#the chorus of ghosts certainly helps

[song-writer-melo-wrath]

TUMBLR. WHY DO YOU NEVER NOTIFY ME OF THESE GREAT COMMENTS.

I play…a lot of bards. A lot of people who know me know this.

This is Orydus, an Eladrin College of Whispers bard who, through a series of events, has become less fond of the spoken word. For a while, in the campaign I've been playing them in, they've been using Minor Illusion in place of speech. For a few different reasons, they're starting to speak again. After putting together this song, I had a lot of thoughts that it'd be something they play after someone brings their abilities into question. Very "yeah? how's this then."

There was also some fun things where I wanted to combine acoustic sounds with synthetic ones, since Ory's perspective on themself is that they're more of a vessel than a person. They're someone who keeps stories alive. That, in their mind, is their purpose. So you have the voice of ghosts and the echoes of unnatural in the background!

[sunni-stuff]

HEYY so I was wondering if you could make a small story about Simon x New!Medic!Reader and getting interested by her because she managed to punch the daylights out of a soldier that was bothering her. And maybe out of interest getting to know each other better *wink* *wink* 😏😏

Eye-catching

Of course, he noticed you. Ghost noticed everything.

You, the shiny new recruit, brought a buzz to the force that was hard to ignore.

When Price first mentioned you, Ghost had snorted dismissively at your file. Price was adamant about your potential, swearing by the renowned doctor who had trained you and recounting your impressive handiwork he'd witnessed firsthand. Price only picked the best.

But Ghost had his reservations. In his eyes, your lack of field experience was a glaring flaw. Still, it wasn't his call to make. If Price vouched for you, Ghost would reserve judgment.

Your arrival on the base was met with indifference from Ghost. He barely acknowledged your polite "hello's" and attempts to connect. You weren't the Cap'n, and you certainly weren't Soap, who, for some unfathomable reason, couldn't stop singing your praises.

Since day one, Soap had been relentless. In the mess hall, he went on about how sweet you were and how Ghost should at least introduce himself properly—after all, you were teammates. If that wasn't enough, when Gaz got injured on a mission, you stitched him up with such skill that he barely felt any pain. Gaz, too, joined the chorus of your admirers, extolling your expert skills as a medic.

It seemed everyone on the team adored you, speaking of you as if you were a miracle worker. To Ghost, you were just a decent medic at best; he saw nothing worth bragging about.

How wrong he was.

About a month after your arrival, Ghost injured his shoulder sparring with Soap. He'd really messed it up, the strain and tension becoming a constant burden. He tried to push through it, gritting his teeth and refusing to let a mere shoulder injury slow him down. For a week, he endured, hissing in pain as he lifted weights, struggling with loads he would usually handle effortlessly. Stubborn as ever, he refused to visit the med bay.

This went on until the following week when Soap, unable to take it any longer, practically scolded the lieutenant for his hard-headedness and dragged him to the medic bay himself.

You were already in the middle of organizing supplies when Soap and Ghost walked in. Ghost, begrudgingly being led, looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Soap's face lit up when he saw you, and he immediately started talking about Ghost's shoulder, explaining the situation while Ghost stood there, a grimace on his masked face.

You turned around, offering a warm smile despite Ghost's obvious displeasure. "Lieutenant," you greeted him politely, "why don't you have a seat, and I'll take a look at that shoulder."

Ghost hesitated but finally gave in, taking a seat on the examination table. Soap, satisfied with his handiwork, gave you a quick pat on the shoulder before leaving you to your work.

The room was quiet as you began your examination, your hands gentle but firm as you checked for any signs of injury. Ghost watched you with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, trying to gauge whether you were as good as everyone said.

"Looks like you pulled a muscle pretty badly," you said after a few minutes, "but it's nothing I can't fix." You were about to approach and help fix up the lieutenant's troublesome arm when a loud commotion erupted outside. "Excuse me, I'll be right back," you said, stepping out of your office.

An argument was unfolding between a medic-in-training you recognized as Sherry and a soldier you've heard unsavory things about named Allen. Sherry looked nervous, staring at her boots while Allen yelled at her. "I don't want some fresh-blood working on me. Where's Dr. Whitfield?"

Stepping between them, you patted Sherry on the shoulder, positioning yourself protectively in front of her. "I'm sorry, Dr. Whitfield is on family leave right now, but both Sherry and I are qualified to help."

Allen glared down at you, attempting to use his height to intimidate. "I'd rather have someone reliable to help me, not some trainee or a medic with a shiny new coat."

You smiled, recognizing his type immediately. Gently pressing a hand to his shoulder, you said, "While I understand your concern, there is no one more reliable than us, as we are directly trained under Dr. Whitfield. So please, follow me." You attempted to guide him to an empty room, but he jerked his arm away and flicked your forehead while you were stunned. "Are you hard of hearing? I just said—"

Standing your ground, you brushed off his flick and cut him off. "I heard what you said, but if you're going to be an asshole, you should go. Sherry, there's another patient down the hall."

Turning to let Sherry be on her way, you were about to head back to Ghost when Allen suddenly grabbed your wrist, forcing you to face him. "So that's it? Is no one going to tend to me?"

"I've already told you your options. You insist on rejecting what I'm offering. Now let me go." You tried to pull your arm back, but Allen's grip was relentless. His insistence on disregarding your expertise and blatant disrespect tested your patience. "Let me go."

Allen didn't take you seriously, clearly thinking he could talk to the "new kid" however he wanted. Before he could react, your fist shot out, connecting solidly with his jaw.

The impact echoed through the hall as Allen stumbled back, clutching his face in shock. The surrounding soldiers and medics turned to watch, their expressions a mix of surprise and approval.

You stepped back, maintaining your stance. "Anyone else have a problem with the medical staff?" you asked, your voice steady and commanding.

There was a brief silence before Allen, still holding his jaw, muttered something under his breath and stormed off. You returned to Ghost, an apologetic look on your face. "I'm sorry for that. Give me one minute to wash my hands."

Ghost watched as you disappeared into the bathroom within your office, absolutely stunned by what he had just witnessed. He had observed the entire ordeal, ready to intervene if necessary, but he found himself taken aback by how well you had handled the situation—better than he had expected.

The image of you standing your ground and delivering that sharp, decisive punch replayed in his mind. He had seen plenty of confrontations, both on and off the battlefield, but your composed and resolute demeanor in the face of Allen’s aggression was remarkable.

He had underestimated you, and that realization was both surprising and impressive. You weren’t just a medic; you had the grit and determination that demanded respect.

Ghost saw you through a more transparent lens. How the curve of your figure swayed as you walked, the resolute look on your face when you stood your ground, and how much you clearly loved your job.

♡! I know you said short story but you gave me an idea for atleast one or two more parts!!! I'm ngl this ask couldnt have come at a better time bc I was absolutely cooked with writers block.. thank you for your service. 💞

Ghost felt a different kind of throb and this time it wasn't his arm.

P.S. this wasn't proofread.

[akela-nakamura]

DPxDC Prompt

Summoning is an imperfect art, mispronouncing a name or having an incorrect symbol can lead to unexpected, and sometimes explosive results. Summoning can open unexpected doors. No one's prepared for what--or who--steps through when a rising gang tries to summon backup.

My little ficlet for this is below the cut:

Smoke. The acrid slam of it in the nose, brought on by the screaming wind. Chanting. A chorus of voices, steady and thrumming. Pain. Everything is hazy, and it’s equal odds on it being from the smoke or the potential head injury. 

Bruce stumbles to his feet, body throbbing. 

This was not how he’d planned this night. 

Of course, he hadn’t planned for Gotham to suddenly be overrun with a new…gang? They claimed to be a government organization, but Bruce has his doubts. He hadn’t had a chance to go through the GIW’s information, but according to Barbara, their claims were sketchy at best.

The shouting about ghosts and waving around sci-fi weapons with no trigger discipline certainly didn’t help their claims. 

Government organization or not, they had no right to raid homes, to drag people out onto the street, or overall threaten his city.

His ears ring, and the chanting rises in volume, impossibly. His chest reverbes with the sound. It’s steady enough to feel like a second heart. His blurry vision locks onto the center of the summoning circle. Because this night couldn’t get any worse, of course. 

First the GIW had rocketed up his list of threats with one simple move. 

They’d gone after Jason.

Jason, who even now was laid out in the middle of the summoning circle, eyes bright, bright, bright green through the haze. 

First they’d taken his son. 

Then they’d used him as a sacrifice. 

Bruce bared his teeth, locking eyes with the closest GIW agent. The man held up his weapon, a glowing baton. His form is weak. 

The baton gord flying, Bruce’s armored elbow slamming the man to the ground. The agent curls up, groaning. Nightwing’s escrima sing electric in the background, followed by the whip of Tim’s bow staff. Damian’s sword glints through the haze, and purple flashes through the crowd of white, white, white. 

He can’t see Cass, but he doesn’t expect too. 

The ground rocks under his feet, and it takes several precious seconds to regain his balance. There seems to be an almost endless flood of agents, with more and more meeting his fists as he tries to make it through the gauntlet. 

Suddenly, the air shifts, the scream of it heading for the circle instead of out. 

The circle glows toxic green, and Jason’s at the center, frozen in the light. 

“No!” Bruce shouts, the sound ripping from his soul. 

It’s echoed by Dick, who stands just outside the circle’s boundaries. His hands are pressed against the light, his blue eyes a shock against the green. 

It’s a confusion of people - GIW white and the summoner’s black. The GIW is here to end whatever it is they need Jason to summon to them. The summoners themselves seem to have broken away from the “agency” and want power from the being they’re calling. It’s a fight on multiple fronts, with the GIW fighting the summoners and Bruce and his family fighting them all. 

The temperature drops. 

“HOOD!” Dick screams, as Jason is swallowed by the green. 

The chant is all he can hear, even as he shoves towards the circle, even as he slams against the same wall Dick’s against. 

The world goes bright and he can’t keep his eyes on Jason. On his son. 

When the light fades, Jason’s not alone. 

A being sits six feet in the air, Jason collapsed over his lap, somehow hovering with the - what is he? He looks human, but there’s something wrong. Off. Bruce can’t quite pinpoint his age. A crown glows on his head, an ever shifting cape spills down his back, dragging close to the floor. His eyes are green as Lazarus, and just as deep. Jason is breathing, Bruce notes. The being’s hands curl in Jason’s hair, playing with it idly. 

The air is *rigid, and everyone’s stopped fighting. No one can draw their eyes away from the being. 

“You dare to summon me with one of my own?” The being speaks, and it’s like crackling glaciers. Someone whimpers. 

“We - wanted to give you a gift,” One of the men in black says, his voice chattering. 

It’s like breathing in ice. 

“A gift?” The being says and the sound is fury, banked in a waiting avalanche. “What kind of gift is this? A denizen of my Realms, trapped and tortured? Used to summon his king, against his will? This is no gift.” 

“B-but we didn’t know,” another speaks, and then obviously realizes he shouldn’t have. 

“Ignorance will not save you,” the being says, and it - he’s? - still holding Jason like he’s something precious. “And I am not the only one you have infuriated. 

“I am not the only one you have awoken.” 

To a man, the GIW agents cry out in panic. Bruce turns, looking for the threat but - the agents are buried to various depths in the cracked concrete floor. The ground is decidedly solid beneath Bruce’s feet but the agents would obviously not agree. They flounder, like the concrete is quicksand. The summoners are next, but it’s ice that gets them, crawling up their bodies until they’re locked into place. 

“My lord!” One cries and promptly finds himself gagged. 

Bruce can’t stay silent any longer. “Hood was used against his will to summon you,” he starts. The being’s eyes meet Bruce’s. “He didn’t want this. Is he alright?” 

“Your son is fine,” the voice is rough, but feminine, and obviously not from the being. It’s around him, dancing through the steel beams and pushing through concrete. “You are mine, my knight. You and yours are mine. The little king will not harm him, nor you.” A figure forms off to his right. 

“Holy shit,” Dick whispers. Bruce has to agree. 

She’s made of concrete, of broken brick and dust, of bone and police tape, of twisted metal and more. 

“Gotham,” Bruce breathes, and he doesn’t know how he knows but he does.

“Hello, my knight,” she says, her form shifting. She turns slightly, and there’s something sharp in her movement. “Hello, little king.” 

“Lady Gotham,” The being - the king? - returns. “You look well,” 

Lady Gotham laughs, a ringing sound - it’s bells and gravel, fresh air on a summer day and rising wind. “How you flatter me, little king. Do you fear me?” 

The being grins, mischief dancing around him, white hair floating high. “I respect you. It’s good to see you awake, Milady.”

“What is happening?” Tim asks no one in particular. Dick shrugs and Steph just leans harder on Tim. Cass holds Damian’s shoulder firmly, watching carefully. 

Bruce wishes he had an answer. 

“It is good to be awake,” Lady Gotham says, and she shifts closer to the circle, fingers skimming against the barrier of light. “How long do you intend to keep my reaper from me?” 

Reaper. Bruce thinks, and it’s a gut punch. 

It makes sense, to describe Jason. Jason can go where Bruce cannot, do what Bruce cannot. 

The king laughs lightly. “The summoning harmed him, Milady. I’m just keeping him safe. I’m not here to undermine you,” the king’s eyes glow. “But remember who is king.”

Lady Gotham smiles. “I’m aware of hierarchy little king.” 

“My son,” Bruce says, because there’s no point in pretending Jason is anything less. He’s talking to - the embodiment of gotham and a king of - something. “He’ll be okay?” 

Lady Gotham sighs. “He will be fine, my knight. The little king cares for his own.” 

“What - what are you the king of?” Tim asks, bold. 

The being smiles. 

“I am Phantom,” he says. “I am the Ghost King.” 

Jason stirs in his lap, and the implications crash over Bruce. Maybe Reaper has more meaning than he’d thought.

[strangelittlestories]

Everyone said that Xinyu the necromancer was a 'death' of fresh air.

Ever since she arrived at the Tower of Erudition, it had felt less stuffy.

A skeletal bard now played gothic renditions of the land’s most popular music in the common room.

She had summoned ghosts to haunt the library's index system, so that books were easier to find and late night research was more companionable.

And after one particularly memorable resurrection, an undead dragon could ferry wizards who struggled with stairs up and down the many knowledge-stuffed storeys.

Some of the professors still wished she would pay more attention to her studies, saying:

“Mages are only permitted so much time at the Tower in one lifetime. Stay too long and the archival sphinx will consume you. Don't you want to fit in as much learning at you can?

To which she would reply:

“Don’t worry, I'll be back in my next lifetime. They say 'you only live once', but I say that's quitter talk!"

Then she would wink her solar eclipse of a wink and go back to whichever project had her attention at the moment.

In her final year, she was named Head Girl. She was always available to help students with their concerns; she operated a strict ‘open grave’ policy.

One day, a student came to see her in the students’ common room (which she had renamed the ‘common tomb’).

"Pull up a chair, I just cast Blaze Dead." Said Xinyu.

"Do you mean Raise Dead?"

"I certainly do not!" she replied and took a drag on a long black cigarette. The smoke smelled faintly of sweet decay.

“I, uh, need help. I think.” the student said, a tremble of nerves in their voice.

“That's what I'm here for.”

“I found something in the archives. Well, *someone*, I suppose.”

This was odd. If a sphinx ate you, it wouldn't leave anything left to be found. All the data that was your body would just be added to the Knowledge Chorus at the heart of the Tower.

“And you want me to speak to them?”

“Maybe? I tried going to my academic supervisor. But, they, uh … I think they've been replaced?”

“So it's gonna be dangerous?” Xinyu’s smile had something of a skull's rictus grin about it.

“Probably.” The student got up. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't get you mixed up in this. You're busy and you're nice and I don't want you to disappear…”

"Oh no. You have presented a student welfare issue and I am honour-bound to intervene.”

“I did mention the danger, right?”

“Hey.” Xinyu took another look drag of her corpse joint. “It's better to have girled and bossed than never to have bossed at all."

“I'm not sure that makes sense.”

“No, but it sounded cool, right?”

[ladyredmoon13]

DCXDP prompt

You guys know that scene in MIB2 when they open the locker at Grand Central and those little aliens start singing their natural anthem in K's honor.

Well imagine if you will that the Justice League/Batman is having a very big ghost problem. The Fenton’s being very well known in the supernatural/ghost hunting community(for all the wrong reasons) gets a visit so that they could ask for their help.

Only they aren't home, but their kids are! So they asked if they could maybe borrow some equipment. Danny and Jazz are okay with this but decided to loan them some of the more non-lethal of their parents weapons.

A Fenton Thurmus here, a Fenton Wheazle there but they can't find the Sector Deflectors. They search everywhere. The lad, the weapons vault, and the dungeon( Batman will be looking into that later), but they are nowhere to be found.

They need those Deflectors. Without them, they might have an overshadowed Superman on their hands and they most certainly didn’t want that. So as a last-ditched attempt to find them Danny walks over to their kitchen fridge.

The League/Batman doesn't understand why and then the next thing they know the teen opens the refrigerator door and a chorus of voices spring forth in a boisterous "All hail Jack! All hail Jack! All hail Jack can you see!-"

- I don't know why, but this just popped into my head recently and it made me laugh. So I thought I'd share it.

[dejablonde]

So I had to write a personal narrative for composition class. I wrote about post-ritual depression leading to a career change, and I thought ghumblr might enjoy. It's only 763 words (after padding it out with some extra academic phrasing) but I don't want to clog your feeds too much so it's below the cut.

"Have you ever like something so much that it rewired your brain?"

            Have you ever liked something so much that it rewired your brain? I can’t pinpoint exactly when I first heard the band called “Ghost,” but it was most likely sometime in 2022. I think the first video (from whichever of the dozen algorithms we get our content from today) pushed to my feed was their performance on Jimmy Kimmel, where they played their song Call Me Little Sunshine. I was taken aback by their theatrical look and sound. I listened to a few more songs, became a casual listener, and even bought their latest album when I came across it at Josey Records. What I can pinpoint, however, is the day I turned feral: April 9, 2023, Easter Sunday.

            Being only a casual listener still, I was curious as to what was going on when I saw that Ghost was trending on Tumblr. As I scrolled through the tag, it became more and more clear that, not only had they had dropped new music, but a new music video to match, almost entirely without warning: a cover of Phil Collins’ Jesus He Knows Me. Of course, I had to listen. From the driving intro into the first verse, to the poppy chorus, to the lyrics addressing hypocrisy from the church and its leaders, it was almost like twenty-eight years of religious trauma were healed in four minutes and five seconds, as if it were that easy. I wasn’t cured, but they certainly made a dent. I listened to it on repeat and branched into the rest of their discography.  After two weeks, I finally caved and bought myself a pit ticket to their upcoming Dallas tour date.

            When the day finally came, five months later, I could barely contain myself. I felt if I could leap hard enough, I would jump right out of my skin. I had taken advantage of the fact that I had the previous day off from work and pretended that I was taking a small trip for Labor Day. This allowed me the day off for the concert. My employers already think I’m strange enough; I didn’t see any need to make it worse by asking for time off to line up for a concert by a Satanic rock band hours early on a Tuesday. Despite the 103-degree weather that day, I made it to the general admission line around noon. I chatted with my new line buddies over the next several hours about the band, how we got into them, and a little bit about our lives in general over the water that the venue security provided. For the first time in a while, I was surrounded by people like me.

            They say that concerts can be a religious experience. I’m not sure I agree, but they’re not exactly wrong. It really is overwhelming, or at least can be. Many aspects are similar, if not the same. Between the community and camaraderie with your fellow “congregants” and the feeling of the music all the way down to your bones, there’s certainly something that happens internally. This concert (or ritual, as Ghost fans lovingly call them) was no exception. After all, when you’re a stone’s throw away from your obsession, bathed in light and confetti, you can’t help but feel a little changed.

            Post-concert depression is a very real and powerful force. It’s even stronger when you come back to work after finally feeling happy and rested only to be met with snideness not even fifteen minutes into the day. I was already dealing with years of declining morale. I wanted to be happy again, like I was the night before. I started looking at job postings immediately. I nearly got one in the same field but interviewed poorly. Eventually, I decided to make up for lost time and try to make a move into what my high-school-aged-self wanted. Or at least something close. Unfortunately, even though apprenticeship-type situations are common in the music industry, it’s very hard to break in without any kind of provable experience. I looked into some recording technology schools but didn’t really feel the need to go into debt on a loan for them. I was about to lose hope, but then I had a lightbulb moment and found that Dallas College has a program for Recording Technology. My application and registration were late in the game, but I was able to squeeze in before the start of this semester. Now, I’m finally doing something I want to do, and it’s all thanks to a funky little Swede in black and white makeup.

[norel-ravenclaw]

The Haunted Mansion

Ikepri AU - Part 2

Fandom: Ikemen Prince (otome game)

Featured characters: All 13 plus allusions to unknown new trio

Genre: Paranormal Tragic Romance

Rating: 14+

Word count: Part 2 - 4760

Description: Ikepri Haunted Mansion AU - The regional princes have had an awful time getting servants to stay at their grand manor. A young woman takes the job and quickly discovers why no one else applied. Despite the strange occurrences, she finds home and even love among them. But tragedy seeks to cut short the possibility of a happy ending. Be warned, this is a story for those who like a twisted sort of satisfaction.

WARNINGS: | lots of violent death, killing, and suicide (nothing too explicitly gory) | mxw | polyamory | yandere | toxic relationships | angst | dark goth vibes | seriously, only read this in a good headspace |

..........................................................

The next morning, she arrived to serve breakfast, and was surprised to see Prince Chevalier joining the others. She went to serve to Prince Jin first, but Mr. Sariel cleared his throat.

"You ought to serve the master first."

Surprised, she looked up. "But he isn't here, is he?"

Mr. Noir furrowed his brow. "Of course he is. Master Chevalier is at the opposite head of the table."

She stared at him for a moment. "But... I thought the man with the eyepatch and cane was the head of the estate? He said he was."

The mild clamour of the men preparing for breakfast suddenly stopped. They all exchanged looks with one another, drawing her attention. Meanwhile, Mr. Noir's expression fell dark as he continued to stare at her.

"What are you talking about?" Yves demanded. "My cousin died years ago. You must have seen his portrait and dreamed the whole thing."

"...Oh."

She stood there still, contemplating the events of the evening before. But just as her mind was about to bend, Clavis cleared his throat.

"Not to worry, chickadee, everyone has hallucinations of ghosts around here. Must be the mold behind the walls," he said cheerfully.

Nokto made a face. "Ugh, don't even joke about such a thing. Don't ruin our appetites."

The ashy haired man beside him grinned. "Oh? Perhaps my cooking would do better at inspiring your hunger. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day! Even Chev decided to have it this morning."

A chorus of tired dissent traveled the table before Emma stirred back to motion to deliver the plate to the other end of the table.

"Well, I apologize for the mistake. Your breakfast, Master Chevalier."

He made no effort to acknowledge her, but beside him, the golden eyed menace piped up again. "My my, brother, that is no way to greet the woman you so admire."

All eyes flicked to the end of the table. Clavis smirked as the blond stubbornly tucked into his breakfast.

"After your little display last night, he fell madly in love with you, you know. No one has ever dared to talk back to the Brutal Beast. And certainly no one would have ever survived it. Except for you. You have something awfully special to be able to capture the heart of a heartless automaton~"

Chevalier grunted, unimpressed. "Stop spouting nonsense."

Emma took another plate of food off the trolley, holding it with both hands to hide the slight trembling. She stood behind Leon's chair, and he chuckled.

"Did you really face him?" His eyes were fond as he looked up at her. "I knew there was something special about you. It would take a person with nerves of steel to choose to come to this place to begin with, much less stand up to Chev on your very first night."

His smile eased her nerves slightly, and she returned it shyly. Feeling another gaze on her, she glanced up to catch Chevalier looking away.

Jin chuckled. "Well, if you ever get in trouble again, offer to help him in the library. It's a lot of work trying to preserve all those old books." He winked. "He might be more forgiving towards someone actually willing to help him."

She perked up at the mention of books. "Oh, I haven't seen the library yet."

Mr. Noir cleared his throat, passing her another plate. "Take care not to neglect your other duties with your nose tucked in a musty old book, hm?"

Despite the fact that his words were a warning, she smiled, sensing the kindness underneath. "Yes sir."

And so, Miss Emma took to helping with the library restoration project with Chevalier in the afternoons between lunch and supper. She managed to pull bits of conversation from him, and they discussed books for hours.

Meanwhile, she became accustomed to life at the mansion, growing close to all of the curious beasts that resided there. Slowly but surely, they warmed up to her in turn.

Jin taught her to dance. Clavis tried to catch the annoyingly (impressively and charmingly) astute girl in his traps. Leon took her for horseback rides around the vast property. Yves taught her how to bake. Licht showed her some self defense. Nokto (forced her) to learn the art of negotiation. Luke took her into the gardens to escape the dark labyrinthine halls for naps on clear days. Rio taught her how to be the perfect attendant. And Sariel asked for her help in organizing his office, leading to him teaching her how to take care of the paperwork required for running the place.

Weeks turned to months, and against all odds, the cold and detached Brutal Beast softened towards her.

Their late night reading parties offered time to talk. Approval turned to appreciation, which became affection. Then adoration.

On the morning after the first snowfall, he invited her to the gazebo for tea. There he presented her with a velvet box containing a priceless yellow diamond ring.

With tears and a shout of joy, the brave maiden and the beast became engaged.

Miss Emma was thrilled and anxious to broaden her studies so that she could help govern the people beside her new fiancé. Each of the brothers helped teach her what she needed to know.

She was diligent in her chores through it all. During a particularly long day of dusting, she strayed into a farther hall of the mansion and heard the distant voices of her lover and Clavis.

"...ruined everything I was trying to do!"

"There was only one correct choice... for the whole of the region..."

"Years of work for the refugees, up in smoke! How could you?! There's nothing... without you!"

"Stop complaining. ...your foolish actions."

The sound of their argument died off, and she continued her work with a furrowed brow. She knew the two butted heads often, but they always made things work.

That night after a long day of busywork, she slowly made her way towards her lover's office. An economics book in hand, she paused by the window, seeing the light on in the private library. She smiled, seeing her fiancé's silhouette as he paced with a book in his own hand. The candle light flickered in the window's reflection, the moon bright and the night still.

Sighing contentedly, she closed the book and started towards the opposite wing of the mansion.

As she passed by the row of armour in the hall leading to the side entrance, something captured her attention out of the corner of her eye.

Glancing to her right, a glowing red eye pierced the gloom of the evening.

She screamed, stepping back in alarm, amplified by the murderous expression on his face.

"Gilbert?"

He stood between the softly gleaming metal, his aura dark and brooding.

"What... erm, what's wrong?"

He sighed deeply before putting on a terribly off putting smile. "My friend did something not very nice. He stuck me with the worst company." That awful smile deepened. "I don't think I can forgive him."

Emma faltered, unsure of what she was actually seeing. "...Right, well. I shouldn't keep Chevalier waiting. ...Excuse me."

Hurrying down the corridor, she continued on her way.

Then a strange rhythmic sound started to come into focus. As she drew closer to the mansion entry hall, what greeted her was a scene of chaos.

Several police automobiles whined outside, blue and red lights flashing through the foyer. All of the brothers were gathered, the servants whispering in the corner. Two officers struggled to pull a man forward, and when she saw him, she gasped.

Clavis screamed, drenched in blood as they pushed him towards the front door. "He deserved it! Justice was finally served for that heartless murderer!"

The gentle hearted lady dropped her book. "Clavis?!"

His rage-filled eyes met hers, and something flickered in them. She ran up to him, ignoring the officers' warnings.

"Clavis, tell me, what happened? What did you do?!"

"Emma." Leon rushed up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She could not see the tear stains on his face.

His brother did not meet his eye, but there was a longing as he met hers. "Emma... Why couldn't you have chosen me? Couldn't I have made you happier than that stuffy old bastard?"

Her whole frame began to tremble. "Tell me you didn't. Clavis tell me you didn't!" she screamed.

He swallowed hard. "He ruined all my work. The people were relying on me..."

Greater horror dawned even as sobs wracked her. "Chevalier had just made an agreement with Tanzanite."

Golden eyes widened as understanding hit. Then he snarled. "Why wouldn't he tell me?! Why didn't he trust me enough-" Biting his lip hard, tears began to fall. "Damn him to hell!!"

"Chevalier..."

As the room full of people sniffled and sobbed, a quiet breeze blew in through the front door.

It almost seemed to Emma like a voice whispered, 'How dare you trap me here with him forever? Join me too, friend.'

Leon gasped and firmly dragged her backward with a shout. "Look out!"

The officers cried out and scrambled back, allowing Clavis the chance to take half a step forward before it happened.

The finest suits of armour flanked the main door. And one of them conveniently dropped the tall axe it held.

Emma saw a point of red light emanating from the helmet before Leon spun her around and crushed her against his chest.

Her pounding heart covered the sound of Clavis' grunt of pain. But not the screams and cries of the brothers.

"Clavis!" Jin screamed.

Leon held her close, keeping her from the ghastly sight of the axe in his brother's back. She clung to him, thinking of the last moment she saw her fiancé in the library, not realizing he had indeed already been dead for many hours.

...

Yves found Emma in her room once again, late for tea.

Again, she sat on the floor with a white gown around her. His reflection in the mirror was the only thing that broke her from her reverie.

"Miss Emma..." he sighed. Setting down a tea tray, he went to kneel beside her. "Come now, it's been a month. You must develop a strategy to get out of this funk."

With an imperious huff, he pulled a kerchief from his coat.

"Yves," she sniffed, "It's just too horrible. How do I move on from all that?"

Looking at her, he straightened up and declared, "Well, you'll never feel better if you don't take care of yourself. Let's get you fixed up."

And so he moved behind her to fix her hair. Then he helped her to her feet and held up the wedding dress to her.

"Emma, you will get to wear this dress someday, I promise. So go and find love and happiness until then."

At last, she could see him clearly between her tears and offered him a smile. "Thank you Evie."

After this, the broken hearted woman became much closer to her masters. Including the capricious cat.

They met every day for tea, secretly of course so that Mr. Noir wouldn't lecture her on taking tea with the people she was meant to serve.

But the healing love of the beasts was not met with approval by all.

The nights in the manor became even louder with shouting and wailing, shattered dishes and a set of scratch marks through the late Lord Chavalier's portrait.

Poor Yves found himself increasingly exposed to such mysterious happenings. Until his brothers began to mock him for his constant ghost stories.

He began to lose sleep, and the late nights started to go to his head. He even turned to alcohol to temper the madness.

But this, sadly, proved to be his undoing.

For one night after a second drink, he was alone in the corridor, shouting and waving off invisible phantoms.

He lost his footing, unaware of the staircase behind him.

Luckily for him, the third tumble proved fatal, breaking his neck.

And thus the third Rhodolite brother died in the ill fated mansion.

Though as the coroner arrived in the morning, Licht chewed his glove in distress. He could have sworn he heard his brother shouting at Clavis in the dead of the night. Something about making Emma happier...

Jin and Leon worked to keep the place lively after the accident, but everyone was feeling down. Miss Emma took it upon herself to use Yves' cookbook to make everyone's favourite sweets.

The strain of everything forced twins closer - an effort from Nokto, who was perhaps the only one who really understood just how much Yves did for Licht.

Miss Emma joined him in this endeavour.

Knocking on his door, she was greeted by a lazy voice inside.

"Come in."

She entered with a tray and found the fox prince lounging in his large bed.

"Care to join me, Em?"

Hardly hesitating, she set down the tea and shook her head. "Once again, the answer is no, sir."

He sighed and sat up. "And why not?"

She put on a polite smile. "Because I don't have feelings for you."

His unreadable smile stayed in place as he got up from the bed. "We both know that's a lie. Why pretend?"

He certainly didn't miss her blink and hesitation.

"...We're friends, aren't we? Can't we just, be that?"

Stopping in front of her, he sighed again. Reaching out to take a lock of her hair between his fingers, she jerked back in reflex.

"You still don't trust me."

Their eyes met with an intensity that lasted far too long before she broke it and headed towards the door. "Your tea will get cold."

After the door shut, he lingered before going to pick up the teacup. "Not colder than you, Em," he sighed, a depth of sadness to his tone that she was not there to see.

But as it happens, his former actions (a fling, to be specific) came back to haunt him.

The brother of an influential businessman stormed the mansion one day, demanding to see Nokto Klein, 'The slimy bastard that broke his little sister's heart.'

The rain had only just begun to let up as the remaining brothers lined up outside a crypt next to a suitably flat area for a duel.

Licht stayed upstairs, and Miss Emma came across Nokto grumbling as he pulled his sword out of the weapon cabinet.

"You shouldn't have to do this," she said.

His ruby gaze met hers. "Won't you give me a kiss for courage?"

Her brow furrowed. "Nokto, listen to me. I know you've hurt people. And I don't agree with any of that. But you shouldn't have to risk your life just because someone with a temper-"

She jumped in surprise as he slammed a hand against the wooden case.

"None of that matters. If I don't stop him now, he'll ruin my business plans for the-"

"None of it matters?! That you manipulate and throw aside girls who just want the same thing you do-"

Suddenly his lips were on hers. Gasping, she pushed against his chest.

"Em, don't you get what it is that I want?"

Again their eyes met, both with fury and pain. She stormed off and left him there, his brother just out of sight, and a sword in his own hand.

As she left the hall, a tapestry fell behind her. The wind from the armory window carried with it a faint shout of anger.

Luke, Jin, and Leon waited for them down in the yard. As Emma approached, Jin held out an arm.

"Hey. I... take it you weren't able to dissuade him?"

Tears stung at her eyes as she set her jaw. "No. I hope he loses."

Jin's brow furrowed as he held her close, Nokto's footsteps announcing the beginning of the duel.

The businessman scowled as the ash-haired man approached. "About time! You coward! Let's do this so I can send your body into this crypt!"

Nokto smirked as he readied his sword. "I'm not afraid. I have my good luck charm." He sent a wink towards Emma, who crossed her arms and practically snarled at him.

His smile and bravado faded, and a strange look crossed his face. A chilled wind blew across the yard, stirring up mist from the rains. A melancholy howl echoed around, sounding strangely like a yowling cat.

"En garde!" the man shouted.

The duel began quickly. Swords clashed and sparked in the heavy air.

No one saw Licht in a high above stairwell grasping the windowsill tightly. He knew something was wrong. He knew Nokto's fighting style. It was the same as his own. But the movements he saw down below resembled... Yves' more.

He saw the final move before the sword struck. The side of Nokto's chest unguarded.

His cry was unheard from that distance.

Tears clouded his vision as Emma ran to his twin. Luke rushed in with the medical kit, but Jin held back. He knew.

The rain picked up twofold, the howling winds amplifying until the storm grew.

And it lasted. For well over a week.

Emma and several men spent dark nights in the Rhodolite family crypt. They would pretend not to see each other when their midnight mourning overlapped.

One night, it was Emma's turn to wander the crypt. Crying at Chevalier's grave, and pondering at the others. She missed Clavis' laughter, Yves' baking, and yes, even Nokto's attempts to cheer her. She wished she'd taken them up on their offers...

Hearing boots crunching on the soft earth outside, she hastily got up and set herself to rights. She looked out the window to see Licht coming.

As he opened the door, it looked like he was in a daze.

"Licht..."

His eyes finally focused on her. "Oh, it's you."

They stayed in silence for a long moment before he spoke, so quietly she could hardly hear him.

"I keep seeing him. Hearing him. In the halls. Outside. He's angry at Yves and I don't know why."

Miss Emma slowly approached him, and was surprised when he collapsed into her arms in a crushing hug.

She held him close for hours that night, murmuring sweet words of support and love. She stroked his hair as they sat on Nokto's grave until the sun breached the horizon.

For the first time since the incident, the rain finally stopped.

The kind woman shared her time with Jin, Leon, Luke, Rio, and Mr. Noir, studying and baking and helping with paperwork of governance for the region. Meanwhile, she learned how to wield a sword from her lone wolf.

In fact they grew quite close. He opened up to her as he had to no other. In the nights when the drafty halls moaned and whispered, they held each other close.

Until one night when the whispers in the halls became more discernable.

As Miss Emma left his room, a quiet, steady sound followed her. At first she thought it was the ticking of the grandfather clock, until she passed it.

Around the corner, she heard the sound growing louder and louder. She waited at the end of the hallway, only for the sound to stop.

Then a voice came from behind her.

"Such a naughty little rabbit."

Gasping and clutching at her chest, she spun around to see Gilbert.

"You again!"

He smiled, but it looked more sinister and, somehow, sad than friendly. "First the nasty old tiger. You became friends with Clavis. Then my disappointing cousin. Don't think I didn't see your lust for the whore." She tried to interrupt with an offended sound, but he just smiled and continued. "And now, you think you can save that broken boy?"

Tears pricked at her eyes at his taunting.

Stepping closer, he ran a gloved fingertip along her cheek. "I wish you'd be my friend. I promise you'd like me very much." The sight of her rebellious look made him smirk. "You don't think so? But you already think of me so often, don't you."

It was a statement, not a question.

He laughed at her reaction of guilt, and the sound multiplied. She spun around, certain she saw Clavis' cloak disappearing around the corner.

She turned back to see if he was still there, but Gilbert was gone as well. Her heart pounding, she decided to go look for him. For signs of him. Books, portraits, anything.

Meanwhile, the vengeful trampling beast went off to keep away other beasts from his little rabbit.

Down in the stables, the tap of a cane made the horses stir. The tiny spark of a nearly dead candle reignited in a lantern.

With a cruel smirk, he lifted his cane and carelessly tipped the lantern off its hook. It clattered to the ground and shattered, igniting the dry floorboards and hay.

As he faded away, the shout went up in the household, and the one who most loved the horses raced in.

Licht. He freed the others one by one, suffering burns as he went. But the final stall, the one with his beloved Marron, was too lost to the blaze.

The inferno still raged into the morning hours.

Emma sat beside Sariel on the back steps, empty bottles around their feet as the firefighters were at last able to quell it.

After a while, Leon joined them. Together they were silent. Emma tiredly stroked Sariel's back, and Leon held her hand.

They sat together for a long time after the smoke settled. Quiet tears falling.

After this next accident, the three remaining brothers were closer than ever. Mr. Noir and Rio joined them often for tea, and of course Miss Emma was constantly by their side.

Summer turned to autumn, and as the world turned to gold and red, Leon and Emma spent many hours in the estate garden. Together they harvested and baked, playing in the leaves and having flour fights in the kitchens.

She read to him late into the night, and before the first snow of the season, she received another ring. A dazzling ruby, bright with her love and hopes for the future.

Not long after they announced their engagement, Jin and Sariel decided to throw them a party. They ventured into the deep dark wine cellar, finding - to their great excitement - exceptionally rare and quality vintages long forgotten.

As they set up for the party in the most cozy dining room, she slipped into the attic to pull out her abandoned wedding gown. Holding it up to herself, tears of joy and grief fell. She missed Chevalier, Yves... the twins, even Clavis.

But even now, after all this tragedy, hatred, and inexplicable incidents, she still had Rio, Sariel, Luke, Jin, and her beloved Leon. Together they could weather anything and care for the townspeople.

But as fate would have it, just as she had dried her tears, a glass shattered downstairs.

She dropped the dress and rushed to see what had happened. Sariel was shouting orders to Rio.

"Leon! What happened!" She gasped at the sight of Jin lying on the ground, a broken bottle of wine beside him.

Stepping over the shards of glass, she clamped a hand over her mouth in horror as the men tried desperately to save Jin.

As he choked and gasped for breath, he managed to look at her. "Take... c-care of... Em."

Sariel cursed and picked up the bottom of the old bottle. His voice shook with rage and hopelessness. "To my Uncle Karl, Goodbye."

Luke sputtered. "W-wait, do you mean... That bottle was poisoned who knows how long ago, and Jin just happened to..."

Leon sighed heavily, setting Jin's hand down. "He's gone."

Rio pulled the dumbstruck lady into his arms, shielding her from the scene.

Luke fled in a storm of emotion, and through the night, one could hear the shattering of countless bottles as Sariel destroyed every one left by other residents of the mansion.

After the funeral, they finally had their engagement party dinner. Though the affair was rather more subdued than they'd planned.

As the days passed by, Emma noticed that Luke was behaving more and more erratically.

One night as she finished work, she found him pacing in an upstairs hall. Muttering to himself, he stopped at the window occasionally before doubling back.

"Luke?"

He spun around at the sound of her voice and rushed over. "Emma! Hurry, you've gotta come see this!" He pulled her to the window and pointed out. "Look! It's Licht!"

This took her a moment to process. "W-what?!"

Looking out the window, all she could see was mist on the hills surrounding.

"He was there! Riding Marron with some other people. It looked like they were going out hunting."

She turned to look at him, his green eyes wide with concern. "Luke..."

"But he's dead. And so is..." He huffed, running his hands roughly through his hair. "NOT NOW!"

Miss Emma jumped back a step at his outburst. An eerie sound drifted down the hall, like distant laughter.

A familiar voice, no less.

"See! You can hear him too!" He grabbed her shoulder. "Em, this place is cursed! I'll protect ya from the spirits, I swear."

Her heart pounded in her chest. "Luke, curses aren't real..."

"Then how the hell do you explain everything that's happened?!"

His wild eyes were suddenly on a dark violet gaze.

"We're all going through hell, Mr. Randolph," Sariel said, looking firm. "But the important thing is that we are together. We will try to keep one another safe and happy. That is all we can do."

Putting his hands on Miss Emma's shoulders, he steered her away from the window - where down below, a hunting party ran across the hills, cloaked in mist.

As they walked down the hall, she could swear that the portrait of Gilbert smiled more broadly at her, his eye crinkling in amusement.

"See you soon, little bunny."

They all hoped that Luke would settle down, but alas, poor Luke became more and more sensitive to the... tragic energy of the manor.

More and more incidents occurred of him shouting at Clavis, sobbing to Jin, complaining about Gilbert, and jumping at the supposed sight of strangers in the halls.

Leon and Sariel especially tried to help calm him, taking him to town and for rides in the country. They tried to get him to help with the ever increasing workload. But he would escape to go nap somewhere, desperate to hide from his living nightmares.

Until one fateful night that would change the destiny of the mansion forever.

Miss Emma was, fortunately, asleep away on the other end of the place. She did not hear the altercation between her fiancé and his youngest brother, who, in his madness, accused him of being a spirit himself.

Vowing to protect Emma from all harm, and with the disorienting whispers of a red eyed man over his shoulder, a shove from the strong bear sent the lord of beasts falling to his death.

Miss Emma was, fortunately, in fitful sleep as the sobbing, raving man stumbled out into the forest, out to the peasant's cemetery. Where, carefully tended of dirt and leaves, a small headstone sat tucked away.

No one saw - and no one would discover the truth until many years later - as the last of the sons of the Lord Rhodolite impaled himself on his own sword.

The morning was met with shattered glass reflecting whirling lights.

As Mr. Noir and Rio each had a hand on her shoulder as her second fiancé was taken away covered in white, she at last gave in to the suspicion that somehow, this place was indeed cursed.

And yet, this grisly reputation was not enough to drive away a new buyer.

To be continued.

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay-adjacent Visuals: Ghost Riders In The Sky

Geoff's Halloween video for 2022 (uploaded on the 2nd of October) was a cover of the song Ghost Riders In The Sky, written by Stan Jones (who also wrote Saddle Up), and performed by many artists since, such as Marty Robbins and Johnny Cash. As Geoff himself said in the description, Geoff had been getting "MORE than a few requests for this song" over the past few months prior, and honestly, with it being both a "spooky" song and a country/Western song, it practically had his name written all over it. And well, Geoff certainly delivered, as always, and I have a decent few things to talk about here, so let's go!

Not actually talking about the Cowboy Geoffs just yet, but of course I gotta point out the cool way that they flash in and out of shot right at the start of the video, like a sort of teaser of what you're gonna get from the rest of the video.

And doubly of course, I must show my love for this very cool logo for the cover/video, which apparently Geoff designed himself or something? Seriously this freaking slaps 👌

I'm guessing that Lead Geoff's fairly simple black/grey outfit is meant to help the Cowboy Geoffs stand out more in comparison/contrast, but also goddamn this guy wears black a lot 😂😅

(Also oh my god he's not wearing anything on his left wrist! A very rare occurrence for sure! 😝)

Shoutout to Rick Underwood once again for the ghostly makeup! (He's also credited in the description as "beard wrangler" 😆)

There have been at least two (maybe three) reaction videos I've watched which have compared the Cowboy Geoffs to the Night King and/or his army from Game Of Thrones. It's the eyes, mostly

Right, now time for individual shots! I'm gonna mess with the chronological order of screencaps here just a tiny bit, just so I can do a straightforward left-to-right introduction:

Geoff credits his "backing vocals" in this one, but apparently the credits aren't in respoective order of their positioning in the video. I found out which Cowboy Geoff is which from comments (Patrons of Geoff I'm assuming) on a reaction video. So anyway, this is Jeff!

(For once Lead Geoff (or just Geoff for this one) isn't actually the one with the least amount of facial hair (Geoff has a bit of a 5 'o' clock shadow in this video)).

...This one is Daryl (love the red-brown coat, very nice) (Yes, Daryl (the Patrons helped name him I believe?)).

...This one is Goff (notice that he takes off his hat with his left hand? He's a leftie! (for this video at least))

...And finally we have Jeoph. This isn't the first time Geoff has had 4 Backup Geoffs helping him out in a video (e.g. see Ain't No Sunshine), but this was the first video that the 4th/extra Backup Geoff was officially given a name 😄

No prizes for guessing who got credited with lighting design (and 3D renders!) for this one, but regardless, shoutout to Eli!

Love the translucent/ghostly effect on the Cowboy Geoffs, very neat!

Geoff could have kept the Cowboy Geoffs on screen for the whole time, but instead they disappear along with the background landscape at the end of the first chorus, and then they fade back into shot after the first line of the second verse, about 4 or 5 seconds later. I vibe with it! It's creative, it's interesting, it encourages you to keep paying attention to the video!

And this of course was very cool!

(Also notice how as well as Goff being left-handed, Jeff's gun holster thing is on the side of his vest, under his left arm, rather than on his belt! Details!!!!)

(Super big aspect ratio for this video too btw, like it nearly takes up the full height of my laptop screen! (Gotta have enough space to get good full-body shots of all 5 of them I suppose))

This man has such a stranglehold over me that even just seeing him whistling in this (on my first-time watch of it) had me doing a short intake of breath! How is he allowed to be this good at so many things? 😅

(Also a little jealous because not only can I not raise one eyebrow independently of the other, but I also can't whistle!!! (I can't click/snap my fingers either, but that one I've learned how to do a "cheat" version that's more like a one-handed clap))

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love it when Geoff gets to belt out a line or two in a song! Especially when you can actually see him putting full effort into it!

Very cool! (Also this video is the second usage of the gramophone logo on Geoff's channel; the first was on Rains Of Castamere, but I forgot to mention it ^^;)

Also also I can't help but give a shoutout to the audio panning effect right at the end, with the sound of hoofbeats that move from the left ear of your headphones to the right, as if you're really listening to horses running by you. It might be one of my favourite clever sound effect things ever tbh.

Geoff doesn't upload full-length covers as often as Voiceplay does (totally understandable btw), but when he does, it's always an absolute treat! Currently (i.e. as of the 21st of February), I only have a few Geoff videos left to talk about (some of his 2023 uploads!), but I'm quite excited for them, so stay tuned!

[newmusickarl]

5-9’s Album of the Month Podcast – Episode 9 Out Now!

The September review episode of the 5-9 Album of the Month Podcast is now available and as ever I take a seat alongside 5-9 Editor Andrew Belt and Check This Out’s Kiley Larsen to review five high profile album releases from the past month in music, and ultimately name one as our Album of the Month at the end of the discussion.

For this blockbuster episode, the five albums we discuss are:

Eat The Worm by Jonathan Wilson

The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We by Mitski

Strange Disciple by Nation of Language (poll winner, thanks for voting!)

This New Noise (Live) by Public Service Broadcasting

Everything Is Alive by Slowdive

If you want to listen to this or any previous episodes on Spotify simply click the link below, but also be sure to follow 5-9 Blog on Instagram and Twitter for more news and polls relating to the podcast, along with other great content like film reviews, sports articles and more.

Listen to the September 2023 episode here

Album & EP Recommendations

Paint My Bedroom Black by Holly Humberstone

If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you’ll know I’ve always been a champion of singer-songwriter Holly Humberstone’s music. Hailing from Grantham in Lincolnshire, which is halfway between my original hometown of Lincoln and my current city of Nottingham, she is the local pop star for which I’m always rooting. She has had quite the career so far too, having built a devoted national following off the back of her excellent early EPs and, more notably, winning the Brits’ Rising Star award just last year. Now the biggest test of her career to date has arrived in the form of her debut album and I’m pleased to say, it delivers.

A couple of weeks back, I was fortunate enough to hear some of this album in full before its release at one of Holly’s acoustic shows here in her spiritual home of Nottingham. It was great insight into the songwriting process, hearing the songs on this debut record stripped-back to their bare bones and learning more about the stories and context behind each song. As it turns out, there’s a lot in here with which I can relate – insecurities, heartbreak, loved ones moving halfway across the world, anxiety-fuelled nights spent in hotel rooms and crazy nightclub sessions around Nottingham. With that being the case, this album can’t help but resonate for me and I find myself keep getting drawn back in to the stories and songs Holly has collected on this solid debut outing.

If there is one criticism it is that on occasion the sheeny pop production can sometimes distract from Holly’s songwriting, but for the most part she manages to get the balance just right. The brilliant title track is the perfect way to kick off the record, with Holly channelling the infectious grooves of The 1975 as she describes a brutal break-up on what is one of the album’s biggest standouts. After that, the acoustic blues of Kissing In Swimming Pools, the uneasy isolation of Ghost Me (which describes a drunken karaoke night in Nottingham’s own Rescue Rooms) and the dynamic, almost grungy d4vd collaboration Superbloodmoon, all also striking a chord in the first half.

That said it’s the second half where this record really hits home, with single Antichrist leading the charge thanks to its moody production and anthemic chorus of “I gave you bad love only.” It then goes into Lauren, which may just be my favourite of the whole record and is certainly one of the strongest lyrically, with Holly wishing she “could rewind to every Rock City night” as she recalls a strained relationship with her friend. Flatlining then rides its hospital-heart-monitor-inspired beat before Elvis Impersonators sees Holly share how much she misses her sister now she has moved to Japan. The album is then brought to a beautifully understated close with popular recent single, Room Service.

When an artist has a couple of strong EPs and none of the tracks feature on the debut, you can sometimes worry that they may have burned through their best songs too soon. Thankfully that’s not the case and on Paint My Bedroom Black, Holly proves herself to be an inspired songwriter that is still only just getting things started.

Listen here

Javelin by Sufjan Stevens

However, arguably the biggest release of early October has been the tenth studio album from highly acclaimed singer-songwriter, Sufjan Stevens. In the days following its release, Sufjan dedicated Javelin to his “beloved partner and best friend Evans Richardson” who sadly died in April of this year. With that added context, it made an album that already felt emotionally shattering hit that much harder.

From the moment the cymbals crash and the synths reverberate around Sufjan’s cries of “You know I love you” on opener Goodbye Evergreen, you know you are in for something quite special yet also heartbreaking. Over the next run of tracks Sufjan continues to astound with his unceremonious yet majestic songcraft, as the uplifting instrumentation twinkles around Sufjan’s devastating penmanship on tracks like A Running Start, Genuflecting Ghost and Will Anybody Ever Love Me?

However as great as the first half is, it is the back stretch that left my jaw firmly on the floor. My Red Little Fox is a heartfelt, flute-laden hymnal whilst lead single So You Are Tired is a brutally beautiful, piano-led, string-drenched lament. The way Sufjan cathartically tackles his grief on these tracks is reminiscent to Nick Cave on albums like Skeleton Tree and Ghosteen, allowing his pain and sadness to unload through the words whilst using the music to ensure it never becomes too overwhelming for the listener.

I can’t leave this blog however without mentioning one track in particular – Shit Talk. Without a doubt one of the songs of the year, it is a near 9-minute masterpiece centred around a strikingly simple assembly of raw acoustic instrumentation, resonant human emotions, gorgeous choral harmonies and refrains of “I will always love you…I don’t wanna fight at all.” Utterly breathtaking in every single way.

For me this is a record that ranks right up there with Sufjan’s finest records like Illinoise and Carrie & Lowell, with the Michigan-born songwriter sadly always seeming to produce his best work in the wake of such tragic circumstances. A beautiful yet devastating record that I fully expect to clean-up on some of the year-end lists come December – and it would be fully deserved.

Listen here

Crazymad, For Me by CMAT

From Sufjan’s tenth album to Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson’s sophomore outing now and it’s another record full of high points. Having only just released her debut last year, the artist known as CMAT has wasted little time in delivering an assured follow-up that successfully builds on the foundations laid with her breakout first album.

It starts very strong with California and Phone Me both joyous, string-tinged pop anthems, before midway through Robbie-Williams-endorsed John Grant collaboration - Where Are Your Kids Tonight? - still shines bright. However once again it’s the latter section where my favourite tracks seem to appear, with the piano-driven I…Hate Who I Am When I’m Horny seeing CMAT bemoan herself and her love life. Most recent single Stay For Something is then my pick of the whole bunch, thanks to some wonderfully bluesy guitars and CMAT’s own impassioned vocal cries of “Have you found what you’re looking for?”

Whilst admittedly I hadn’t completely bought into the CMAT hype the first time around, there are plenty of moments on Crazymad, For Me that have already had me coming back for repeat spins. A brilliant follow-up from an artist who shows no signs of slowing down her ever-gathering momentum.

Listen here

I Don’t Want You Anymore by Cherry Glazerr

Whilst technically arriving right at the end of September, the fourth album from American rockers Cherry Glazerr is another record that has been in rotation during the start of this month. As ever from the Clementine Creevy-led trio, I Don’t Want You Anymore is packed with big guitar riffs and a splash of psychedelia, but with frontwoman Creevy showing more vulnerability in her lyrics this time around. It means the band’s music hits even harder than before, with songs like Addicted To Your Love, Ready For You, Sugar and the title track all standing out.

That said, it is the early Smashing Pumpkins-style roar of Touched You With My Chaos that rises highest, thanks to some seismic guitar work and Creevy’s anguished cries of “I said that I loved you.” Overall though it’s another tour de force from Cherry Glazerr, ideal if you want something with more of a punk edge in your headphones this month.

Listen here

Versions by The Anchoress

It would take an extraordinary artist to tackle such established, iconic tracks by the likes of Depeche Mode, New Order, Radiohead, Nirvana, The Cure and more, and then turn them into something that is entirely their own. Thankfully Catherine Anne Davies – better known as The Anchoress - is no ordinary artist.

This really is the ballsiest of projects as with the aptly-titled Versions, The Anchoress doesn’t shy away from taking on some of the best-known hits from some of the world’s biggest bands, putting herself at risk of being scoffed at by loyalists to the originals. However even the most-ardent fans surely can’t help but admire the perfect balance The Anchoress strikes on this project, managing to remain true to the original classics whilst enshrouding them in her own mesmerising sonic aura.

So, if you want to hear an Autumnal take on some familiar favourites, dive into this one.

Listen here

Re: This Is Why by Paramore

Then if you want more reimaginings, American rock behemoths Paramore also recently released a new version of their highly-acclaimed sixth album, This Is Why. A combination of remixes, covers and collaborations, as well as a demo for unreleased track Sanity, this new version is admittedly a mixed bag with some of these reimagined efforts destined to have you reaching for the original album instead. That said, there are some moments worth checking out, particularly in the back-end where the collaborations with Romy of The XX, bedroom-popstar Claud and Boygenius’ Julien Baker are as good - and in at lease one case a slight improvement on - the original versions of Liar, Crave and Thick Skull respectively. Elsewhere there’s not much else, except Wet Leg also seem better suited to a track like C’est Comme Ça too!

Listen here

The Rest EP by Boygenius

And whilst we’re on the subject of Boygenius, I will also give a quick mention to their new 4-track EP, The Rest. Whilst Boygenius’ debut album The Record still hasn’t resonated with me in the same way it has for some, the Autumnal weather has brought about a new appreciation that has helped it to grow on me since I first dove into it earlier on this year. Now to round off their colossal year, the beloved trio have gifted fans an additional batch of tracks that weren’t finished in time to make that much-hyped debut. It’s an EP where each member takes a turn at stealing the spotlight for a song, with the beautiful Lucy Dacus-led Afraid of Heights my personal pick of the bunch.

Listen here

Also worth checking out: The Darker The Shadow The Brighter The Light by The Streets, Formentera II by Metric, Buy This Now! By Uni Boys

Tracks of the Week

Dancer by IDLES & LCD Soundsystem

On the singles front, it has been a fortnight of comebacks and collaborations, starting with this beast from post-punk favourites IDLES which dropped this week. Teaming up with none other than LCD Soundsystem, Dancer is the first single to be taken from their forthcoming fifth studio album, TANGK. With the new album described as a collection of love songs, Dancer is IDLES at their raucous best thanks to an instant chorus, a big bassline and those signature raw punk riffs.

Watch the entertaining video for the track here

Run Run Run by The Libertines

Also announcing their return, likely lads The Libertines have announced their first new album in 9 years will drop in March, titled All Quiet On The Eastern Esplanade. Run Run Run is the opener to that upcoming record and it’s certainly a promising start, reminiscent of the quality you would expect during the band’s early 00s heyday.

Listen here

My Youngest Son Came Home Today by Billy Bragg & Michael Stipe

Celebrating 40 years in music, Billy Bragg is set to release his new album boxset The Roaring Forty at the end of the month, which features more than 300 tracks including highlights from each of Billy’s twelve studio albums, non-album singles and B-Sides, session tracks, rare live recordings, collaborations and previously unreleased material from across his career. To help promote it, he has widely released this collaboration with REM’s Michael Stipe for the first time, which is a haunting and timely cover of the Eric Bogle classic of the same name.

Listen here

Blanket / What Should I Do? by Kevin Abstract

Venturing out into his post-Brockhampton musical life, Kevin Abstract has announced his next solo record will be titled Blanket and arrives early next month. Most intriguingly the American rapper/singer-songwriter has stated the project was inspired by Sunny Day Real Estate, Nirvana and Modest Mouse, influences you can certainly hear on these first two teaser tracks. What Should I Do is a melodic, guitar-driven cut whilst Blanket even carries some shades of Blur’s Song 2 with its raw rock riffs and shouts of “WOO!”

Is a genre-bending affair imminent or is this a complete direction change altogether for Abstract? I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Listen to Blanket here

Listen to What Should I Do here

Tantor by Danny Brown

Also dropping a new project in November (which is technically his second album of 2023 following the acclaimed JPEGMAFIA collab album, Scaring The Hoes) is Detroit rapper Danny Brown. Quaranta will be Danny’s first solo outing in four years, but this first taster track shows he hasn’t lost his step in the time he’s been away. Tantor intriguingly begins with the old internet dial-up tone, before a bizarre beat comes in, almost reminiscent of a TV theme you’d find on an old detective show. Wonderfully weird experimental rap as always from Danny Brown.

Listen here

The Hills by Rachel Chinouriri

Also releasing the first taste of her highly anticipated debut record which is rumoured to drop early next year, The Hills is one of British singer-songwriter Rachel Chinouriri’s most instantly anthemic tracks to date. Riding a wave of soaring guitars, it’s a song about feeling like you don’t belong, written whilst Rachel was recording in LA. Bring on the debut!

Listen here

Trust Exercises by Easy Life

And finally on the songs front this week, the Leicester-based band (now formally known as) Easy Life have been the talk of the music world the last few weeks. This follows the news that air travel company EasyJet were unjustly forcing them to change their band name, causing an awful set back for a band just trying to establish themselves and make their way in the music world. It’s another horrible story of a big corporate entity stifling creativity and I hope Easy Life manage to bounce back under their new guise. In the meantime, they were at least able to have a triumphant headline show as Easy Life for one final time, whilst also releasing this single. So help them out and go give it a spin!

Listen here

Also worth checking out: Mud by bdrmm, To Do List (After The Breakup) by Blossoms, DArkSide by Bring Me The Horizon, HEAVEN’S GALAXY by Kid Cudi, Long Way by Lonely The Brave, Shame by Lauren Mayberry, I Can’t See Past Monday by Lossline

REMINDER: If you use Apple Music, you can also keep up-to-date with all my favourite 2023 tracks through my Best of 2023 playlist. Constantly updated throughout the year with songs I enjoy, it is then finalised into a Top 100 Songs of the Year in December.

Add the playlist to your library here

[ohraicodoll]

Daisies

Joel Miller x fem!reader The Last of Us (Show/Game) 1.3k Words

Summary: Because the women of Jackson have nothing better to do than set their eyes on Joel Miller. 

She wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping. No, she was minding her own business, grabbing supplies to help Joel fix the slightly broken window in Ellie’s room. The teenage girl kept complaining that it made her side of the house five degrees colder despite the fact it was warming up to Spring finally. 

It wasn’t her fault she was stuck in her ways, used to having to be silent as the dead, walking so quietly people had a habit of not noticing or hearing her. It was a survival skill, but one that didn’t suit settlement life where you were supposed to act normal and friendly and not like a ghost.

“Goddamn, it’s heinous how good the apocalypse looks on that man.”

“Right? The rest of us look like shit meanwhile Joel fucking Miller turned into a fine piece of meat.” Her brow furrowed at the women nearby, hands stilling on the small slivers of wood she’d been grabbing. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at the small group as they very obviously stared across the Jackson plaza at the very man in question. Joel was talking to Tommy, heavy brown jacket stretched tight across his back as he stood in his usual Joel-stance. Hands on his hips, thumbs tucked into his belt, knee cocked out. He’d gone only a bit more gray, settlement life helping to destress him a bit though Ellie’s constant pestering may have canceled that out. Raising a teenage girl all over again was proving challenging, no matter the setting. But he was getting rest, getting food, and the strain had slowly seeped out of his face over time. They weren’t wrong. He did look good. He always looked good. She just didn’t like that they had noticed it as well. Joel and her weren’t necessarily a thing. Yes, they’d both helped Ellie to get there and yes, they all lived in the same house and yes, she knew exactly what that mouth could do but it wasn’t like they were dating. They only…existed together. Took care of each other, in more than a few ways. They didn’t exactly go holding hands down Main Street though. So no, while he wasn’t taken, wasn’t hers, there was an almost animalistic urge in her to stake a claim. To mark him and bare her teeth to get them to avert their eyes. Promise that they couldn’t handle him with their soft hands and dainty sensibilities they’d kept in their stranglehold even decades after that stopped mattering. Joel had always likened her to a feral animal and maybe he wasn’t far off. But maybe he liked that kind of thing. Like girls in dresses, smelling of daisies, cooking and cleaning and letting him do the hard work. A man’s job, whatever the fuck that was. They never talked about that. It certainly wasn’t her.  Gritting her teeth, she tried to block out their voices and focus on the task. It was dumb. This was dumb. It came from complacency and comfort and having too much time on your hands from not having to survive moment to moment. They should be helping be actually productive and not gawking at Joel Miller, talking about his ass- Their voices lowered and became fervent whispers, causing her to look up again. Joel had finished his conversation with Tommy and was headed directly their way. He wasn’t scowling for once, seemed almost relaxed though that furrow between his brow was almost permanent at this point. It was just…Joel. She ducked her eyes back to the wood pieces and quickly picked out the pieces needed, adding them to her pile next to the small bottle of homemade glue, nails, and rationed tape she’d already gathered. He probably didn’t need it all, but the more she grabbed the more it would seem like she was busy. If he was going to talk to them, it wasn’t her business and she certainly wasn’t going to be caught eavesdropping. While they may not have noticed her, Joel had a sixth sense for when she was around no matter how quiet she was trying to be. A chorus of chirpy, “Good morning, Joel!” went up as he reached the group and her teeth went on edge. She could taste the words like overly sweetened cough syrup. Thick and saccharin. But no reply came, no thick accented greeting, only a grunt of half-acknowledgement and that caused her to look up again. He’d sidestepped them, barely giving them even a glance as if they were in his way and were an obstacle, and was instead heading to her. And if his eyes seemed to brighten, lips seemed to lift up in the barest hint of a smile, she tried not to notice it. “You’re takin’ an awfully long time to pick out a few scraps,” Joel commented as he finally reached her side. Shoving what she had grabbed into the sack on her shoulder, she shrugged, “Wanted to give you time to talk to Tommy. Didn’t want to interrupt.” He smirked as if smelling her bullshit and shook his head, “Wasn’t anything important. He wanted to invite us over for dinner after someone ratted to him and Maria about last night’s dinner catastrophe.” Their multiple cans of different soup mixture. They had only had one of each type and one pot. Mixing it had been to save time, but the taste had been…something. “I think Ellie’s getting tired of our experimenting,” she huffed a small laugh, shuffling the toe of her boot along the dirt, “I guess Maria’s cooking is slightly better than ours.” “Well maybe Ellie can take over dinner duties if she’s gonna snitch,” Joel chuckled, “If she wants home cooked meals so bad, she can figure them out herself. I can barbecue, but that’s about it besides heating up a can.” “Yeah, yeah, so you like to say,” smirking, she began to start walking towards the direction of their house, ignoring the whispers and glances the women were giving the two. She could only imagine what they thought of her, standing at his side. Rough, unkept, throwing on whatever shirt she had grabbed off the floor though at this point she wasn’t sure which were hers and which were his. She definitely didn’t smell like daisies no matter how clean she got. Before she could go down that train of thought though, Joel matched his steps to hers and surprised her. It wasn’t holding hands, wasn’t anything particularly romantic, but as they both passed the group he slipped his hand into her back pocket. The move brought her closer to him, had his arm pressed into her back, but the heat of his hand separated from her skin by only threadbare denim set her on fire. He leaned into her and whispered into her ear, “Next time we go hunting, I’ll show you and wipe that sass right off your face.” His fingers clenched, almost gripping her ass, causing her to bite the inside of her cheek. “Now let’s get home before you rip the throats out of those hens clucking behind us.” She tried not to seem surprised that he’d noticed, had thought she masked her irritation well, but this was Joel. Of course he noticed. “What, you don’t want me to hurt your fan group?” raising a brow at him, she looked up and tried to stay joking, teasing. No, she wasn’t jealous. No, she wasn’t looking for him to voice that this was something beyond mutual satisfaction. But the hand in her pocket was new outside of the confines of the house and it had thrown her for a loop. Joel chuckled, muttering the words fan group and stared at her, eyes darkening and pulling her a little tighter into his side, “Darling, I could care less about them. I don’t need someone who can cook and tell me how good looking I am. In case you haven’t noticed, I prefer someone who I trust to have my back. Who has some teeth.” And that was all that needed to be said. She grinned, showing those very same teeth, and didn’t care if it made her look feral. They walked back to their half-hobbled together house, their kid that wasn’t theirs, and their shit cooking. God help anyone that tried to get in their way.

[leslie-lyman]

Stranger At My Gate - Chapter 10 (Pero Tovar x modern!OFC)

A time-traveling Pero. A modern woman trying her best. A kitchen full of possibility. A helping of Midwestern kindness. A dash of magic. And a whole lot of Christmas spirit.

pairing: Pero Tovar x modern!OFC

rating: E 🚨 [18+ ONLY, minors DNI]

warnings: at the risk of spoiling things, SMUT; unprotected PIV; oral (f receiving); blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Pero having a pain kink; Pero having a lil bit of a breeding kink; ungodly amounts of fluff; one (1) instance of your author taking liberties with language history

word count: 7.3k

a/n: Here we are, folks. This is it. I’ll have more to say at the end of this chapter, and I’d strongly advise you to read all the way to the end. 😉 Also a reminder that going forward, I will only be tagging folks in my writing who have signed up via my official taglist form.

Extra major helpings of thanks and forehead kisses to @whataperfectwasteoftime for looking this over for me and for tolerating me tearing my hair out in her DMs over this chapter. ❤️❤️❤️

Previous chapter.

Masterlist.

———

Ten.

Panic seizes Tessa’s chest, robbing her of breath. A chorus of thoughts rise loud in her head, jumbled and half-formed -

He can’t have gone back

I’m late, I’m too late

So stupid, should have told him before I left

Too late too late too late

There’s no way to tell how old the footprints marking Pero’s path towards the woods might be, but after only a moment of paralysis, Tessa’s off like a shot.

He could have left hours ago, he could already be back in his own time and there would be nothing more that Tessa could do.

But she has to know for sure.

There’s no conscious moment of deciding - one second she isn’t running as fast as she can in the direction of the trees and the next second she is, never mind that it’s well below freezing with the snow coming down with an increasing vengeance. Never mind that she’s still dressed for air travel, in nothing more than jeans and a sweatshirt and cute little ankle boots that are definitely not meant to go trudging through more than half a foot of snow. Her coat’s still in the back seat of her car but she can’t stand to make even the smallest detour for it. Pero may be long gone, but if he isn’t, if there’s a chance she could still stop him and ask him to stay, who knows how long she has. Ten seconds to grab her coat could be the difference.

Pero’s footsteps get more difficult to follow once she hits the tree line, but her Gift is not called intuition for nothing. She can feel some sort of instinctual pull towards the Gate, or maybe it’s towards Pero, aided by the faint ghosts of memories of her childhood spent playing in these woods. She tries to yell Pero’s name, but the freezing air burns in her throat as she attempts to draw enough breath to keep moving as fast as she can.

An eternity somehow fits into the handful of minutes it takes her to make it to the small, perfectly round clearing where the two trees that make up the Gate stand. She’s never been this close to the Gate before, and certainly not when it’s been open. Apart from the slightly unnatural placement of the trees, there’s nothing that gives it away on sight. But it throbs with power, emitting a warped vibration Tessa cannot truly hear but rather feels deep in her bones. Something about it calls to her, as though its magic recognizes the kindred spirit of her Gift. But whatever being or force created the Gate was many times more powerful and ancient than the source of her Gift, and if she looks directly at it for more than a few seconds a vague sense of vertigo starts to make itself known at the edges of her vision.

What small amount of light was left in the day is almost completely gone, the snow on the ground doing little to reflect it back as fat flakes continue to fall. Tessa can’t tell if Pero’s footprints continue across the circle to the Gate. She takes two deep breaths, then opens her mouth to let out the scream she’s felt building since she walked in her front door to find her house cold and empty -

“I’m here, Tessa.”

Her head whips around at the sound of his voice so quickly she hears her neck crack. She squints through the snow and darkness and sure enough, sitting on a fallen log just outside the edge of the clearing, is Pero. Tessa has to make a hasty grab for the nearest tree to keep from collapsing in relief.

“Pero,” she croaks, her voice nothing more than a cracked whisper.

He stands and comes closer. He’s dressed in his original clothes, the hilts of his swords visible over his right shoulder. The only modern item on him is the thick wool coat he’s been using the past few weeks.

Even once he’s close enough to see his features his face is unreadable. Tessa likes to think she’s gotten fairly good at interpreting Pero’s expressions, having learned just how much this man can say without any words at all, but apart from the tightness at the corners of his mouth, it’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep his face as neutral as possible.

Seconds tick by without either of them saying anything. It’s like Tessa’s emotions are all laid out on a roulette wheel - panic, joy, despair, relief, exhaustion - that’s spinning too fast to figure out what she’s actually feeling at this moment. Then the little white ball falls from the track and sticks in the groove of one emotion in particular.

Anger.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?”

They’re both taken aback by how harshly the words leave her mouth. Pero takes a breath to respond, but Tessa doesn’t let him.

“I get home - knowing full well that today is the day, that the Gate is open - and you’re just gone? You were just - you were just going to leave me? After all of that, after everything, that’s how this ends?”

Tears unexpectedly clog her voice, making her rapidly lose all of her bite.

Pero shifts, his body restless, leaning first towards her, then away again, like he wants to close the distance between them but isn’t sure she’d welcome it.

She asks him the question again, voice now soft and full of sadness.

“What are you doing here, Pero?”

He looks down and away from her, and she can see his lips move but can’t make out what he says.

“What?”

“I thought it would be easier,” he snarls, meeting her eye again with an expression that is full of pain. “I thought it would be easier like this. To leave with a clean break, having made no promises to each other. To give you back your life, so that you could go and live it the way you deserve, with someone else who is…”

He trails off, and Tessa is genuinely bewildered.

“Who is…what, Pero?”

“Who is not me.” He shakes his head, holding up his hands when she tries to respond, the words feeling torn from his chest. “Tessa, I am not a good man. The things I have done in my life…I cannot be who you need me to be.”

“You are not the arbiter of my needs and who can fulfill them, Pero.”

“Tessa - ”

“No.” Tessa takes a step forward, balling her hands into fists. “No, you listen to me. If you want to go back - ” The possibility and all its ugly implications push to the forefront of her mind, all her fears and inadequacies rearing their awful heads and threatening to choke her. “If you want to go back to your own time, then I - I’ll respect that. But don’t you dare leave because you think that’s somehow doing right by me. And don’t you dare just walk away without a word, Pero. I am sick, god, I am so sick of the people I love leaving me without so much as a chance to say goodbye.”

Everything quiets. The wind, the trees, the odd thrum of the Gate, it all seems to pause, a shocked inhale and a holding of breath.

Pero’s lips part in surprise. Twin crescent moons form between his eyes as his brows furrow. His question is full of disbelief.

“What did you just say?”

This wasn’t how Tessa had planned on telling him, though to be fair, she hadn’t really had a plan for telling him at all.

“I said,” she has to swallow, and wills herself to look at Pero when she repeats it, no matter her trepidation at his reaction, “the people I love.”

The world around them stays hushed, unwilling to interrupt.

“I should have said something weeks ago. I should never have let things go this long without telling you how I feel and what I want. I’m so sorry for any role my silence played in making you doubt yourself.”

She moves a bit to her left as she talks, almost unthinkingly, and doesn’t have to look behind her to know that she’s managed to put herself between Pero and the Gate. Not that she has much hope of stopping him if he decides to muscle past her; he’s nearly twice her size, and she’s intimately acquainted enough with his strength to know she could never physically block him from going through the Gate if he really wanted to. But everything in her is screaming at her to do what she can to prevent him from quite literally walking out of her life forever, to feel like she has some semblance of control over the situation for the first time all day.

It’s nearly funny; for weeks Tessa has put off this conversation, and just yesterday she was struggling to rehearse what to say, but now the words come to her as naturally as breathing.

“This is a conversation you and I should have had long before now. I’m sorry I’ve been such a coward about it, but that is my own failing, not a reflection of my feelings or your worth. Which is ridiculous, when I think about it, because the truth is so simple that I’m ashamed I ever refused a single chance to tell you. The truth is that I love you, Pero Tovar, and I want you to stay.”

She’s proud that her voice doesn’t shake, for all her heart is in her throat. Pero’s face remains inscrutable. A muscle in his jaw twitches, his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks like he has no idea what to say.

But that’s fine, because now that she’s started speaking Tessa can’t seem to stop.

“Look, I won’t pretend that this world, that this time, is all sunshine compared to yours, that there aren’t still plenty of big, awful problems out there. War. Climate change. Inequality. Mitch McConnell. And I know that - that there’s so much that’s still new and unfamiliar to you, and that might be scary or intimidating, but I swear to you Pero, you would never have to face any of it alone.”

Please let that be enough. Please let me be enough.

Pero increasingly looks like he’s been hit over the head.

“So…what do you say?”

He doesn’t say anything, but she gets her answer when he suddenly closes the distance between them and crashes his lips to hers.

———

All his life, Pero has been chasing something. Each moment of his life has been spent in pursuit of the next one - the next job, the next meal, the next battle. All of it about first and foremost surviving, and then all of it leading to some sort of end, some hazy idea he’d had of an easier life, flush with coin, maybe a warm bed, a steady supply of meat and bread and ale.

He remembers what he had once said to William at the Great Wall:

After all the blood and cold and pain, with this black powder in our saddlebags, we win.

How small and silly that dream seems now compared to what is right in front of him.

I love you, Pero Tovar, and I want you to stay.

His knee-jerk reaction is disbelief, but he has a hard time hanging onto that feeling when he knows Tessa to be neither a liar nor a fool. The simplest explanation, after all, is usually the right one. And that means she’s telling the truth. All he has to do is accept it.

Moira had asked him what he would do if Tessa asked him to stay. He’d never given her a definitive answer because he hadn’t had one.

But he does now.

He crushes Tessa to him and kisses her with all the ferocity he possesses, a hiccuped sob of relief escaping her lips before he swallows it up. Her hands grab fistfuls of his jacket in an iron grip and she presses herself against him as though she couldn’t bear to have a single inch of space between them.

“Do you know how long I’ve been out here,” he gasps once they break for air, “just sitting and staring at those damn trees?”

“What?” She frowns. “Why were you - ”

“I thought that for once in my life I was going to do the right thing, instead of the selfish thing. I thought I could go back to my old life and hang onto the memory of you and have that be enough. Then I got here and saw the Gate and have been sitting on that log it feels like half the damn day trying to work up the will to walk through. But I could not.”

“Why?” It’s barely a whisper. Tessa knows, or she thinks she does, she’s nearly sure, she’s almost certain, but she has to hear him say it.

He leans down to kiss her once more, just a soft, chaste press of lips, but then he cups her face in his broad palms and the way he looks at her confirms everything even before he speaks.

“Because I knew if you asked me to stay I could not deny you. Because I do not truly want to go. And because, Tessa Walsh, I love you too.”

They’re alone in the woods. There is no one to overhear them. And yet Pero still murmurs the words, quiet but clear, like they are a gift meant for her ears alone.

The joy that spreads across her face is blinding. He drops his forehead against hers.

“I still meant what I said earlier, Tessa. I am not sure that I share your confidence in my worthiness. I don’t know what kind of life I can offer you. If I were to become a burden - ”

“You would never.” Her response is instant and certain. “Pero, the things happening in my life, my work, I don’t want to stop doing them. I just don’t want to do them alone. I want you there. You’ve seen so little of this world so far. Come see the rest of it with me.”

She releases her death grip on his coat to drape her arms around his neck.

“I have news for you,” she whispers in his ear like a secret. “I don’t know what the future looks like. I don’t know all that a life here, together, might hold for us. But what I do know is that I want more than anything to find out. Don’t you?”

His arms tighten their hold, then she feels him nod, the scruff of his cheek rough against her own.

“I fear that is still far more than a man like me deserves,” he says, one last voicing of his doubts. But there’s no strength behind it, and Tessa knows it.

“No, Pero, it isn’t. And I will spend every day for as long as you’ll give me convincing you of it.”

She pulls back just enough to be able to look at him. Snow clings to his hair, the moisture further encouraging it’s natural curl.

“We will need to get better at this whole communicating-our-feelings thing though, you and I,” she says with a small laugh.

A smile tugs at the corners of Pero’s mouth.

“We can practice.”

Any warmth generated by Tessa’s race to the clearing has long since dissipated, and as the accompanying adrenaline rush leaves her system the cold wraps its icy, gleeful fingers around her like prey caught in a net. There’s snow in her boots, her socks soaked through and her feet rapidly going numb. She burrows even closer to Pero, seeking his warmth, the combination of cold and relief making her start to shiver. The tremors start deep in her chest and rapidly spread until they’re the kind of full-body chills that usually come with the flu.

“Angel?” Pero prompts her, concerned, noticing for the first time how woefully underdressed she is for the weather.

“Cold,” she mumbles, face shoved against his jacket. “S-saw you were gone and I panicked and d-didn’t stop to grab m-my coat.”

Guilt floods him.

“I am so sorry, mi amor. I was trying to spare you distress, not cause it.”

Tessa peeks up at him.

“Say it again?”

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, the look in her eyes one of wonder and hope.

“No, I meant the part where you called me your love.”

Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his mouth to hers, dropping his voice low to murmur it against her lips.

“Mi amor.”

He hears her breath hitch, a shiver of an entirely different kind running down her spine. She rises up on her toes to kiss him again, and for a moment Pero is consumed with how much he never, ever wants to go so much as a day without kissing her ever again before being struck dumb by the realization that he doesn’t have to.

But the fact that Tessa is still shaking in his arms as snow continues to quietly fall around them makes him pull away. He may still have so much to learn about this world, but this right here is a problem he already knows how to solve.

He ducks down and in one fluid motion scoops Tessa up, chuckling at the way she squeaks and clings to his neck. He gives the shell of her ear a soft nip and an even softer kiss. He takes one last look at the pair of trees across the clearing, his expression solidifying into something determined, decided, defiant, then turns his back on the Gate.

“C’mon, angel mine, let’s go home.”

———

Pero wastes no time, carrying Tessa straight into her bathroom the moment he walks through the door. He perches her on the edge of the toilet and turns her shower on before starting to strip her of her wet clothes. When she’s fully bare and the glass panels of her shower are foggy with steam, he stands and makes to move away, but she reaches out and grips a handful of his shirt, as if suddenly afraid he’s going to leave.

He brushes his fingers across her cheek in a gesture of infinite tenderness.

“Go get under the water, Tessa. I’ll be just a moment behind you.”

Her little burst of anxiety fades and she steps into the shower, hissing as the hot water stings her freezing cold skin.

Pero strips and joins her, folding her once again into his arms and shielding her from most of the spray. He isn’t sure how long they stand there like that, just holding each other, hands tracing gentle patterns down spines, soaking in the comforting feeling of ribs expanding and chests rising and falling with every breath.

Eventually he reaches for the bottle of body wash perched on the shelf. Tessa stirs at the movement with a little noise of protest, blinking up at him like she’s come out of a trance.

“Shh, angel, it’s alright,” he hushes her. “Let me do something for you.”

He squeezes a generous amount of the soap into his palms and rubs them together to lather it up. Then he lifts Tessa’s left hand up to his right shoulder and starts to run his hands up and down her arm, spreading the suds, getting her clean.

They haven’t done this yet - showered together. In the past three weeks Pero and Tessa have had each other in nearly every corner of the house, on every surface, but this is something else entirely. Pero repeats his actions along her other arm, then across her shoulders, her collarbones, her neck. He pauses only briefly at her breasts, trailing his fingers around the edges of the soft mounds, flicking his thumbs just once over her nipples before he moves on.

When he reaches her belly button he sinks to his knees. Tessa lets her fingers play with the ends of his curls from where her hands still rest on his shoulders.

“I am sorry, you know,” he says, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him over the water. “I do not ever wish to hurt you. This is new, for me. Giving a damn.” He looks up at her with a little smile, both self-deprecating and vulnerable.

Pero rubs the soap down each leg, lifting each of her feet in turn, leaving no inch of her unexplored, and there’s something so worshipful, so intimate in how he handles her.

“You’re doing just fine so far,” she tells him, cupping his jaw and nudging him to stand. She moves to return the favor, filling her palms with the sweet-smelling body wash. When she starts to move her hands over his chest, she can feel him tense, his breath going shallow. He carries so many scars, both physical and not. He is so sure of the kind of man he is, and he’s so wrong, Tessa can barely stand it.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you, Pero?”

She paints soapy lines down one of his arms, then the other.

“I see a man who had his whole world turned upside down and didn’t even flinch. I see a man who could have run from the start, who could have taken everything of value that very first day and bolted, but who instead trusted a stranger to help him. A man who treats my family with kindness and respect, who sits on the floor with my nephews and plays Legos.”

Tessa makes her way down his torso, letting the water wash away the soap before pressing her lips to every mark that dots his skin in between words.

“I see a man who cares for me, who protects me, who supports me. Who was willing to sacrifice his own desires because he thought he was doing the right thing for me.”

She kneels down to turn her attention to his legs, running her hands over his hips, his glutes, his thighs.

“I want this man.” She nips at the skin just under his hip bone and sees his stomach clench in response.

“I need this man.” How long has it been, she wonders, since someone touched him like this, gently, reverently? Has anyone ever cared for him like this?

“I love this man,” she says, finally leaning in with the intention of nuzzling his cock, half-hard at the sight of her kneeling at his feet, but Pero doesn’t let her. He pulls her up with a hand around the nape of her neck before slotting his lips over her with a growl. He kisses her like he has to, like he needs it the way he needs air, pouring love into her mouth with every swipe of his tongue and every hint of his teeth along her bottom lip.

The now-full, impressive length of him presses against her stomach and Tessa tries to hitch a knee up around his hip to pull him closer.

“Pero, please - ”

He reaches around her to shut the water off.

“Not here,” he rumbles, chest heaving. “Not here - in y- in our bed.”

He wraps her in her fluffiest towel so she doesn’t freeze all over again, then insists on carrying her the eight feet to the bed.

She’s warm and wet from the shower, and the sound she makes when he slides inside her is nearly enough to finish him off right then. He holds himself over her, pressing as much of his weight as he dares down on her, reveling in the feeling of her beneath him, soft and willing and his.

“Gorgeous girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to ghost his lips over her cheek.

“Courageous girl.” A kiss to her temple.

“Brilliant girl.” A kiss under her jaw.

“Pero,” she breathes, shifting her hips as much as she’s able, a silent plea for him to start moving. He chuckles.

“Impatient girl.” A pass of his tongue over her pulse beneath her ear.

“Stubborn girl.” He moves, not a full thrust, but a slow grind of his hips as deep as he can that pulls a whine from Tessa’s throat.

“Mine,” he rasps, the word full of awe, like he’s really beginning to believe it.

“Yours,” Tessa agrees without hesitation. “Yours, Pero.”

He starts slowly, a languid, lazy pace he matches with deep kisses and long strokes of his tongue against hers. He savors it in a way he hasn’t before, the slow drag of his cock inside her almost more intense than if he’d set a much more frantic tempo. Perhaps it’s because there’s no hiding anything from each other anymore, the way he knows each sound and sensation is layered with trust and love and adoration, and as he thinks about how he has this, he has her, and that he may very well not ever have to give this up, he realizes he’s going to come just like this.

Not without Tessa, though.

He worms a hand between them to pet at her clit and soon enough she starts to tighten around him, her breathy little cries of oh, yes, Pero getting louder and louder.

“That’s it, mi amor,” he groans, “come on my cock and show me you’re mine, there you go, that’s it - ”

Her body curls upwards into him and she muffles her scream into his shoulder as he follows her quickly over the edge.

When they’ve both come down from it he eases his cock from her body, carefully pushing himself up off the bed and down to the floor.

Tessa makes a questioning noise, still trying to catch her breath. He runs a soothing hand along her thigh before coaxing her legs apart to better admire the view of his spend starting to drip from the folds of her cunt, a possessiveness he’s been keeping at bay until now unfurling inside him like a newly awoken tiger.

“Pero, please,” she begs, squirming under his gaze. “Touch me, I want to feel you again - ”

“Patience, angel,” he murmurs, “we have time now, after all.” He drags his nose up the seam of her inner thigh before placing the lightest of kisses against her clit.

“And I intend to take it.”

———

It’s after midnight when Tessa finally falls asleep against him, sated and exhausted. She lies with her head pillowed on his chest, her body half on top of his. Pero can feel sleep tugging at him too, but he fights it in favor of another minute of admiring the way she looks in the dim moonlight, her expression perfectly happy and content even as she rests.

Let’s go home, he’d said earlier. And at the time, he’d meant this house.

But last night when he’d been here alone it had been cold and lifeless and empty, and Pero knows that home is not this place. It is not this house, or this town, or even this time.

It’s her.

———

They do a fair amount of talking over the next few days, sketching out their wants and hopes and ideas for the future.

“You should talk to Amie after they get back from visiting Thom’s parents,” Tessa had suggested the morning after the solstice. “Finding permanent, year-round help at the farm is difficult, especially someone she doesn’t need to worry about keeping her Gift a secret from. She’s been talking about expanding the farm to include flowers and other plants, but she needs another reliable set of hands to help manage it, if you’re interested.”

Pero admits he finds the notion intriguing. A chance to work out in the open air, using his hands and his strength to build and grow things, rather than destroy them. An opportunity to find a new kind of purpose, a new kind of way to provide for himself and those he loves.

He hasn’t let go of all his self-doubts, a process he knows will take longer than a handful of days, but just being open with Tessa about how he feels and talking through the possibilities their future could look like together goes a long way towards banishing them. Every day he finds himself believing in Tessa’s unwavering conviction that he is a good man, that he deserves to be here, to be happy, to be loved, a little more. He cannot change the things he’s done in the past, but he also doesn’t have to be that man anymore.

For the first time in his life Pero’s future is one full of hope, and he decides to embrace it with everything he is.

———

Three days after the solstice, on Christmas Eve, the weather turns colder than it’s been all season, bitterly so, the wind howling through the trees and rattling the windows. Tessa and Pero finish putting away the leftovers from their dinner (a winter squash and spinach pasta bake Tessa had chosen in part because it’s lengthy baking time is exactly the same as the runtime of The Muppet Christmas Carol) when Tessa turns to him with a wicked glint in her eye.

She makes Pero move the coffee table out of the way while she tracks down every sheet and blanket and pillow she possesses and arranges them in front of the fireplace. When she beckons him to join her in the cozy little nest he goes eagerly, pulling her close so that they’re lying on their sides facing each other. Tessa tucks her head under his chin and Pero marvels at how perfectly she fits against him, snuggled into the protective circle of his arms.

They stay like that for a little while, the only sounds the wind outside and the crackle of the fire nearby. Pero strokes a hand through Tessa’s hair, admiring how the light from the flames brings out the warm golden tones in each strand.

She shifts against him, slowly sliding a leg up over his hip. They’ve barely gotten out of bed since the solstice, but one lazy grind of Tessa’s hips against the outline of his cock has him ravenous for her as if he hadn’t had her in weeks.

“Again, angel?” He hums, teasing her. But her answer is sincere and full of need.

“Always.”

He tilts her chin up to kiss her and it only takes a moment for it to go from sweet to hungry, each of them tugging at the other’s clothes until they’re both bare.

Pero kisses his way down her body, taking his time to pay attention to her neck, her breasts, her tummy, leaving behind little bruises and bites as he does so, lovingly marking her up so that there is no question who she belongs to.

He’s saying something, barely-there words breathed into her skin between each kiss and suck and bite, the same phrase over and over and over again, and Tessa’s heart flips over when she realizes that she recognizes it, a piece of language that has survived a thousand years:

Te amo. Te amo. Te amo.

He finally makes it to her core, spreading her thighs apart. He glances up at her to make sure she’s watching when he ducks down to lap up the slick already leaking from her folds.

Pero is many things, including a remarkably fast learner. Over the past three weeks he’s taken to eating Tessa out like a duck to water, eagerly exploring and cataloging all the ways he can make her fall apart. He circles her clit with his tongue as he works two fingers inside her, rapidly building her up to her first climax of the evening.

There’s so many sensations - the delicious stroke of Pero’s tongue, the stretch of his fingers, the soft blanket below her, the heat of the fire - but all of them are soaked in the overwhelming joy she feels that Pero is here, and he’s hers, and he loves her and oh god she loves him too and she isn’t sure if it makes her want to laugh or cry or grin or scream his name -

She watches as he closes his eyes in bliss at her taste, his hips rutting against the blankets to try and find relief. His fingers are so much thicker than her own and he curls them forward, pushing her closer and closer to her peak. He stretches his free hand up her belly towards her breasts; she grabs for it and he instantly twists his wrist to intertwine their fingers.

“Just like that, Pero,” she gasps, though she knows she doesn’t have to tell him. “I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me fucking come - ”

Another flick of his tongue and Tessa’s gone, grinding her cunt against his mouth and sobbing his name.

He slides his fingers from her and immediately raises them to his mouth to lick them clean, but when he crawls back up her body Tessa surprises him, hooking an ankle around the back of his knee and urging him onto his back.

“Going to ride me, mi amor?” He asks, and she nods, reaching behind her to grasp the thick length of his cock. She’s so wet she sinks down on him in one smooth motion, barely stopping to let her body adjust before starting to circle her hips.

It may be below zero outside, but Tessa’s body soon glistens with sweat, the firelight making her seem to glow. She’s so beautiful above him that Pero can hardly do more than watch, enthralled. He reaches up to fill his hands with her breasts and she arches forward with a moan when he squeezes and kneads and tugs at her nipples. He then lowers one hand to find her clit, determined to make her come again.

Tessa digs her nails into his chest, the sharp little bite of pain only egging him on and if he were still capable of complex speech he’d tell her to press harder, to leave marks, that he’d gladly bleed for her and proudly wear a hundred new scars if she were the one who carved them. That he is hers just as much as she is his.

But all he manages to say is “that’s it, angel, take it, whatever you need, take it, it’s yours, I’m yours, oh fuck - ”

A final grind of her hips over his and she’s coming, collapsing against his chest as she shakes apart in his arms.

He swipes his thumb over her clit in soft little strokes until the walls of her pussy stop pulsing around him and she weakly nudges his hand away. He gently lays her down and she blinks up at him as she comes back to herself.

“How do you want me?” She asks, and to hear her so submissive now after riding him nearly to the brink of his own climax makes him shiver in pleasure. He nudges her onto her belly and hears her give a contented little sigh.

“Like this, angel.”

She lets him manipulate her body until it’s just how he knows they both like, with her on her knees and her head pillowed on her forearms.

Pero lines himself up and slowly pushes into her. He doesn’t miss the way her breath hitches when he breaches her entrance, her poor pussy swollen and tender and it fills him with a perverse sense of pride.

“You’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much?”

“I will,” Tessa assures him, “but you can be rough, Pero. I want you to be rough. I want to feel it even when you’re not inside me - ”

He bares his teeth and pulls her hips back against him, quickly working up to a brutal pace that makes Tessa cry out and fist her hands in the blankets beneath her. He can’t see the little outline of the implant in her arm from this angle, and he lets himself fall into a fantasy where it doesn’t exist. They haven’t talked about this aspect of their future yet, but once the thought of fucking Tessa without any method of preventing pregnancy takes hold he can’t shake it. He’d never felt much desire for such a thing in the past, but the idea of seeing Tessa bear his children makes his gut clench with arousal that burns white-hot. Would she want that, he wonders? Would she let him claim her in that way, fuck her full until it takes, make her round with his child -

He digs his fingers into her flesh as he pulls her back flush against his chest, suddenly desperate to feel all of her against him. He holds her to him as his cock punches up into the wet clutch of her cunt. Slick runs down his shaft to soak the curls at the base, each thrust pulling a gorgeous little sound from Tessa’s throat.

She reaches an arm up to bury her fingers in Pero’s hair, turning her head to the side so he can capture her lips in an inelegant kiss.

“I - fuck - I l-love you, Pero,” she pants into his mouth.

“I love you, angel,” he whispers back, the words the prayer of a humbled man on his knees before the woman who holds his heart.

He starts to feel the tell-tale spark of his orgasm in his groin.

“Can you come again? Just one more, Tessa, let me feel it,” he begs, and she reaches to rub at her clit with a high-pitched mhm.

He somehow holds on for the minute it takes her to work herself up to a third climax, but as she squeezes his cock he lets go with a roar, filling her with his cum until he’s completely spent.

Tessa is still shaking with aftershocks when he lowers them both back down to the blankets, his softening cock slipping from her body and smearing their combined release across her thighs. He turns both of them on their sides and just holds her, curling his much larger frame around hers and pressing his lips just below her ear.

When she feels like she can breathe again, Tessa slowly turns and props herself up on one elbow. She nuzzles her nose against his jaw in a gesture of pure affection.

“I’m gonna grab a glass of water,” she murmurs. “You want anything?”

Pero attempts a look of nonchalant curiosity.

“If I’m not mistaken, I remember you telling me about a certain tradition involving milk and cookies on Christmas Eve?”

Tessa falls against him with a giggle, craning her neck to look up at him with an amused shake of her head.

“You are insatiable, Pero Tovar.”

He grins and brushes a hand over her breast, enjoying the way her nipple instantly hardens against his palm.

“Only for some things, mi amor. Only for some things.”

———

Christmas Day dawns with gray skies that nearly match the thick layer of snow on the ground. Tessa wakes slowly, blinking up from where she’s laying on her side to see that the fire has long since burned itself out. Another source of heat lies curled around her, keeping her warm instead.

She twists in Pero’s arms to face him to find him already awake, gazing down at her in a way that makes her heart feel like it grows three sizes.

“Merry Christmas, Pero,” she murmurs, and his mouth twitches with the beginnings of a self-satisfied smirk when he hears how her voice is still a little raspy from overuse the night before.

“Merry Christmas, angel.”

He meets her lips in a good morning kiss, but a thought occurs to her and he doesn’t miss the frown that crosses her features.

“What is it?”

“It’s silly,” she says, shaking her head, “but I was just thinking - I don’t have a Christmas present to give you.”

Pero looks utterly bewildered for a moment. Then he breaks into the broadest grin she’s ever seen and rolls himself on top of her. He dots her face and neck with kisses as he shakes with laughter.

“Is that really what you think? That after all this, you are empty-handed?”

Tessa can’t help the way she squirms underneath him, reveling in the feel of his weight on top of her, even as she scrunches her nose in an attempt to muster some consternation.

“You know what I mean,” she grumbles. “It would have been nice to have something tangible for you, something for you to unwrap for your first modern Christmas.”

“I think you gave me something to unwrap last night, no?” He replies, arching one eyebrow suggestively at her. Tessa lets out an amused little huff.

“I have had so little in my life,” Pero tells her, his tone more serious. “So little I could call my own. But now…” Pero trails his fingertips down the curve of her hip, admiring the way his touch raises goosebumps across her skin. “How my fortunes have changed.”

He presses a soft kiss between her brows before dragging his nose along hers.

“Tessa, you have given me everything. No object wrapped up with a pretty bow could ever compare.”

Her expression softens, and she lifts her head to meet his lips. They spend the next few moments trading gentle kiss for gentle kiss before Pero pulls away.

“Although,” he murmurs thoughtfully, “now that you mention it, I actually have something for you.”

Tessa cocks her head to the side in bemused confusion.

“Really?”

Pero nods, and after a quick kiss to her hair he stands and disappears back into her bedroom.

“Perhaps it’s not truly a gift,” he says when he returns, “because it isn’t truly mine to give, but…”

He kneels down beside her and hands her the pendant, the wood and metal cool in her palm.

Tessa looks at him quizzically.

“It belongs to a witch,” he says simply. “I cannot find the humility to regret taking it in the first place. Not when it brought me to you. But as it happens, I have no further use for it.” He cups her chin and looks her in the eye so there is no mistaking his sincerity. “And I never will.”

He folds his other hand around hers and closes her fingers around the necklace. It’s suddenly very difficult for Tessa to see him through the tears in her eyes.

What can she possibly say to him in this moment? How can she ever convey what it means to her to have him allay the little fear that still lives deep in her heart that he might one day change his mind? How can she explain that I love you is far, far too small a phrase to encompass what she feels for him?

But the endless warmth in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips tell her that she doesn’t need to.

I know. I know, and I feel the same.

Pero’s stomach rumbles and they both laugh, the serious weight of the moment lifted. Tessa grins, and asks him a question she knows she will be happy to ask him over and over for the rest of their lives.

“You hungry?”

———

A few minutes later, Tessa and Pero stand in her kitchen, having barely bothered to put on clothing, and wait for her waffle iron to heat up. The sun breaks through the clouds and bounces off the snow that still blankets everything outside, filling the room with warm, brilliant light. Pero pulls Tessa into his arms and kisses her, soft and slow, just because he can, just because he wants to, and it tastes like love. Like a promise. Like the future.

Like magic.

[fin.]

———————————————————————

a/n:

To every person who read, liked, reblogged, commented on, or sent me a DM or ask about this story: thank you. To everyone who supported and encouraged me as I wrote this, I am more grateful than I can ever say.

This fic would not have happened without the love and support of this fandom community, and in particular:

@ezrasbirdie - Birdie, the moment you hopped into my DMs to tell me you liked this fic, when I was only maybe two chapters into it, I literally made a noise so loud my husband rushed into the room to make sure I was okay. I cannot believe I’m so lucky that I get to call you my friend. Thank you for always letting me ramble about this fic and all my other WIPs at you. ❤️

@honestly-shite - Maia, I think I remember you telling me that this was the first lengthy Pero fic you’d read??? And I’m so honored that you decided to take a chance on this story. AND THEN you went and created the MOST INCREDIBLE ART of my babies and I will never be able to capture in words how much I love that art and how much it means to me. Plus the art of Pero in a leather jacket??? I’m gonna work that in somewhere in this universe at some point, I swear. 💝

@jazzelsaur & @radiowallet - Jess & Cat, thank you for being two of the best friends a girl could possibly ask for, and two of the biggest cheerleaders of this fic. Your support and encouragement and love got me through writing this story and frequently just get me through the damn day. 💜🖤

@whataperfectwasteoftime - Penny, I cannot tell you how much I look always forward to our now near-daily chats. Please never ever stop yelling at me about Marcus Pike. Or Dave York. Or literally anything and anyone. And thank you for letting me yell back about Pero and Tessa and all sorts of things. 💖

@oonajaeadira - Adira, my Pero sister. Your reblogs of this story make my whole freaking day every single time. Thank you for talking me off the ledge when I was having such anxiety about landing this unwieldy plane, and reassuring me that, duh, of course I could do this. You had faith in me when I did not have faith in myself and I am forever grateful. 🧡

@iamskyereads @green-socks @lowlights - Skye, Sam, Laura: the asks and thoughts and inspo and comments y’all sent me kept me going on this story. Obsessing over this man and his scar and his scowl and his everything else with you guys gave me writing motivation out the wazoo even on days when I’d been feeling stuck. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 💙💚💛

Finally, an extra special thank you to my husband, for always being my #1 fan, for beta-ing every word I publish, for accepting and tolerating my Pedro hyperfixation with good humor, for cheering me on every step of the way in everything that I do, and for just being my person. I love you. 💘

Now, with all that out of the way…

I also have some good news: I am not done writing about Pero and Tessa.

✨Announcing The House I Will Live In, the Stranger At My Gate sequel!✨

Join me for a look into Pero and Tessa’s lives after Pero decides to stay. I do not plan for this to be a full-length, plot-heavy fic, but rather more of a multi-part, super-extended, relaxed fit-ish epilogue to SAMG.

More fluff.

More smut.

More magic.

(And more Moira.)

Coming soon.

❤️

[4dtk]

hello, i hope you’re doing well! can I request holding hands 13, hugs 34, kiss 7 & 31, and touching 38 with johnny? the plot could revolve them finally deciding that it’s time they’re ready to try for kids since they just moved into a new place! thank you <

got carried away. enjoy LMAO

hand-holding, 13: linking hands together during sex

hugs, 34: hugging while grabbing butt

kisses, 7 & 31: passionate kisses, gentle stroking of cheeks

touching, 38: stroking their leg

warnings/tags: dom!johnny, sub!reader, fem!reader, breeding/impregnation kink, daddy kink, brief cockwarming, cunnilingus/oral (f receiving), fingering, missionary, mating press, vaginal penetration

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI!!!

"how’d you like the place, mrs. suh?" you can’t help but let out a smile at the honorific, leaning into his side at the stunning place you’d manage to get. taking inspiration from pinterest, the array of options for you was blinding, but soon you settled on a style that you could both agree on along with the carefully crafted furnishings you’ve chosen.

"it’s so sexy," you whisper with a laugh, looking around at the pristine kitchen counters and overhead lighting. you’re saying it half as invitation, and you smile knowingly when johnny turns it around to compliment you.

"ya know what else is sexy?" rolling your eyes, you turn to face him to see a lazy smirk stretch across his face. johnny says nothing more and leans in gently, taking your lips with his in a sensual kiss that shows no matter how cheeky he is with you, the love that’s gotten him wrapped around your finger is undeniably unconditional. in a way, it was literal, too where the silver band wraps around your fourth finger as a reminder of your shared love.

your husband pulls away just for a second, "for how many times i’ve came in you, i was sure i would’ve knocked you up by now." johnny has the pleasure to witness the malfunction of your brain, unable to form any words at the casual sentence he drops about fucking impregnating you. he coos and lets out a giggle when you try to pull away from him in embarrassment.

"you-! you’re really not shy saying those kinds of things?!" playfully you push him away, ignoring the turn in your stomach when he had murmured with a low voice. his apology came in the form of kisses along your forehead right up to your lips where you melt once again into his chilling embrace, fingertips as cold as the arctic while his body emanated warmth. you never understood his body temperature, but you couldn’t care much when his touches leave traces of electricity along your skin.

johnny walks you back, feeling around for the kitchen counter that he accidentally bumps you against. with a muttered apology said in haste, your lover captures your lips with his even more hungrily, using the strength in him to prop you up onto the counter. reluctantly, he pulls away again.

"aren’t you an eager one?" his hand strokes the legs that accommodate him, spread to hold him as close to you while his forehead rests on yours.

"how can i not? you’re so tempting without even knowing it…"

you sigh affectionately, "is it also as tempting as kids running around in our new house?"

johnny jerks back in surprise. "you… you want to try, now?"

with a hesitant smile, you reply, "i mean, why not?" you’re afraid you’ve said the wrong thing when johnny’s surprised look doesn’t let up, but soon you’re met with his contagious laugh, looking at you like you were the only thing to exist in his world. his heart’s never felt so warm before looking at you as it does right now and he has to hold himself back from taking you then and there.

"now who’s the eager one?"

you fail to shove him away, a grin plastered on your face as your cheeks flare up completely now, "bitch, you were the one who made the lewd joke!"

"it was a fact," you roll your eyes for the second time that night, pulling him in anyway to smash your lips with his. you're needy, unable to keep your hands off of him even when your skin is stinging from the cold temperature of the marble counters. johnny groans softly into your mouth, pushing onto your hips more and more to feel any form of friction with you.

he picks you off the counters effortlessly with a tight arm wound around your middle and lazy pecks placed onto your neck.

"do you think we'll get a noise complaint tomorrow?"

pursing your lips and shrugging was your answer, impatient with the countless questions and quips johnny liked to do during your sessions. "okay, okay, i'll shut up." johnny knows you like the back of his hand. it's an obvious feat, certainly, since you decided to say yes to his private proposal on the top of an observatory. under the stars, where they had given their blessing.

johnny knows you like the back of his hand in that way, too. and you forgot how fucking skilful he could be when duty calls.

you find your brows furrowed and your hand clutching onto the sheets for dear life while johnny's tongue relentlessly flicks against your clit. he eats like it's his last meal, both hands holding your thighs open. the warmth of his tongue makes you shiver, already feeling your slick leaking in between your cheeks.

obscene noises bounce off the walls of the new place, sheets already messy from your constant thrashing although everything else — the cupboards, the bedside table, the vanity — looked untouched. at least now you know this innerspring mattress was a good choice.

"you- fuck, johnny!" your moans only fuel your lover more, who settles into a more comfortable position, suctioning your bud into his mouth. your body twitches so much that you can feel the tightening of his grasp on your thighs, stilling you into a thrilling sensation of oversensitivity even before he's got himself buried in you.

"argh- fuck, fuuuck, mhnh-!" johnny swears his eyes roll back at the way you groan out multiple please's, which merges with the whimpers for him to go faster and deeper just as he sticks a finger in. your cunt clasps around the digit easily, mouth now speechless from how deep he reaches into you. "oh my god, j-johnny!"

johnny slips in a second finger, and a second later, a third which you easily welcome with your sopping pussy. he pumps all three into you at an agonisingly slow pace, half focusing on the lewd noises coming from below him and half licking up the arousal that lingers around his lips.

the hooded lids of his eyes stare up at you like prey, lowering his tongue back onto your clit. the combination makes you unravel, little mewls escaping your lips that contribute to the heat of the room.

"johnny- please fuck- please- can you fuck me now? c-can't-"

he shuts you up by sucking harder, causing your thighs to close in around his head. your pleas is not lost to him, but you're more focused now on chasing your high selfishly with how fucking good he's working his tongue despite the slow speed of his fingers.

"impatient." lick. "little." lick. "bitch." lick. he's loving every second where he doesn't give into you. "plus, you're gonna have to do more than that, honey."

"i-i need your cock, please, johnny!"

tut tut. "wrong name, baby." you whimper when his fingers slowly slip out, teasing your gummy walls by rubbing at your hole. you hardly can form any words, but you try your best anyway.

"c-cock, daddy- want your cock so fucking bad-"

"again."

sinking further into the delirious feeling of pleasure, you're willing to let go of any dignity just to have him deep in you, shooting loads and loads of his seed where there's no room for you to not get pregnant. "ah- d-daddy, please- i need your cock to split me open!"

"n-need your cum." the fingers halt, johnny's eyes are filled with you splitting your legs wider and wider. your hole is begging for him, clenching around nothing as it leaks more and more.

he hardly can contain his excitement, pants shimmied down to reveal his tight boxers. it's straining against his already hardened length, and he sighs in relief when he finally pulls the last remaining fabric down showing his tip that's angrily red, aching to be in you just by a few pumps of his hand. "all for you, pretty girl."

the name elicits a bashful smile from you, "need a suck, daddy?"

johnny caresses your sensitive sex gently, "'s okay, just wanna be deep in you. ain't that right, babygirl?"

you can taste him on your lips as he kisses you softly, a hand reaching up to stroke your cheek with a ghost of a touch. his eyes soften just a little before he nudges it into you, playing with your cunt just a little that deliciously clasps around the intrusion. a long groan leaves his lips when he finally gets deep into you, bottoming out in no time. smoothly, he slips an arm around your waist, supporting your arching back that grinds to feel more of him.

"that's right, baby, just like that. moan for me." his thrusts start out slow and you want to cum just from those few movements, his shaft brushing up against your walls so obscenely. your moans are like music to him, lips occasionally lingering at his ears where your repeated calls of daddy, daddy makes his thighs shake and his hips stutter.

you're certain you're drooling by now, trapping the man with your legs. his hips move quicker now, muttering praises that has your pussy fluttering around him and arms curling more around his neck. the line blurs more and more and all that's residing in your head is how good he feels in you paired with the wet pap, pap, pap of his hips meeting your cunt. gradually, the knot deep in your tummy tights like a coil, aching for release.

"god! j-johnny... you're so fucking deeep... hah-" with a tongue lolled out, you can only mumble short sentences, sometimes choked out in a sad attempt to call out to your lover. "ah- i am, a-aren't i? can't wait to- fuck- pump you full of my cum. want you filled to the brim, you'd like that, yeah?"

like a broken record, there's a chorus of yes's that leave you, at the thought of seeing your pussy struggling to take the many loads of johnny's seed as you whine and thrash at the way he'd push it back into you. and that's exactly what he plans to do.

he grunts when you tighten around him, jerking and transitioning into shorter, quicker strokes, desperate for release until he finally bursts. head buried in your neck, hot breaths littering your skin. you're not far behind, toes curling at the immense pleasure you're experiencing that when it comes, you shiver at the way you come undone, relishing in the way johnny spurts the warm liquid into you.

you're left to rest for a minute, his cock still buried in you. he can't get enough of you, he can never get enough of you. that's why he finds himself fucking into you again, the amount of rest not doing much for your sensitive body. it overwhelms you so much that you can't help but let your wanton moans fill the room, riddled with not a single thought.

"you feel so good around me, baby." johnny takes your legs, lifting them up from the previous missionary position. his cock delves deeper the same time he presses them into your chest, eliciting a shameless cry from you, begging him to move. "just to be certain, hm? gotta be sure that you're full of my cum — so i'd have the pleasure of seeing your belly swell up with my baby, your boobs full with milk."

"plus, i'm gonna need to be sure that i'm gonna become a daddy." using an arm to hold your legs down, the free hand grasps onto yours that's holding onto the headboard. he misses the first time, but catches your fingers in time with his thrusts.

"daddy... hah- please, you're filling me up so g-- so good!"

johnny groans, impaling you with his dick with a speed faster by the thousands compared to the previous round. with your legs tucked snugly to your chest, you can do nothing but plead with your eyes for any sort of relief.

"cum- cumming! cumming! jo- johnnyyy..." with a scream of his name, you're gushing around his length, head making a terrible indent into the softness of your pillows. your mouth grows lax, drool leaking from all sides of your mouth before the other's thrusts falter bit by bit. you take his cock to the hilt, balls twitching from releasing into you.

"fuck, baby, take it- take all of it in your pussy." he shoots another load deep into your cunt and you feel sticky all of a sudden, coming down from the intense high of the dizzying state you were always put in whenever johnny was in you. with a kiss to your twined hands, johnny murmurs out i love you to your fingers, planting another kiss on the silver ring that you donned.

weakly, you reply. "love you too, so much." although, you're confused when the other doesn't pull out.

"it's a plug. so i don't have to worry about you not getting a positive on that pregnancy test." you giggle at that. giving into him even when your legs return to their natural state. tenderly, johnny manoeuvres you onto your side, his still hard length resting in you and his hands move to your ass, squeezing it that makes you squeal softly. "it's a win-win. i get a baby, and you won't have to clean the sheets."

"oh my god," your words are littered with laughter, exchanging small talk with the slowly darkening sky with the promise of a little one and a lifetime with johnny suh, the man who'd given you the stars and the moon if you'd asked.

[the-hinky-panda]

Day Two: Ghoul

10/2: Ghoul

Universe/Characters: By Land, Sea, and Air (Frankie Morales, Santiago Garcia, Will Miller, Benny Miller) 

“So basically, you’re just dealing with a zombie!” 

A chorus of groans erupts around the beach campfire. Except for you, you laugh. It’s the first time that you’ve been around the entire group of Frankie’s friends. First it was just the Millers, Will and Benny, who came for a weekend visit. Then Santi came for a couple quick visits. But this is the first time all three of them had been on St. George together. And it’s been a treat seeing them interact with each other. Honestly, you should be recording this conversation. You could go viral with this level of comedy.

“Benny,” Frankie sounds exasperated but there’s a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “If it were a zombie, they would just call it a zombie, not a ghoul.” 

“But it does the same thing!” The younger Miller brother is stubborn in his analysis. “It eats brains from dead people!” 

“Like you?” Santi quips which earns him a flipping of the bird from Benny. 

You decide to take some pity on Benny. “Alright, Benny has a point. There are some overlapping similarities between ghouls and zombies. But similarities don’t make them the same thing.” 

“Speak, oh great folklorist,” Frankie says. 

“‘Folklorist’?” Santi snorts. “Is that even a word?” 

“Sounds like one,” Will comments. 

“We’re going to run with it,” Frankie motions in your direction with his beer. “Go ahead, cariño.” 

Okay, now you feel a bit awkward, with all four sets of eyes focused on you. And wait, did Frankie just call you cariño in front of his friends? Yeah, that certainly isn’t going to make it hard to sleep tonight. But they’re all patiently waiting for your explanation, sipping beers around the bonfire. So you take a hearty drink from your own bottle and set it down in the soft sand next to you. 

“So we’ve all agreed that a zombie is a person who died and came back, hunting down living people for…sustenance. And while a ghoul basically does the same thing, surviving on brains and organs and blood of the living, the ghoul is a creature. It was never human to begin with, it was just a creature. In some folklore, ghouls are limited to just existing in graveyards.” 

 “Well that would make the zombie apocalypse easier to deal with,” Will comments dryly. “Shove ‘em all into a cemetery. Problem solved.” 

Santi laughs as he leans back on the sand. “How did we even get on this subject?” 

“Who cares?” Benny chuckles. “This is the best conversation I’ve had in months.” 

Will winks at you over the flames of the fire. “What other ghost stories does the folklorist have for us?” 

Frankie looks over at you, eyes bright and a gentle smile on his face. He looks…proud of you and you can’t help but smile back. “Tell them about the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, cariño. Or the hanging tree at that Saloon.” 

“Isn’t there some kind of haunted Chucky doll in Key West?” Santi asks. 

“Oh fuck yeah,” Benny sits up straighter. “Tell us about Key West Chucky.” 

This is the best time you’ve had in years, the most lighthearted. And with the admiring look Frankie is giving you, you would tell ghost stories for the rest of your life. “Okay, well first, his name is Robert Otto and he belonged to a little boy named Gene who lived with his family in Key West.” 

[frozenjokes]

they are my favorite little guys. next chapter sneak peak as a treat bc I need something to go with my doodles

tw: gun violence

***

“Sausage, Martyn,” Cleo kept their voice level, but there was no hiding the shock in their expression. This.. well, she didn’t blame them, and she certainly wasn’t going to fight them. Cleo looked over her shoulder to the ouija board. Poor things. “I won’t get in your way, but you could wait and see if Scar learns anything from his ghosts. They might have a solution.”

“That ship has sailed,” Sausage sighed, “I’m no fool. I know this is a dangerous bridge to burn. If I step back, it’ll get out of control. I am sorry, Scar, I don’t take any joy in this.”

“No, I understand,” Scar’s tone was light, almost casual, but his eyes were dark, “Though, please, humor me for a minute, won’t you? I have a question.”

“If it helps you make your peace, go ahead,” Sausage’s gaze hardened, his grip on his gun tightening.

“Great! You said you were sorry, Sausage, sorry about what happened to me on that island. You took partial responsibility because you sent me to Cleo. You didn’t have any idea of knowing what might happen, but still, you were sorry. That was kind. Well, Cub, the one who did this to me, he wanted to know what would happen if he combined the living and the dead, smashing the two things together to see if they stuck. It’s lunacy, it is, but whatever he did to me, it’s deeper than just aesthetics,” The wings, as if on cue, flapped lightly. Scar gave them a small side eye, an expression Cleo couldn’t read crossing his face, “I’m not alone in my body anymore. I can feel it, Sausage, something eager, something hungry, inside me.” Scar tilted his head back into Sausage’s gun, just enough so he could look him in the eyes, “Long winded explanation, I know, one of my many flaws. I only meant..” Scar paused, humming, “How sorry will you be if that bullet in my head doesn’t kill me?”

“That’s enough, Scar,” Sausage growled, and Cleo closed their eyes as his finger tightened on the trigger. She didn’t need to see that. The whirr of something whipping through the air sounded at nearly the same time as the shot. The following chorus of yells was swallowed by the bang, Cleo opening her eyes just in time to see Scar and Sausage on the floor, wrestling in such a tight knot, Martyn was struggling to intervene. Scar’s dark hair was stained red, enough to make Cleo wonder if Sausage hadn’t missed. If whatever Cub had done had really kept him alive. It was a moment later she realized she should help, but in the next another shot was fired, and this time, it was clearly Sausage that screamed. Martyn leapt on top of Scar, but he rolled, throwing the other man off and staggering to his feet with Sausage’s pistol. The left side of his head was coated in blood, a separate gash under his right eye split open and bleeding. Cleo had never seen anyone look so crazed.

***

read the rest here

[badfanfix]

Title: The Caretaker

Fandom: Pokémon Legends: Arceus

Focus Character: Marie (The Pasture Lady)

Will I finish this? No idea.

—

At 4 am, the day began.

Most of the residents of Jubilife Village were still asleep, the Bidoof on the row house roof snoring as Marie passed by. It would be a busy day, and the ghost Pokemon in the pastures needed to be given dinner before the first rays of daylight sent them scurrying to bed. Ress was leaning against the closed gate, trying hard to look like he wasn’t snoozing away the beginning of his shift. Poor man had been at it too long—she knew he was up late with his Bidoof, training to defend the village. She had promised not to tell, though the thought of the mild-mannered man as anyone’s ‘secret weapon’ made her lips twitch as she tried not to smile.

Marie unlatched the gate, laughing quietly as her Luxray, which she had tasked to keep watch, sprung to his paws, mane smushed to one side. “Sleeping on the job?” She tidied his mane out of habit. “Must have been a quiet night. Good job.” She pulled a cake lure from her pocket, generously sprinkled with Cheri berries and mushrooms. Luxray gave a small trill and licked it off her hands, gobbling the treat down and purring as he wound around her. Luxray still acted like a little Shinx, though he was now easily taller than her shoulders. Rei had once asked how Marie had caught an Alpha, but she had dismissed his question. Luxray was just a big boy, not a terrifying monster of a creature like the ones Akari and Rei brought in.

The ghost Pokémon realized the attendant had arrived and flocked to her like a wave of cold mist. Originally she had been terrified of the specters, but now she only laughed as a particularly mischievous Haunter tried to snatch her bag for first choice of the food she had brought. “No mochi today! Beni couldn’t get enough sootfoot roots.” A chorus of dismayed cries. Marie had long since realized Pokemon were perfectly capable of understanding the word ‘no’. “My neighbor made plenty of muffins for you all. No shoving, Duskull! You’ll all get one.” She began to dole out the treats, not even flinching when an eager Basculegion leapt out of the ground itself to catch the thrown food. The fish Pokemon swam through the air overhead before circling her, splashing her with a flick of ghostly water then vanishing.

The sun followed on the heels of her first feeding, bringing the wakings of a dozen or more flying-type Pokemon. The ghosts scattered as predicted, leaving Marie to change the bandages on an overeager Staravia’s wing. “I told you not to pick on that Snover,” she chided gently as she made sure the salve was helping with the frost bite. “You need to be more careful, and less of a bully. Just because her berries look tasty doesn’t mean you can swoop out of the sky to try to eat them.” The Staravia peeped pathetically, trying to play up for sympathy. Marie gave its feathers a preening stroke as she replaced the bandages. The bird clucked with contentment. “You’ll be flying fit in a day. But till then, don’t bother the ice types.” She was sure her advice would be ignored.

The day progressed as usual—brushing fur and cleaning up droppings and feeding Pokémon and breaking up scuffles. Occasionally a bag of new Pokémon, mostly ice and fighting type, would arrive from the base camps. Some of the new Pokémon were hostile, not taking their capture with grace and certainly not ready to respect a small woman in an apron. Luxray was kept busy pinning newcomers while Marie made sure their injuries were treated and bandaged.

It was somewhat lonesome work. After all, few humans in Jubilife willingly came into the pastures. The Pokémon scared many. Recently a few would venture close to the gates, asking Marie’s advice on how to care for one Pokémon or another that Rei or Akari had helped them befriend. But for the most part, Marie was left with the Pokémon on her own.

The sole exception was, of course, the youngest Survey Corps members. They visited often, cheerfully checking on the Pokémon they had left in Marie’s care. Akari would often bring Marie supplies to feed her wards, and Rei was a deft hand at brushing out stubborn knots in fur. Recently they had been kept busy, always running off to the far end of Hisui to deal with the enraged Nobles. Marie hoped they would spend more time in the pastures once that was done. After all, it was their efforts that had so dramatically increased the number of Pokémon in her keeping.

“I wonder if Akari and Rei are nearly done quelling the Nobles?” Marie wondered to no one. She was used to not receiving a response beyond chirrs and growls. “At the rate we are going, there won’t be any Pokémon left in the Alabaster Icelands.”

Luxray flicked his ear as if in agreement, then looked at the sky. It was nearly evening, the bug Pokémon filling the air with their plaintive songs as the last rays of light chased across the grass. Marie wondered if she could take a break and go to the Wallflower, get some fresh mochi for once, but the mud that had splattered across her apron from cleaning out a particularly stubborn Stantler’s hooves dissuaded her. She would settle for the leftovers, as always. Anything she couldn’t eat would feed the ghost Pokémon in the morning, and then—

She was so caught up in her thoughts she barely noticed the sky turn blood red overhead. It was not til Luxray snarled, moving closer to her, that she looked up from the food she was preparing.

“Well that’s no good.”

The Pokémon around her began to bray and hiss, bugs burrowing into the ground to hide while the Fire types snarled at the new challenge. Marie had never seen them in such a state. She tried to approach a normally docile Purrugly, but the Pokémon only growled before turning tail to shelter under some bushes. Luxray whined, nudging her shoulder away from the others. She pat his head without thinking. “It will be ok. Maybe it’s just… a strange sunset.”

She hurried back to the gate, unsurprised to find the village in almost as much uproar as the Pokémon in the pastures. “What’s going on?” she demanded of Russ. The guard was sweating bullets.

“The Survey Corps just got back from quelling Lord Avalugg, and suddenly this!” He gestured at the sky. “I heard from Captain Zisu the Commander is looking into it. She heard this was caused by that kid from the sky.”

Marie felt her stomach lurch. She had spent so much time around the Survey Corps, so long that she often forgot that one had come from the rift itself. She couldn’t even remember which of the teens it had been—she was so used to their smiles and eagerness to show her their newest acquisitions, their tears as they had to release a Pokémon from her care. They were so alike, it hardly mattered to her which was from the sky. How could either of them possibly cause this? It made no sense!

“That’s nonsense.” She climbed over the gate. “I need to talk to the Commander. The Pokémon in the pastures are all upset—perhaps if they see Rei and Akari they’ll be assured—“

There was a gasp, and the crowd along Floraro Street pushed back, letting someone pass. “This way, come along now.” There was no mistaking Captain Cyllene’s voice. Marie was pushed back, unable to see who she was leading out of town.

“The rift faller…”

“I heard Captain Kamado banished them for causing this!”

“How awful! Why would they do this to us?”

“They are awfully close to Pokemon, maybe they were planning this all along…”

Marie tried to elbow through the crowd to stop Cyllene, to shout there was no way a Pokémon, much less a child, could cause this. She was drowned out by the jeers of the other villagers. One of the village children shoved into her as they ran past, knocking her down. Luxray jumped the gate to her side. Normally she would scold him for leaving the pastures, but she was stunned. Several people shrieked as the Pokémon helped her up, growling slightly at the child that had pushed her as he would any reckless new Pokémon in the pastures. Marie hastily stood, pushing Luxray back towards the gate.

“Go back, Luxray. I’m fine. It’s fine. We have to calm down the Pokémon.” Her blood felt like ice. She could feel the suspicious glares of the others, her neighbors…

If they thought the children were dangerous because they were comfortable with Pokémon, what must they think of her?

[osferth]

the haunting of cookham house: chapter 1

summary: In the midst of an exhausting flat search, newlyweds Sophia and Anjali Abbot suddenly inherit a large country house miles away in the serene village of Cookham. It proves to be much more than the couple bargained for, however, when they arrive to find it already occupied... by nine ancient ghosts.

tagging: @lauwrite1225​ @maggiescarborough @morosemagick @solinarimoon @lannisterdaddyissues @firexfate @93xdiagonxalley @aadmelioraa @emilyhufflepufftlk

“Won’t be long now,” murmured Finan.

The laboured breaths of the elderly woman began to slow as the ghosts grouped around her bed watched over almost reverently.

“She had a good life,” Uhtred said quietly.

“At least she’s comfortable,” Sihtric added.

“Yeah, there are worse ways to go,” Osferth pointed out, gesturing to the arrow lodged in his chest. There was a mumbled chorus of assent amongst the ghosts before Hild shushed them all.

“Quiet,” she hissed.

“I think it’s happening,” said Father Beocca. “Look.”

Silence finally fell as a bright light began to emanate from the woman’s body, Beocca making a sign of the cross as her spirit rose up to face them all. “Who are you?” she asked.

Everyone immediately looked toward Uhtred, who for some reason was still considered their unofficial leader despite being… well, dead.

“I was once the lord of the village you call Cookham,” he began ostentatiously, “true Lord of Bebbanburg and a warrior with great reputation, now forced to wander the lands where I was slain as a ghost for all eterni-”

“And she’s gone,” finished Father Pyrlig unceremoniously.

“This always happens,” muttered Uhtred, staring at the patterned wallpaper before him. “I do not understand.”

Pyrlig shrugged. “Yeah, well, the rest of us do.”

“I have always thought not everyone seems to enjoy your speeches as much as you think,” commented Skade, appearing suddenly behind Osferth and making him jump.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that all the time,” he grumbled.

“Oh, honestly!” snapped Hild suddenly, glaring at all of them. “The woman has barely passed on! At the very least, we should show some respect.”

Father Beocca nodded. “The abbess is right. I shall say a prayer for her soul.” He cleared his throat slightly before beginning. “Our Lord in Heaven…”

Finan leaned across to Sihtric. “Bagsie her room,” he whispered over the prayer, to which the Dane only rolled his eyes.

“Amen,” said Beocca finally.

“Amen,” chorused the ghosts, Finan a little louder and later than the rest. With nothing more to add, silence returned for a brief moment until it was broken by Osferth.

“I wonder what’ll happen to this place once she’s taken away.”

Pyrlig looked sideways at him. “Well, I imagine someone else will move in,” he said dryly.

“All of you!” said Hild exasperatedly. “Please! Her body is still warm, for goodnessʼ sake.”

Looking appropriately chastised, Osferth looked down at the floor. “Perhaps one of us should say a few words,” he suggested. 

“I shall do it,” said Uhtred immediately, straightening up. “As the lord of Cookham, I…” 

“And he's off again,” muttered Pyrlig, shaking his head as he left the room. The other ghosts quickly followed suit amid murmurs and eye rolls, although Uhtred did not notice as his speech grew more passionate and heartfelt. 

“Who will be the one to reclaim this as their home?” he sighed finally, looking through the window at the overgrown front garden. 

~~

“Um… let’s take a look at the view, shall we?”

The estate agent led Sophia over to the window with an apologetic look on his face, Anjali trailing slightly behind with about as much enthusiasm as you would expect when buying a cramped, one-bedroom flat in the middle of nowhere. 

Peering over Sophia’s shoulder, she was greeted with the scenic image of a local chip shop sandwiched between a defunct barber shop and a Londis. Just on time, an old poster tacked onto the front door swung off one corner and was quickly carried down the street by a gust of wind.

“Well,” began Sophia uncertainly, “at least we won’t have to go far for groceries. Or fish and chips.”

“I don’t like fish or chips,” Anjali muttered.

Sophia squinted at the shop sign. “They also do kebabs,” she suggested, although she did not sound too keen.

“I’ll leave you two to have a chat in here,” said the estate agent tactfully. “Just give me a shout when you’re ready, alright?”

Anjali watched him disappear into the kitchen before turning to her wife. “I do like kebabs, I s’pose,” she conceded. Sophia smiled slightly, but before she could reply, her phone started buzzing.

“Hang on, I’ll just… hello?”

“Hello, is this Sophia Abbot?” asked a slightly-garbled male voice.

“Speaking,” she replied.

“I’m calling about a house.”

“We’re only looking at flats, we can’t afford to buy a house.”

“This one’s not for sale.”

Sophia frowned. “Well then, why are you calling?” she snapped, ending the call. God. Some estate agents really were the worst-

Her phone buzzed again before she could have a chance to think. Still irritated, she picked it up but did not answer.

“Sorry, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” said the same man quickly. “I’m a solicitor at Willard and Phillips and I’m calling to inform you that you have, in fact, inherited a house.”

~~

The moments after that were a blur for Sophia and, after being informed of the news, for Anjali, too. Their estate agent simply seemed relieved to not have to accompany the couple on visits to flats that had, quite frankly, seen better days.

An appointment was scheduled for the very next morning. It all felt wildly surreal to Anjali and particularly Sophia, who was baffled upon being informed that the previous owner of the beautiful Cookham property was actually a distant great-aunt… or something along those lines, anyway. Even the solicitor seemed to be having trouble connecting the two, but as there was no other living relative, the house was legally Sophia’s. 

Unable to contain their excitement, they promptly called off the flat search and decided to move in that same afternoon. Neither of them were familiar with Cookham, but the further they drove through the more they grew to love the village. With its gorgeous landscapes and old-fashioned architecture, Sophia and Anjali felt only enthusiastic to be able to call this place home.

“Feels like we’ve gone back in time, doesn’t it?” Anjali sighed, gazing out of the window.

“Yeah,” smiled Sophia, “it’s nothing like Croydon.”

Anjali consulted her phone, reading through the Wikipedia entry on Cookham. “It’s got a lot of history to it,” she said. “Listen to this: ‘By the 8th century there was an Anglo-Saxon abbey in Cookham and one of the later abbesses was-” sorry, no idea how to pronounce that- ‘widow of King Offa of Mercia.’ It’s still there, I think. We could visit at some point!”

“8th century,” repeated Sophia. “Bloody hell, it’s ancient, isn’t it?”

“Ooh, look: ‘It became the centre of a power struggle between Mercia and Wessex. Later King Alfred made Sashes Island one of his-’ er, berrs? Boors? Dunno- ‘to help defend against Viking invaders.’ This is so cool!”

“Is there anything a bit more recent?” Sophia asked. 

Anjali rolled her eyes, skimming over the rest of the article.

“Nothing interesting… ooh, except,” she snickered, “a ‘Miss Isabella Fleming in 1869, who wanted to stop nude bathing at Odney.’”

Sophia snorted. “What?”

“Yeah, there is zero elaboration on that one.”

“Shame.”

~~

“That yellow wagon’s given me an awful headache,” Finan complained, rubbing his head. 

Brida looked disdainfully at him. “That’s not possible,” she said flatly. “You’re dead. And I believe they called it an ambulance last week.”

“Well, I would’ve had a headache if I was still alive,” muttered Finan. 

Beocca sighed. “I am beginning to miss her already.”

Uhtred nodded, although the other ghosts suspected that had more to do with her being an indirect relative of his rather than him having any actual interest in her as a person. It was taken for granted that he continued to behave as though he still had ownership over the cottage - and indeed the village itself - even if he was because he was physically unable to leave it.

A creak sounded from the far corner of the room suddenly, startling most of the ghosts. Skade looked up from her seat by the table, a vase slightly out of place, as she met them all with narrowed eyes. 

Thoroughly unsettled, Uhtred and all three of his men turned around without a word. Brida shook her head at all of them and marched off to sit beside Skade. Their relationship had been rocky at first, certainly characterised by animosity while they were still alive, but spending over a millennium together had softened it somewhat. It was more to do with the fact that nobody else, other than Hild and sometimes Osferth, tended to visit the lake she haunted. While Brida spent the most time at the lake, Hild had started venturing out to visit every so often, her hatred of the seer lessening as her curiosity grew. Osferth’s visits were still rare, however, given that he remained wracked with guilt. 

“I wonder-”

“Who will come to reclaim this place as their home,” Pyrlig said, interrupting the former Lord of Bebbanburg, “yes, we wonder that too.”

Despite their respect for him, Finan and Osferth snickered.

“Well,” said Hild, “I don’t think we’ll have to wonder for much longer.” She waved all of them over to where she was standing by the window, Brida being the last to get there - the last they looked, Skade remained in her seat.

Standing near the back, Osferth suddenly felt a presence on his left. He jolted upon seeing the seer standing only inches away, smirking. 

“Y’know, I’m beginning to think you enjoy this,” he grumbled.

“Looks a bit like that medical wagon, doesn’t it?” Finan commented, watching the car pull into the driveway.

“Ambulance,” Brida supplied flatly.

“I don’t think that’s an ambulance, Brida,” said Uhtred wisely, blind to the dirty look she gave him.

Hild shushed them as two women climbed out. One was considerably shorter and clad in an oversized jumper and jogging bottoms. Her skin was brown and her hair dark and wavy, curling over her shoulders. The other was slightly taller, dressed in jeans and a lilac knitted jumper. She was dark-skinned and her curly hair was pulled back, away from her face. Her arm was around the other woman’s shoulders as both gazed in awe up at the house.

~~

“I think - this is it!” Sophia announced, slowing down as the car bumped over the gravelled drive. “Oh, wow.”

Parking the car, she turned the ignition off and opened the door to let herself out, taking in the sight of the grand house before them.

“It’s even prettier than in the photos,” Anjali sighed dreamily. “And it’s all ours.”

“I still can’t believe it,” said Sophia, breaking her gaze from the house to look at her wife. 

Anjali beamed, pressing a little kiss to her lips. “Well, shall we?” she said, offering Sophia her arm. Sophia smiled and hooked her arm in Anjali’s, the two of them making their way over to the door. 

As she turned the key in the lock, she felt a strange sensation from above, almost as though she was being watched. 

Anjali shook her arm a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said quickly, “it’s nothing.” Shaking her head, she pushed the door open. 

~~

“Did you see that!” Finan exclaimed, watching the young couple before them briefly kiss before disappearing under the doorframe.

“I think we all did,” said Osferth dryly. 

“Times have changed,” Uhtred said thoughtfully. 

Sihtric rolled his eyes. “Have they?” 

He was the only one who noticed the way Brida had begun looking longingly towards Skade, the seer seemingly having tired of tormenting Osferth for once. 

“Well, it’s been a thousand years,” Father Pyrlig pointed out snidely, missing what was going on. “Obviously they have. Jesus.”

Clearly in a rush to get a closer look at the people who had ‘reclaimed his home’, Uhtred quickly left the room - prompting the other ghosts to follow.

“He was never one for patience, was he?” huffed Father Beocca as they descended the stairs. 

Hild raised her eyebrows momentarily. “I’m afraid not.”

~~

“How old did they say the actual house was?” Sophia inquired, peering over Anjali’s shoulder at her phone. 

“Er… oh, yeah, here! It was built in 1808 and renovated in 1953.”

Sophia grinned. “Reckon it’s haunted, then?” 

“Probably,” Anjali said, all-too serious. Out of the two, she was the believer - Sophia was the staunch sceptic. Anything even slightly out of the ordinary terrified Anjali, from flickering lights to objects moving without cause, while Sophia always had a rational explanation handy. Perhaps it was a good thing, then, that this fear did not extend to spiders - those were Sophia’s weakness. 

The chess board was what caught Sophia’s eye first. “This is so cool,” she murmured, leaning over to pick up a pawn. Upon seeing that it was coated in a thin layer of dust, however, she pulled away. As she did so, she felt a strange sensation course across her forearm, almost as though a cold breeze had blown its way over. Ever the sceptic, she assumed there was a window open nearby and thought nothing of it. 

~~

Finan shuddered, backing away from the chess board. “God, I’d forgotten how awful that feels.” 

Pyrlig rolled his eyes from where he was standing a safe distance away.

~~

Just as Anjali was about to collapse onto the couch with the golden-gilded legs she had been eyeing for several minutes, Sophia pulled her away.

“It’s all dusty down here,” she explained, her voice muffled by the hand she was using to cover her nose. “Let’s dump our stuff upstairs and take a look around.”

“Won’t it be dusty upstairs, too?” Anjali dubiously pointed out.

“Nah, they'll have cleaned the bedrooms out at least,” said Sophia, “‘cos the last owner died up there.”

Anjali stared at her. “What?” she exploded. “Which one? I don’t want to sleep in the same room where someone died, what if-”

“It won’t be haunted,” Sophia quickly reassured her, “‘cos we’re not gonna stay in that room, not if it scares you that much. Ghosts aren’t real either way, so... you’ll be alright.”

“Agree to disagree,” mumbled Anjali, letting Sophia lead her upstairs anyway. As she left, she felt the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. It could have been simple paranoia, as Sophia would explain it away as, or it could have been something Anjali did not even want to consider - but either way, she was beginning to understand exactly why old houses gave some people the creeps.