#I want to look into the forest and feel a hymn build up in my chest and escape from my lips

[babsbabbles]

Modern atheistic scientists: There was nothing and then there was. The universe is younger than we thought actually. Life is so unlikely to have evolved, it is considered an impossible occurance. The reason we should preserve life and biodiversity is because every living thing has inherent value simply by being alive. Humanity may be more unique than we expected.

Bible-believing christians:

[sunshinebingo]

Hello hello!! Here is the 3rd and last part of this amazing fic. My apologies that it has taken so long. If you haven't read the previous part, you can check the Part 1 here by @sideralwriting, and Part 2 here by @thelovelymadone. Both of their chapters are chef's kiss 😘 I hope mine is good enough 😅 Also, check out the Masterlist of the Acotar Writing Circle here for more fics!!

Thank you @azrielshadowssing for organising the Acotar Writing Circles. They are always really fun to be a part of. ♥

Pairing: Helion x LoA

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning: little bit of smut 🤏

Read Part 3 on Ao3 or below the cut

I hope you enjoy! 🌊

Chapter 3: There are no rainbows without rain

It’s her.

He knew it before but he is certain of it now. As her lips gently moves against his and that ever-present tether pulls them closer, all thoughts and dreams he has had of her flashed behind his closed eyes and he knows that she is the one that the Gods had meant for him since the beginning. She is his angel sent to save him. His salvation in every way. His light of sunshine that would rival even the brightest day in Rhodes. She is the beginning and the end.

‘’Cyra, I…’’ he struggles to find the words when their lips part and he looks down at her. She looks at him with wide eyes and an expression of awe that he is sure is a mirror to his own.

‘’Do you feel it too?’’ she finally asks. He knows then that the rope of glittering gold that is wrapping itself tightly around his heart is doing the same to hers. Cyra grabs his hand, places it on her heart and he feels it.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Her heart is racing in sync with his own. That rope of light pulls them impossibly closer and he feels it circling around them, engulfing them with the promise that their souls are forever bound to each other. The rope of life chants to them, encouraging them to bound their bodies to seal that promise.

Looking at Cyra, Helion finds that he does not need to ask for what she thinks of all this. The look in her eyes and the tug he feels from her side of that ethereal rope give away her want. And still –

‘’Yes,’’ she whispers against his lips before kissing him with more passion and abandon than he has ever witnessed in her. Helion takes everything that she gives him and gives himself completely in return. Soon he lies her down beneath him on the sand next to what remains of the fire. The light around them shines brighter than the stars and the moon, and it glows brighter with every touch and every kiss.

Kiss, touch, claim…

The tether between them sings so clearly that it drowns out the sound of the crashing waves and the trees swaying with the wind. The only thing louder now is their gasps and moans after they get rid of their clothes and explore the others body.

Helion’s name comes out of her lips over and over again like a prayer as he kisses and touches and claims her just like the light between them demands of him. ‘’Cyra,’’ he whispers against her throat. She brings his face up to hers and looks straight into his eyes, nodding once, before Helion slowly thrusts inside her.

With that final connection, the light between them shines even brighter and sing a song that only their joined souls can hear. It sounds like the ancient hymns of Rhodes sung on the shores to celebrate the sea and sun combined with other voices that he somehow knows are whispered in the Autumn forest despite never having been there. These ethereal voices echo the promise of the bond; they promise life, love, laughter and comfort that only the twin to your soul can bring.

As he moves in and out of her and Cyra moves with him, Helion feels his essence mingling with hers. When their movement becomes more frantic and the pleasure building inside them reach its peak, he sends his silent thanks to the Gods for sending this magnificent female to him. Cyra cries out his name as she shatters around him and he follows, spilling himself deep inside her while he drinks in the sound of her voice and the feel of her as she holds onto him tightly. The light between them slowly fades, until what remains is the faint glow of their bodies as they remain tangled in each other.

‘’Helion,’’ Cyra whispers as if afraid to come back to a reality where all of this has only been a dream. He moves his face from her neck to place a kiss on the tip of her freckled nose and then looks at her. She presses her forehead against his and whispers again, ‘’I am yours.’’

The tether between them thrums with its last notes as Helion brushes his nose against Cyra’s and whispers back, ‘’And I am yours.’’

They remain in this blissful silence for a while until he lifts her up and carries to the sea to wash away the sand from their bodies. Their late-night swim leads to another round of love making followed by both of them laughing amidst the gentle waves of the calm sea. Then they finally rejoin their cave, both clothed and a new fire lit up to keep them warm. Cyra lies on top of him and they hold onto each other closer than they ever have. Soon, she falls asleep lulled by the crashing waves and the sound of their breathing.

Helion’s last thought before he follows the other half of his soul into a well-deserved sleep is that, of all the storms he has been through, none has ever brought him this much peace. But what he does not know yet is that there is a kind of storm that does not cause the waves to rise nor the rain to fall. What this storm brings is days of sorrow and pain as its tempestuous wind blows tangled souls in opposites directions and forces them to hold onto hope to keep their ship afloat.

.........

The following weeks they spend on the island are the most blissful moments Cyra has ever had in her entire life. Her new reality cuts her off so much from her life before the storm that when their old life comes back, she forgets for a moment that she has been a lady and he a Prince.

They should be glad that help has come for them. That means that they have not been forgotten. Cyra’s heart beats in her throat as she watches the ship that approaches their isolated island that morning. She recalls the last time she has seen the three masts and the familiar green and gold sails being pushed forward by the wind. Of all the scenarios she has made in her mind about someone coming for them, she has never held onto the hope that it would be the Duke’s ship that would come for them.

A small boat with a few men aboard is lowered to the sea and makes it the rest of the way to the shore. Cyra cannot make out yet who they are. She holds onto Helion’s arm while they wait. Her eyes fill with tears but not of happiness at being saved, but of fear that whatever has grown between them will be left on this island. ‘’I don’t want to leave you,’’ she tells him.

Helion turns to her, taking Cyra’s face between his hands and kisses her forehead. He must have sensed how she has become tense at the thought of returning back to her father. ‘’Everything will be fine,’’ he tries to reassure her.

‘’Hey, look at me,’’ he lifts her face so she looks into his eyes. ‘’Whatever comes next, we will face it. Do you understand?’’

Cyra nods. ‘’Together.’’

‘’Together,’’ he repeats with a smile. ‘’I am yours Cyra,’’ he kisses her cheek. ‘’I will always be yours,’’ and the other cheek.

The humming of the rope tying their souls sends a flow of relief and hope in her. ‘’And I am yours,’’ she promises him again before pouring all that she feels for him through that invisible bridge between them.

Looking back at the approaching boat, Cyra lets go of him and braces herself for what she imagines her father would say when he sees her. Lost at sea or not, having almost lost her life or not, the Duke will not be happy to see her daughter in her old, worn-out clothes while clinging to a stranger, especially a male. But in this moment, she is ready to fight her strict father for what she really wants. For what the Gods have deemed her worthy of. She has risked her life for him once and she will do it again.

However, there is no sign of the Duke among those who disembarks the little boat. Instead, her eyes stop on someone she has heard to be far worse than her father. Beron, a Prince of Autumn. Cyra’s blood goes cold at the sight of the male who she has heard terrible rumours about. What is he doing here? Where is my father?

‘’Lady Cyra,’’ Beron asks as he stops before the pair. He does not even acknowledge Helion who stands between them. ‘’I come here on behalf of your family. Allow me to escort you back to safety.’’

The island seems safer than the male who is currently offering it to her. As if suddenly remembering her manners in the presence of new faces, Cyra dips in a bow. ‘’Thank you for coming for us.’’

Beron grimaces and looks at Helion like he has just now realised that he is here too. ‘’I did not come for him I’m afraid. I only came for you. Your father and I have a strict agreement.’’ Cyra frowns, dumbfounded at what she is hearing. Helion tenses beside her and Cyra instinctively reaches for his hand and interlace their fingers. Beron tracks the movement and raises an eyebrow.

‘’What sort of agreement?’’ Helion asks the other Prince.

Beron ignores him again and addresses Cyra only. ‘’Your father gave you away to me if I agreed to come look for you.’’

‘’What?’’ Cyra snaps. She would rather be forgotten by her father than being handed over to the first male like a mere object. ‘’I refuse to leave without him.’’

Helion wraps his arm around her both in reassurance and to let Beron know that he has no intention of being separated from her either.

‘’Fine,’’ Beron says nonchalantly. ‘’Take them both,’’ he says to the few guards who have come with him. Cyra and Helion thrash and fight the five males trying to pull them apart to drag them to the small boat.

Fight, fight, fight, their bond urges them both.

‘’Make it quick,’’ Beron shouts over Cyra’s screams. Someone knocks Helion out and he falls down. They hit her a second later and the last thing she sees is the guards dragging Helion’s unconscious body on the sand before everything turns black.

.........

Cyra wakes up in pain. The back of her head, her legs, her arms. Everything hurts. Or perhaps it is just the terrible headache that is making her whole body feel worse. The swaying feeling is not making things better either. She opens her eyes in a dimly lit cabin. But seeing everything moving around her only makes her nauseous. She only manages to turn her head to the side before she empties the content of her stomach on the wooden floor.

Someone rushes by her side with a towel in hand and a glass of water. ‘’Drink this my lady,’’ the servant tells her.

She takes only a little sip and gives the glass back to the female. ‘’What happened?’’

And then she feels it. Find him, find him, find him. The bond sings.

‘’Helion,’’ she whispers before the servant can explain anything. Cyra jumps out of the bed without taking the time to acknowledge that she has been changed into new clothes and rush to the door. She feels dizzy but she has to find him. When she opens the door, two guards blocks her way out.

‘’Let me out,’’ she orders them but they do not budge.

‘’My lady ple- ‘’

‘’What is happening?’’ she turns to the female and asks in a harsh and panicked tone.

The female looks at Cyra as if she has turned into a wild animal. ‘’You should rest my lady. The travel has been long and we will arrive at your home soon.’’

‘’Home?’’ Cyra asks more to herself.

‘’Yes, my lady. We will reach the shores of Autumn in a few days.’’

How long have I been asleep? Why can’t I leave? Where is Helion? What happened to him? Is he safe? Cyra holds her aching head as the questions and worry assault her mind. I have to find him, I have to find him…

The servant grabs Cyra by the hand and pulls her inside the cabin before shutting the door. ‘’The other male is fine my lady,’’ she whispers. Cyra realises then that she must have spoken out loud. She looks at the female with pleading eyes.

The servant looks at the closed door like she was ensuring that no one can hear them. ‘’The male who was with you on the island is in a cell below.’’ Cyra gasps.

‘’He is fine my lady,’’ the servant takes her hands and continues.

‘’Please tell me what happened,’’ Cyra begs.

The servant guides her back to the bed and makes her sit down before she explains everything that has happened while Cyra was unconscious. She keeps her voice as low as possible and occasionally looks at the door. ‘’Prince Beron does not believe that the male is an actual Prince. He says that he will remain his prisoner until he gets proof of his true identity.’’

Anger fills her when Cyra learns that Helion has been brutalized by Beron. What stops her from tearing this ship apart to go find him is the servant’s warning. ‘’The Prince of Autumn is powerful my lady. It is best if you do not fight him.’’

‘’Why is he doing this?’’ Cyra shouts in the cabin.

‘’Because I can,’’ a voice drawled at the door as it opens again. He shoots a look at the servant who lowers her gaze before leaving. Cyra hopes that no one has heard the servant tell her so much. She does not wish for the kind female to face the possible cruel consequences of having helped her.

‘’I want to see him,’’ Cyra says, trying to sound calm.

Beron scoffs at her. ‘’You do not have the right to want anything here, lady Cyra,’’ he steps towards her. He grimaces at what Cyra assumes is the smell of vomit that fills the cabin. ‘’I saved you. You owe me. And that is it.’’

‘’What do you want from me?’’ she stands up.

The Prince smirks. ‘’I told you. Your father handed you to me.’’

Another wave of nausea roils in her when she remembered what he said on the beach. ‘’You, my lady,’’ he takes another step, stopping toe to toe with her, ‘’belong to me now.’’

Cyra gulps. She feels sick. She needs to throw up again and her head spins. She sits back on the bed and holds her head between her hands. A small relief spreads in her through the bond in her heart. She places a hand there and holds onto that connection.

‘’As for your fake little Prince, he will get what is coming for him if he is lying to me.’’ With that, Beron turns around and walks the two steps to the door. ‘’If you try to see him,’’ he adds over his shoulder, ‘’I will make you watch as I punish him.’’

As soon as the door slams shut behind him, Cyra throws up again. Soon, the servant comes in the cabin with a bucket of water and towels. She cleans the mess she has made on the floor. By the time that she starts to care for her, wiping the cold sweat from her face and changing her clothes again, Cyra falls back asleep, still holding onto the rope of warmth in her chest.

.........

He has spent weeks on that ship and a few more in another cell in the royal dungeons of Autumn. Months during which Helion has spent most of his time either sleeping or being subjected to the questioning and beatings of the Autumn Prince. The pretentious prick still believes that he is lying. Or perhaps he just enjoys using his fists. Anyway, he does not know what is coming for him.

The time he spends in his cell at least allows Helion to think of all the ways he will be able to have revenge against Autumn once he is back in Rhodes. Perhaps he can make sure that Autumn loses all associates in Day. Or maybe he can send some contaminated rats into the home of the Prince. Either way, he will pay.

Every day and night, the servant who bring his food, the one who has tended to Cyra on the ship, also brings news of his lady. But the news have not been as good as he would like. She has been sick since she woke up on the ship and that has him worried. She has been able to see her family. But even that has not helped much apparently. Helion can sense her distress through their bond.

Find her. Keep her safe… that rope of light screams at him.

But there is nothing he can do from here except pour his love for her through their bond and let her know that he is still here. One of the few comforts Helion has is the fact that the Autumn Prince has not claimed her yet. Helion has learned from that same servant that Beron is waiting for Cyra’s health to improve before he officially declares the Duke’s daughter as his wife. So with nothing else to do, Helion prays that his light of sunshine gets better and that they can soon be reunited.

We will be together soon my sunshine, he sends to her through their bond.

Thump! Thump! Thump! He listens to the beat of his one own heart. Thump! Thump! Thump! Another beat echoes right after his own. Then he feels the faint tug in his heart.

Together, my sunshine, he promises.

A few heart beats later, another tug.

Together, her voice fills his head and Helion smiles.

.........

‘’You will pay for this.’’

Helion rises to the sound of a familiar voice. Slowly, his eyes open.

‘’Release my son at once,’’ the booming voice echoes in the cell and Helion eyes instantly widen.

‘’Father?’’

At first, he thinks that this is a dream. A wishful thinking manifested by his imagination. But then his eyes find those of his father, amber eyes similar to his and the loose greying hair framing his face.

The guard fumbles with the key for a minute before the door to his cell finally opens. ‘’Are you well?’’ the King of Rhodes asks with both hands on his shoulders.

Helion nods. He holds his father in a hug for a minute before the King pulls back. ‘’Let’s get you out of this wretched place.’’

Helion remains silent as he walks towards his freedom. Finally.

He knows from the look on his father’s face and the tension in his body that he too is plotting the demise of the Autumn Prince.

.........

The days come and go. The sun rises and sets. Yet Cyra feels the same as the first day she has come back to Autumn after she has been rescued. Her health has not gone much better. She often feels nauseous and her head often aches. She has seen a healer but has refused to tell anyone about what the female has said. And she will keep refusing until she can be reunited with the reason behind her sickness.

Soon, he has promised through their bond. So Cyra decided that she will wait. She knows she will get better once she is with him. He is the only one with whom she intends to share her condition with. So, she waits.

Sometimes her sisters sit by her side and read to her. She has not tell them much of her days on the island. These days are her treasure. Precious memories of the happiest moments of her life. Just the thought of them makes the hope inside her burns bright.

Other days, like today, Cyra just walks around the Duke’s estate in search of any spot with enough sunshine where she can sit and daydream about the bright rays she has lived under on the island. The sun in Autumn does not shine as bright as she has started to love. Nor is it as warm. So Cyra relies on her memories and the light inside her to keep her warm.

Tug!

Something pulls at her heart. Cyra stops amidst the flowers and focuses on that invisible rope inside her.

Tug!

Harder this time. It feels urgent.

Find him, find him, find him… it chants.

A wave of fear crashes over her, causing her headache to come back. Cyra closes her eyes and holds tight onto that rope. She tugs back. And soon…

Tug! and another stronger Tug!

Cyra gasps at the force of it.

Look, look, look… it urges her.

Cyra turns and looks around frantically. Her eyes travel from the garden, to the walls of the estate, to the gate and then –

There. Just behind the open gate. Looking brighter than any sunny days of this court.

Run, run, run…

And she does. She runs and does not stop until she is in his arms. She buries her face between his neck and shoulder when he lifts her off the ground and she cries. The tether between them shines a light that only they can see while it whispers their shared promises.

I am yours. And you are mine. Together…

Helion pulls away first and kisses her like he is trying to make up for every second that they have spent apart. His kiss is like a balm to her aching soul. Every sorrow and despair that has kept her company in his absence are washed away by the sudden tide of relief and joy that floods her.

‘’My beautiful lady.’’

Cyra giggles against his neck. ‘’My sailor.’’

‘’Come with me,’’ he says when he places her down. Cyra only stares at him. ‘’I am going back to Rhodes. Come with me and we’ll never be apart again.’’

She looks back at the estate of her father. Cyra thinks of her family and her life here. Helion places a finger beneath her chin and turns her head so that she can face him. ‘’We can go see your father if that is what you wish. I am a Prince after all,’’ he shrugs. ‘’You will be exchanging one of Autumn for one of Day.’’

She could. She could go back and asks for her father’s permission. Cyra has always been the obedient daughter who listens to every word her father says if only to prevent his name from being soiled. But the Duke has given her away to a cruel male for the sake of that family name. The sole reason why he has sent someone to rescue her was in hope that the Autumn Prince would get the prized obedient daughter that everyone talks so highly of.

‘’No,’’ Cyra says firmly. This time, she will choose for herself. She will follow the one that the Gods have already chosen for her. ‘’Let’s go now.’’

When Helion smiles at her, the light between them burns even brighter, humming again of love and life and something new. Something born out of the promise between their hearts and soul.

[shadows-starlight]

Shadows and Starlight

Book 61: The Enchanted Chapel

-

The early morning sun shone through the thick forest canopy, casting a mosaic of light on the mossy ground as Malakar walked steadily along the forest path. 

However, this was no ordinary path.

This was a path Malakar had walked countless times with his family since he was a boy, a secret route known only to those with a touch of magic in their blood, both good and bad.

 Today, however, was special—today, he carried Aurora, who was nestled safely in his arms.

See, the enchanted creatures who were living in the forest were gathering together for one purpose for today was Sunday, and for as long as Malakar could remember, every Sunday he and his family would walk down this path towards an ancient building: The Enchanted Chapel of Ebonvale Forest.

The church building was made from an old two-story house and storage house that had been abandoned for years. The house was then rebuilt to become a building that was adorned with vines and freshly bloomed flowers, its spire, though not very large, stood tall and proud, welcoming enchanted beings of every kind and letting them know that they were welcome to come in.

A soft coo broke the silence and Malakar looked down at Aurora, who was gazing at every magical being that came along the path.

"Ah, little one," he murmured, "this is a place I have always found peace. I think you will feel it too."

Aurora didn't know exactly what her father meant, but, she did know that she was in for an exciting morning.

Malakar smiled and took a deep breath as he approached the church. He remembered the days he and his family would come here when he was a boy. It was here that he learned about the Christian faith and its teachings and values.

He fondly remembered his time in Sunday School, the lessons, the hymns, and, of course, the occasional mischief he and the other children got up to.

As Malakar approached the door, the familiar scent of incense and aged wood filled the air. The inside of the church was as beautiful as he remembered, with rows of wooden pews and a grand altar adorned with candles. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant colors across the stone floor.

"Malakar!" a warm voice called from the front of the church.

Malakar looked up to see Father Bartholomew, the priest who had been at this church for as long as he could remember. Father Bartholomew was a Faun (a half-human and half-goat being) with an Egyptian goatee, small horns on his head, and a twinkle in his eye.

He moved towards them with a wide smile, his arms open in greeting.

“Father Bartholomew,” Malakar replied with a smile.

The priest chuckled, looking Malakar up and down. “Well, well, it has been far too long since I last saw you. You have grown, my boy… much taller than the last time you were here!”

Malakar laughed softly. “I suppose I have, Father. Time has a way of doing that.”

Father Bartholomew’s gaze softened as he noticed the little baby in Malakar's arms. “And who is this precious little one?”

Malakar’s expression brightened as he carefully turned Aurora toward the priest. “This is my daughter, Aurora.”

The priest’s eyes widened with delight, and he reached out a gentle hand to touch Aurora's cheek. “Aurora… what a beautiful name for a beautiful child,” he said, his voice full of warmth.

Aurora gazed at the priest with wide, curious eyes. She reached out her tiny hand and grabbed onto the priest's finger. Father Bartholomew laughed softly, a joyful sound that echoed in the quiet church.

The priest looked back at Malakar. “May she grow strong in spirit and faith, just as her father has. It is good to see you here, Malakar. I have missed your presence.”

Malakar nodded. “I have missed this place too, Father. It has always been a sanctuary for me, a place where I can find peace and I wanted to share that with Aurora.”

Father Bartholomew’s eyes shone. “You have always had a deep faith, Malakar. Even as a boy, I knew you were destined for great things… though you and your brothers and friends did keep me on my toes with your little pranks,” he added with a chuckle.

Malakar grinned, remembering those days with fondness. “Us boys were a handful, weren’t we?”

The priest laughed. “Oh, you certainly were! But your heart was always in the right place. I am glad to see that has not changed.”

The bells rang softly, signaling the beginning of the service. Malakar moved to take a seat near the front, holding Aurora close as the congregation began to sing a hymn. Aurora cooed softly as if she were singing along with her father.

Malakar’s heart swelled with a mix of love and gratitude as he listened to the familiar melodies, feeling the peace of this sacred place wash over him. He whispered a silent prayer, thanking God for the gift of his adopted daughter.

As the service continued, Malakar felt a deep sense of contentment. He knew that this was just the beginning of many Sundays he would spend here with Aurora, teaching her about faith, love, and the magic that filled their world.

[chiwhorei]

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema​, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

                                      * * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days. 

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you. 

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward. 

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

                                      * * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time. 

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless. 

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore. 

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

                                      * * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months. 

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.” 

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly. 

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous.  Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast? 

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for. 

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you. 

The way his tongue curls like a signature. 

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk. 

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful. 

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns. 

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name. 

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames. 

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue. 

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence. 

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel. 

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on. 

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair. 

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline. 

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat. 

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke. 

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.” 

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky. 

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.” 

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[tillidontneedfantasy]

A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor’s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems’ itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.  

[vasiliair]

deep water — american authors.          liability — lorde.          angel of small death and the codeine scene — hozier.          bedroom hymns — florence + the machine.          bloodbath for birds — squalloscope.          flowers of flesh and blood — nicole dollanganger.          the river — aurora.          the love club — lorde.          wasteland, baby! — hozier.          writer in the dark — lorde.

             HEMLOCK, BELLADONNA & MONKSHOOD.

                               a playlist for the flower who was forged into a weapon.

01.     it comes and goes in waves / it always runs back, but it’s never quite the same / well, i think there’s something wrong with me          (   . . .   )          when it pulls me under / will you make me stronger? / will you be my breath through the deep, deep water? / take me farther, give me one day longer          (   . . .  )          ain’t even scratched the surface / thinking i deserve the dream / but i don’t deserve the hurting / i want the flame without the burning / but i can’t find my purpose / when i don’t know what my worth is

02.     says he made the big mistake of dancing in my storm / says it was poison / so i guess i’ll go home into the arms of the girl that i love / the only love i haven’t screwed up / she’s so hard to please but she’s a forest fire / i do my best to meet her demands / play at romance, we slow dance in the living room, but all that a stranger would see is one girl swaying alone / stroking her cheek / they say, “you’re a little much for me — you’re a liability. you’re a little much for me,” / so they pull back, make other plans / i understand, i’m a liability — get you wild, make you leave / i’m a little much for everyone / the truth is i am a toy that people enjoy ’til all of the tricks don't work anymore / and then they are bored of me / i know that it's exciting running through the night, but every perfect summer’s eating me alive until you’re gone / better on my own /  they’re gonna watch me disappear into the sun  . . .  you’re all gonna watch me disappear into the sun

03.     calling to join them the wretched and joyful / shaking the wings of their terrible youths / freshly dissolved in some frozen devotion / no more alone or myself could i be / looks like a strain to the arms it were open / no shortage of sordid, no protest from me          (   . . .   )          feeling more human and hooked on her flesh i lay my heart down with the rest at her feet / fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile / bloody and raw, but i swear it is sweet

04.     we’ll build our altar here / make me your maria / i’m already on my knees          (   . . .   )          spilt bitter tears, i did this for you / spilling over the idle, the black and the blue          (   . . .   )          yeah, i can’t get enough / i’'m not here looking for absolution

05.     the ticking of the clock was tap tap tapping against the insides of my skull          (   . . .   )          and i rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed trying to keep my insides in / and for a second i thought i felt the imprint of your fingers          (   . . .   )          remember the feverish night i dreamt of the machine / that makes planets for parallel galaxies out of plasticine?

06.     close my plastic eyelids / you say this is the love we all hope to find / so don’t cry, don’t worry          (   . . .   )          and i’ll fist it with knuckles full of rings / give you back the love you said was mine / so don’t cry, don’t worry

07.     now those memories come back to haunt me / they haunt me like a curse / is a dream a lie if it don’t come true / or is it something worse / that sends me down to the river / though I know the river is dry / that sends me down to the river tonight / down to the river

08.     the card games and ease, with the bitter salt of blood / i was in, but i want out / my mother’s love is choking me / i’m sick of words that hang above my head / what about the kid? it’s time the kid got free          (   . . .   )          your clothes are soaked and you don’t know where to go / so drop your chin and take yourself back at home / and roll out your maps and papers, find out your hiding places again / the only problem that i got with the club / is how you’re severed from the people who watched you grow up / when you’re a member, go on your great adventure again / and we’ll be waiting at the end

09.     all the things yet to come are the things that have passed / like the old enough hands, like the breaking of glass / like the bonfire that burns, in worth, in a fight felt too          (   . . .   )          and when the stance of the sea and the absence of green / are the death of all things that are seen and unseen / not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do?

10.     i am my mother’s child, i’ll love you ’til my breathing stops / i’ll love you ’til you call the cops on me / but in our darkest hours, i stumbled on a secret power / i’ll find a way to be without you, babe / i still feel you, now and then / slow like pseudo-ephedrine / when you see me, will you say i’ve changed? i ride the subway, read the signs / i let the seasons change my mind / i love it here since i’ve stopped needing you / bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark

[raevenlywrites]

The Ties That Bind 13 of ???

I couldn’t settle after the oaths. I just couldn’t. The ground seemed to hum with power, and as much as I wanted to do my part to be agreeable, I could not focus on peace talks while my head sang with ancient resonance. I felt half-blinded by ghosts, though as Zane had said scent wasn’t the word, sight wasn’t right for what I was sensing either. It was as if my body was trying to inhabit a different life, moving through steps that were not my own. Something important to the Shardae magic had happened here, and under other circumstances I might have been intrigued, even followed where it led. But I could not focus on either it or Zane, so eventually I gave up on both and asked to return to the farmhouse. If Zane was disappointed to leave this place of such significance to his people--and apparently mine--he didn’t show it.

 I sent Karashan towards the serpiente lands and Raymond to the Lyssia farm, both looking out for the serpiene guards that would be coming to join Adelina and Zane. The rest of us walked with the serpiente, I in deference to their lack of wings, and my remaining guards split between ground and skies as was their formation when I was in the fields. So we had plenty of advanced warned when Raymond returned with news of a small army.

Army was too strong a word for the score of soldiers, but it was exactly the word for their intent. They had swarmed the Lyssia farm and set up a base--so that my mother and her branch of the Royal Flight could land in safety.

 The air in the farmhouse had shifted considerably. Where the Ladies Lyssia had been careful but relaxed around myself and Zane, they were positively on edge around my mother. Maybe the difference was the swarm of soldiers, but having felt exactly this way in my mother’s presence myself, I was fairly confident she was the cause.

 Power poured from her, responding to the emotions we usually kept so carefully leashed. It would take a song to give it concrete shape, but there were battle cries as well as lullabies in our body of hymns.

 I held to Zane’s hand tightly, partly to extend my shield of control to him, partly to keep my body firmly in line with whatever shot any soldier might take. I knew I couldn’t guard him from every angle, but this was the best I could do.

 My head still rang with power, distant echoes of that long forgotten memory we’d raised in the ruins. It wasn’t as blinding as it had been, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was walking in someone else’s footsteps. The wind seemed to whisper in the forgotten tounge as the wings of so many soldiers filled the skies. They circle like vultures, I thought, scenting death on the air. It served to fuel my determination. No more blood would be spilled. I had sworn it.

 So had Zane.

 We approached my mother hand in hand, her fury lashing out to reach us at the sight. I stood firm, bolstered by the power of my vows and Zane’s hand in mine. I wished I held Rei’s hand in the other, but I understood the man at my right needed to be free to react to whatever may happen. He would always be my soldier first and friend second. It saddened me to know that this war had taken him from me even as he walked beside me still. Raymond on his other side was another ghost, the memory of Vasili so strong in his presence here.

 I was filled with an overwhelming sense of having done this before, having faced down this queen before. Only her face kept swimming, the golden aura of her power going ghostly white, silvering with the patina of false memory. I shook it away, even as it cried out at being disregarded. I couldn’t untangle these ghosts right now. I needed to be present.

 “Shardae.”

 One word held the entirety of my mother’s displeasure. Question, condemnation, concern, command--my mother could get so much mileage out of so few syllables. I’d always wished for such clarity of purpose when I spoke, dreamed of the day I could address the Council or even a single General with such authority. But when I answered her now, I felt my voice cling on the way out, made small by something inside me that did not know how to be anything else.

 “Mother.”

 “We were most distressed at your letter,” she said, voice utterly void of emotion. It had all leeched into the power that was coursing and snapping around her. “Once we had actually received it.”

 Beside her, her closest guards flinched. Just a tightening around the eyes, but it was there. I wondered if standing that near to her was hurting them, or if they were recalling a fuller fury when she’d been given word that her daughter had acted outside her authority.

 It was such an odd dance between mother and me now. Something had gone out of her at Xavier’s pyre, burning away as completely as the body of her last son. She’d told me then that my time as queen had come. But then there were moments like this, or when she’d ordered us away from the Mistari camp, that her insistence she step down seemed so... empty. How was I supposed to lead our people without the backing of their current queen? We couldn’t survive a war on two fronts. We just couldn’t.

 “We appreciate your concern for Zane’s wellbeing,” I answered, deliberately misinterpreting her meaning. “As you can see, my healing--“

 “Danica, please.” Her words cut mine down, slicing through the sorry lie as cleanly as the paper it had been written on. “I don’t know why you felt the need to concoct such a ridiculous ruse. It’s idiocy is what had me tearing through field and forest looking for you. I’d thought it the work of traitors; I know my own daughter would never pen something so ridiculously and obviously false.”

 I felt my own anger try to rise, the urge to scream building in the back of my throat. This was why my speech always came out so small; if I gave it any rein at all, it would roar out of me, years of things unsaid pouring out in a vicious wave.

 Zane squeezed my hand, distracting me from my control. My eyes darted to him for only a second, but I thought I saw him smiling. Was it his arrogant mask, or was he trying to encourage me?

 I gave up trying to craft a delicate response. I simply spoke my mind.

 “Why is it so ridiculous, mother? Why is it so hard to believe that if I received word of someone in need of my aid that I could go to them? I sat with Gregory Cobriana even though there was no hope of saving him. Why then would I not sit with Zane Cobriana, if he asked me to come to him?”

 Zane’s hand tightened in mine again and I squeezed back, wishing I could give him a smile as well. But I had to keep my composure, both for appearances and for the sake of the power that danced so erratically in the air.

 “I was hurt, Nacola,” Zane said, startling us all. “My heart was sick with despair--“

 “How dare you!” a guard snapped, though whether it was at his lying to the queen or addressing her by her first name, I couldn’t say. Beside me, Zane said softly, “Adelina.”

 I dared to glance at his other side, where Adelina had slipped into that carefully ready pose. With a mad giddiness, I realized it could just as easily be the beginning of a dance as a fighting pose. My heart ached to see Maeve’s kin so ready to fight. Those white scales were the most beautiful in the firelight, dancing with hot reds and golds to compliment the cool blues and purples of my lady’s power--

 I shook my head, violently, trying to dispel these double visions. The power was too thick, I couldn’t breathe.

 “Enough,” I gasped, though it somehow rang through the space, even though I’d barely had breath to send it on its way. It rode on the eddies of power like a wing on the wind, going where the currents pulled it.

 “We should not fight like this,” I said, feeling the words as both my own and not. I gave up trying to dispel the power and just let it guide me. “I would not stand against you, mother of my heart, but neither will I stand with you in war.”

 My mother shivered, shimmering in the power that swirled thick between us. Its silver light snaked across her skin, forming almost patterns, almost letters--

 “You know I do not desire war,” she said, and again, the words sounded echoed, doubled back on themselves and twisting with whispers of wind. I clutched Zane’s hand tighter. I desperately needed its grounding, something solid and real to keep from falling to these ghosts. I had never seen such magic before--never seen any magic at all. But I had also never stood at the scar between my mother’s power and mine. Maybe that was the difference.

 “Then we have no reason to fight,” Zane said, startling us all. Her voice--his--was a misstep, a tiny dissonance in the building song.. But I felt the tide of it, and would not let it slip away. I had sworn to Emune and Raymond on this very ground that this war was ending. I called on that and the words Zane had just spoken to me in the ruins, and hoped they would be enough to shape whatever power we were weaving.

 This war was ending.

 “These hands are sworn to peace,” I said, feeling my words take us further from that ringing place where the ghosts of the past tried to swallow us down. “Kiesha’s kin has sworn to help me build a peace, and before two of my flight I did so swear that I would reign in peace.” It was an odd choice of words to call on Zane’s ancient ancestor, but it was too late to question the names of power I was drawing on. So much of magic was simply instinct, clinging to whatever ancestral knowledge still guided us.

 “So, mother,” I concluded, feeling the power condense as I prepared to hand it off, “will you leave peacefully, or will you have me foresworn?”

Or will you risk my words turn back on me, I added silently to myself, and have me never rule at all?

The air was thick, with power, with tension, with those spidery silver lines that seemed to be the weft of fate itself. I clutched at Zane’s hand in mine, and again was startled by the timber of his light tenor voice against the memory of richer alto that was supposed to go with those scales.

“And I as well. I have sworn to do no more harm save to defend myself, and as Arami of the serpiente that extends to all my people as well. I gave that oath to the heir of the Tuuli Thea, and will give it again when she becomes queen.” He squeezed my hand and gave me a wink, completely at odds with the serious nature of the moment. “Just to make sure it sticks,” he added wryly.

“Enough of this,” my mother said, sounding only like my mother once again. Zane’s wrongness seemed to shattered whatever contest of wills had been building between us--no doubt his intention. “Shardae, this is no place to conduct royal business. If you wish to treat with the serpiente prince further, can we at least move these discussions somewhere more secure?”

“Secure for you,” I heard Adelina mutter, and felt Zane’s spine stiffen. But she had a point.

“We had been intending to spend the week somewhere more neutral,” I said with forced lightness. “The rest of Zane’s guard are already on their way. So unless you intend to invite them all back to the Keep, I think Zane and I are good out here, thanks.”

My mother bristled. “You can hardly expect me to let you spend a week in the wilderness with a serpiente-- Andreios, speak some sense into her.”

I boggled at that. I’d expected her to order me, dismiss me, bodily drag me back to the Keep even. But to entreat Rei?

To my utter shock, Rei took my free hand.

“Until Danica declares me her pair bond, I can only speak as her guard. The Arami has sworn not to harm her. I don’t like it, but it’s not my place to forbid her from doing things I don’t like. I’m sorry, my queen, but your daughter is as headstrong as yourself. No one has ever been able to talk either of you into doing anything you don’t want to. Unless a fight breaks out and I am forced to bodily evacuate her, I don’t think there’s any appeal I can make that I have not already tried.”

Except for that one, I thought, understanding now why he’d taken my hand. The kiss in the ruins hadn’t changed anything for me, but apparently it had been all the go ahead Rei needed to declare himself my pair bond. It made me want to snatch my hand away, but as he’d also said, that was mostly stubbornness. I was grateful for his show of support, and felt powerful with both men on my side. Surely my mother would see now that the tide had indeed shifted, and it was time to let me rule as she kept saying I should.

 “So that’s it then,” she said more than asked. “I just return to the Keep and try to calm the tide of frantic people with the reassurance that you just want to take a little camping trip with the Arami of the serpiente?”

 “I don’t think Danica cares much for the idea of camping,” Zane said with his false cheer. “The woods didn’t seem to agree with her.” To me, he said more quietly, “If your people need you then you should return. We can continue our talks another time. There’s no need to lose what ground we’ve gained here today through stubbornness.”

 I bit back a sigh. “I don’t think you understand my mother. After this little stunt, I’ll be lucky to have only four guards on me at all times. There will be no getting away, and absolutely no way she’ll let you come to me.”

 “Is she queen here or you?” he shot back.

 Fair enough.

 “Prepare the court,” I finally answered her. “Let them know that once Arami Zane’s escort arrives, we will all be returning to the Keep to continue our talks.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes

[fundielicious-simblr]

(AN: OOF this is LATE! My Tumblr partnered up with my stressed Arab wifi to really misbehave today, but I feel like once you see how long this is, it will be worth the wait. You know how I mentioned some things were subject to change? Well I literally added new segments in and posed them very last minute in time for this, so this is very, very long! Hope y’all enjoy!)

Day 2 schedule:

Morning Session

Day 2 of family camp began bright and early, with the mess hall opening up at 7am for breakfast, allowing the attendants time to get all their family members ready and eat before the days programs start. The father’s session then starts at 9, with the registration for children activities opening up at 9 as well to allow for all the children to be registered for their classes.

Allan led the Father’s Session, his first part was called ‘My Promise to My Father’, in which he spoke to the audience of other fathers on his personal testimony as a young man. He spoke on how his father was his greatest example as he grew up, and how he promised his father that he would do whatever it takes to lead his family in the way of the Lord - and proceeded to speak on how he endeavored to keep that promise in his adult life. His second part was called ‘What you can do for your wife and kids’, which was essentially a continuation of his first speech, he explained to the other father’s how he used advice he got from his father to shape how he led his family. Allan explained that he and his wife relinquished his wife’s womb to the Lord and allowed him to choose their family size, leading to 15 children - 13 on earth and 2 miscarriages - Allan also expanded on how his family walked through different seasons of life together faithfully: due to their complete reliance on the Lord, Allan put all his effort into preaching at his father’s church and somehow all the families bills managed to be paid. The main lesson Allan put forward was: Put all your trust in the Lord and see how he’ll work it out.

When the children were done being registered, the mother’s and children were able to spend some time playing in the forest and exploring before moving into the main hall for the general session.

To open the session, Claire’s extended family sang ‘I am washed clean by my saviour's blood' a hymn that is a family favourite. Claire was on the piano, Sabrina on guitar, whilst Valentina played the violin. Everyone else in the family lent their vocal abilities for the performance, Aria and Lester even sang with the family; Eric didn’t perform so that he could look after the twins who were napping whilst the family sang.

Lester Paulson then gave the part ‘Boost Your Families Strength’ wherein he spoke on the value of giving your children a political education. He gave his testimony on how his parents encouraged him into a career in politics and helped him see what part he could play on behalf of conservative politics and change his future for the better. He then encouraged parents to continue to teach their children about politics so that they're knowledgable enough to vote “the right way”. 

To end the general session for the lunch time break, a group of girls sang the hymn ‘Thinking of Salvation’

(The ‘praise hands’ poses didn’t turn out 100% how I wanted, but the photo is so zoomed out I don’t think its that noticeable 😂)

Macie Collins was on piano, Valentina Townsend was on violin and vocals, with Sabrina Paulson, and Amira, Priscilla, Annette, and Ashton Collins on vocals. The group brought an atmoshphere of praise and worship to the main hall providing the perfect ending to the first half of the day.

Afternoon Session

The afternoon session saw the children’s academy run their activities.

Sabrina, Annette, and Ashton led the children’s academy in the song and scripture memorisations. They used motions to help the children remember the words, and they go over the lessons that the children should learn from every song. The children's academy is for children ages 5-9, to help them as they start to memorize verses with the hope that as they grow older it’ll be easier to learn verses and hymns.

To end the day, the Youth and Ladies’ sessions ran simultaneously.

Branden Collins spoke on ‘The Power of Obedience’, extolling the youth on the benefits that submitting to your parents authority has, as well as the possible consequences of rebellion.

Matthew Sanders had the part ‘Lay Your Foundations Now’, a part to remind the youth on the need to get right with the Lord sooner rather than later, and they they need to build on the skills that they’ve learned as children to be fully present in the Lord.

Casandra Collins spoke on ‘Making Modesty a Policy’ - she reminded the young ladies gathered on the need for modesty as women so as not to be defrauding to men. “A modest girl allows her countenance, and therefore her inner beauty to shine forth - it also protects her heart” The need to never become complacent was also stressed by Casandra, and that submitting to your parents authority on modesty was also very important as it helps you be more meek.

Pearl Powell spoke the message ‘Why Purity?” which was a continuation from Casandra’s topic, she stressed the importance of maintaining a pure heart - both physically and spiritually. Purity helps “guard your heart from the one that is not meant for you, a true chaste girl will save pieces of her heart for the one that the Lord has for her”.

As these sessions ended, the dinner bell rang, drawing all to the mess hall to meet up with other family and friends and fellowship. Everyone eventually then heads to bed to prepare for day 3!

[thegirlfromoverthepond]

Fire Is Catching

Once upon a time, I decided to join the list of contributors for @fandomforoz​. The ever generous @justajjfan​ made me the honor to “buy” a story from me.

At her request, here is Everlark in Paris, with a bit of museum, and a bit of fire.

This fic would be nothing without the help I got from @xerxia31​ for her awesome beta skills as well as for her help with the image :) Thank you my friend for making everything better.

Katniss was late.

Katniss was never late. 

It had become their weekly Monday routine, to meet in the Grande Galerie. Peeta would show her a painting, or a piece of art he particularly liked, or she would take him to the hidden places of the Louvre only a few people knew. She had the keys to all the rooms, knew all the secret stairs, her nightly routine taking her throughout the whole museum.

She was one of the firefighters whose place of work was the most beautiful museum in the world, yet she had almost no knowledge of art.

She had laughed at the Joconde, wondering aloud why people would line up to take a picture with her.

“Look at her,” she had told him. “She isn’t even beautiful. Why do people make such a fuss about her ?”

Peeta had moved towards the painting. It was such a privilege to be able to approach such a masterpiece so closely, without anyone around.

“For today’s tastes, she’s not special. But for Italian Renaissance she was everything. The thing is, it’s all in the eyes and the smile. If you look at her while moving, it’s like she follows you. Try it, Katniss.”

He had smiled when he had seen Katniss cautiously walking around the painting, staring at Mona Lisa, while he could see the astonishment in her features. 

“And if you look at her, you’ll see her mouth will fall and turn from a smiling face to a sad one.”

To this day, Peeta still remembered how Katniss’s face had shifted from disbelief to admiration, from curiosity to understanding.

The memory brought him back to reality. Katniss was late. He hoped everything was okay, that the strange sensation he was currently feeling in his stomach was nothing to be worried about.

Yet…

The sound of the sirens brought him to the large, beautiful windows. On the street, dozens of fire trucks were speeding towards the Pont-Neuf with their lights flashing. A few seconds later, another convoy of trucks passed by, again at full speed, heading in the same direction.

Something was going on. Something bad.

He tried not to think of the last time he had seen so many fire trucks, but he took his phone out anyways. He needed to know.

The news had already made the headlines.

Notre Dame is on fire.

Five little words that took the wind out of him.

Peeta had to reread the short sentence several times to be certain he understood it.

Notre Dame, the masterpiece of all cathedrals, the most elegant building of all of the city of light was on fire.

He felt his knees starting to buckle under him, had to lean onto the wall to support himself.

Notre Dame was on fire.

A treasure born in the 12th century, proof of the genius of the men who built it, a splendid building with treasures inside, with unparalleled elegance and grace.

Notre Dame was on fire.

Peeta read that firefighters from all over Paris and the suburbs had been called to join the fight, to try to save the building, the treasures, the stained glass.

The stained glass he wanted to show Katniss one day.

Katniss … As her name entered his mind, he realized what had happened.

With trembling hands, he dialled the internal number nobody ever wanted to use. The one that would reach the team of firefighters of the Louvre.

“Thresh.”

 “Hey Thresh, it’s Peeta, Peeta Mellark, from the -”

“The guys from the paintings, I know you. Sorry but Katniss isn’t here tonight.”

“How do - “ Peeta started before realizing with the amount of cameras in the museum, their private visits maybe weren’t that private.

“She’s at the fire. She volunteered.” Thresh answered the question Peeta hadn’t dared ask.

Peeta closed his eyes.

Of course she had volunteered to go. He hung up, not caring anymore what Thresh had to say. Surely something like ‘it would be too dangerous to go’, or that she wouldn’t be able to see or answer him anyway.

The words were lost in a haze. 

Peeta ran through the corridors of the museum, for once never stopping to look at the paintings lining the majestic walls, not even taking the time to stop by his office to grab his jacket.

He had walked the Rue de Rivoli so many times, looking at the lovely shape of the windows, the imposing stature of the former kings’ palace, or taking a detour through the Place Vendome, savouring the pleasure of the architecture. This day, though, he ran the whole length of the so long street, ignoring the other pedestrians, running until he reached the Place de la Concorde.

That’s where he spotted the column of smoke for the first time.

From behind the two towers of the building, elegant against the blue sky as always, a dark cloud of smoke was rising, threatening the wooden spire.

Peeta stopped, his breath taken away by the sad sight in front of him. 

Something deeper, though, made him start running again. A litany, in his head. Katniss is there, she’s at the fire. Katniss is there, she’s at the fire playing in loop, over and over, with the rhythm of his feet on the pavement.

He couldn’t tell how he managed to get so close to the building, despite the amount of people who rallied towards the cathedral, so close he could almost touch the fire trucks. Yet, instead of looking at the cathedral, he could only focus on the men and women working with their heavy PPE, focusing on the small ones, so he could try to spot who he was looking for. Katniss.

As the day melted into the night, as the spire of the cathedral fell, as people on the perimeter sang, Peeta grew worried.

There were just too many things. 

Too many flames licking the heavy stones of the cathedral. 

Too many columns of smoke escaping through the stained glass or the open arches of the building.

Too many litres of water that seemed to do nothing to extinguish the fire.

Too many people rushing around, carrying the heavy material, doing their best to save the cultural heritage of the building.

Peeta never thought that one day he would see stone burning. Never thought it would be possible.

He never stopped looking for Katniss whenever he caught sight of a slender frame.

There were just so many firefighters, so many of them running around, connecting fire hoses to the trucks, or to the boats that were pumping water directly from the Seine. 

He finally caught sight of her, when she took her helmet off, her braid falling down on her fire jacket, black against red.

He could see the exhaustion radiating off of her when she sat down on the pavement, her head hanging between her hands, shoulders slumped. 

“Katniss!” he shouted, hoping his voice would carry over the wind, over the noise of the sirens, over the crowd chanting hallelujahs and ave marias. He thought he saw her turn her head towards him, before she turned back to the tall and lanky man in front of her. It was only a matter of seconds before she was back on her feet, hauling her equipment on her back, as if she were getting ready to dive back into the fire.

She was walking towards the entrance of the cathedral.

“NOOOOOO”

He couldn’t let her go there, couldn’t let her enter a building on fire - yet he wasn’t able to cross the barriers and the policemen blocking the access.

There was nothing he could do. 

Nothing.

He felt what heartbreak meant that instant. His soul was torn, his body ached to be close to her.

He had no idea his feelings for her were so strong. So pure. So deep.

He had no idea he even had feelings for her, prior to seeing her entering this burning cathedral of stone.

Now it felt like his heart was breaking into pieces.

After what felt like an eternity, he spotted firemen coming out of the building, heavily loaded with what seemed to be paintings and small statues, stopping only to drink some water before diving back into the furnace.

It was a never ending cycle, in and out of the fire to the hymns of the people who had spontaneously gathered around the cathedral, needing to see what was happening with their own eyes.

To Peeta it was endlessly terrifying when he spotted the familiar silhouette coming in and out, again and again.

The cries of the crowd turned his attention towards the building, towards the flames that could be seen above the two towers, so high in the sky.

The forest was burning.

The 1300 oak trees from the 13th century that made the framing of the cathedral were burning to ashes.

Loud cracks could be heard, even from a distance.

Not loud enough to mask the sounds of the ambulances coming near the building.

It took hours and hours of relentless battle, thousands of tons of water, hundreds of firefighters who fought until the very last minutes of the night to extinguish the fire.

As dawn started to rise, as the sun made its lazy ascent, the fire was out.

The cathedral was still standing.

Burnt, injured, but still standing.

Torn, empty, dirty, but still standing.

Peeta couldn’t believe his eyes as the cathedral remained firmly in place, beaten but not broken.

He saw the Paris firefighters taking off their PPE. Exhaustion was written on their faces, along with something else … pride.

He heard the crowd cheering, the bells of the other Parisian churches ringing, yet he couldn’t join them for now. His eyes were scanning the faces of the men and women who had spent their night fighting against the fire.

Until he saw her.

“Katniss!!!” He shouted in the hopes of being heard, over the shouts and prayers, over the sirens and the water still being thrown on the cathedral.

He thought she couldn’t hear him, until he saw her move her head, as if searching for someone. He felt her eyes pass over him, then saw the perfect moment when she realized he was there.

He hoped the smile that graced her face was for him. He really hoped.

Then she was running towards him, leaving her PPE behind, the loud stomping of her boot clad feet echoing on the pavement. In no time, she was at the barrier, jumping over it just in front of Peeta, ignoring the shouts of the policemen around.

She was in his arms the next second.

-- 

April 15th 2020.  

 He checked the time on his watch, smiling.

Katniss was never late, he knew that. That day, though he was a bit more nervous than usual, was a bit unsure of how the day would go.

He finally saw her, looking even more beautiful with every day he had the chance to spend with her.

“Sorry! I was with Prim, she’s the one who insisted on the beret!” She pointed to the little hat she had on her head, that she was wearing a bit on the side like most Parisian women did.  In his opinion, it was a game of equilibrium on how they never fell. He was just happy she had left her hair down, as he had every intention of having his hands tanngle in her locks later that day.

“She was right. You are cute.” Peeta grabbed her hand as they started strolling along the quays of the Seine, one of their favorite walks. For once, they were both off work on the same day of the week, something quite rare with their schedules. The Louvre was open every day but Tuesday, yet there was still so much to do in the museum besides ensuring it didn’t catch fire for Katniss. 

She had to go through training on how to save the masterpieces displayed, to prioritize which ones to save in case of a fire (which led to a lot of disagreements from Peeta who clearly didn’t agree with the choices of the firefighters), or simply memorizing the museum’s rooms.

Even the small alcove they both had started to visit, trying to find a bit of intimacy out of the eyes of the security cameras. They still both blushed when they remembered the comment from Thresh, about the arrow tattoo Katniss had on her left hip.

They had kept their private sessions to just making out from then on.

(Even though they never walked through the Egyptian Department without thinking of that time Peeta made her cum next to the statue of Amon).

He was brought back to reality when she slapped his arm at his comment.

“I do not look cute!” She scowled, but he could see the spark in her eyes. He knew better, knew she liked his compliments.

“If you say so, Love, if you say so. You ready for a session with Monet?” 

“Monet, Monet, Monet, must be funny, in a rich man’s world….”

“Katniss ….” he sighed, trying to prevent the smirk he could feel forming on his lips.

“What? You can’t go wrong with ABBA!” She laughed, making his heart grow even bigger.

Before their first kiss on a sad April morning, a kiss of tears and ashes, Peeta had never thought he could be able to love so much, so fiercely, so deeply, and yet feel so free.

“Where are we going? Orsay is the other way?” Katniss asked, looking around them. “We’re not going to see your painter friends?” 

“Surprise, Love, surprise.”

“You know I hate surprises.”

“Yup.”

“Yet you keep on planning them.”

“Yup.”

“You’re irritating.”

“And you love me for that.”

“No, I don’t love you for that.” 

When Katniss spoke those words, Peeta felt his heart break a little.

Sure, she had never told him she loved him in such terms, rather shown him in so many different ways …

“Sit down with me…” he hadn’t realized that she was now sitting on the quay, her hand held out for him to take it. He hoped he was able to conceal how much he was hurting at the moment.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Peeta. That I have wanted to tell you for some time now..”

He could feel the cool pavement under the fabric of his jeans. It felt like cold was spreading inside of him. Katniss wasn’t even looking at him, her head turned towards the other bank of the Seine, facing away.

He saw her take a deep breath before she turned to him, before her hand went to his head, cradling it in her warm palm.

He was sure the killing blow, the coup de grâce was coming.

“Peeta, look at me…” Her voice was soft as the wind, light as a feather. He mustered all the strength he had in him before raising his eyes, before blue met grey. She had the most fascinating eyes he had ever seen. That would never change.

“Peeta, you keep calling me ‘Love’…” He closed his eyes, willing the tears to fade away, wishing for the heartbreak to stop. “Nobody’s called me ‘Love’ before. I’ve been… damn, this is hard!”

This was hard? He couldn’t believe his ears.

He was opening his mouth to tell her to go for the kill directly when she put her hand on his lips.

“Don’t, Peeta. This is something I have to do. For me, for you… for us.” He could feel her fingers shaking as she took a deep breath.

”You took me by surprise, Peeta. I never thought I would… feel so much. At first I blamed it on the fire, on the pain that it brought us, you, that it brought me. It was so awful being inside the cathedral, seeing all this stone being eaten by the fire. I thought something inside me had broken… and then I saw you… you’d been waiting for me all night. All night. And I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what was happening inside me then. Didn’t know the effect you’d have on me, Peeta.”

She turned to look at the water, letting her hand fall from his face before she continued.

“I never thought I had so much joy in me, how the little things could become so important. How a single person could have such an impact on me. How three words could make my heart grow so big I thought it would explode.”

Peeta listened, as she went on. It felt like he was living a dream.

“You call me courageous and strong, Peeta. You rave about how you’re impressed when I run into a fire, on how strong I am. Yet, I am not strong enough to say these three words, even though I want to. I’ve wanted to tell you them since the day you told me… Why is it so hard?”

She turned to him, her eyes shining.

He felt something blossoming inside of him. He knew it was love, spreading its wings. Peeta moved closer to Katniss, taking her hand in his.

“It’s hard, because once you say it, it becomes real. The question is… Do you want it to be real?”

She nodded. He went on.

“You don’t have to shout them. You can whisper them in my ear if you want…”

She smiled, and her smile was brighter than the sun. She seemed to hesitate for a second, before leaning into him. He felt her breath on his neck, on his jaw as well as the kisses she left there., Her hair tickled him. It was not enough, yet it was too much at the same time. He wanted to take her lips with his, wanted to ravish her mouth, wanted to take her to his place where they would make love until the early hours of the morning, wanted her.

He knew though that it would have to wait a few seconds. Because Katniss was about to give him the gift he hadn’t dared wish for.

He felt her take a small breath, before the words were spoken softly, for his ears only.

“I love you.”

Something exploded inside of him. It felt like he could achieve anything.

The only thing he wanted to do in that moment though was to kiss her until they ran out of breath.

So he did it.

When the bells of Notre-Dame rang for the first time in a year, they were still kissing.

[theparanormalperiodical]

The 13 Scariest Paranormal Investigation TV Show Episodes You Need To Watch - And The Links To Watch Them For Free!

As a paranormal blogger, I’m used to fangirling with other occult-obsessives about anything that’s spooky. 

It could be a scary movie. It could be a ghost they’ve seen first hand. It could even be an urban legend that frightened them to their very core! Either way, they always have a turning point in their life that pushed them towards the paranormal. 

My epiphany was different.

Sure, I’ve always had this constant connection with otherworldly spirits - but it was developed by one thing: paranormal documentary TV shows.

Most Haunted, Ghost Adventures, Celebrity Ghost Stories…

Each and every one made me want to be there with them!

I wanted to wander ‘round castles for a living. I wanted to read ghost stories everyday and explore the history behind them. I wanted to connect the dots and explore a new, hidden world.

It’s for that reason that I’ve decided to share my love for these shows with you, dear reader.

I’ve brought together the best episodes from Most Haunted, Ghost Adventures, Paranormal Lockdown, Celebrity Ghost Stories, Ghost Hunters and Paranormal Witness, explained the ghost stories that are the centre of the episodes, and have even provided links (and the terrifying timestamps) to the episodes. 

All you’ve got to do is press play!

Oh, and leave a comment on which one traumatised you the most…

Now, let’s get spooky.

#1 - The Dorothy Puente Murder House - Ghost Adventures (S12, E3)

Ghosts give me the heebeejeebies. Demons make me want to hide under my quilt and cry to a Sigrid song. But it’s stories of entrapment that really fuck me up. 

This is one of those stories.

Dorothy Puente was a landlady who ran a boarding house in California for elderly and mentally disabled residents. Don’t be fooled by her charitable exterior, though - what was happening inside the boarding house was a very different story. 

Puente was a serial killer who committed 9 murders - a number which is still disputed to this day - throughout the 1980s, and then cashed their social security checks. 

Whilst there are a number of details to this case, I thought I’d leave that to be discovered during the episode. 

Nevertheless, I thought I’d wet your appetite with some seriously traumatising tales:

In 1985, she hired someone to do wood panelling in her apartment. Not only did she give him an old pickup truck that I assume contained traces of evidence of her crimes, she asked him to build a 6-by-3-by-2 foot box. In non-maths terms, that’s the dimensions of a coffin. 

Claiming it was full of books and other small items for disposal, she journeyed with him to a local dump to dispose of these, uh, books, and stopped him before they reached the local area to dump the waste.

She directed him to instead drop it into a river cause that’s not suspicious at all.

But suspicions were roused when she began repeatedly hiring a local homeless man to do certain tasks like digging the basement and removing soil from it, or putting concrete in the garage. It was when he disappeared that the pieces began to connect together. 

Given the dark details behind the case, when Zak Bagans and his squad rocked up, they were on the receiving end some of the most striking paranormal activity they had ever witnessed:

Featuring EVPs crammed full of aggressive growls and demands for them to “Get out!”, or Ovilus Voices spewing words eerily similar to the murders and how the bodies were disposed of, this investigation stays true to what happened there.

But outside of the equipment used, the physical effects on the investigators was incredible!

One medium felt a choking sensation believed to channel the feelings of victims being force fed sleeping pills and then left to die in the Death Room. And the other? She drew a picture uncomfortably similar to a spirit seen by a tenant of the house - the spirit of Dorothy Puente. 

The other physical contact experienced includes pain felt in Zak’s lower back, as well as Zak entering this trance like state from which he fell off the bed!  

Here’s the episode:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x55gpad 

Want to seem some spooks, like, right now? 

09.10 - an EVP with Peggy, the resident who sees Puente’s spirit frequently.

13.10 - a medium begins to sense spirits and experiences some shocking effects.

17.30 - a medium produces pictures of the spirit she senses.

25.20 - EVPs in the backyard - where the bodies were buried - answer some of the questions that still go unanswered. 

30.20 - Zak Bagans begins to exhibit extremely peculiar behaviour.

#2 - Idaho State Tuberculosis Hospital - Ghost Adventures (S18, E10)

Whispers, children and angry old men.

No, it’s not the title of Fall Out Boy’s latest album - it’s just a few of the current inhabitants of The Gooding Inn.

Once a TB hospital that was shut down in 1976, this building has witnessed its patients literally choke and drown in their own blood as their lungs fill up. 

But what’s seriously scary about this episode is the effects on the most recent residents of the inn:

Not only was the housekeeper clearly upset about her encounter with an angry male ghost, she clearly feels the negative energy such spirits embody.

But it's when the current resident is interviewed that the reality of this location is realised. Two of her children had died whilst living in the former hospital, forging a strange link that is explored in the episode.

Yet before I spoil the whole show, here’s a taste of what’s to come:

A playful child spirit and a woman with a child make their own appearances, as well as the strange tale - and even stranger spirit - of Anton Beaver.

Ready to watch?

Here’s the episode:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdCxNtshvhg

Looking for a quick fear fix?

These are the timestamps of note:

05.25 - Zak Bagans starts the show with the housekeeper’s own tale of the hauntings she’s witnessed.

10.00 - One woman recounts the potential impact of the hauntings on her family.

12.15 - a paranormal investigator brings his own footage and experience of activity in a passage from which gurneys and wheelchairs would bring in the patients

16.00 - Zak Bagans researches those who died there - and creates a sudden shockwave of paranormal activity across the building.

21.50 - a weird non-human noise is heard when a dark shadow appears.

32.00 - pranks set by a spirit of a former child patient begin to haunt the team.

#3 - 30 East Drive - Most Haunted (S18, E1 Halloween Special)

Take a look around my blog - no, seriously, look at what I write about: old manors, haunted abbeys, demonic forests… They all seem to stand out. And I think that’s what makes this tale - and this episode - quite so scary.

Welcome to 30 East Drive, a council house nestled in Yorkshire, England.

It started in 1966. The Prichtard family had just moved into a new home when they started to notice rather peculiar occurrences:

A fine layer of dust fell on everything in the house, puddles would appear from nowhere, even if one was cleaned up, the tea dispenser would go off randomly, and items would levitate!

Given the evident paranormal resident, clergymen were called to exorcise the house. 

They were not successful. Holy water would leak out of the walls, ghostly hands would appear and ‘conduct’ the hymns being said to remove him, faces were slapped and people were pushed. Despite the rather playful poltergeist at first, this spirit slowly became more aggressive:

The daughter, Diane, began to find scrapes and bruises appear on her body, and was even dragged up the stairs by her hair! It was eventually deduced that this could be the spirit of a Monk whose body was discarded down the well that the house now sits on. Why was he thrown down a well?

Because he - or perhaps his twin brother - raped and murdered a young girl.

And as he is often seen wearing black robes, the house was given labelled the Black Monk House. Fancy a watch? You’ll be spoiled for choice then - Paranormal Lockdown also had a stay in the house.

Here’s the Most Haunted Episode:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dO3EeYBGNuo

“But, spookyllama, where are the timestamps?”

I couldn’t find any timestamps of note because the activity in this episode is constant!

Within the first 1 and a half minutes, a marble is thrown, echoing one of the most common hauntings in this house. Knives were also found sticking out of sofas, as was a crucifix jumping off the bed. 

#4 - The Wentworth Woodhouse - Most Haunted (S17, E6)

Our next episode also features a ghostly monk, but this time we see activity beyond marbles being chucked at cameramen. Indeed, this episode is just as iconic as the former - this is due to the controversy surrounding the evidence captured in this video.

One of the most famous hauntings of the Wentworth Woodhouse is the first earl of the house walking down the main stairs of the house. Only he’s headless. And they claimed to capture this footage:

https://www.mirror.co.uk/tv/tv-news/most-haunted-team-finally-catch-12417869

This footage only taps into one component of the paranormal activity seen in this house, however.

This house has seen centuries worth of aristocratic family feuds, deaths and drama which still roam its halls. Whether its footsteps, ghostly laughter or opera singing, it seems all past residents never actually left. 

Yet aside from the earl taking a nightly stroll, the scariest spirit has to be a ghost that stands still during his hauntings, leading many people to think he’s a statue. 

Specifically, the most haunted locations - aside from the library - are the George VI quarters. With shadows tracing the walls and dark figures standing in the doorways, the Most Haunted team were certainly not alone.

You can see the episode here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdTnJC4cO54

Want a speedy scare?

28.00 - a door rattles and sounds as if its being opened, only its not - it’s locked and there’s no handle.

30.00 - The team hears a whistle, so they whistle back. What happens next is mind-blowing…

50.00 - The crew hears a couple of footsteps follow them around a part of the house.

#5 - The Washoe Club - Ghost Adventures (S16, E7)

The Ghost Adventures team might have investigated this wild-west location 3 times, but it gets no less spooky as time goes on. The oldest saloon there, The Millionaires’ Club, is the centre of the activity as a former exclusive saloon for rich businessmen.

Upon Zak Bagans and his team’s final return, they are reduced to tears by the activity witnessed.

This activity includes the spirit of a prostitute who committed suicide in room 77, a full-bodied apparition in the ballroom, a brick thrown in the basement and a women, Lena, haunting the staircase.

The episodes in particular have also captured EVPs saying their names: “Zak, look out”, and "Nick, Zak, coming..., they're scaring me".

Ready for a trip to the Wild West?

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/xqhyh6

#6 - Hinsdale House - Paranormal Lockdown (S1, E5)

If you thought these buildings were scary, wait ‘til you hear about the Hinsdale House. Question is, what separates it from the other contenders? 

This is a demonic haunting.

Considered this generation’s Amityville, the whole property exhibits signs of activity an exorcism couldn't rid it of: mysterious phone calls, chanting from nearby woods, animal hybrids and full bodied apparitions are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to this house.

Lucky for us, the Paranormal Lockdown team spent 72 hours here, investigating the hauntings both during the day and night.

Within the first 7 minutes of filming, an abundance of flies fills the house, not unlike horror films that trace the stories behind houses just like this. The following emotional impact on Nick further forges a link to the supernatural. 

Featuring choking, consistent EVP’s saying Nick’s name and even Lorraine Warren on the blower telling them to get out of the house, negative energy is an understatement for this house.

You can watch it here:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6tujvf

Head to 25.00 if you want to see their investigation of the forest - including the Gregorian chanting that is claimed to still echo on this former Native American burial ground.

28.00 - when Katrina asks spirits to go to Nick and show their presence when he’s in a different room, the spirits follow orders.

Unfortunately, the spooks don’t end when the credits roll:

Nick claims spirits from this house followed him home and told him to go to a little house tucked away in England.

And that house was 30 East Drive.

#7 - 30 East Drive - Paranormal Lockdown (S2, Halloween Special)

So, we know Most Haunted’s verdict of the Black Monk House - what about Nick and Katrina’s?

Having spent 100 hours there - one of the longest amounts of time they’ve been in lockdown for - they witness apparitions, marbles flying across the house, a scar appears on Katrina’s stomach, and even a murder attempt by the spirit.

That’s right - a Grandfather clock is pushed over, nearly killing Nick! 

You can watch that happen here:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6azzx0

#8 - The St. Augustine Lighthouse - Ghost Adventures (S2, E19)

Haunted locations aren’t just famed for paranormal fanatics like me rocking up.

It’s the history which matters. 

And this haunted lighthouse is celebrated for its history with its own museum denoting the things it was witnessed as a part of America’s Oldest Port. And with multiple people living and dying on the property, the subsequent variety of activity is what sets this lighthouse apart from, well, non-haunted lighthouses!

But it's that history repeating itself that makes this one of the scariest episodes included on this list: a woman in white roams both the nearby forest and the top levels of the lighthouse, a man walking in uniform wanders round the basement, and spirits make use of the famous staircase that fills this building.

Have I piqued your interest? You can satisfy your supernatural needs here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHsNtvT8uHU

Check out the walk through of the lighthouse and description of the main activity at 05.30.

19.45 - you can hear the chattering of multiple spirits on the staircase - and you might even see someone - or something - walking down it, too.

24.00 - this is the most incredible evidence they’ve ever captured - trust me.

#9 - The Stanley Hotel - Ghost Hunters (S2, E22)

Famous for inspiring the Stephen King classic, The Shining, this hotel is infamous for its real life haunted history. First opened in 1909, the 420 rooms - including an underground cave system - hold many ghosts who still make regular appearances.

Room 217 for example, once belonged to a housekeeper. Often visitors to this room notice their luggage is unpacked, items moving, or the lights flickering. Oh, and she’s not a fan of couples sleeping together in the same room, either!

After that, why not visit the Concert Hall? Haunted by a spirit who was once believed to be an usher, you may hear a voice telling you to leave, a nudge, or even see flashes of light of his torch.

You might even hear the giggle of a child echoing down from the attic, a former nursery.

Question is, why is it quite so haunted? There’s 2 claims behind this: the crystals in the cave system below the hotel channel the energy, and the staircase is a vortex for ghosts, allowing them to come and go as they please.

Ready to see what happened?

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6ekji3

#10 - The Rain Man - Paranormal Witness (S1, E6)

Ghosts and spirits, demons and death; all the episodes mentioned in this post stick to relatively confined notions of the spiritualistic and pagan religions. However, this episode takes us further than I ever expected.

Paranormal Witness is a show - a bit like Celebrity Ghost Stories - where paranormal stories get retold and acted out.

And this episode follows a young man, Don, who becomes possessed by his abusive grandfather. Having displayed the typical signs of possession, he then began to have strange encounters with water. 

Water began to seep from the walls, and then from the ceiling. But this wasn’t water - when someone touched it, it felt sticky.

It was only when Don was stuck in a trance, that water began to go upwards, towards the ceiling, and pots and pan began to rattle.

When religious rituals were used to cleanse Don, the water was directed towards the bible and person performing the cleansing.

This was only the start of Don’s new powers. And they were to intensify during his final stint in prison.

Hungry for more? Check out the full episode here:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2hvjvg

#11 - The Haunted Highway - Paranormal Witness (S1, E2)

Like I said: Paranormal Witness doesn’t stick to the typical hauntings we see. And this episode involves a UFO.

This story - without spoiling the episode - revolves around a mother and son who go missing in the desert. With a relative’s strange dreams pointing her to where they might be and a medical mystery twisting the tale, all that is left is one question:

What really happened in the desert?

You can watch this episode on Amazon for £1.89.

#12 - Celebrity Ghost Stories (S1, E9)

This episode featuring Morgan Fairchild, Lili Taylor, John Salley and Vincent Curatol is considered one of the scariest episodes of this popular episodes from which paranormal experience are acted out.

Here’s the synopsis to tickle your tastebuds of terror:

“A young Morgan Fairchild is abused by a spirit when she moves into her new husband's family home; an unidentifiable stranger comes to John Salley's aid during a nightclub shooting; Lili Taylor hears unexplained noises when she goes on retreat.”

You can watch this episode on Amazon for £1.89.

#13 - Pendle Hill - Most Haunted (S6, Halloween Special)

Pendle Hill might feature as a hiking opportunity in the Pennines, but it actually has a history - and a haunting - to boot. 

Back in the early 17th century, a family of peasants were believed to possess a variety of paranormal powers. And the effigies they made of human hair and teeth didn’t make them appear any less suspicious, either!

The Pendle Witches, as they were known, were arrested, tried and then hung on Pendle Hill.

The witches never left the hill, however. 

Not only did the neighbours of the Pendle Witches experience and die from mysterious illnesses, to this day supernatural activity has stuck close to this location.

Teeth have dropped onto tables during seances, and unnaturally frequent rainfall on the hill is a common occurrence. 

So, what did the Most Haunted team see when they visited the site?

Acorah was apparently possessed by a witch, and a table and a glass smashed during the seance. Oh, and the whole cast and crew felt as if they were being strangled at certain points during filming.

Were they experiencing the final moments of the Pendle Witches as they were executed for their crimes?

You can check that episode out here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wu7yRqoLxLc

Or, you can have a speedy spook, instead!

30.00 - the equipment batteries drain, a classic indicator of paranormal presences.

32.00 - Acorah begins his readings of the area, and clearly becomes quite emotional and intense when describing the spirits he sees and hears.

45.00 - Acorah exhibits strange behaviour, and is on the receiving end of harmful spirits.

59.40 - Acorah sees a spirit - or perhaps an otherworldly being.

01.48.00 - the team perform the seance.

Now it’s time to hear what you think.

Which episode are you watching tonight?

And did I miss any seriously-spooktastic episodes out?

[themuzzleofnemesis]

1-Memory of Settling the Score; Scene 2

The Muzzle of Nemesis, pages 18-39

--Men in military uniform stood around me in a line in the meeting room.

One of them was pointing to a spot on the map that was spread out on top of the table, and explaining something to me.

“—The southern front has already been broken by USE forces. Rolled has been taken from us, and they are currently marching for Lucifenian. At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before they retake the Republic of Lucifenia. We’ve managed to hold back the Marlon cruisers to the west with our naval unit, but the situation hasn’t been favorable--”

Why was he saying such things to me?

What—was this man’s name?

…Areus...Yes, he is…General Areus Hymn.

My blurred consciousness gradually began to clear.

And that’s…Gigaty...Polrio...And that man with the glasses is Grand...

I confirmed the names of each of the officers lined up before me inside my head.

Mima...Encheri...Yes, they’re all—my subordinates. My colleagues in the great Tasan Party.

General Areus didn’t look so good as he gave his report.

His expression, more than his words, told of our poor military situation.

“—Our allies have been slow to act. Beelzenia has their hands full with defending themselves, and Jakoku…They’re still suffering from the ‘unfortunate accident’ the other day. We have reports that they’re already preparing a complete surrender to the USE army.”

And there, General Areus stopped moving his mouth.

He seemed to be waiting for me to give some sort of response to his report.

It was the same with the others. There was sweat on his brow, and he remained standing at attention.

Would we surrender?

Or would we continue the war?

They were waiting for my words.

--The words of Elphegort’s führer, Nemesis Sudou.

.

I had been sitting in a chair, and it was there that I stood.

I could tell clearly that everyone was breathless with anticipation.

“…There’s no problem.”

I’m positive that I was smiling.

How could I be smiling in the midst of such a crisis?—That bewilderment showed quite obviously on the officers’ faces.

It wasn’t that I was bluffing.

It was as I had just said—there was no problem.

“Everyone, come with me.”

I approached a bookcase that was deeper in the conference room, and pushed a key that I had on my person into a keyhole on the underside of the shelf.

The bookcase slid to the side, and opened up a doorway to a hidden room.

.

There were various kinds of devices in this room.

There weren’t many who knew what they were for even among the top officers of the Tasan Party.

The first one to speak up was General Areus.

“So you’ve…already made preparations.”

“Correct. We need only activate it now, and everything will be over.” I put my hand on the firing mechanism, and once more flashed a smile. “This bastard child of the gods who will lead us to victory—‘Punishment’.”

It was a new weapon developed by Elphegort’s proud researchers. Its aim was already on the entirety of Evillious.

The two firing tests we had done for it had produced results beyond expectation. The first “Punishment” had completely burned down the Millennium Tree Forest to Elphegort’s south, and the second firing had transformed Jakoku’s Onigashima to a land of ash—To tell the truth, that one had been a miscalculation; by all rights it was supposed to land on an open field on the western edge of the United States of Maistia—we had finished correcting for that configuration error.

“But…Führer.” General Areus’s expression was still stiff, even as he looked upon the firing mechanism. “Do you really intend to use this?”

“Do you have some objection?”

“I have two worries. First—‘Punishment’’s destructive power vastly outstrips any weapon that already exists. No matter where it lands, we won’t be able to avoid having many civilian casualties. The other concern is that there are instabilities in its accuracy from rushing its development. There’s a chance that it may go off course and cause damage to our own country—”

“Our scientists are working to ensure that doesn’t happen. We won’t have another failure like with Jakoku.”

“But—”

General Areus didn’t withdraw. Apparently there were others who shared his thinking among the other officers.

It seemed I would have to first correct their misconception.

“General. I have no actual intention of firing ‘Punishment’ right away. This is—a deterrent.”

“…”

“Word has already spread to other countries of the situation in Onigashima. But the USE forces don’t yet know that we still have several ‘Punishments’ available. It is for that reason they are making such a cocksure advance. They believe that we have no more options available to us. …Once our enemy learns we have yet more ‘Punishments’, and that they are aimed at every country—there will be room for negotiation.”

“…I see.”

“Gentlemen, this next part is your job. Armed with the authority of ‘Punishment’, make the USE army withdraw from our nations!”

“Yes!”

Starting with General Areus, all the officers present saluted me.

“Now go! For Tasan Elphegort!”

“Long live Führer Sudou!”

.

--After the meeting had ended, I took a brief rest in my quarters.

Generally it wasn’t a good idea to stand by the window. There was always the chance of being targeted by an enemy sniper.

Go ahead and kill me, if you can.

I began to gaze at the scenery outside without much hesitation. The windows on the opposite building, its roof, among the branches of the roadside trees—there was no silhouette of an assassin anywhere.

Despite the whole world being at war, it was quiet around Tasan headquarters. I could see an aging woman walking the path, pulling along a cart with a large barrel inside.

I returned my gaze to the inside of my room. I didn’t much care for excessive decoration. As long as I had the bare minimum of what I needed, that was enough for me.

Here there was only a desk, a chair, a bed for napping, several medals and photos pinned up on the wall, and—one large water tank.

At the bottom of the water tank a Ziz Tiama—a blue octopus—was sleeping soundly. Most of the time when visitors first came here, they would seem put off by the octopus. Frankly speaking, perhaps they were more put off by me, for keeping such a thing in my room.

This octopus was one that my mother had given me soon after I was born. I had given him the nickname of “Mr. Ziz”, and doted upon him. We had been together for over thirty years now. He was my oldest friend, and you could say we shared a common destiny.

As long as Mr. Ziz was alive, I would not die—Whenever I told anyone that, they would laugh, thinking I was joking.

There was only one person who took me seriously, without laughing.

--I’m sure that if he were still alive, my life would have taken a very different turn. I wouldn’t be in the position to rule a country like this—I would be living as one woman, as a wife…

What a foolish fantasy.

There’s nothing gained by looking back to the past, and I had no regrets about who I was now.    

I had to save the world.

This world filled with this “anger”.

…Even if I wasn’t the right person to do that.

I couldn’t go back now.

.

I realized there was some commotion going on outside, and once more returned to the window.

The guards were quarreling with someone out by the main gate.

When I looked closer, I saw that it was the same woman who had been pulling the cart before.

“—I’m telling you, I was told to bring this food in here!”

“We haven’t heard anything about that. And this place is closed to the public to begin with.”

“That’s none of my concern! If I don’t finish my work, I won’t get paid! Just let me through!”

It seemed the soldiers weren’t able to run the woman off very well, stupefied at her threatening attitude.

There was a knock on the door, and Colonel Polrio immediately entered. He had several documents in hand.

Before he could speak, I cut in with, “There’s a ruckus going on outside.”

“…I beg your pardon. It looks like some peasant woman trying to push her wares. –Would you like me to give the order to have her shot?”

“She may be a peasant, but we can’t afford to have you harming a citizen of Elphegort without cause. Have her leave politely…If they can’t even do that, then Tasan Elphegort’s soldiers must not be worth much.”

“—Of course. I will do as you ask.”

Colonel Polrio hurriedly left the room, leaving the documents on my desk.

--The populace was suffering from this prolonged war. We had a serious shortage of goods. And we couldn’t rely on aid from our allies.

And here to break this stalemate—

…Is, I suppose, ‘Punishment’.

I had told everyone earlier that I had no intention of using it right away.

Of course, there’s nothing I would prefer more than for all of this to be resolved without anyone being sacrificed.

But…the other me whispered in my heart.

.

“Everything must be purified.”

.

This brutal personality that slept within me. It had tormented me since I was a child.

I’d become mostly able to shut her out since becoming an adult, but--

It felt as though her voice was growing stronger lately.

.

The ruckus was still ongoing outside.

“That’s enough of your nonsense!”

I could hear the soldiers shouting. When I looked out the window they were aiming the machine guns that they carried at the woman.

And in no time at all, several gunshots rang out.

The woman didn’t seem to have been shot. Rather, I could see some faint sand clouds from the ground near her, apparently from warning shots.

“If you don’t want to get shot, leave now!”

Perhaps frightened by the soldiers’ threat, she turned around and then slowly started walking towards her cart.

What a waste of bullets.

I would have to punish them for that later with a pay cut.

Once the woman reached the cart, she didn’t immediately set out.

She put her hand on a cord tying down a sheet on top of the barrel there.

--I suddenly got a bad feeling.

Despite having just been threatened with a gun, the woman’s face bore a calm smile.

She unfastened the cord, and swiftly yanked off the sheet.

What immediately broke through the lid of the barrel and leaped out was—

…A—tiger!?

The guardsmen looked even more surprised than I was. Taking advantage of their immediate inaction, the tiger quickly pounced upon one of the soldiers.

“Aaaaugh!”

By the time the reserve guards had rushed out of the main building, hearing the screams, the tiger had already ripped the man’s throat out.

--At some point the woman had vanished from her place by the cart.

Everyone started to fire at the tiger all at once.

But the tiger ran to escape the rain of bullets, disappearing behind the building on the other side of the road.

“Catch it!”

Complying with their commanders’ order, all the guards headed in the direction the tiger had fled.

They went behind the building, and just as they were out of sight—

Again, the sound of gunshots rang out.

Just now…That didn’t sound like our military guns.

Immediately, a fewer number of soldiers came running back. They then hid behind the perimeter wall of the headquarters, and took up firing stances.

The troop leader blew the whistle to call in reinforcements.

“We’re under attack!”

At the same time, I could hear more firing from the enemy soldiers on the other side.

I immediately pulled away from the window and hid myself in a spot that couldn’t be seen from the outside.

And then I recalled a certain name to mind.

That tiger…I wonder if it’s Feng Li. A ghost of PN.

Then that woman was probably—a disguised Hel Jaakko.

Colonel Polrio sprinted into the room, accompanied by two subordinates.

“We’re under attack!”

“I know that! By who and how many?”

“Judging by their uniforms they’re likely from the United States of Maistia! As for how many…As far as we can tell at present, maybe ten-odd soldiers.”

“Maistia…Quite a feat, coming all the way here from across the ocean.”

It must have been an infiltration unit that came to Elphegort masquerading as peasants.

Still…How reckless. There’s no way these headquarters will fall to such a small number of people.

I heard the sound of my room’s windows violently shattering from enemy fire. Colonel Polrio let out a small wail and hid under my desk.

“Führer, this is too dangerous! We must move to the war council room!”

“That would be wise.”

I started to head for the doorway, crouching down.

“…Colonel Polrio.”

“Yes?”

“Take my water tank to the war council room.”

“Huh? But I can’t do that by myse—”

“What are those men cowering at your side here for?”

Even amid all this chaos, Mr. Ziz was peacefully drifting around in his tank, showing no sign of waking up.

What a carefree creature.

.

While we waited for the battle to end inside the war council room, I pondered on the true identity of our foes.

Why are former PN members with Maistia troops?

There was a justice organization known as the Dark Star Bureau in northern Levianta. This bureau had once created its own personal peace-keeping force separate from the police.

That was “Police Neutrality”—nicknamed “PN”.

After Levianta had broken out into civil war on account of Dark Star Bureau Director Gallerian Marlon’s excesses, PN was disbanded.

The whereabouts of its former members varied. Some were imprisoned, some were recruited into the World Police, some went to spend the rest of their years in their homelands—

I had once worked in PN myself.

…Though I was never an official member. On the surface, PN had the purpose of performing peacekeeping activities in each country as an alternative to the corrupt police, but behind the scenes it also carried out secret assassination jobs against any who would threaten the Dark Star Bureau—or rather, anyone who got in Gallerian’s way.

I had been entrusted with carrying out such “behind the scenes” tasks.

Feng Li, Hel Jaakko…They had been part of PN’s “public” face. For that reason, while I had heard of them, today was my first time ever laying eyes on them.

Perhaps I didn’t need to think too deeply about it. A great deal of time had passed since PN was disbanded. There was nothing particularly odd about anywhere its members ended up working.

--I was more proof of that than anyone.

Who could have imagined that little old Nemesis would be standing at the top of Elphegort? Me, who had once done nothing but make trouble with my friends in the slums of Aceid?

“…It’s quiet.”

At some point the sound of gunshots had faded away.

“Perhaps they’ve finished suppressing our foes,” Colonel Polrio suggested.

About ten party officers including myself were assembled in the council room, the safest place in headquarters.

“…Where is Major Encheri?”

It was then that I finally realized one of the officers was absent.

“Gone, now that you mention it. …Maybe he grabbed a gun and went out to join the fight. He’s quite the daring man, ha ha ha.”

I would have really preferred if General Areus had been joking. “I told him to think of his age and position. It’s not a commander’s job to be standing on the front lines.”

“True, he’ll be in for a scolding when he gets back.”

Suddenly, the door opened.

The man standing there was the very subject of discussion, Major Encheri. Everyone in the room turned their gaze to him at once.

I noticed immediately that he had sweat pouring from his temples. Perhaps he was uncomfortable with having been so late…That’s what I thought for a moment.

No…it’s not that.

General Areus seemed to notice something off about Major Encheri as well when he tried to approach him.

“You—”

But before General Areus could speak to him, Major Encheri pitched forward.

Thrust deep into his back—was a wide knife.

“--!?”

Everyone grasped the situation, and moved to hide behind the desk, drawing their guns.

However…our foe’s movements were just a little bit quicker.

The muzzle of a gun flashed from the other side of the doorway—several people were shot by the bullets flying from it.

“Gah!”

I peered at the fallen from the shadow of the desk.

They got…Gigaty and Grand. General Areus is…just barely alive.

He was lying on the spot, moaning in pain from a shot to his left leg.

Someone then stomped on his wounded leg.

“Haugh!”

Ignoring General Areus’ pitiable cries, the intruders drew closer to me and the others.

“Drop your guns and stand up with your hands in the air!” the man who appeared to be the leader shouted at where we were hidden.

Naturally, we had no intention of obeying his words.

I stood, and showed myself to our enemy—my gun at the ready.

At that signal, the others also stood and pointed their guns at the intruders.

There were less of them than I’d thought.

Only three.

They all hid their faces with cloth and goggles.

We’ve got seven people left. We’ve got superior numbers, but…

There was a clear difference in equipment between us and our foes.

All of the Tasan officers were wielding pistols for personal protection. By contrast, they were equipped with fully automatic rifles. And the vests they were wearing were, without a doubt, bulletproof.

Even if we exchange fire…they’d be the ones left in the end.

Their leader likely realized that.

He aimed the gun at me and declared, showing no sign of fear, “I’ll say it again. Drop your guns. If not, I’ll shoot Führer Sudou first.”

The officers all looked conflicted, but when Colonel Polrio threw down his gun in defeat, the others followed suit one by one.

And so—I was the only one among my allies who was still wielding a gun.

“You don’t know when to give up, do you Führer? Even you must see you have no hope of winning.”

The leader continued to aim his gun at me, the other two watching the captured officers menacingly.

“No.”

And yet, I had no intention of obeying him.

“I see, then you leave me no choice—you will die here, Nemesis.”

The man pulled the trigger without hesitation.

.

--But the bullet never actually left his machine gun.

What happened instead was an “unfortunate accident”

“Guuh…”

The man fell into a crouch, clutching his now blood-covered hand.

He couldn’t have imagined it.

--That his gun would explode the moment he pulled the trigger.

“Guess you weren’t so lucky, heh heh…” I smiled sardonically, but of course this…was not simple “bad luck”.

“Sir!”

One of his allies raced to him, and then pointed their machine gun at me.

“Oh, are you going to shoot next? Go ahead, try it. However…you’d better hope there’s not another ‘accident’.”

He moved to shoot me, angered by my provocation, but the leader stopped him.

“Don’t do it! This woman…did something to the gun.”

The leader took the gun from his comrade and carefully checked it with shaking hands.

“…As I thought. Something’s clinging to the inside of the bolt…Is this…ice?” Finally the man tossed the gun aside, and then glared at me through his goggles. “—You damned witch.”

“My my, don’t use such an anachronistic word. ‘Witches’—their existence was thoroughly debunked by the Dark Star Bureau long ago, you know.”

“…I know. I too was once a member of ‘PN’, after all.”

My heart faintly stirred at hearing that.

I once more looked at his wound.

That bloodied hand…the color of his skin…He was black.

This man…he can’t be…

While holding my gun in one hand, I walked closer to him.

His other comrade kept their machine gun trained on me, but there was no need to fear. Even if they fired, they would meet the same outcome as their leader.

I put my hand on his goggles and ripped them off.

Then I tore away the cloth covering him, and there—

Was a face I knew.

“—So, Bruno Zero…It is you.”

The unsavory organization, PN.

He had been its leader.

“It’s been a while, Nemesis.”

“…You’ve gotten old, Bruno.”

This was a reunion decades apart, but neither of us were smiling.

“Why are you with the Maistian army—Or rather, why are you attacking this place?”

“Do you really need to ask me that? I would think it’s obvious I came to kill you, the enemy of the United States of Maistia…the führer of Tasan Elphegort.”

“If that’s the case why didn’t you shoot me right away? You tried to get me to surrender at first.”

Bruno didn’t reply.

He simply continued to glare at me, silently.

Getting a hold on the situation, Colonel Polrio scooped up his gun and approached my side.

“Is this an acquaintance of yours, Führer?”

“Acquaintance…Yeah. You could say this man—Bruno, is the one to whom I owe my life.”

“My word, then—”

“Search him. You might find something.”

Colonel Polrio quickly seized Bruno, and then began to search his pockets.

As he did, the other officers grabbed Bruno’s comrades and called for reinforcements.

--It was apparent that the combatants who had attacked the main gate at the start were merely a diversion. Then a different unit comprised of Bruno and his allies snuck in while the guards were distracted and reach the council room…That was the gist of it.

“Führer. I found this—” Colonel Polrio handed me a sheet of paper once he had finished searching Bruno. “It looks like orders. It’s been written in code so I don’t know what it says…Shall I have it deciphered?”

“No need.”

I recognized that code.

“Using the same code that you did back in PN—You’ve gone senile, Bruno.”

Its contents…were details on the new weapon that we possessed, “Punishment”.

And also the order to destroy it.

So the information’s been leaked. But I only revealed the existence of the completed “Punishment” to the officers for the first time in the meeting earlier. So then—there’s a chance we have a spy amidst our military scientists.

I would have to look into that later.

First—I needed to decide on what to do with Bruno.

I drew closer to him, and put the muzzle of the pistol in my hand in the middle of his brow.

“Do you remember this gun, Bruno?”

“…Your ‘Naga Custom 44”.

“Yes…The revolver that ‘Postman’ gave me that day. The name of the sender was…’MASTER’.”

“…”

“If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be here now. The person who saved me when I was charged for the crime of sinking the S.S. Titanis and sentenced to be executed—was you.”

“…I regret doing it. You should have died back then.”

Even so, he had saved my life.

Because I—was the daughter of someone he loved.

I lowered the gun, and brought my face closer to look him right in the eyes.

“I will say it once more. I owe you my life. You saved me. And—you are the one who made me into what I am now.”

“So…You’re going to save me now? Is that what you’re about to say?”

I smiled at him.

“Oh no. It’s for that very reason—I’m going to kill you.”

I once more put the muzzle against his brow, and quickly pulled the trigger.

And as the blood splash washed over my face, I felt satisfied down to my very core.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[ditch-witches]

Blue Peonies (Dean-Charles Chapman Smut)

PART ONE

requested: yes/no (this is probably one of my favorite AUs) peonies

pairing: country!Dean-Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: very very very light smut

word count: 3,080

a/n: So like farm!Dean really hits home for some of us over at headquarters, I'm sorry

Your hands tightened on the thin steering wheel in front of you as your radio hummed along to the sound of the tires crunching down the gravel roads. The sweet summer breeze tugged at your updo, threatening to pull your hair from its restraint as buildings began to disappear, throwing distance between you and the city. The peonies were finally beginning to bloom, dotting the sides of the road and bringing a nostalgic smell into the air that you had grown foreign to while you were at school. The sight of such a scene brought the thirst for your mother's sweet tea into your thoughts alongside the pond beside your father's land under a velvety sunset.

As the forest line belonging to your father came within eyesight, you sighed slightly, pulling your sunglasses on top of your head and checking your lipstick in your rearview mirror knowing it would be the first thing your mother would comment on even if half your ass was hanging out of your dress. At the thought of her dress code, you snickered, reminiscing about the time you had to apologize to your father's farmhands for wearing shorts around them. You slipped your suit jacket off your shoulders, combating the heat of the day as your heart fluttered at the prospect of seeing your father for the first time in months. Pulling into the long dirt driveway, you silently thanked yourself for putting on a skirt that wasn't as constraining as your daily attire as soon as you spotted the several bloodhounds thundering towards your car. Their flopping, joyful faces put you at ease, being a symbol for the simplicity of your time on the farm with your family. They attacked your vehicle like an army as you stood, bending down slightly to greet some of them before they finally identified you and cleared out.

You vaguely thought about how the dirt would cover your blue-tipped shoes, but as your sights settled on the group of men at one of the barns packing up for the day, your attention locked onto something more important. Hope fluttered in your stomach as you shut your car door and began to make your way towards the men. You attempted to focus on the soft fabric of your skirt flowing about your knees rather than your increasingly rapid heartbeat. Maybe if you thought of him enough, he would really be mixed into the crowd, not having been shipped off to another farm before you had the chance to see him again.

And then as if your silent prayers had been answered, a familiar head of curly, brown hair came into view. Dean threw a few shovels into the back of a truck and tucked his work gloves into his back pocket as he kicked at the dirt, listening to one of the other men around his age talk about something. You couldn't fight the smile as you picked up speed slightly and he looked up, his blue eyes sparkling as if no time had passed between the two of you. His smile grew and he took a few steps to meet you. You quickly closed the space between you, jumping into his arms and wrapping yourself around his neck tightly. Your feet dangled off the ground a few inches as you dug yourself into the crook of his neck, paying no mind to how dirty he was from the day's work. His shoulders seemed to relax in your touch as if he was relieved to be held by you once again.

He put you down after a moment and held you out in front of him, searching your face like he was attempting to memorize your features once again. He waved forward the few men waiting for him to leave and you dug your fingers into his hair, still soft and full like you remembered. "You cut your hair," was the only thing you could think of to tell him as he stood before you. You had pictured this moment so often to get you through the rough patches in school, but not once had you thought you would have been as overwhelmed by just how much he had changed. He had grown up since you had seen him last; his face more defined, his arms stronger, his smile somehow wiser and aged, yet his eyes still held the same child-like wonder you had remembered so fondly. In his eyes, you saw the countless nights beneath the stars and the hours spent driving around just to hear a song a few more times. The light in the blues of his irises was almost a direct image of the lightning bugs dotting the meadows between the gaps in the trees where the two of you would get lost for an hour or two.

Your fingers brushed against his jaw as his hands grazed across your body to affix on your lower back. "Miss me?" He coaxed with a small sigh in content. You shook your head teasingly, making him chuckle softly, a sound you had missed more than brightly colored peonies. You pulled him into your arms again, clutching onto him as if you believed that the slightest gust of wind would take him away from you again. Dean pressed his lips against your shoulder, your skin brustling beneath your shirt as if it were wanting to reach out and touch him.

"I thought you left," you hummed and stood back again, now obsessed with the subtle dimple at one corner of his mouth.

He leaned down to kiss one of your wrists, his rough hands settling on your arm and rubbing circles into the skin with his thumb. "No way. You still haven't married me yet, sweetheart," he taunted affectionately, making you roll your eyes and titter.

"If that's what keeps you around, I'll never marry you," you countered with a quipped eyebrow.

He grinned again, leaning towards you. "That's rough," he mumbled before his lips finally met yours. You nearly melted into his touch as he smiled into your kiss. You couldn't help pressing your body against his as you felt the tension of the year rolling off your shoulders, him drawing out your carefree self with each of his subtle breaths and his hands curling into the ends of your hair. It was like you were kissing him for the first time in the stables again, his treaty of passion once again evident in the buzzing of your lips with every touch and brush of his skin against yours. You pulled away from him reluctantly, earning a groan from the boy as he buried his nose in your hair.

"Do you wanna go swimming?" You proposed, your eyes locking on the sky beginning to blend into an almost buttery sunset, making Dean halt his actions and move to raise an eyebrow in your direction. Before you knew it the two of you were sprinting through the woods towards the pond and throwing off your clothes. The water was warm and glistening in the soft glow of the sun as you dove into its murky depths, Dean following close behind you, splashing enough to take you under the surface with him. You pushed off of him with a laugh, throwing a wave of dark cyan towards him as he shook out his hair and swept more water in your direction.

As the two of you settled, Dean swam closer to you, his eyes seemingly more magnificent in comparison to the greenery around the pond. Those eyes were nothing compared to the peonies. You felt stupid for describing them as such to your college friends. The willow trees curtaining the perimeter shielded some of the orange rays of light peeking through their branches as if trying to get a look at the two of you, creating stripes across Dean's soft features as his gaze focused on yours. He reached for you beneath the water, pulling you towards him as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. Your fingers found their way into the curls at the base of his neck once again. His hand settled on your neck after tucking one of your disobedient strands of hair behind your ear.

Dean leaned on his elbows as you tied your wet hair into a braid, sitting beside him as you both lounged on a picnic blanket beneath one of the grand trees. You pulled your knees to your chest, your tank top finally drying out some as the sun dipped further into the tree line. You sighed, drinking in the remainder of the day beside Dean. You turned away from the scene before you to catch a glimpse of Dean as he sat up, crossing his legs before turning to you, a gentle smile on his lips. "What?" He raised.

You smirked slightly, leaning your cheek on your knees. "Your mama ever tell you you're pretty?" You mused, making him snicker.

"Cut that out," he mumbled, swaying to knock his shoulder against yours.

You snorted slightly, finally seeming to find everything you wanted to tell him about during your school days. "You know, you're the poster boy of what all the girls on my dorm floor daydream about?"

His eyebrows furrowed, a cocky grin sweeping across his face. "Oh really?"

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, enjoying his confidence blossoming before you. "Uh-huh. They all talked about this ideal man that was one that visited them in their dreams," you insinuated and he bit back a chuckle. "A man that really knows how to work with his hands."

A rosy blush warmed his cheeks and tips of his ears mildly as he chewed the inside of his cheek. "Hmm. Did you tell them about me then?"

You focused back on the sky as the breeze swept through the spindly leaves, the sound a hymn of summer nights like this one. "No, sir. I kept you for myself," you gloated, the sweet sound of his laugh rang through the air once again.

"Well, I guess we're even then because the guys are the same way." You turned to him, quipping an eyebrow at his sentence. You could practically feel the material of his soft t-shirt under your fingertips as you gazed at him in the low light. It was almost time for the fireflies to dance around the fields like fallen stars. "You're the farmer's daughter. You're every boy's fantasy with a job like this one."

"Am I your fantasy, Dean?" You leered as he leaned back on his hands to settle in closer to you.

His eyes jumped to yours with a small smirk. "That and so much more, my love," he answered definitively, making the both of you giggle loud enough to break up the music of the night's ancient rhythm. You tilted your head at the boy, catching your breath as his lazy smile looked forward, directed at nothing in particular. His gaze returned to you, looking at you like you were the only thing that existed to him at this moment. His hand brushed through your hair before moving to rest on the back of your neck, his thumb caressing your cheek tenderly as his eyes fixated on yours. He leaned forward to smooth a kiss against your forehead, the corner of your mouth, your cheek, a map to your lips as the sound of cicadas blurred around you. The lavender sky enveloped you as he deepened the kiss, reclining the two of you to press your back into the silky blanket beneath you, his breath fanning over your cheek to mix with the smell of summer on his skin.

Your fingers delved into his hair, tugging softly to draw out a moan as his lips left yours to explore your jaw and collarbones. His calloused hand ran along your side, pushing your shirt up slightly so he could finally touch your soft skin. You indulged in the feeling of his hands after so long almost as if him holding onto you was the only thing grounding you to the Earth. He gently nipped at the skin just before the seam of your top, his hair brushing against your chin as you tilted your head backward to allow him more access. You reached for the hand he wasn't leaning on for support, him watching your eyes as you dragged it up to grasp at your breast. He sealed the space between you in another ardent kiss, humming against your lips as your hands fumbled with the hem of his shirt. He leaned away from you, helping you tug his shirt over his head, grinning at you as you pulled him back against you. Your hands caressed the soft skin on his torso, feeling every muscle that lay beneath it. His kisses continued to litter your body as his hands wandered from your breast to your legs to your face again. His wandering hands teased to remove the remaining clothing you had on. His blue eyes had darkened and now they were locked on yours eagerly, almost asking permission to remove your skirt.

He could tell you were as eager as him just by your reaction to his touch, but moved slowly, taking his time and pacing himself to make sure he didn't seem disrespectful, despite having been with you several times before. It was almost as if he was savoring every second he got to spend against you. His calloused hands grazed over your skin and came to rest on either side of your head for support as you slipped his boxers off his hips. He positioned himself at your entrance and slid into you slowly resting momentarily for you to adjust to him, his lips feathering against your cheek. His icy, lust blown eyes connected with yours just as he set the relaxing pace for the both of your bodies. You knew it wouldn't be long until you were unraveling around him, just the sight of him made the fire within you burn brighter.

Dean leaned down to kiss you gently to seal the passion of the moment. You were wholly at the mercy of what he wanted, but he continued to keep you close, slowing his movements just to get a look at your face or press a kiss to your jaw, showing you how much he truly cared for you and your body. His head came to rest upon your cheek as he whispered about how beautiful you were into your ear and how long he had waited for your return. You couldn't tell if it was his sweet accent ringing in your ears or the care and precision he used when he was with you, but he was bringing you closer to your edge and you were not willing to waste the opportunity. Dean could see your approval of his actions, a small smile gracing his face in the soft light from the moon, and continued to fulfill your need until you were riding your high against him teasing him to do the same. His high followed and he rolled off of you being careful not to flop on top of your arms as he lowered himself.

You rested your head upon his chest, smelling the sweat of hard work mixing with his cologne from the morning. It didn't matter how much time had elapsed and how much he had changed, he still smelled like the summer breeze on a good day. You didn't think anything could be better than this, not even heaven. Dean wrapped his arms around you keeping you close. You both laid there taking in each other for what seemed like hours before he reached for your hand and looked down at you, locking his blue eyes with yours. "God, I'm glad it's summer again," he whispered to you, almost as softly as the wind as it ruffled the peonies.

You laced your fingers with Dean's as you strolled up to the old farmhouse, the warm glow of the kitchen light a welcome sight. You could hardly mask the fuzzy feeling of being pulled tighter against his hip as he pressed a kiss against your temple. The night loon called from the other side of your land to mix with the crickets and the windchime. Dean's eyes snapped up from yours slightly and you turned your head, following his sights to your vehicle. You smiled with pride as he began to speak. "That's sweet," he whistled, making you chuckle.

You turned to him as you reached the end of the sidewalk up to your back porch. "You like it? It's my boyfriend's back on campus," you jeered, making him wheeze and you smacked his chest. "Relax, I'm joking!" You giggled as he rolled his eyes. You pulled him towards you again and hugged him tightly, your fingers digging into the material of his shirt. Your lips hovered near his ear. "It actually belongs to the professor I'm fucking," you mumbled and he leaned away from you.

He shook his head at your devious expression. "Minx," he muttered, leaning towards you again to kiss you softly.

You heard the screen door slam open and a ghastly noise break into the air. "That's enough for tonight!" Your mother hollered, breaking the two of you up. Dean smiled and waved at her and you tugged his arm down.

"Do you wanna do something tomorrow?" Dean asked as he stepped away from you, heeding your mother's command. The moonlight bathed him in a cool tone, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at you. Your heart seemed to beat harder as he smiled.

You leaned against the railing lining the sidewalk and crossed your arms, kicking at the dirt. "Definitely-"

"I'm serious!" She called again, cutting you off, and you looked over your shoulder.

"I heard you! I'm a grown adult, mama! Let me say good night!" You hollered back. She groaned loudly, mumbling to herself as she walked back inside.

Dean giggled slightly. "I'll pick you up then," he answered.

"You better," you mirrored, tugging him towards you again for one last kiss. He smiled against your lips, a sweet seal of love. "Goodnight," you mumbled between embraces.

"Goodnight, love," he cooed, breaking apart from you and inching towards his truck as you turned on your heel and climbed the steps of your porch. You slept deeply that night, your dreams filled with Dean and his magnificent blue eyes.

[humble-wayside-flower]

Right Side Wrong (X)

Songs for Marin and Matthias Magwood // City With No Sky Pt. 2  (Marin on the left, Matthias on the right)

*~*~*

I’ll Be Your Mirror - Lowland Hum (A song for parallel universes and for someone who is so different but also very much the same)

When you think the night has seen your mind That inside you’re twisted and unkind Let me stand to show that you are blind Please put down your hands ‘Cause I see you

Secret for the Mad - Dodie (Sort of my song for Marin <3 You have to go through the hard stuff to get to the better stuff, but someday this will all make sense) 

I’ve got a secret for the mad In a little bit of time it won’t hurt so bad And I get that I don’t get it But you will burn right now, but then you won’t regret it

Close to Home - Vienna Teng (Home, Home, Home. It’s important to them both, but especially so to Marin. Learning to let go of the physical home, but also maybe the ideological home, and trying to build a new one, while stumbling upon the way.)

Lay your head where they hold Hide the demarcations of your soul And play your silent scream role Harmonize your own worth to what you show Normalized and nowhere close to home

O Magnum Mysterium - Morten Lauridsen (”The singing is slightly discordant, not quite right, unsettling to listen to. Through the making of music that sounds as pained as they feel inside do the priestexes of the Silent One grieve their dead… The dissonance resolves into a more traditional chord; the voices finish in something still sad, but more at peace.” --This is the song I’ve imagined in this spot from the moment that session ended. While it isn’t really a mournful song, there was never going to be another one that fit this part better in my head.)

Latin Choral Piece

Can’t Go Back - The Crane Wives (The ever present mantra, it’s not fair. It’s not fair because this was my home too, and my friend too, and no you don’t get to kick me out of my own home, I won’t leave. Except you do, and you do.) 

Cause you can’t go back, darling The time has come for moving on You can’t be always trying to dig up What you’ve already buried You’ve got to carry carry carry on

Prelude - Tessa Violet (A song for Nora. For two people with walls they haven’t fully broken down. A song for wanting to know more about who a person is behind the things a person does. A song for offering friendship, and a song for hesitance that is hard to get past.) 

I’m insecure Of that I’m sure Don’t need a counselor or seminar to see And even when it’s only you and me There seems to be Somethin’ that you keep behind your teeth

The Loneliness Waltz - The Ballroom Thieves (A song for Raye. For two people in the same boat, even when the oceans are different. A song for wanting other people to want you so badly that you never quite learn to stop giving yourself to people who are not paying attention. A song for picking yourself up again and again anyways.)

We are frivolous with our hearts Watch them bend till they break Then we pick up the parts Yeah, we give, we take We save and condemn And we live just to love again

We’re Not Different - Lo-Fang (A song for Yani Shae. For the weird sensation of looking at a person, and feeling like you’re looking at a distorted mirror. The same but different. Different but the same. I have a lot of thoughts about Yani and Marin and the act of having faith in a deity that is all about random chance, but that’s a whole other post.) 

You look at me but don’t see what I see I’m different But we’re not different Take this plant To feel how I feel Now we’re different But we’re not different Not so different

Leviathan - Dirt Poor Robins (World Eater Vibes- Adara Style. Tbh, the song I wanted to put here wasn’t on spotify, so this was the next best choice. A song for an entity that is threatening all of reality, but no one has ever seen it, and also you only really know it exists because your parallel universe selves told you it did. A song for world destruction as a ticking time bomb with a broken read out.) 

Here I lie in the dark and deep For a thousand years I’ve been asleep Far removed from the walls that rage Undisturbed by the earthquakes And I wait, I wait

Saint Bernard - Lincoln (A song about faith, and about losing it, and finding it, and losing it, and keeping it, and knowing that you’ll never really be able to extract it from yourself without cutting out a vital part of yourself. Marin is struggling with the loss of her home, but even more so with this loss of purpose. She’s just pushing forward and hoping for something to grab onto again.) 

I said “Make me love myself, so that I might love you” Don’t make me a liar, ‘cause I swear to God When I said it, I thought it was true 

In Darkness - Lowland Hum (A song for parallel universes, for someone who is very much the same, but also so different)

Forest of my mind Calm and slow and know comfort of the darkness Knowing you I am more myself but not a self I know; One from somewhere else

Guiltless - Dodie (I have a lot of thoughts about Mattie and their family, and the worries that come with growing up in an environment that is not affirming of who you are and that upholds the status quo to a fault. How do you figure out what parts of you are really you, and what parts are the ones you need to let go or outgrow?)

Oh but I’m not bitter, I’m just tired No use getting angry at the way that you’re wired And I could never let you know (Ooh, you’d never get it) And now I’m the one who can’t let go (Ooh don’t say it’s genetic)

The Hymn of Acxiom - Vienna Teng (A song for being cursed, and the ever present inkling that you are not quite alone in your own head. A song for being cursed, and abruptly understanding in the most gut wrenching way that you are absolutely not alone in your own head, not one bit.) 

Somebody hears you. You know that. You know that. Somebody hears you. You know that inside. Someone is learning the colors of all your moods, to (Say the right thing and) show that you’re understood

Nox Aurumque - Eric Whitacre (I cheated a little bit on this one and used a different composer, albeit still a Latin choral piece. I liked that this piece had an eeriness to it that contrasted with the lighter nature of O Magnum Mysterium. Also the title translates to Night and Gold, which seemed fitting.) 

Latin Choral Piece

Curses - The Crane Wives (The world eater is the one that burns, but their walls are still unstable. Will their friends still be here when the walls burn down? They hope so.) 

Every word I say is kindling But the smoke clears when you’re around Won’t you stay with me, my darling When my walls start burning down, down, down? 

Honest - Tessa Violet (A song for Sheridan. A song for two people who just want to be wanted, who have problems with self sacrifice, and who are learning that you need to lean on other people. It’s okay, their shoulder is here.) 

Here’s the truth My strength ain’t bein’ honest I mostly work from wanting to be wanted And if there’s somethin’ else, well I don’t know if I got it, got it And come the night, I’m never really solid

Trouble - The Ballroom Thieves (A song for Raleigh. For two people who can’t stop getting into trouble with each other. In many ways the two are complete opposites, but in another life they might not have been so different. For the boy who welcomes trouble with the smile of an old friend.) 

I’m terrified of my heart Its hunger for whatever it may want The way it stops and starts Yeah it may saunter into war Trouble doesn’t keep a civil score

Silver Peak - Lo-Fang (A song for Lukas. It took me ages to decide on one for him, and I’m still not totally happy with this choice. I feel like it captures the danger that his helping our party has put him in though, and the frenetic energy of everything that went down during the cult ceremony. I am so sorry that you got sucked into this world eater and blood hunter stuff. You’re a cool dude, and thank you again for the fork.) 

Instrumental

But Never a Key - Dirt Poor Robins (World Eater Vibes- Aillgate Style. It’s all about the fire imagery baby. And the imagery of someone slowly coming undone at the seams. A song for the slow ascent of a burning god that could unravel all of reality. A song for not being sure how to stop this yet. A song for being afraid of losing control of your body and mind again. Also that good good warlock shit.) 

You’re wound up too tightly  So frayed and unsightly  Pulling on your own strings You’re unraveling How can a cure now be found? With no outside threat Just a fire in your chest And you’re melting All over everything 

How I Survived Bobby Mackey’s Personal Hell - Lincoln (This song isn’t quite perfect, but the frenetic energy of it feels really right, especially in the aftermath of the cult ceremony. Mattie is looking for answers, but they’re also just looking for distraction. And control. Some control over these magic powers they suddenly have access too would be great too. A song for anxious waiting.)  

Nothing says I miss you quite like “I’m running out of time” Nothing says I hate you now like Getting sweat stains on a knife I am killing time with a razor blade

[peonypearls-muddled-musings]

PDatSK - Hierarchy drabble - Malgam&Koysov

A drabble to hopefully get a bit out of my skull so I can concentrate on other things

****

He hoped it wasn’t true. What was he going to do with him?

Striding down the hallways as his dark violet cape billowed behind him in his wake, Malgam ascended a flight of imposing marble stairs. In the esteemed halls of the home of the Hierarchy, Malgam, his majesty; the first, the original, set his golden gaze upon the ornate doors of the library. The house of all Shifter knowledge, rule and law. Servants passed him, bowing as he continued a march, before yanking on the bronze handle of the handsome oak door.

It was true. And Malgam sighed at the sight in front of him.

“Koysov.”

Turning to face Malgam was one of his own. Koysov; just half a foot shorter than Malgam, blond with forest-green eyes. A shifter; his third in command. His lover.

And most recently the birthgiver of their first child, who was nestled in a carrier on Koysov’s chest, with only a noggin coated with flaxen fuzz peeking out from within.

“Mal! You’re off early,” Koysov said with a smile, setting another heavy book down onto the pristine mahogany table to join an already-building second stack of texts. Malgam closed the door to the library, doing his best to not let his frustrations make his moves. “Is everything alright?”

“Koy, go back to bed,” Malgam quietly insisted. “You and Audleth need your rest.”

“Oh stop,” Koysov said, turning back to the wall of books, unhindered by the carrier on his chest as he reached for another large book. “I have a job to do too.”

“I understand that, but it’s only been five days.”

“And when is it appropriate for me to return, then? He’s not my first child.” Koysov looked at Malgam, green eyes meeting glinting golden. “And he won’t be our last.”

“But he is our first,” Malgam said; gently, firmly, taking Koysov’s hand to prevent him from grabbing another book. “I want to have these moments unhindered. I need you to be resting!”

“Then who will do my job? Certainly you have enough on your plate, my lord. And I won’t just lay in bed while the lot of you work around me. I am capable, Malgam. I’m the scales of this land; I can’t let some aches and pains hold me back.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t capable. But I am saying that the rest of us can handle things as needed. For future reference.”

Koysov smiled. “Of course; future reference. And what if you choose to bear next? Who will handle things as needed?”

“The rest of the family. Nadlia, Boxrom, the others.”

“And where am I in this picture?” Koysov asked, his brows angled in confusion. Malgam’s unflinching countenance spoke with no doubt in his eyes or tongue.

“By my side. Just as I am here now. Just as I’ll want you to be.”

Koysov felt his face grow hot with the eyes of his king upon him. It had been nearly two hundred years since the Hierarchy came together; but only two years since Malgam and Koysov became fixed parts of each other’s souls. Koysov still often felt small in the gaze of his king; the most revered of the Shifters. He swallowed, and instinctively looked down, but Malgam tipped his chin upwards.

“Where else can I imagine you, but by my side?” Malgam asked. Koysov’s cheeks remained red; something he wasn’t fond of, which Malgam knew. Koysov hated showing his vulnerabilities. Which was why their son was so precious to Malgam; Koysov had allowed Malgam a part of his heart that hadn’t been seen in a long time. Malgam leaned into Koysov’s lips, with Audleth gently squished between their chests as they shared their affections in the silent library. Malgam pulled away, still able to see the evidence of missed sleep indented under Koysov’s eyes and around his lips. “Come back to bed. I want us to have this time; for us and our son; and our future.”

Koysov sighed and he closed his eyes. He allowed them to remain closed for a moment, feeling the tease of sleep before he allowed light into his eyes once again, opening them to the sight of his love, the one responsible for midnight hungers of mingling lips; responsible for the sounds that can only be deciphered as hymns meant for only each others’ ears; responsible for the slowly healing aches of Audleth’s delivery. Koysov laughed softly and finally relented.

“Lead the way, my lord.” 

Malgam’s mouth formed into a slight curve in his signature modest smile, his chest puffing in content. “First,” he said, unfastening the carrier as he took Audleth into his arms. “I want to see our son.”

Tiny and perfect, Audleth snuffled, scrunched his face, and curled into his father’s chest as Malgam held him carefully. Malgam wrapped him up in his cloak, tucking him close to his heart. Koysov smiled as Audleth looked at his father with his large eyes, which appeared to be turning golden as well. When it came to family, Malgam’s heart was always open. He looked upon Audleth with a visibly glowing countenance. Malgam already had a slew of children from within the Hierarchy; some of which he’d been the bearer of himself; but Koysov smiled seeing Malgam regard Audleth as though he was a first time father.

Koysov never imagined he would be escorted into the king’s chambers as though they were his own now. His own personal bedroom had not been used since long before Audleth’s conception. Many of the Hierarchy had welcomed children by Malgam, but life never stopped to talk about relationships. Their children were necessary to usher in the continuing future of the Shapeshifter colonies. But when it came to Koysov, something was different for Malgam. He found himself craving Koysov’s company, to the point where he would leave his grand bedroom to bunk with the lawmaker after another nightmare of his first life. 

Malgam entered the room after him, nuzzling and cuddling with Audleth, who cooed and smiled in return for his father’s visage of pure adoration.

Koysov put Audleth’s carrier up, and he removed his loose, roomy shirt, which, a week ago, had been much more fitting; but it was still comfortable as his body adjusted once again to living for one. He watched as Malgam looked to the double doors to the balcony that allowed a view out to the kingdom.

“I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.” Malgam said, looking at Audleth in his arms, then to Koysov. “You and I, our son; the rest of the family. I haven’t felt this whole in... It must have been before The Journey.”

“I don’t even remember before that,” Koysov said as Malgam stepped outside. Koysov hesitated; he didn’t feel quite certain about stepping outside while wearing elastic-rimmed pants that were made to adjust to his current curvature. He was close to retrieving his shirt until Malgam took his hand, leading him outside. 

“Those days no longer matter.” Malgam said, looking at Koysov as the sun began to set. “What matters is now.” 

Eyes set ablaze by twilight gazed upon Koysov, like the setting sun glancing upon the earth, setting her alight in glory. Malgam’s hand held steadfast to Koysov’s, a grip he’d learned tenfold during Audleth’s birth. Malgam then allowed his hand to trail up Koysov’s arm, to his shoulder, up to gently cup his lover’s cheek.

“Koy.” Malgam murmured, his fingers lingering in Koysov’s blond locks. “I want you to wear my ring.”

Air escaped Koysov’s lungs; his green eyes widening in shock. “You mean it?”

“I mean it. My ring, my crown, and the mark of my lips. I want you to wear them all,” Malgam said, his face burning with love and hope for the future and his family “Would you?”

Koysov put his hand over Malgam’s as it touched his skin. He kissed into his king’s palm, letting his body inch closer to Malgam’s. He was happy to finally kiss his king without the obstruction of pregnancy, and he reveled in the touch once again.

“Malgam, “Koysov murmured, his other hand wrapping around Audleth as they stood as a family. “I would go back and spend another hundred thousand years with you if I could. But to know we have so much more ahead of us; I will wear whatever you desire of me, my lord. I’ll wear rings and crowns; I’ll carry your burdens and children alongside you.”

“As I will for you.” Malgam vowed in a whisper meant only for Koysov’s ears as the stars began to dot the sky above them. Their foreheads met in a tender touch, able to taste each other’s breath. “I am no longer your lord, Koysov. From here on out, you are my husband, my heart, and my home.”

Koysov stood, chest to chest with Malgam as Audleth remained in their arms together; and he smiled, his eyes brimming with tears.

“And you are my husband; my light. My glory. My strength.”

“My husband.”

“My life.”

“My love.”

“My forever.”

[boundforhiveswaphell]

The Campfire Song Except Without the Song Part; A Tender Pseudoreligious Story

Artemis, my lovely dnd pc, regales her party with the Tabaxi creation myth, which also happens to be Homestuck fanfiction. 

In other words, a short story written about an evening around the campfire involving my group's DnD party. All characters mentioned are original excluding the four beta kids, obviously! So, no. This isn't the beta kids playing DnD, sorry to get your hopes up. Many thanks to my lovely, lovely beta reader, Nym_P_Pseudo on Ao3! And so, I humbly present.... a Work. 

This can also be found here on Ao3 - if you wanna check out my other, non-homestuck stories!

Smoke danced before them, ember and ash swirling in the summer air. Rancorous laughter merged with the crash of distant waves, the crackle of fire and the shifting of feet providing the backdrop. The evening was alight with fireflies, and the sweet smell of the afternoon’s hunt whirled through the sky in long, lazy arcs.

Khr, the party’s resident Gnoll, was doubled over in laughter. His sickle was embedded in the earth beside him, forgotten in the evening’s relative peace. His laugh was unmistakable - a high-pitched keening giggle that rebounded off the trees. His dark claws were sunk into his knee-fur, and his mouth was agape as he struggled to breathe. Bella, a diminutive figure chuckled beside him. Her elfin features beamed with pride behind the curtain of dark hair, a clear indication that she was the source of his laughter.

“And what would you two be up to?” inquired Vega, her tone joking and light. Her robes glimmered with magic, fine craftsmanship showing even in the dim lighting. A quarterstaff rested beside her, also pulsing with power. Her face was unwrinkled and child-like - but when she smiled, her eyes showed depth beyond their years.

“Nothing!” barked Khr and Bella, near in perfect synchronization. They looked at each other and burst into yet more giggles, even louder than before. Artemis snorted as she tended the fire, feeding another log into its base. She turned to the pair to find them both practically rolling in the dirt, Khr’s tail thumping the ground.

“Sisters help me,” muttered Artemis, lips curled in a grin made menacing by her fangs. Her catlike eyes blinked slowly as she surveyed the group. They were a rag-tag bunch, for sure, but they were certainly capable enough when it came to the adventuring business. She was proud of each of them in turn and loved them as she would her own blood.

“Artemis, I thought you only had brothers?” It was Foofy, the puppet’s, high, comical voice that broke her reverie.

Artemis’s creme-colored face looked up from the fire in confusion. Did pupp… not know who the sisters were? “Y’know,” she began, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child. “The Jade and Violet Sisters?” 

“The fucking what?” Merlin, a brooding young prince, had joined in on the conversation - ever the eavesdropper.

“I - the Sisters! Life and death, the giver and ender? Y’know, the important ones?”

“Let me restate since you didn’t understand the first time - The fucking what?”

The party had gone eerily silent, Khr and Bella stopping their childish antics to watch the imminent conflict. Judging by their perplexed expressions, it seemed that no one else knew what she was talking about, either. Her mother would be having a conniption in the face of so many pagans.

Artemis was still not entirely sure if her companions were playing a joke on her, but she prepared to educate the gaggle of heathens regardless. She quietly called upon a lifetime of her mother’s adages and stories, harkening back to her days as a helpless whelp being told tales of the strings that shaped the very world. A silent prayer formed on her lips to the Violet Sister, to spare the heretics before her.

She let out the breath she was holding and opened her eyes.

“Would you like me to tell you?”

“Maybe,” came Khr’s grating voice, still breathless from his earlier hysterics. “Is this one of your father’s weird Dragonborn things?” 

“No!” huffed Artemis. “It’s Catfolk history. I learned both as a cub.”

“What are you, anyway?” Foofy’s pitchy tone again. Artemis chuckled softly.

“We’ve been over this, Foof. My mother’s Tabaxi, and my dad’s Dragonborn.” Foofy sat in thought for a moment before nodding sagely, as if in understanding. Artemis shook her head in fondness. 

“So,” she continued. “Do you lot want to hear the story?”

Seven bright pairs of eyes captured in varying degrees of interest stared back. Foofy was the first to answer with an enthusiastic nod and a cry of “yes!”. 

Gracefully pulling herself off of the pine-soaked earth, Artemis rose to her full height. It was for dramatism, of course - she would have towered over her companions even while sitting. 

“This world,” she began, “was once a wide and white nothingness. Bright, inescapable, and unfathomable.” Artemis’ voice mimicked her mother’s famous story-telling cadence, though she withheld a majority of the dramatic flair. It was a low, sweet tone, like honey trickling from a spoon. 

“The desire to create - that which we all feel - and to leave one’s mark on the world. The hunger to know and to understand the world in which we live. The void, empty as it was, still felt this need, this innate desire. It is from this grandest, ceaseless emotion that Heat and Clockwork willed himself into existence.” Fire blazed behind her eyes, and the scarlet of her scales seemed to glow brighter in the dying ember’s light. 

“It was a fiery blaze of desire, passion, and want. The universe willed itself to create, and Brother Crimson was to be its first creation.

“Born of invention itself, his destiny would be as such. He was the antithesis of the blank void around him, dark and fire-fueled, his burning red eyes like hot coals. His life’s work would be to build from the space before him, a task whose monotony was comforting.

“Lord Time created this, the first world, in a symphony of molten rock and flame. It was here, at the center of this feverish landscape that the Forge was created - the workshop of the gods.” 

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” drawled Steve, the party’s quip-hurling bard, “But I was under the assumption we were learning about a few familial goddesses, not some red cherry-scented loser!” If his words weren’t enough to set Artemis off, his languid, careless posture certainly was. He was sprawled across a wide log next to Vega, lying with his stomach to the skies. His back was a half-circle against the ground, curled in what must have been the most uncomfortable position possible.

Artemis ignored the barb, instead choosing to reprimand her friend using a most motherly tone. “Sit your sorry excuse for an ass up before you ruin your back, Stephen. You’ll be sore in the morning if you fall asleep like that!” 

Maybe not a motherly tone, but it got the point across.

“The Forge,” she continued, eyeing Steve with an unveiled challenge, “would become Heat and Clockwork’s playground, an endless molten landscape with which to smelt his creations, and to flaunt his prowess as a skilled smith of rhyme.” Her expression shifted back to the flickering eyes and bright smile of a well-meaning zealot. 

“Hold on, hold on!” Maxwell’s lilting voice interrupted. “You lost me at Brother Crimson. Who is he? I thought it was Heat and Clockwork?”

Artemis’ whiskers twitched in poorly concealed amusement. “They are the same, Max. Lord Time, Knight of the Forge, Ascendant’s Anger, et cetera. It’s all the same, dear.” Though her expression seemed annoyed, her tone was light and full of affection. “Any other questions?” The cleric murmured a soft “no” in response.

“The Knight’s hands carefully crafted the First Being, his finest creation. All was perfection, from the soft feline face to the fur that rippled down her back. Satisfied with his work, Brother Crimson stood back and proudly surveyed it. The fires around him grew dim, no longer needed to smelt and shape.

“With a smile as bright as the heavens-jewel, the Knight of the Forge breathed into his creation, giving life from himself to the beast before him. Though he blew and blew, the statue did not - could not - move. Its empty eyes seemed to mock his disheartened visage.

“Tears of sputtering, flaming rock rolled down his stony cheeks. He tried again and again, forming new husks as quickly as he destroyed them. The Pyre found that no creation of his would breathe. Thus, his passion rendered into bitterness, and the fires of his purpose grew cold. He was alone in this vast world, without a means to escape.”

The group was still and silent. Artemis’ voice swept over them like an enrapturing spell. 

“His despair was so great, and so vast, that from it formed the first Sister. The Jade Sister, Frost and Frogs, stood before him in all her radiant glory. Her hair was long, dark, and tangled, an ever-moving sea of creatures and landscapes. It was full of beastly things and lilypads alike, a cacophony of creation. She had three eyes that glowed green as grass, bloody and beautiful in all that they saw. Her teeth were sharp as needles, stained with the raven-wine of those who would come after. She was splendid. She was beautiful.” 

“She was life itself.” 

“Okay, gayass.” Khr, ever the instigator, called to her across the circle. Artemis rolled her eyes and suppressed a chuckle.

“The Jade Sister,” she continued, “reached out to her Brother. Shaking, unsure, he took her hands in his - and the world went green. A verdant, endless green. Viridian and emerald as far as one could dream.

“And lying, hidden, at the center of this green expanse lay a secret. That which Brother Crimson had so desired to produce - life.” The forest around them seemed to sing a hymn of agreement as she spoke. The branches of the looming pines shifted and creaked, whispering the name of their creator. 

“Heat and Clockwork dried his tears and filled his lungs with feral joy - he knew in his heart that his creations would no longer be lifeless. Though the world was devoid except for them, the Crimson Brother would scream and cry for all the void to hear that he was no longer alone. Touched by his display, the Fern Mother held his hands in her own, gripping so tightly that her claws coaxed the wound-sea from his veins.

“Locked in an embrace, the Siblings danced upon the newly lush ground. With each step they took, a forest was brought to seed. With each note they sang, a field was grown to fruition. Before his Sister’s birth, the Blind Son thought he had known happiness - but as he leapt and twirled with the Witch he came to understand that it was nothing in the face of her smile.”

Khr hurled another jest, louder this time, but much the same.

“I have a girlfriend at home, Khr,” Artemis admonished. “I’ve no reason to go chasing after goddesses.” Bella let loose a mocking “Oooh!” in response, and he elbowed her with an embarrassed chuckle. 

“And so,” she continued, “The two waltzed their way to the heart of the earth, where the Forge lay empty.

“Frost and Frogs, all gleaming teeth, placed her hands onto the First Being. At her touch, it awoke - its ears and tail began to twitch, filled with the life that surrounded the Jade Sister. It bounced and leaped and jumped. The Siblings danced with their creation, their happiness burning brighter than the Forge could ever hope to be.

“It was from this immense jubilation that the Cobalt Brother was born. His siblings’ bliss was so powerful, so potent that it spat forth the god of Wind and Shade. Born of laughter, harlequin god, bringing joy to those who would gamble and hope.” As she spoke, the wind around them stirred, ruffling Artemis’ fur and scattering the lingering smoke from the now cooling embers.

“His visage is porcelain and pale; his eyes drip with black blood, thick with stars like the night sky. Like his sister, he is always smiling, though his teeth are far less terrifying than the Fern Mother’s maw. His arms are uncountable and many - each unseen and unknowable. In his left-most arm, he carries a hammer with which to shape the world. In his right-most, a mask, its face obscured. It is said that with it, he can assume the shape of any creature he should so choose.” 

“What the fuck…” muttered Merlin.

“The fuck indeed!” Artemis laughed. “The Trickster is the god of curses and profanity, in addition to his other domains.”

“A god for cursing, hm? I need one of those…” 

Artemis let a brief silence hang and then continued. “As they walked, the Motley Jester’s thoughts turned to mischief - born of laughter, he was predisposed. A dark grin festered behind his eyes - and with one swing of his hammer, the Son of the Tempest brought forth a mighty gale to set the world spinning.”

“The Heir’s joke completed, his siblings fell to the earth below as it began to spin beneath them. Slowly, but it did - they watched as the sun above them moved slowly to their West. Their creation was spinning, much to their chagrin - but they loved each other, and could not stay mad at their youngest Brother. They continued their walk to the Forge, excited to show the Motley Jester their playground.”

“Upon their arrival, he turned his attention to the First Being - now a stumbling, walking beast. Its claws were sharp as daggers, its fur dense as earth. A single entity, born of metal and fire, of life and verdance. The Trickster produced his signature leer, and wrest a mask from the void into one of his many arms. It was a perfect mockery of the creature's face, fine as silver and smooth as bone. Ensuring his Siblings were preoccupied with other parts of the Forge, Brother Cobalt fitted the mask upon the First Being’s face.

“It was from this perfect mask of porcelain that the First Being felt - was given the ability to form bonds, to experience emotions, just as its creators had done.” Artemis’ claws gleamed in the moonlight as she spoke, a deadly reflection of the First Being she described.

“The Siblings hollered with delight at their creation’s fate, a sweet song with which it joined in harmony. It was a joyous night, and the lush earth, spinning, living, and beautifully cratered, seemed to pulse with excitement. From the rich earth below, the Witch pulled woven cords to the surface. Her brothers wrapped them around rocks and trees, pulling them taut. It was then, the three Siblings acting in harmony, that the first Song was played.” Had any of her audience not been so enraptured with her words, they would have heard the dulcet tones of a soft-spoken tune in the distance.

“The Trickster played strings with his hammer by his side, striking deep notes in a flurry of exhilaration. His sister’s tones were more muted, though just as excitable. She plucked the strings with her long, clawed hands - careful not to tear them. The eldest brother, though slow to join his family, plucked and sang a melody. It was brash and loud, a flurry of notes that was perfect to the ear.

“From each string plucked, from each note coaxed, a new being was born unto the world. It is said that the songs made that day were the purest expressions of music, unmatched by any performer.” Vega gave Steve a warning look, to deter him from making an expected pompous comment regarding his playing skill.

“The Forge was alight with sparks and laughter, and the Siblings’ bonds grew stronger as they worked beside one another.” Her expression grew dark. “But - they worked too quickly. The world they had created was only so big, after all. And as they built a thousand creatures, they began to fill and fill the space that was left. They crowded the land, clawing at each other. Their claws and teeth, built for singing and creating, had become tools of violence.

“It was the screaming that alerted the Siblings to their creation’s plight. Screaming, endless screaming as they fought for space. The Siblings looked upon their earth in horror, in fear, of what they had done. Their world was suffering for their foolishness.

“Heat and Clockwork, the eldest of the three, knew what must be done. The other two, in the hearts, knew as well - though neither the Witch nor the Heir could bring themselves to do it.

“Foolish children that they were, their creations had not been designed to die - they could not kill each other. Their gods had cursed them to an endless cycle of suffering.” She paused, looking into her companion’s eyes. 

“Brother Cobalt would eventually decide their course of action. He looked into Heat and Clockwork’s scarlet-red eyes as he summoned a gust of air to smother the flames of his Brother’s Forge. The rich earth around them grew cold and empty, the blissful heat that emanated from the planet’s core now gone. The creatures stilled, the air devoid of the warmth that kept them moving.” Like the creatures she described, Artemis’ movements slowed and halted as she spoke, coming to a standstill. 

“The Siblings made a pact, there in the cold and silent Forge. They would not meet again, under any circumstance. Their love for each other was too strong - they would be unable to resist creating more things to fill the earth. Though the Jade Sister, giver of life, had tried to revoke it from her creations, she quickly discovered she was only able to give life, not take it away. Resolute in their decision, the Siblings, weary and heart-broken, pulled themselves away to the farthest corners of the earth.

“Time passed. The Siblings grew restless. Lonely, locked away by themselves for their selfishness. A deep sadness ran through them, and as a result, into the remains of their creations. For the first time in eons, the Forge sat empty, it’s bellows long since cold and forgotten. Lord Time tinkered by himself in his endless stone castles, building things that could not fulfill him. Space’s Beldam performed a joyless dance for the depleted world around her, it’s once vibrant colors dulled. Her footsteps no longer brought forth life - they left trails of a withering blight in their path. Breath’s Scion, the gleeful god, was the saddest of the three. He could not truly understand why they had separated, just that he was now alone.” Her eyes were cold. She was glad for the silence of the night around them.

“Frost and Frogs, born from an abundance of loneliness, collapsed onto the earth she had so loved. Her voice warbled from her vicious mouth, a sad, keening sound. It was high and sweet, carrying easily to the other Siblings. Hearing her mournful call, both Brothers joined her in the sound. It was a feral instinct, deep and instilled. And though they were leagues apart, their song was harmonious, clear as day.” The woods around her seemed to stop. Each member of her party stood in slack-jawed enchantment at her words.

“It is from this hopeless, despair-driven sound that the Violet Sister was born. Called from the same white void as her siblings, she was thrown forth from the emptiness. From her head sprout a pair of long, needle-thin horns. Her lavender skin is marked and scratched, places where her ebony-black blood drips in slow, rhythmic steps. Black twines of a shadow substance beyond mortal comprehension twist from her skin, enveloping her in an unknowable darkness of tentacles. She is the blind goddess, the Empty one, ruler of the creatures that lurk below, the end of life and the bringer of death.” Artemis took a breath. “She is the goddess of Light and Rain.”

“Piss!” cursed Steve, eyes wide with poorly masked fear. “You named this - this monster Light and Rain? What kind of a name is that?”

No longer content to let him disrespect her deities, Artemis squared her shoulders, bringing her up to her full height. The tallest of the party, Artemis was a fearsome sight. Her eyes and scales gleamed a menacing red in the firelight. When she pulled her lips back to reveal honed, gleaming teeth, it was enough to make anyone not used to her promptly shit their breeches. 

“Light and Rain is the goddess of the unseen, the otherworldly, and the unknown,” Artemis’ steel-sure voice was the only sound that could be heard over Steve’s ragged breathing. “I will make the place I dump your sorry excuse for a corpse very unknown if you call her a monster again.”

 Vega snickered from her comfortable place on the log. Anyone who had met Artemis for half a second knew she’d never actually act on that threat, especially not to Steve - the dorky kid she treated like one of her younger brothers. Despite the clear emptiness of her threat, it was enough to make Steve back down with a few mumbled apologies. Mollified, Artemis turned her gaze back to the rest of the party. She was close enough to the story’s end now that she was unconcerned with Steve’s ill-mannered words.

“Light and Rain, newly born into the dying world, cast her soothing gaze across the fractured land before her. Though she was young, her knowledge was vast. The Grim Seer gathered her elder siblings into her arms, pulling them together once more.

“Though Heat and Clockwork’s furnace-bound eyes burned through her, she continued. Though the needle-fine teeth of Frost and Frogs sunk into her skin, she persisted. Though Wind and Shade’s star-strewn tears burned like acid, she pursued. They held each other in an expression of the purest love, reunited and whole.

“The four held each other, crying. They sensed that with this newest addition, they were complete. Their struggle was over. No words needed to be spoken as they parted, smiles bittersweet and tears drying away. They looked at one another, then to Light and Rain. They knew what must be done.

“The Violet Sister’s horns crackled with dark, purple energy - and then with a flash of light as bright as their void, the world was clean. Her claws had flashed across the earth, quick as lightning. The First Beings were free of their chains of ill-begotten immortality. Light’s Mistress had granted their creations a most peculiar, but needed gift - the gift of death.” A light smile played on her lips. She was thoroughly enjoying the shocked faces of her party.

“It was known as the Scratch - it was the beginnings of our universe. Now mortal, the creations found peace in themselves - and the Siblings found peace in each other. And so, our world was born. The Catfolk, the First Beings, were the first to speak to their creators, spreading this truth to the other races.”

Artemis’s words were interrupted by an enormous yawn from none other than Khr - his arms stretched to the sky, claws curling inwards. “Sorry…” he murmured, eyes threatening to close.

“Well then,” chuckled Artemis. “I believe we’ll call it a night here.”

“What, no! We have to know more!” whined Merlin, now suddenly interested in the mythos. 

“Later, dear. Save it for the next campfire.” Her smile was genuine, and her eyes kind to reflect it. “You need to go to bed. We've got work to do tomorrow!” With that, the magic dissipated. It was clear the evening’s entertainment was over. She tutted and shushed her companions as she ushered them to their tents, wishing them a restful sleep. As she snuffed out the last of the fire with a kick of dirt, she chuckled to herself. Maybe her mother would be proud - stop calling her a heathen for not wanting to listen to the same tired stories. 

As she padded back to her tent, Artemis was treated with the passing conversation from another party member’s shelter. Though the voice was muffled, it’s high cadence could belong to none other than Bella.

“Catfolk are badass!”

[doomedandstoned]

SÂVER: Raging At Darkness, Stepping Into Light

~By Billy Goate~

When I heard that former Tombstones members were forming a new band called SÂVER, I knew it was going to be doomy, but I don't think I was prepared for an album of such immense breadth and ferocity. You think Slomatics or Conan can command a hall? Well, let's just say with S VER you're in the Hall of the Mountain King. As I listen, it's not hard to imagine an apocalyptic scenario where the SÂVER's powerful strains break out in the dead of night, echoing through nightmarish forests, over majestic mountains, and into the impenetrable dark of Norway's wild. I can't believe how perfectly this recording captures size, scope, and grandiosity of their sound.

They Came With Sunlight by SÂVER

A deep, quietly percussive bass note opens up "Distant Path" and is joined in short order by menacing reverb of the synth. Two minutes in, the guitar and drums join in the layers of crescendo. At last, Ole Christian Helstad joins the fruckus of this brewing storm, ever building, building, building towards its inevitably violent release. Five minutes into the song, a torrent of rain swells down, accompanied by a hail of steady notes on guitar. At the eight-minute mark, a terrifyingly grandiose symphony of raging vocals and the combined force of Helstad's explosive bass, Markus Støle's drums, and Ole Ulvik Rokseth's guitar brings us the apocalyptic moment we've all been waiting for. Simply put, it is jaw-droppingly huge. 'They Came With Sunlight' (2019) has officially begun.

The following track, "I, Vanish," would make a fine companion to Yob's "The Screen." It ticks and tocks and grinds its gears like the mechanical clock of some mad horologist, who watches each finely tuned movement closely to see if we are nearer to Doomsday. This and the succession of tracks that follow take us on an ethereal journey of sorts. The music gives a continual sense of flow -- whether with the echo of chords, the precise rhythms of repeated notes, or the fury of blinding tremolos, we are always moving, moving, moving. The complexity of movement may find some drawing comparisons with Black Cobra, Mastodon, perhaps even Tool and Meshuggah.

They Came With Sunlight by SÂVER

"Influx" breaks with this form just long enough to make us question what we thought was real. Are we awake in the real world or in some kind of a dream where the rules still aren't known? It feels like we are floating in a state of suspended animation. The lyrics throughout the album are obscure, making it hard to get a straight answer one way or another. Perhaps the point is to ponder the larger themes exposited by these opaque words, to free our minds to wander and explore the possibilities. I will say the interview that follows helps to clear up at least one or two mysteries for us, but overall the material remains high concept, abstract, and surreal.

They Came With Sunlight by SÂVER

"How They Envisioned Life" is the most heart-wrenching song of the lot. There is real pain here, as the singer lashes out with some of the purest rage on record at everything he believed to be true and faithful about his reality. There's also what appears to be a tug of war. The light wants him, the dark wants him. Is this a near-death experience? I'll let you be the judge.

"Step out of light!" - Dark Frozen by fright, left to survive Under the sky Leave!! Leave my soul to him!

They came - They saw How they envisioned life Embrace the warmth that I have left you with

Please let us stay Through depths and stone I see light

Leave – Leave my soul to him

They came - They saw How they envisioned light Your rage - minds covered This ancient hollowed out fight I have left you - Light

"Dissolve To Ashes" gets even stranger with references to "cosmic shuttles" and panicked attempts to find a path that will lead to light. Come to think of it, this is actually is starting to feel like the kind of things I dream about on the regular!

They Came With Sunlight by SÂVER

The ancient archetypal struggle between light and darkness comes to a head in the album's longest track, the twelve-and-a-half minute "Altered Light." There are hints that maybe the light isn't quite what it seems and that a little sleight of hand is involved when some people promise to show us the way.

I'd like to point out something I've not mentioned up to this point: melody. The riffs on this album are, for lack of a better expression, very "hummable." This means these little earworms will be working their magic on you long after you've walked away from the record. I've found myself humming or tapping the theme to this song at the grocery store, at work, while doing laundry, you name it. Look, I don't have the answers to the riddles presented by They Came WIth Sunlight. What I can offer you is SÂVER. Oh, and if you dig this kind of sound, be sure and check out Markus Støle and Ole Rokseth's other project HYMN.

Photograph by Adrian Kraakefingar Vindedal

Interview with SÂVER's Ole Rokseth

~Photographs by Pål Bellis~

“It sounds like war.”

Congratulations on a successful album launch via Pelagic Records and for debuting at the #10 spot on the Doom Charts with 'They Came With Sunlight' (2019).

Thanks, Billy! The response has been overwhelming. We are super stoked.

The last time we checked in, Tombstones had just disbanded and then I think I lost track of the story for a good two years after that. What was going on in the backdrop leading up to the formation of SÂVER?

We spent a year, more or less, in our rehearsal space after Tombstones, just writing new material without having a plan. I don't think it took that long before we knew we had to make something of it, so we talked alot about what type of band we wanted to start and what type of music we wanted to play. We all knew we wanted to do something different. So it's been a lot of experimenting with sounds and gear to get to where we are now.

What does the band’s name signify?

It means "sleep" or "sleeping" in an old Norwegian dialect, from out in the woods where Ole Helstad is from.

“We wanted to just leave.”

The opening line from “Dissolve To Ashes” starts with: “They came with sunlight” -- it’s also the title of the album. I’m used to song and album titles that refer to the menace of darkness and those that prey in the shadows, but here you’re anticipating the arrival of something with the dawn. Can you illuminate this?

I think that line, in particular, is spoken through someone or something else “on the other side.” The clean singing sort of amplifies that. At some point during the writing process, I painted this picture in my mind of three dudes just leaving the earth towards a better destination, in search of “The Light.” So most of the lyrics is based around that journey. I think people relate to that and that's why it's equally heavy as the typical “metal lyrics.” It's just about life, man.

“It's just about life, man.”

So much of metal is focused on pain, misery, death, subjugation, and very little is written about “the light” -- especially not in a style as heavy, so it really intrigues me.

Yes, well, I don't think there is any point in writing about stuff thats not from your own experiences and thought. We just sort of turned it all around and wrote about our journey away from death, shadows, and battleaxes. It was really about what all of us went through at the time. We wanted to just leave.

The tracks on They Came With Sunlight are huge. This and the recent Yob album are among the few that have been successful in writing cohesive long-form compositions that carry an effective dramatic arc. How does a piece like “I, Vanish” come together?

That song is based on a bass riff that Ole brought to the table one night. And I guess we just wrote it the way we know best. Weed, beer, and a sweaty rehearsal space with low lighting. We are all believers of repetition in music, and that song is all about that for sure. This whole album really came together naturally and I think it's because we all had a need to express ourselves in a different way than in other bands and we had a clear vision of what we wanted to do early on.

The production value is very high on the new album, capturing the depth, range, and power of your sound admirably. What have you learned about recording your sound now that’s different from when you first started recording albums with Tombstones a decades ago?

I always have all of these different ideas and thoughts on how to record the next album to make it better than what we have done before. But we always, at least in these types of bands, conclude that recording live is the only way. And having a studio tech that can provide good recordings of all the instruments is key. So we basically just do what we have been doing at rehearsals and know that the guys behind the desk just captures it at that moment. Joona Hassinen at Studio Underjord in Sweden was that guy, and he couldn't have done a better job. Everything sounded really good straight out of the mixing board, so we knew early on that this was gonna be a super heavy experience. That being said, we had a lot of weird accidents on this album, as well, that Joona decided to just leave in. Art by accident, dude. Always cool. We obviously added stuff after recording it live, but it's not really that far from it.

“Three dudes just leaving the earth towards a better destination in search of The Light.”

If nothing else, doom is surely infamous for its “low ‘n’ slow” approach. How in the name of Hades did you get such a damning sound on this record? What did you tune to, for example, on “Distant Path”?

It's that whole year of continuously hitting the rehearsal space, practicing and trying out different sounds. We knew we wanted to try and distance ourselves from all the other “doom” bands that are out there, but yet not losing ourselves and what we think sounds cool.

We tune in drop A, and the guitars have pretty thin string gauges to get that open, heavy sound. Not that much distortion either, to be honest. Most of the fuzz comes from Helstad's 215 bass cabinet. A Lot of the sound also came together after I bought a Fender Telecaster Deluxe and combined it with an older Peavey transistor head. Bringing a synthesizer to mix also opened a lot for us. I inherited a real passion for old and new synths from my brother. His collection of synths is out of this world -- thanks Pål.

As Joona said after re-amping the fuzz bass, “It sounds like war.” I will never stop trying out new gear and trying new weird shit, and that's a big part of me evolving as a musician.

Picking up from that last question, the level of tonal depth you were able to capture on this recording is truly remarkable. Without ever feeling muted or distorted, you’ve managed to capture the grandiosity and rumbling low-end of those bruising chords.

Joona basically just recorded -- with great technique and experience -- what we played then and there. If the song is heavy, and you believe in it, it's gonna come out heavy. No matter what amp you use or what pickup you have in you guitar. I'm pretty sure Jimi Hendrix would make a shitty B.C. Rich Warlock from 2009 sing and penetrate your soul in the same way he does with his Stratocaster.

What amps and gear did you use in the recording?

We recorded it live with the same set-up as we use at gigs and rehearsals. I won't get into all the pedal details. On guitar, I played through a stereo setup with 412 cabinets. Peavey Century Bass Series and and old Simms Watts 100. Well, bass was actually reamped, but Helstad uses his Rickenbacker 4003 through a Ampeg SVT Classic with an 810 cab and a Peavey Standard with a Peavey 215 cab. Markus, of course, can make any drum kit sound amazing, though I don't remember the particulars of what he used in this recording.

To record the synth parts, I borrowed his brother's Korg MS10 from the '70s. One of our all time favourite synthesizers, but it's old, rare, and not cheap, so recently I bought a Moog Sub Phatty that I bet you will hear more of on our next record. If people want to know more, we love talking gear. Come check us out live and have a chat.

How did you arrive at the decision to use synthesizers in these compositions, anyway?

I've been active in two other electronica-based bands: Gundelach and Hubbabubbaklubb. I got inspired by these two acts and my brother, who plays synth in those two bands, as well. As mentioned, he's got an enormous collection of vintage, kickass synthesizers. All of us love the sound of it and also electronic music, and we wanted to use that as a tool to divide our sound from the common doom band. You can expect more synth on the next album.

"Art by accident, dude. Always cool.”

How have your live performances gone so far? We’d love to have you back to the States sometime!

Really good! Again, the response has been overwhelming. As a band, it's really important to set goals, and we have met almost all of our goals to this date. It's crazy. We are really looking forward to next year! Playing the US has been a goal for all of us forever and is something we definitely want to make happen with S VER. Hopefully next year, Billy, we can meet up and have a beer.

The Great SÂVER Giveaway

The band has been kind enough to offer 15 free downloads of their new album to 15 lucky souls. Redeem one code below at pelagicrecords.bandcamp.com/yum.

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