his real name was his sister. I think George would know it.”

“George?” We both asked.

“The Sheriff. He usually hangs out at the diner during his dinner break.” John motioned with his hand.

I remembered the police officer, lightly tapping Sam. “We saw him when we first came here. Why would he know it?”

“He used to date Aggie and was with her the night before she died. Afterwards, he shut himself off from the world, and never went back to that house. Didn’t even go to her funeral.” John muttered.

“Does he hate Smitty?” Sam questioned, his face full of worry.

John stared at us. No emotion on his face… almost like he was looking through us.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought Smitty was the reason for Aggie’s death.”

~ / / ~

After our conversation with John, we drove off, quickly pulling up to the looming Victorian house in the forest.

I turned off the car. “Dude. Before we go in, I need to be honest with you.”

“What is it?” Sam mumbled.

I exhaled. “I think we need to leave tonight.”

“Colby, I think you’re-” Sam started.

I cut him off. “I don’t care if I’m overreacting. All the shit John told us and you still don’t believe something’s off about Smitty?”

Sam sighed. “Maybe the reason why he’s so weird is because he lost his sister and father when he was young. That would make you act strange around people too.”

I groaned. “But think about it, Sam: John told us that Smitty never leaves the house. Where the fuck did he go last night when we filmed?”

“He said he went to the diner.” Sam uttered unsure.

“Like hell he did!” I exclaimed. “He stayed here, probably in the basement and fucked around with us. I mean, the Ouija board said the letter A was talking to us. Who do you think is that?”

“…Aggie.” He whispered.

“Exactly. Maybe we really talked to her spirit, who the fuck knows. But I don’t want to stay around to find out, that’s for fucking sure.” I hissed, my anxiety reaching its peak.

“Alright. We’ll leave tonight.” He agreed.

We exited the car and went into the house. I could hear rustling coming from the kitchen. We walked in to find Smitty heating up Deb’s stew.

“Oh, hey guys! How are you?” Smitty grinned.

“We’re good, Smitty. Um, we wanted to talk to you about us checking out. We actually have to leave tonight.” I stated.

His face dropped, a dramatic frown coming to his lips. “Oh no. Is something wrong?”

“Yeah. Uhm, family emergency back home. Sam’s girlfriend Kat broke her leg and we need to fly home tonight.” I lied.

Sam nodded his head. “Uh, yeah. She’s in a lot of pain and misses me-all of us, a lot.”

“That’s terrible. Well, I wish her a speedy recovery.” Smitty replied calmly.

“Thank you.” Sam muttered.

Smitty clapped his hands, smiling again. “Before you guys go, why don’t you have some dinner? Angel and I were gonna have some right before you came in.”

“I don’t think we should.” I spoke.

Smitty waved his hand at us, chuckling. “Oh relax. It’s gonna take an hour to get to the airport anyway, you might as well eat before you go.”

I held back my eye roll. “Alright. But we’ll have to eat fast.”

“Hey, no problems here.” Smitty shook his head.

Sam and I went and sat down. I pulled out my phone and texted Angel.

Colby: come down stairs and eat. we have a lot to tell you and we need to leave ASAP.

Smitty came out to the kitchen with two bowls and placed them in front of us. We nodded a ‘thank you’ at him.

“I’ll go upstairs and get Angel, let her know you guys are here.” He said, almost giddy.

Before I could tell him about my text, he left. I turned to Sam. “Does he seem a bit weirder than usual?”

“Yeah. He seems a little too happy. Maybe he knows something’s up.” Sam noted, his voice hushed.

I sighed, aggravated. “Fuck. Let’s just eat fast and go upstairs to pack.”

We sat there taking bites of the soup rapidly. A couple bites in, a bitter taste rose up in my mouth.

I held back a gag. “Does this taste funny to you?”

Sam shook his head. “No.”

I shrugged and ate a couple more bites. Smitty came back into the room, somehow still smiling.

“Angel said she’s just finishing up my book and she’ll be coming shortly.” He informed.

I nodded my head. Taking a couple more bites, I finally looked up at Sam. He was swaying back and forth ever so slightly, and his eyes were glazed over. He looked out of it.

Sam tried to focus his eyes on me as he talked. “I.. don’t feel sooo good. I think I’m gonn-”

Smitty caught Sam before he could fall out of his chair. “Woah there Sam. You okay? Why don’t I help you?”

“Sam? Are you alright?” I asked as Smitty pulled Sam from his chair.

“He’s fine. Just a bit…” Suddenly, Smitty let go of Sam, his body slamming onto the floor. “…tired.”

“Sam!” I jumped up, only to lose my balance. My legs felt like jello, almost completely numb. I crawled over to him. “Sam? Sam, what’s wrong?”

I stared down at Sam, turning him over with all of my strength. His eyes were shut tight. He was out cold. Everything around me started to slow down and blur, like I was plastered. I could barely keep my body upright. My energy was draining.

“Angel?! Angel…” I tried to yell out. My voice barely left my throat.

“She can’t hear you.” Smitty stated, his voice was dark.

“What the fuckk did you dooo?” I slurred up at Smitty. My eyes could barely stay open.

He smirked, turning his head to the side. He leaned down, “Don’t worry. Angel will be fine. I’ll take care of her.”

I felt my arms give out and my eyes roll back into my head, darkness overtaking me.

<< CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 6 >>

[janchriseurope]

Hampton Court Flower Show

Although I really hate gardening... I really love flower shows. We have been to them in Christchurch with Lynnette and Rick, and the Auckland one with Bren. When Mary said she had the opportunity to get tickets for the second day of the Hampton Court show, both Chris and I were delighted. We planned our trip around this date

The day dawned bright and clear with a slight wind. We had a leisurely start, waiting for the bus run to be completed, then headed to the flat at Wimbledon, where we would leave the car for the day. From there, we took the train to the Hampton Court station. We decided to take the boat to the gate to save 15 min walk. Chris can now say he’s been on the Thames!

People were streaming into the site by boat and foot. Pink was the colour of the day. With tents and everything official in what we in Nz would call breast cancer pink!!

Mary and Chris A went their was and Chris W and I headed through the throngs to look at the displays.

The show was set out over 25ha with waterway in between. There was a natural flow to the area which made it relatively easy to get around and see the stalls and displays. However, if I never see one of those plastic cube trundles again it will be far too soon!! You took your ankles and live at risk every time you moved!!

The first tent we went into was the roses. Wow - packed with amazing roses and shoulder to shoulder with hot people!! I was given a David Austin catalogue. Not that I’ll be buying roses any time soon but one can dream...

We got out of the rose tent quickly and headed over the bridge, nice and orderly- to the left those going over one side, right side those returning.

We had an ice cream because Chris W had the start of a migraine and it helped cool his head. He was able to see after about 20 minutes!! Interesting photos taken in this state!!

Around the stalls, everything from gloves for little people to equestrian gear. Know you’re in England now .. I do like the cut of the jackets.

We came across a cheese stall ... yum. Wensleydale cheese with lemon and honey, mature cheddar and cheddar with mustard and beer. Guess what we carted around for the rest of the day. The cheeses were about 5 cm round by the same deep. Having eaten the aged cheddar with dinner tonight, I can tell you it was worth the effort... thanks CW!!! Lol 😂

The largest tent held all sorts of amazing flowers, cactus, and plants. Right inside were the gladdies... I want them ... will be checking out the catalogue with anticipation! The sweet peas ohh was tempted to buy a mixed packet but really don’t want to even think about customs on the way home!! Then there were the tuberous begonias and the LIlies ... did I happen to mention that I actually hate gardening??? Oh yeah I did ...

The Bonzai trees were a wonder ... patience, foresight, inspiration, confidence and... green fingers - non of which I have!! What truly got me gobsmacked was the “weeds” they were selling .... this is the stuff I grow well until Beachy looks, takes a deep breath, and says, nope it’s a weed!!!! Apparently wild woodland was the theme... taken to heart by most of the displays.

Outside in the trade areas were lots of different styles glass houses and gazebos. I didn’t think English suburbs had enough room in their back yard for these. Some were rustic, others Mediterranean and others just plain weird.

Highlight of this area was the wee electric mower that mowed each day... all by its self.. using algorithms and strategically placed wires. Yeah... naaa!!

Into the country style tent with all the goodies for sale. Everything from fresh water pearls to old maps, scarves to Yorkshire woollen coats ... Lisa would have loved the orange plaid one. I bought a necklace to replace my pretty glass one that broke when I knocked it off the dresser in Brugges.

Message sent to Mary that we were sitting outside the pavilion with a cold drink. She joined us and we continued our wander after a well earned sit. Chris found Pork scratching ... phew hot and spicy.. I found mince square .. there were all sorts of pies but they were cold. The mince square, aka fly cemetery for Coasters, was beautifully flavoured but in a short crust. Good but I make better lol 😂

On we wandered. There were several cheese stalls but we had enough and didn’t want to be tempted. Dodging prams, people with wire supports for plants, bloody cubes, zimmerframes, motorised chairs and baby buggies, it was a trail for any saint. I found I got very sarcastic when yet another bloody cube tried to run me over or decapitate my ankles!!!

We finally, about 4.45, decided enuf was enough and headed to find a seat and a drink. We messaged Chris A to say there was a beer for him ... London Pride... if he could find us... good lad, within minutes he appeared and we commandeered a picnic table. Major accomplishment by Mary because the place was packed. Two beers, Pimms and a wine later, we were almost human and ready to launch out on the last leg towards the gate.

A noticeable thing was the number and variety of gins stalls. Not being a gun drinker this didn’t appeal .. also Pimms.. which I do like and did have one... only one at £7!!! It was lovely and cold and I rinsed our the cup with water to get thoroughly hydrated.

We decided to walk to the train station and have a quick look at the castle. Wow huge place it goes on forever... CW said he would have got bored as a bricky because the buildings were so big.

Mary was keeping tabs on the cricket ... shame the NZers playing weren’t as conscientious.....

Chris wandered out the gate, heading the wrong direction and I called to him.. two ‘Bobbies’ were standing there and asked if they could help him .... No thanks I’m just a lost Kiwi.... just like the cricket team... the bobbies were very polite and didn’t rub it in.

Onto a 10 carriage train back to Wimbledon to the car and home. Very weary travellers.

CA and Mary put together a wonderful cold collation, shrimps, salmon, ham, salad, cheeses, bread and crackers. What a feast. Mary and I had a lovely bubbly and an early night... after a little tennis watching.... was had!!

[godmerlin]

I was tagged by @jerrylevitch thanks this was fun

Nickname: I don't have one lol

Zodiac: capricorn

Height: 5′3ish

Last movie I saw: I think it was the incredibles 2

Last thing I googled: about a local hair salon

Favorite musician: Robbie Williams, Take That, Dean Martin etc.

Song stuck in my head: run it wild by robbie Williams

Other blogs: @robbiewilliamsblog others I dont use really.

Do I get asks: sometimes

Following: idk a lot hahaha

Followers: 2,610

What I’m wearing: black leggings and a marvel t shirt I'm at work lol

Dream job: idk exactly...something creative where I'm my own boss...there is too many options to just say 1 lol

Dream trip: romania ofc

Favorite food: pizza, lasagne, cranberries, I'm sure other things

Play any instruments: clarinet hahah

Languages: English and some french and spanish. Some asl...I used to be fluent but it's been a while.

Favorite song(s):  sylvia's mother by dr. Hook hahah

Random facts: I love trees. Into geneolgy. Extremely frantically messy haha

Describe yourself in aesthetic things: flower gardens, vintage fashion, tea, the woods, mist, cliffs by the sea, cemetery at night, sunshine, a single tree in the middle of a field, bright lights, walking in a city, looking at the sky through a window in a plane, milkshakes, laughter, old movies, vintage theatres, trains, animals, antiques, pastels, I could honestly go on....hahah

I will tag @fangirl72 and @daniellesdarrieux idk who else hahah sorry

[dream-fighter]

🍰🎂🍓🔪

🍰- strawberry or vanilla?

Depends on what the food/item is. A majority of the time, I go with strawberry

🎂- if you had 3 wishes, what would they be?

1. To have just enough money to be comfortable until the end of my life 2. My mom to have a house with a huge garden to retire in 3. Have everyone’s debts in the world disappear.

🍓- one secret about yourself

I was the founder & president of my high school’s anime club which is still running all these centuries later lol

🔪- scariest/creepiest experience?

Honestly, walking through NOLA’s St. Louis No. 1 cemetery… at night… like a dumb ass. 💀 I love love loooooove visiting cemeteries for the history & architecture/craftwork but that night there were people laying around the crypts (not just homeless people bee tee dubs). As I was about to make my way out of the back entrance, one of them popped out from behind a crypt & said, “I wouldn’t go out that way, someone got stabbed and the guy ran.” At that moment there were gun shot sounds so I looked back out the exit, but when I turned back dude had fucking *vanished*, nowhere to be seen. I Takumi’d through and back out the front entrance so fast until I made it back to the hotel lobby.

[cookinguptales]

1. I didn't have a date set yet but I looked up "philadelphia autumn" and it looks beautiful ;~; so I think that's at the top of my to-go-when list. 2. I like history and walking around so this is all up my alley! I do know I want to see the spooky first. 3. Yes I'll be driving 4. About $1,200 so not so much haha

It’s so beautiful! And let me tell you, Philly LOVES Halloween. And there’s a lot of spooky shit here. It’s really atmospheric and fun if you come in October, but September and November are also nice. The leaves change color and it’s really gorgeous, there are pumpkins everywhere, lots of harvest-themed markets, etc. If you can drive out to Brandywine, it’s BEAUTIFUL that time of year, you can visit the Wyeth (art) museum, and you can go apple/pumpkin picking and get lots of yummy apple cider donuts.

The fall also typically has Center City Restaurant Week (though they haven’t announced this year’s dates yet), which means you can try some of the nicer restaurants around town at a more affordable price. There are other cheap(ish) eats, too, though. Plenty. Good dim sum and bakeries in Chinatown, Solomonov’s little empire (Federal Donuts, Dizengoff, Goldie’s, etc.), more cheese/pizza steaks than you can shake a stick at… There’s a Moroccan place I like down on South Street called Marrakesh that’s great to go to with friends. They’ll give you like 7 courses for around $25-35 (price changes seasonally so call ahead) and it’s SO much food, so good, eating group-style. It’s a nice night out. If you like spicy food, Han Dynasty is a mainstay… Food kind of depends on the neighborhood, lol. You can find good stuff anywhere, though. Capogiro (all over the city) has AMAZING gelato, and in the fall they’ve got their pumpkin flavor and it’s amazing. Reading Terminal Market is a great place for all kinds of food, too. It’s kind of a zoo, though, so be prepared. lol

For Halloween, you can visit Eastern State Penitentiary (they run a haunted house during October, but I honestly think it’s better to visit when it’s plain – it’s such a creepy, melancholy place) or the Poe House, or you can go see the Dracula notes at the Rosenbach. (It’s a rare books library/museum that has Bram Stoker’s original notes for Dracula, and they’re out for display during October. They also host a lot of Dracula/vampire-themed events that month, some of which are educational.) Some people like to go to the Mutter Museum (a medical curiosities museum) around Halloween, but I personally think that’s gauche. I don’t care for the place. Both the Rosenbach and the Penn Museum (an anthropology museum on Penn’s campus, pretty good collection) have spooky-themed tours and lectures about magic, mummies, etc. that time of year. Prices will vary. I don’t think the Philly Art Museum or the Barnes Foundation do much in the fall, but they’re both fantastic art museums, especially the art museum. (So many tourists just take a picture at the Rocky steps, but please, go inside… They have entire temples in there…) In that same region, there’s also the Franklin Institute and the Drexel Science Museum, both science museums, and the Rodin Museum (small, try to get free admission if possible).

There are tons of ghost tours year-round, so you can look through those and see which interest you most. Philly’s supposedly SUPER haunted so just like throw a rock and you’ll hit a ghost, probably. Like you can go on a ghost trolley tour or you can walk around the historic district or you can do a haunted pub crawl. It’s up to you, for the most part. There are more to choose from around Halloween, obviously. There’s also Boo at the Zoo, but that’s more for kids… Laurel Hill Cemetery is a bit of a drive, but they always have Halloween/Fringe events. The Philly film festival is always going that time of year, too, so you can catch a movie or two. Sometimes they have some free movies during the film festival if you stay up to date on their website. There’s also the Fringe Festival (usually in September-ish?) that has live theatre at various price points and levels of weirdness. (You might see a normal show or you might go to a theremin concert in a cemetery or you could see a mini butoh performance in an old church or you might see Bat Boy. Fringe is weird.)

Um… In general, the historic district (around Independence Hall) is a good first stop for a lot of historic walking tours, historic buildings and such. Lots of important buildings, cemeteries, museums, parks, statues, etc. around there. There’s the Constitution Center and the Ben Franklin Museum and the Philly History Museum, the Museum of Jewish American History (highly recommended), the Chemical Heritage Foundation (better than it sounds), the African-American History Museum… I think those are mostly the big ones… And Independence Hall, of course. The Liberty Bell’s across the street, the Betsy Ross house is nearby. All that good stuff. If you’re into drinking historical alcohols, the City Tavern ‘round there is known for making assorted beers consumed/brewed by the founding fathers. Also shrub. I just drink the shrub, honestly. Philly likes alcohol, so there are a lot of good places to try interesting drinks if you’re into that. (I like Khyber Pass, myself. A bit expensive, but they’ve got great poboys.) Really, you can’t move for tripping over history down there. I find new shit down there all the time.

If you go to the Fairmount area, they have a bunch of old mansions you can tour, though I’ll admit I’ve never done it. I’ve been to Shofuso Japanese House out there, though, and that’s lovely in the fall with the maple. *sigh* Shofuso’s nicest during the spring, though, when Philly has its big cherry blossom festival in Fairmount Park.

Umm… A few other random things. The Magic Gardens (google it, I can’t even begin to describe it) are cool for an hour or two, the Masonic Temple (lodge) is GORGEOUS and weird and I definitely recommend a tour, I hear the Wagner Free Institute is cool, but I’ve never been coz it’s not accessible, there’s a new Revolutionary War museum near Ind. Hall that I haven’t visited yet, there are some nice mural tours (Philly’s known for its murals)…

Honestly, I could probably talk forever. It’s a big city, it’s an old city, and it’s got a lot of intricacies to it.

[nehslebasi]

2016, in pictures and text

This is going to be a very long post. A very very long post. A very very very long post. 

I’m thankful this year happened. All the tears, laughs, travels, anxiety, everything. Hoping 2016 will shape me (positively) into who I’m meant to become in the future - 2017 and beyond.

January 2016

I honestly don’t remember anything I did this month lol. I was still consistently running. Outings with Crew. Outings with my (then) 8th grade girls. Visited Lighthouse in Torrance. All I have are good, if not neutral, feelings of this month.

February 2016

Let’s just say it turned out to be the worst month of this year, and I’ll never stop missing her and wondering how different this year would have been if she were still here. So what do you do? Drink it away with your friends on Valentine’s. Go to the beach. Play board games. Go to Zinc cafe and drink Blue Bottle. Pretend you’re fine until you’re fine.

March 2016

Clara’s birthday at Bestia, where we ran into one of our Sunday school kids, asked if we wanted to take shots through lamb bone marrow lol. The setting sun and deepening pink sky behind the LA skyline as we coasted by on the freeway. Driving down to Playa Del Rey and squeezing through their narrow lanes to an ADX alumni reunion by the beach. Jack Garratt concert with Jacky, losing myself in sound. A day of exhilaration and pressuring my friends to ride roller coasters at Knott’s, and pretty much failing at that haha. 

April 2016

Coffee dates/study parties at Arts District. OC sushi and sake, where our waiter gave us complimentary sake and ice cream! Weekly Sunday lunches in Pasadena, always wearing a summery dress, always getting acai bowls. Multiple beach trips. Brunch at Perch with APR. Noah Gundersen at Hotel Cafe, where he answered a question I asked! Visited my sister’s work at Scripps even though I was dead-ass sick. And probably the #1 favorite concert I’ve ever been to, FOREVER, so much that I’m going to find them again every time they’re near me. Hullo Shadowboxers, hullo Hotel Cafe.

May 2016

Ran a half-marathon! (And couldn’t walk for days afterward) Turned 23. Treated to brunch at Republique and gifted a beautiful stick-figure drawing of us. Took a million jumping pictures by a fabric warehouse. Caught strep throat and a disgusting case of conjunctivitis. Election anxiety kicking in. Started taking this “applying to PA school” thing seriously. 

June 2016

Took a break from running (read: got lazy). Upset that the Cavaliers won. In the library or coffee shop every weekend to work on PA school apps and write my personal statement. (Shout out to Bean Town, Nest Teahouse). A Koreatown night market, lots of smoke, lots of food, lots of red lipstick. Drove to San Diego for a large-scale sleepover/reunion (and screenshotted the pictures lol)! Oscar’s fish tacos, a rooftop bar, a Werewolf bar, more ramen and pork belly than we could stomach... 

July 2017

One of my favorite, if not most stressful, months of 2016. Submitted my completed grad school application. Sushi and drinks with Angie in Pasadena. Sparklers and pyro activities at Jacky’s on the fourth. Roller-bladed by the sea with Bri from Santa Monica down to Venice, drank our way into a happy sunset buzz at a rooftop bar by the Pier, and rode the warm smooth buzz all the way back to USC on the Expo Line. Watched HP 1 with a live orchestra playing the score at the Hollywood Bowl. Ice cream and boy-stories in South Pas. Viv’s birthday right in our home turf. Started volunteering at my city’s hospital ER. Relient K released a new album. Started going to community group with Reality LA. Discussing political issues every Sunday with my friends, because I’m surrounding by men and women who care about them. Such a wonderful month :)

August 2016

Pizza and catch-ups at Old Town Pas, spilling about relationships with old friends. Exploring Santa Monica and walking for miles with the Crew in a looooong scavenger hunt that we have yet to complete! Frank Ocean drops his albums and changes my life, again. Oliver Sacks dies and I’m heartbroken. Drove through the winding Palos Verdes for a friend’s birthday. Crush on every young Murse. A wedding in San Diego, feeling regal in a borrowed navy dress and tall heels, a little too much to drink, as per usual haha.

September 2016

Crashed summer retreat at UCSD, ate too many tacos, more Tacos El Gordo, ate too much pho, just too much of everything in general lol. Crossed that rickety bridge. Binge watch Atlanta and Stranger Things. Start prepping for PA school interviews. Fly to New York for an interview at Cornell. Drag my little blue suitcase everywhere with me. It’s pouring rain the first day. Meet with Yenmin to eat Halal Guys, and Jaimie for udon and gelato. Navigating the city at night and running to catch the trains and buses. A couple nights in Jaimie’s beautiful apartment in Manhattan five stories up from the sidewalk, a brisk morning in my mom’s borrowed heels, a vegetable cream cheese bagel and coffee, a stressful interview at an ivy league, bleeding raw feet the whole day till I just had to give up and take them off. Walk through Central Park, the Met, coffee shops wearing Walgreens roll-up flats and business formal for 15+ miles till I can feel my feet bruising and my hair frizzing. Pizza and drinks with Jackie and Joyce in Soho. Little Italy’s night market. Frank Ocean, and a NY Times to and fro from NY--a beautiful city I won’t forget. JR JR/Saint Motel concert with Jess the night I land back in LA. Watched an ER patient get lungs drained, car dies in the hospital parking lot at midnight. Oh Wonder, Kevin Garrett concert with Feebs. Another memorable month :)

October 2016

Lightbulb/Third wheel dates with Clara and Justin begin (ok, unofficially in September, but officially in October)! Get a hit list of things to do in Chicago from ER guy. Fly to Chicago for an interview at Northwestern. Get picked up by Angie and drive toward her apartment in the city, become captivated by the skyline and sky. Eat my first Chicago dog. Absolutely enthralled by her cat Wrigley (and am now a cat person as a result). Venture out to Navy Pier and get caught in the pouring, storming rain. Deep dish at Giordano’s. Coffee and croissant before the interview, become attached to the program, would do ANYTHING to be accepted. Tacos at Del Seoul, some rain, Big Hero Six in pajamas as the wind blows and sun sets. Traverse through The Loop, see the Bean, the river, eat brunch/pancakes/everything, inspired by the running people preparing for the Chicago Marathon, in awe at the peace and clean grandeur of this place. It was difficult to leave. Cried after the second presidential debate because I couldn’t believe what my family was saying. Chop off my hair. Fly to Boston for an interview at MCPHS, immediately struck by the cold and beauty of this old city (and how much I suck at navigating its public transport system). Wrapped up with happiness and love while staying with my big. Walking by the Charles to the trains in the rain, a huge Bartleby’s burger and milkshake, a bookstore by Harvard U. A cloudy morning at a coffee shop with a bomb playlist and apple turnover and chai. Most amiable interview. Museum of Fine Arts, fresh seafood, another bookstore with a cafe in the middle, a long walk back home :). Coffee, the Library, Boston Commons and Boston public Gardens, a cemetery where many founders were buried, Flour bakery (nerded out about Joanne Chang), Quincy Market, Warren Anatomical Museum, JFK Library. I am in love with this city, it was also difficult to leave (plus Logan Airport had the nicest staff). And on the 31st, Hallelujah Night in a onesie.

November 2016

My friend Lynette gets engaged! We’re there to surprise her in the parking lot of the Huntington Gardens, and plan her engagement party. 11/8, the most wonderful and horrible day. I get the call that I was accepted to the school of my dreams. America elects a fool. Fly to New Jersey while listening to The Shins and watching the changing leaves through the airplane window. Stay with a gracious family during the interview at Rutgers and catch up with an old friend over Halal Guys. Kill time by reading Profiles in Courage. Realize that at this point, I’m a little burnt out with interviewing and flying back and forth across the country. Watch USC win the USC-UCLA game! Make my friends watch Stranger Things. Thanksgiving at Vincent’s. Relient K and Switchfoot concert of my DREAMS with drinks and fries before and during. Binge watch Gilmore Girls reboot and argue about who’s better: Jess or what’s-his-name, and how awful Rory and Lorelai are and how awful this reboot was!!

December 2016

Second Shadowboxer’s concert, which becomes my 2nd favorite concert ever, after my 1st favorite, which was also a Shadowboxers concert (I’m obsessed with them can you tell). Coworker shows me how to put on falsies. Dinner and stomachaches and being babysat in Old Town. The Paper Kites with Viv, and way too much food from friendly restaurant staff, and hand-banging fans who scream and clearly love The Paper Kites lol. Once more the Duke of Mediterranean Cafe. Last day volunteering. Jon’s Bday in Pas. A day in Little Tokyo and Arts District with Hannah. Vivian’s first sleepover. La La Land on Christmas Eve, dumplings on Christmas, no day off. Catch up drinks with gov kids. Administer my first Rocephin injection via dorsogluteal IM. Lots of visitors, including Yenmin and Jacky. Spend New Years Eve at Urgent Care, popping meds, and rereading A Swiftly Tilting Planet. :)

And that’s a wrap! This was supposed to be reflective and not a catalog of stuff... but welp that’s what it turned out to be. I’m grateful for surviving another year with inspiring and supportive people and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. Thank you thank you thank you, because you guys make life more interesting and beautiful. :)

Favorite Books: The Wind-up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami, The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro, Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout, Profiles in Courage by JFK

Here’s to a brighter 2017.