My partner and I can't get legally married or else he'll lose his SSI. . . The USA is a hellscape and I kind of just need to shout that into the void for a minute.

Till death do us part

pairing: Steve harrington x reader, Brief eddie munson x reader

Mentions: heartbreak, longing, acceptance, closure, bitter sweet ending.

Inspired by the corpse bride

When your mother told you you were to be married to Steve Harrington you the only son of the most affluential family in Hawkend you couldn’t believe it, I mean your family was just a bunch of fur traders and seamstresses what would he gain from marrying you, it’s not like you had a big dowry or something, “but mother” you began “why am I marrying into the Harrington what do they want from me, I’m not worth anything and have nothing to offer, I’ve also never even met the man” you sigh when your mother begin to rant “it’s not you’ll do for them its what they’ll do for us” your mother says as she ticks a lose hair back into her tight bun always wanting to look her best “when you marry into the Harringtons you’ll be able to funnel money into our business, without it we’ll be destitute, you don’t want you poor mother in the poor house do you?” Your mother coos wrapping her boney arms around you “no mother” you mumble looking down “Great!perfect!” Your mother claps “your meeting Steve this evening so stop frowning you want to look your absolute best” Your mother pats your head before exiting your room leaving you alone with your thoughts.

When the carriage pulled up in front of the large Harrington estate you couldn’t help but gulp feeling your anxiety return only to be snapped out of it by your mother pinching your arm hard commanding through gritted teeth for you to smile, and you did as you stepped inside the sheer size of it throwing you off guard. You wondered where the Harringtons were and it was like someone was reading your thoughts as you turned your head seeing a handsome young man descending down the grand staircase sending a warm smile your way chasing your cheeks to flush and your stomach to fill with butterflies

“Ah welcome Lady Arista” Steve says bowing before your mother before kissing the back of her hand like the gentleman he is “if your looking for my parents they are in the lounge having evening tea I’ll have the butler escort you” seemingly out of nowhere a snooty mustached man comes and leads your mother away but not before she turns and gives you a warning flare as if to say ‘don’t fuck this up’ you take a deep breath when you realize your alone with Steve who takes your hand gently leading you to sit down deciding to sit across from you warm smile never leaving his face.

It was a few minutes before anyone said anything Steve deciding he’d be the one to break the ice “you’re very beautiful my lady” he states staring into your wide eyes as a blush creeps up your neck and settles on your cheeks ‘shit say something say something say something you idiot’ you though before blurting out “your very pretty, I mean handsome, I mean-“ you groan burying your face in your hands feeling you’ve already messed it up only to look up in surprise as Steve begins to laugh “your very funny my lady” he chuckles wiping a tear from his eye as he moves to sit beside you “I think we will have a very lovely life together don’t you agree” he coos all your able to do is nod

After that your parents made you hang out every second of every day not that you minded to much you grew to love Steve’s company finding him fascinating. When the day do the rehearsal wedding came you were all nerves every bad scenario crossing through your mind at-least once, you and Steve stood at the altar practicing your vows the priest glaring at you as you messed up your vows for what felt like the 100th time “from the top” he grumbles glaring at you when you mess up again. You grew frustrated throwing down your fake bouquet and running out of the church ignoring the calls of you mother and Steve

You ran until you were exhausted and you couldn’t see the town anymore “you fucked up you idiot” you mumbled to yourself wiping away your tears and most of your makeup “stupid wedding” you sniff ripping the gold ring off your finger tossing away unbeknownst to you that it would land on a suspiciously human like branch sticking out of the ground, that is until you get up to leave and said branch wraps around your ankle pulling you down into the depths of the after life.

When you awaken you come face to face with a man, well a corpse it seems in a torn up white suit his skin having a slight blue hue and his hair is wild and tangled. You do the first thing that comes to mind and scream in terror causing the man to rear back in shock “why are you screaming” he questions kneeling beside you again “where am I?” You look around shakily “who are you?” Your eyes flicker back to the man next to you “who am I? Your so silly sweetheart I’m your fiancé Edward munson but my friends call me eddie” you blink rapidly “fiancé? But I’m already engaged” you say “yeah I know engaged to me” he wiggles a skeletal hand at you showing the gold band rest on his finger.

What felt like weeks passed since that evening that brought you here you were constantly being fawned over by eddie who was insisting you start planning the wedding and starting your lives (well your life his death) together, even surprising you with gifts like bring you your beloved deceased cat buttons who you had lost as a child. He was sweet but all you want to do was be back with Steve and among the living again.

Unbeknownst to you Steve had watched you disappear that night watching as you were taken by a corpse, he had tried telling anyone who would listen that you had been taken by a corpse onto to be marked as hysterical and crazy much to the disdain of his parents who just couldn’t have him ruining their good name so they did what they had to do and had him set to be engaged to another girl from an equally affluential family.

When word reached you of the Steve’s engagement you felt your heart break “let’s get married eddie” you mumble sitting beside him on the bench sniffling quietly “fuck yeah” he shouts pulling you into a tight hug completely missing the tears that began to roll down your cheeks.

When all of you had come up to the land of the living to have the wedding you kept your veil over your face so Eddie couldn’t see you crying. When all of you had crashed into the church the living people inside gasped and screamed in terror at the sight. Father Alistiad the undead priest stood at the head of the altar holding the elixir of death ready to join you and Eddie in matrimony.

The vows were going well until Steve stumbled into the church fear on his face his eyes immediately locking on you then Eddie “my lady” Steve cries out brokenly “it’s too late Steve” you whispered as you gently took the chalice from Eddie putting it to your lips only to be stopped by Eddie who takes it gently wearing a somber smile “be with him sweetheart” he whispers pushing you into Steve who immediately takes you into his arms “but Eddie” you begin giving him a confused look “I was a groom once sweetheart, my dreams were taken from me, but now- now I’ve stolen them from someone else. I love you, sweetheart, but your not mine” he caressed your cheek gently leaving a soft kiss to your forehead before brushing past you bathing in the glow of the moonlight as he slowly turns into moths he turns to you with a soft smile “congratulations lovebirds” he whispers before disappear completely.

“Rest well eddie” you mumble voice cracking as you bury your face in Steve’s chest happy to be in his arms again but sad you couldn’t give eddie what he truly wanted unbeknownst to you, you gave him the greatest gift of all the gift of freedom and the ability to cross over finally.

Eddie Gluskin x Female Reader: The Perfect Bride-💔Broken Heart 💔

Screaming.

His eyes snap open groaning when his head pounds in synch with his heartbeat. Lifting a hand to his head, when he pulls it away it's covered in a sticky red substance; blood.

"You...Little whore."

His voice is hoarse, he stands on wobbly legs; stumbling when he takes a step forward and bumps into a corpse laying on the examining table.

Eddie groans, cursing the whore and threatening to show the whore her place when he notice the opening to the main house was open.

"Darling?"

He calls in disbelief, believing that Y/N may have made her way into the basement and let the whore out. His shock, slowly turning into anger.

He grinds his teeth together, nostrils flared as he gets his bearings and jumps down, not bothering to use the steps.

"YOU FILTHY WHORE, I LOVED YOU!"

!BANG!

Eddie kicks open the bedroom door, Y/N was nowhere to be seen, but the bed clearly looked slept in. He looks over his shoulder to his mother's room, spying the woman's door open just a crack; enough for him to see his mother sleeping peacefully.

Her door should always be closed at all times, Y/N made yet another mistake.

"Whore....WHORE.... You're just like the rest of them."

He growls, walking towards his mother door and with a trembling hand closes it as quietly as he could. To say he was pissed was an understatement; he was seeing red.

His work had failed, and the fact he came this far, after so long? He thought they were making progress, that Y/N was starting to learn and was fit to be his wife, the mother to their children!

"WHORE! Y/N!"

Eddie punches the wall repeatedly, gripping his hair and pulled out a few strands, should he kill her? All this time; the agonizing months he spent trying to create what he thought was the perfect woman, someone to love and be his for eternity....

But in the end, she was just another whore. Unfit to be loved and wanted. If he kills her, he'd need to find more parts, and that was the last thing he wanted to do again.

But the whore needed to learn! How else would she understand! Damn it all, what should he do? He walks down the stairs, stopping on the third step when he sees a small pool of blood in the entrance to the living room.

A gentle breeze, he looks into the living room, seeing the door was open and drops of blood leading outside. Eddie clenched his teeth together, breathing heavily as he storm out the door, stepping on a lone eyeball without knowing it.

Stepping off the porch he stares up at the full moon, the sky clear of stars and clouds. For a few minutes, he remained motionless, his mind slowly turning and working through his murderous thoughts.

The night was quiet, nocturnal creatures didn't bother making noises of their own. From their spot in the woods, they watch the man in black with little interest.

Yet, who would could turn away? Eddie Gluskin. A gentle, loving, kind, handsome, charismatic, monster gentleman.

People that thought they knew him would always say his mother raised a handsome man, and who dared to deny it?

He was a lonesome bachelor, his thoughts only on his mother who he killed took great care of since he was eighteen. But at some point, he wanted a woman, a wife, the perfect bride. He wanted the family he never had, to be the father he never had.

A husband his wife would love unconditionally, the alpha of the house, his children could depend on him.

Why...why was it so hard to achieve such a goal?! He loved her damn it, once upon a time he loved those before Y/N too! But they all betrayed him in the end; with every heartbreak, his quest for the perfect woman became stronger. And just when he thought his dream was fulfilled, she betrayed him in the end.

Tears spill from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and onto his blood stained shirt. Whether he noticed or not, Eddie didn't bother to wipe them away, his body felt cold, almost numb.

Could he ever be loved, the same way he loved them? No, he was always left broken in the end. Nobody cares, they only take his love and never give it back.

Heartless women whores. The lot of them. "Darling..." He whispers, his voice hoarse as he slowly closes his eyes. A picture perfect image of him and Y/N smiling at one another on their wedding day, sadly now a pipe dream.

"We've.... We've could have been beautiful.

The image starts the fade.

If only you cared, if only you loved me like I loved you.

He was is alone.

Sadly, in the end....

"Eddie?"

There is nothing....no one for a man like him.

Every breath you take

You heard of Corpse husband, now get ready for corpse wife--

tw: female reader, necrophilia so non - con, murder, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dirty talk, overall nasty shit that i needed to get out of my system, pls don't read if such stuff makes u uncomfortable

Jack couldn’t bear to look at you without feeling his stomach crumble and twist sharply and violently. You looked almost normal. Besides the empty stare in your now dark lightless eyes and the dead weight of your arms stilled tightly by your side. Besides the necklace of pretty sky - coloured bruises and purple bite marks around your delicate neck. If your boyfriend was to simply press his lips against yours in a desperate attempt to savour your final cries, he might just be able to feel their silky softness - the smooth edges of your tiny side smile against his cheek, the pure scarlet warmth of your slightly open mouth and the millions pained whispers falling out with each heartbeat of your very soul. And If the man was to hold your hand he could pretend it wasn’t colder than ice itself.

It was an accident. It had to be, otherwise Jack wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Just minutes ago you were safe and sound in his embrace, screaming, thrashing and fighting at every turn, but still safe none the less. Then you had told him you hated him. That you could never love someone as cruel and sick as him. He didn’t remember much from the resulting argument, other than him on top of you with his hand around your throat, your lips turning blue and your eyes closing slowly as you lost consciousness completely. Your boyfriend was ready to give everything for you to shout at him again, for you to squirm around like a battered animal like you used to, insead of watching you lay on the ground, motionless and still, peaceful like an angel. He wanted the old you back, the you who wasn’t quite living (since you always went on about how Jack had stolen your life away from you), but breathing and alive. You were quiet and obedient just like your captor had always wanted, such a good girl for him now that you were dead and unable to protest any of his sick, twisted desires. 

A single tear ran down the man’s black charcoal eyes as he lowered his head and kissed you softly, careful and wary, like you would wake up any moment and push him away in horror. The graze was airy and almost sweet, so different from all the other rough invasive kisses he had forced upon you in the past as a reminder of your place beneath him. Yet this one tasted of nothing, but blood and ice. Your lips were cold, but your body was still warm somewhere under that flimsy blue sundress your boyfriend had helped you put on in the morning. It made you look so innocent, so childlike in your eternal sleep. Jack stared at you for what felt like an infinity, unable to look away, hypnotized. He ran a finger through your exposed collarbone, then laid his head on your chest, listening to the silence. You were dead, but your breasts were still so soft and squishy, the man decided. Jack’s hands were glued to your waist, admiring your curves as he dug his nails deep into the loose fabric, ripping it away from your figure, causing shivers down the delicate skin. Your back hit the ground, sinking into the soil and the mud, a couple of daisies forming a crown above your head. You were so beautiful all vulnerable like that, his sweet Persephone, queen of the underworld and of his heart, too. 

“You’re so lovely, dear.“ The man spoke out as he positioned himself above you, his eyes hungry and sharp as he stroked your cheek, devoid of any colour. “No panties, huh?“ Jack whispered lustfully, his voice raspy and deranged, and cupped your sex. If you were still alive you would have turned red, stuttering as you explained that it was him who ordered you to go bare under the dress, but now you remained quiet like a blushing bride on her wedding day. The lack of protest only managed to stir the maniac up further, and he unbuckled his jeans to free his half - hard member. “LIttle minx.“ He cooed at you and ruffled your hair, fisting your locks to pull your head down, thus arching your back and exposing your neck to his sharp teeth. “I am going to use you, precious. You want to be useful to me, don’t you?“ Your boyfriend muttered against your throat as he covered it in harsh lovebites and hickeys, only growing satisfied when there wasn’t even an inch unmarked. “Because you are mine, baby. You are my good girl.“ He kept going, stroking himself in the process until his cock was practically oozing with pre - cum. Jack smirked when he didn’t hear the typical whimpers and cries of disgust you usually showered him in when he let himself act possessive of you. The man wasn’t sure why you always denied the truth - you were his and his alone, even after death did you part.

Your tormentor spent the next ten minutes squeezing and kneading your breasts, pinching the nipples, covering them in sticky white semen. Jack almost missed the way your chest would rise and fall with each soft breath escaping your rosy lips. When he was done playing with your body like you were nothing more than a rag doll your boyfriend spread your legs wide open, and his mouth watered at the godly sight. “You have such a pretty cunt, dear.” He commented lovingly, his fingers pushing and poking at your pink slit, abusing the nerve ending still functional despite its owner not being able to. “I am doing to force my cock deep inside your pussy, and there is nothing you can do about it, baby.” The man laughed manically, high off this new found power and control over your lifeless body. When you were alive you would beg him to stop by this point, crying and whimpering helplessly. Now he could pretend that you actually wanted him to ruin you. That you needed him as much as he needed you. 

Your boyfriend entered your tight hole with a sharp deep thrust, his lenght reaching your cervix with each and every brutal move. In and out, in and out again and again. The man felt like he could fuck into you forever - there was no pressure to stop and your muscles were completely relaxed now so it was up to him to take his own pleasure from your unwilling uncooperative body. “You’re so loose, honey.” He growled, biting your earlobe and moaning into your ear. “Guess I really wore you out the past few months.” Jack suggested playfully, a hint of pride apparent in his thick voice. Soon enough he was groaning loudly and ruthlessly pounding into you, covering your whole body in mud and grass. The pale moonlight lit up your sweaty face, making you look lively and vibrant once again. Your captor claimed your lips hungrily, licking and biting them into a swollen bloody mess. “Fuck, take it, my love.” He commanded as he lifted your body in order to go even deeped into you. “Take all of me inside.” The man added quickly, thrusting one last time before the pleasure overtook his senses and he arched his back in delight. He inhaled deeply as he pulled out of your used up hole, dripping with his seed. 

In that moment the man knew that he had to let go of you eventually. It wouldn’t be too long before your perfect little body decomposed and your beauty faded in the face of death, but there was some time between now and then. And he intended to make good use of it. 

Wedding | Corpse Husband

Requested? Nah 

Warnings? None?

Summary: You and Corpse go to your best friend’s wedding together. 

Word Count: 1,549

“Do I have to?” Corpse asks from across the room. 

“You didn’t just ask that,” you say, turning to look at your boyfriend who’s sitting on your shared hotel bed. 

“I’m sorry I’m just nervous,” he admits fiddling with his hands and you smile at your boyfriend. 

You walk over to Corpse, taking his hands into yours causing him to look up at you. You trail a hand up to his chin, tilting his head up so he’s looking into your eyes. 

“It’s gonna be okay I promise,” you say and Corpse nods slightly. 

You lean down, pressing a light kiss to his lips and his hands find their way to your hips quickly. When you let go, you’re both smiling widely at each other and you run a hand through his hair before reaching up to fix his collar. 

“Ready?” you ask, running your hands over his shoulders. 

“Ready baby.” 

Today, your best friend was getting married and you were beyond excited. It was such a privilege that she wanted you to be her maid of honor. You loved seeing her happy and content in a relationship and her trust restored in a man she loved. 

You also got to bring Corpse, the love of your life as your date to the wedding. You couldn’t wait to finally introduce him to your friends as your boyfriend. The two of you never made it out much, Corpse aiming to keep his identity a secret which you respected no matter what. 

So, for him to agree to this wedding meant everything to you. You were beyond ecstatic that he would meet some of the people closest to you and they got to meet the man who stole and repaired your heart. 

When you got to the wedding, you and him headed inside the mansion that your best friend would be getting married outside of. You had to head in early to help out and Corpse would hang out around the place. 

“Happy wedding day!!” you yell as you walk into your best friend’s room. 

“Shut up!” she yells back jokingly before tackling you in a hug. 

“I can’t believe it!” you muse as you take a seat on the couch in the room and face your best friend. 

The two of you launch into the whole story, still shocked that the day was finally here. You were your best friend’s maid of honor and could watch her get married to the perfect guy. You had been dreaming about this together for years. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back I’m gonna check on Corpse and then we’ll add the finishing touches,” you say to your best friend before ducking out. 

You head out of the hidden room and back out to the main area where people are mingling. The mansion was open except for the upstairs area, leaving that for where your best friend would get ready. 

The downstairs was open, a place for people to walk through and sign the registry, and head towards the backyard for pre-wedding drinks and eventually where the reception would take place. 

You head out that way, figuring Corpse would want to grab a drink and relax away from people for a bit. You find him with ease, standing off to the side, a drink in his hand as predicted and surveying the people in front of him. 

“Hi darling,” you greet walking up to him. 

“Hello love,” he responds, pressing a kiss to the side of your head while slipping an arm around your waist. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Not too bad. A few people said hi but that’s it,” he says and you nod. 

“Well it should be starting soon and I have to help her with the finishing touches but you might wanna find a seat soon okay? I’ll be the one next to the bride.” 

You stand on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips which he happily returns. You let go and head back to your best friend. 

After helping your best friend with the final touches, everything is finally set. The wedding planner grabs you two and the rest of the bridesmaids and your second-hand nerves start to kick in. 

“How do I look?” she asks just before you’re about to walk out. 

“Stunning. I’m so happy for you.” 

The wedding planner motions you forward and you offer your best friend a wide smile before turning to walk down the aisle. The music swells around you, and you take in the beautiful scenery that surrounds the venue. 

The sun is just starting to set, creating a beautiful backdrop for the altar and you gaze over the rows of seats until you see him. Surprisingly, Corpse is sitting near the front with the rest of your best friend’s family and you wonder if that’s her doing or his. 

As you make your way up and stand next to the altar your eyes fall on him and the purest smile you’ve ever seen is emitted from the man. You’re certain you’re reflecting it, not being able to keep in how in love you feel. 

Your best friend makes her way down the aisle and you feel a few tears fall slowly as a result. She’s elegant in her dress, and you’re surprised you’re both not bawling at this point. 

The priest makes it through the formalities and offers your best friend and soon to be husband to exchange vows. As her fiancée begins to speak, you’re touched by the words prepared for your best friend. 

At this point, you risk a glance at Corpse and find his eyes are already on you. You wear the same smile you had earlier but as words of love fill the air you can’t help but mouth ‘i love you’ to the man who changed your life. 

Corpse smiles, mouthing ‘i love you too’ and adding a wink making you giggle quietly. The ceremony continues, and by the end, you’re practically sobbing. You watch as your best friend and her husband make their way down the aisle as a married couple and follow when it’s the appropriate time. 

“I’m married!” she yells when she sees you and you run and hug her. 

“You’re freaking married!” you repeat and the two of you are cackling in the mansion entryway. 

“Ready for the reception?” the wedding planner asks as the two of you calm down. 

“Hell yeah!”

You all make your way out and back to the backyard where the reception would take place. You know the minute you get out there you want to find Corpse, and most likely not leave his side for the rest of the night.

As you head to the back yard, you spot Corpse instantly. He sits at a table towards the back, relaxed as he surveys the scene once more. When he spots you though, a smile crosses his lips. He stands to greet you, and proceeds to wraps you up in his arms. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he says staring down at you. 

“You’ve told me a couple of times.” 

The two of you sit down at the table and Corpse takes your hand in his, playing with your fingers absentmindedly. You enjoy each other’s presence as you wait for your best friend and her new husband to finally walk out. 

His hands cover yours, carefully running his fingers over your hands and you’re lost in his touch as you sit together. Your eyes trail over his features as he watches his own actions, focusing on the delicate touch he leaves on your skin. 

When your best friend finally comes out, the two of you turn to watch, the crowd standing to clap and greet the newlyweds. Your mind goes over the thought for a moment, if that was you and Corpse walking down and for a second you’re wishing it was. But you knew if you had to wait a thousand years for the boy in front of you you would. 

“Now may the newlyweds come out and have their first dance,” the DJ announces over the speaker, and your best friend and her husband walk out onto the dance floor. 

Even though you knew it was going to happen, you’re still left with tears in your eyes as Can't Help Falling in Love plays over the speakers, the version from Crazy Rich Asians. 

Your best friend spins about the room, looking like a princess, and as you and her lock eyes, she gestures for you to come dance too. You place a hand over your heart, mouthing ‘me?’ and she nods. 

Corpse must pick up this subtle hint first, because suddenly he’s standing and looking down at you, a soft smile placed on his lips. You look up at him, and he gestures to the dance floor making you smile wide. 

You take his hand, and together you make your way over to the makeshift dance floor. Corpse circles your wait with one arm, effectively pulling you close while the other takes your hand in his. Your arm rests around his shoulder and your eyes gaze into his. 

“I love you,” he says as you sway around the room. 

“I love you too,” you respond and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek.

you look so beautiful in white

request: i'm sadist so can we request more levi angst. i don't have a specific plot in mind but just.... HURT ME AND RIP MY HEART OUT

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x fem!reader

❈ genre: angst ❈ word count: 1.4k

❈ summary: Modern AU. Levi stood in front of the altar, thinking about how much he loved you as your father walked you down the aisle.

❈ trigger warnings: mentions of sickness and death.

a/n: y’all got a fluff break last fic with the short end of the stick but since you asked me to hurt you then hurt you i shall.

(also, sorry for not making it gender neutral.)

Levi’s eyes glanced around the small chapel. 

His hands rested idly at his sides, the black tuxedo he wore fitting his small yet built frame well. His hair was styled neatly, covered in the gel that the makeup artist who visited him hours earlier insisted he use.

He took note of the flowers that littered the small venue. Delicate, white, and looking beautifully serene in the marble vases the florist had lent them for the event. It was a good choice, and Levi mentally made a reminder to himself to thank the florist for their recommendation (he’d never admit it but damn it they were right, white lilies did look better than white dahlias.) White silk ribbons lined the pews on either side of the aisle, accentuating the red carpet your father had specifically requested in the meticulous planning that led up to this point in time.

Perfect. Everything had to be perfect for today.

The guests they’d invited lingered amongst themselves, clad in their best semi-formal attire as requested on the invitations that had been sent out prior. Family, friends, co-workers, and people he’d only seen in passing yet couldn’t quite remember sat on the chapel’s benches, chatting quietly as they waited for the event to start.

His heart steadily beat inside his chest, emotions nothing but a bundle of nerves as he tried his best to keep his face calm and stoic. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the pianist he’d hired walk towards the piano that sat near the altar where Levi stood. The man held papers in his hands, sheets for the music he was requested to play.

As soon as the pianist had sat down and arranged the papers onto the stand in front of the piano keys, soft music filled the air, tickling Levi’s ears and calming his nerves as he breathed in deeply to calm his thudding heart. The chatter from the guests died down, all standing up as they looked at the opposite end of the aisle. Levi nervously fixed his tuxedo despite the fact that he knew he looked flawless, not a hair out of place as his eyes trained on the chapel’s doors when they slowly opened.

One by one, people entered and walked down the aisle, walking to their assigned seats just before they could reach the altar’s elevated steps the way they had choreographed the day before. And finally, his eyes widened and his heart stopped.

Because at the end of the aisle was the love of his life. At the end of the aisle was you.

Levi wasn’t sure what to think. Anticipation replaced the nervousness he felt in his chest. No matter how much he’d been preparing for this day, it didn’t stop his eyes from tearing up and his breath from getting caught in his lungs as he stared at the site of your father walking you down the aisle, the entourage slowly trailing behind.

He couldn’t cry, he simply couldn’t. He had to be strong.

For you.

Memories swirled in his mind. The day you met at the coffee shop, your voice nervous and eyes terrified as you handed him napkins and apologized for spilling coffee on his shirt. The day you started dating, how wide you’d smiled and your eyes twinkled when he asked to make it official. Your first anniversary, how you’d tried to make him a nice dinner to surprise him after work but fell asleep and almost burned down the house. The day he proposed to you, how you cried and yelled out “yes, oh my god, yes!” as you grabbed his face to lean in for a kiss. 

He loved you. His heart swelled at the warm memories because oh god, did he love you. He loved you more than he thought he could ever love another person.

He knew this day would come, he’d been anticipating and preparing for it as much. Yet, it took all his resolve to not let the tears fall from his eyes as he tried to ignore the lump in his throat the longer he stared at you.

Once you reached the altar and the entourage had helped you get settled in your spot, your father gently set his hand down on Levi’s shoulder. Ordinarily, this would make him cringe— he never really liked being touched, the rare exception being you. 

But today was no ordinary day.

Levi looked at your father’s eyes, emotions unreadable, and he noticed that they were brimming with tears. Your father noticed as well, letting out a small chuckle as he wiped them away.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Always knew this day would come but I wasn’t expecting it to come so soon. It’s just so hard to let my little girl go.”

Levi let out a small nod, hand awkwardly reaching out to pat your father’s back. “It’s alright. She’s in good hands.”

Your father gave Levi a small nod as well, and the small, almsot unnoticable smile stayed on his face as he gave you one more lingering glance before he walked off the altar and to his seat in the pews.

Now left alone with his lover, Levi turned to finally look at you, and his heart skipped a beat. He admired the little white flowers woven into your hair, how they seemed to go so well with its color. The minimalist yet well thought out makeup accentuated your features, and the lipstick your makeup artist had chosen paired up nicely with the color of your skin. He made another mental note to himself, this time to personally thank the makeup artist who dolled you up for today.

His eyes roamed to take a look at the rest of your body, and he let out a small smile at the thought of how beautiful you looked in the expensive white dress he’d paid for.

Beautiful. You looked so beautiful it almost hurt.

The priest cleared his throat and Levi was snapped out of his thoughts.

This was it. This was really it.

Levi gestured to the pianist, the musician nodding and smoothly ending the song to let the priest speak. The chapel is silent once more.

“Friends, family, and loved ones.” The priest started.

Yet Levi couldn’t do anything but sadly eye the photograph of your smiling face. It sat next to your open casket, framed by the same white lilies that decorated the venue. He clenched his fists at his sides, head bowing down in defeat, unshed tears finally falling down his cheeks.

The guests at the venue blurred in his vision, going from discernible faces to a sea of black to reflect the dark clothes they wore for your funeral. It was better this way— this way, he didn’t have to look at their crying eyes and their pity-filled glances.

He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He couldn’t keep trying to be strong, even if it was for you, because this was pain— it was agonizing, tearing at his insides, clutching at his heart and threatening to break it into a million tiny pieces once more, just like it did when he rushed you to the hospital in the middle of the night where you were pronounced dead on arrival.

It made him want to yell, scream out, curse at the universe for taking you away from him, and the realization that your corpse lay in the white casket behind him finally sunk in. He silently heaved, knees threatening to give out beneath him, and he wanted to sob right then and there because life was just so unfair.

You were supposed to have at least a year left to live. The wedding was supposed to be set two months from now, yet the cancer didn’t care for your shared plans of the future. It spread too fast, too aggressive to even consider the expensive option of chemotherapy. It had taken away the love of his life in the dead of the night, when Levi woke up next to you and realized you weren’t breathing, and he knew what it meant but it didn’t stop him from rushing you to the hospital to try... something, anything that could’ve possibly brought you back to him.

But you were gone.

He always thought that the expensive white dress he’d be buying for you would be a wedding dress, and the sick twisted irony of having to buy you a white funeral dress almost made him want to laugh.

Too soon. You were gone too soon.

The priest’s voice droned on in the background but Levi couldn’t find it in himself to care, his grief-stricken mind numbing his heart to the pain, still broken and hurting at the memory of your death.

“We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Y/N L/N. A loving daughter, a wonderful friend, and a blushing bride to be.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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Reminiscent

Pairing: Daichi x Reader

Genre: SFW, 5+1, Soulmate/Reincarnation AU, Angst (there is technically a character death, BUT THERE’S AN ULTIMATELY HAPPY ENDING, I SWEAR), Fluff 

Prompt: You woke me up at 3 in the morning for this?

Summary: 5 lifetimes Daichi and you just weren’t meant to be and the 1 lifetime you finally found your happy ending together.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt. (Masterlist goes live December 1st!)  

Tagging @sawamooora  since I accidentally scarred her by making her read only the section where there was a character death without the heads up...OOPS, so I guess you can have your happy ending now~

I.

When Daichi meets you in this first lifetime, he can’t help but notice just how different you are from him and he stares at the luxurious fabrics beautifully accentuating your figure, wishing he could wipe off the meticulously and elegantly layered on makeup and see more of your bare face, wanting more than anything to know who you are beneath the graceful and well-mannered smiles and bows you grace the court with. But when he looks down at himself and sees the memories of crimson blood splattered all over his skin and robes, hears the sound of his sword piercing flesh, remembers the way your father enthusiastically thanks him for another job well done as a flash of fear races across your eyes at the corpse of proof he drags in, it’s all too apparent just how different the worlds you live in are. 

And really, that should have been it, he should have stopped himself right then and there, stopped thinking about you, stopped his gaze from trailing after you when he sees you roaming around the clan property. But his heart has different plans and here he is, a well respected samurai who works underneath your father, pining after you, a clan leader’s daughter, someone already betrothed to the son of a neighboring clan, someone much too pure and innocent for his blood soaked hands. 

He smiles when he sees your posture relax, your body slouch in relief when you think no one is watching you, no pretenses and facades to keep up when it’s just you, unaware of the brown eyes watching you. He clenches his fists so hard his nails threaten to break skin when he hears your secret anguished sobs as he guards your bedroom the night after you meet your fiance for the first time and realize you’ve been doomed to a life with a man who’ll never love you, a man who doesn’t see you as anything more than a political tool. He dreams of a life where he can whisk you away, a life where there would be no consequences if the two of you ran off to live a peaceful, happy life together far far far away from the cruel and cold world of money and power you’re both entangled in. 

But there are consequences and he lives with the constant shattering of his heart as he watches the light dim in your eyes as you continue courting your fiance, the cool indifferent look you wear on your face throughout your own wedding ceremony, the way you seem like just a shell of the vibrant young woman he once knew and fell in love with. And yet, he doesn’t do a thing, remaining faithfully by your father’s side and serving your clan for the remainder of his days.  

II.

Something jolts inside of Daichi when he sees you in the second lifetime and he can’t help but feel like there’s something familiar about you, something nostalgic about the situation you’re both in as you humbly bow before helping him dress and get ready for the busy day of meetings he has. And you watch in awe as you dutifully trail after him, making sure all his needs are attended to, amazed by just how hardworking, intelligent, and kind the young lord is, so different than the stories you had heard of royals. Not once does he ever treat you as anything less than an equal, not once does he ever lay an unwanted gaze on you, let alone a finger and you find yourself jumping to please him and aid him out of something more than just a sense of responsibility as your heart flutters from just his presence. 

You feel honored by how much he entrusts you with when it’s just the two of you in his room and you patiently listen when he throws his disciplined manners out the window, grumbling and ranting about the power-hungry ploys of his fellow royals, the way greed and privilege have corrupted them, how he can’t trust anyone anymore. But when he wonders if he needs to change, to adapt in order to thrive, you surprise the both of you with your vehement outburst as you blather on about how he’s perfect the way he is. And then there’s silence as the two of you look away, both your faces heating up at the hidden message in your words, a message so incredibly inappropriate considering both your positions and the time you live in. But before you can open your mouth and stutter out an apology, you freeze at the warm smile Daichi sends your way, heart racing at the heartfelt, but quiet thank you he utters in response. 

Of course nothing happens after that. This is real life after all and Daichi is far too respectful of his family and their reputation, far too noble to smear his clan’s name with taboo affairs, far too kind to hurt his future bride despite the fact that he’s never even met her yet, doesn’t know the first thing about her other than her name, to pursue something just for his own pleasure, his own satisfaction, something that could potentially harm so many others. And you understand. After all, these are the reasons you fell in love with him, and you’re just happy to be able to remain by his side for the rest of your days despite the lancing pain in your chest every time you see him with his wife, with his future children, living a life where you just exist on the sidelines, watching and longing for something you know you’ll never have. 

III. 

In the third lifetime Daichi meets you in, he can’t understand the regrets of a missed opportunity he feels when you introduce yourself to him, welcoming him to the neighborhood with a basket of freshly baked goods. He knows he should smile, graciously accept your kind (and delicious smelling) gifts and he does, but as he bites into the still warm cookies after you leave, the image of the gold wedding band around your finger is branded in his mind. 

In a small rural community like yours, you’re bound to run into each other, especially since your farms are right next to each other and he thinks you look ethereal each morning with the sun rising behind you, a soft golden glow framing you as you gather eggs, milk the cows, and water the crops. But there’s a sense of bitterness he can’t explain when your husband joins you, a hulking stoic figure besides you as he helps you on the fields, and he turns his back on the two of you to tend to his own chores. 

There’s nothing “wrong” with your spouse, nothing Daichi can truly fault him for and if he’s honest, if Ushijima wasn’t your husband, he’d have only respect and admiration for the man. He certainly can’t complain about how he treats you and something bittersweet churns inside of him when he sees Ushijima’s usually stern face soften whenever you’re around, when he sees the way Ushijima’s broad shoulders relax whenever you affectionately hold his hand. And although he internally chides himself at night in private when he dreams of what it would be like to be in Ushijima’s shoes, he can’t help but feel relieved, glad that you’ve found someone who loves and treats you well. 

But he laughs the silly thought away. Of course you had found someone who loved you. Why wouldn’t you have? And yet that night he dreams of your face, dressed in a beautiful silk robe better suited for the historicals eras of Japan, seated next to someone he somehow knows is your husband, but there’s only loneliness in your eyes and he wakes up with tears in his eyes, unsure why he’s crying, why he’s hoping you never feel alone ever again. 

IV. 

Daichi should be scared of you when he meets you in the fourth lifetime, but although he’s certainly wary of you, staring at you with his beady eyes from the branches high above your head, he can’t help the curiosity he feels when he sees your small furry body try to leap and paw at him despite how far the distance between the two of you is. And despite all his natural instincts, he feels himself relaxing, cawing teasingly at you as you tire yourself out, fluttering down a few branches closer to you when you give up and just sprawl out on the floor, tail flickering back and forth in interest as you watch him draw nearer. But before he can get any closer, he hears a human voice calling for you and the two of you lock eyes before you rush back to your owner and even after your body squeezes through the little cat door that had been built in the front door, he can’t help but watch your home closely, wondering if he’ll see you again. 

To his delight he does see you again, every single day as a matter of fact. On sunny days, he spreads out his wings and swoops down to meet you when you lazily curl up at the base of his tree and sometimes the two of you just lay there together, basking in the warmth of the beautiful day, sometimes the two of you take a stroll together, you trotting down the sidewalk as he flits from tree to tree beside you. He’s learned that rain and water in general don’t sit well with you and on gloomier days he glides over to the outside of your favorite window, peering through the glass and cawing warmly when you jump up and curl up on the windowsill, his beak and your nose pressing against the glass across from each other. 

But time is limited, especially for a crow like himself, and as you grow bigger and stronger, he begins to lose his appetite, begins to struggle flying for as long or as well as he used to. And although neither of you can speak to each other, there’s an intuitive understanding as you tone down your playing and spend his last remaining days just laying side by side, his feathered body curled up in the warm plush of your fur, your body and tail wrapped protectively around him until he passes away peacefully. 

V. 

Daichi only has himself to blame for the fifth lifetime being a complete loss. You had caught his eye in a way no girl ever had before when he saw you skillfully racing across the court at the Tokyo training camp. He can’t explain exactly what draws him to you. Sure, you’re attractive, but he’s been around other beautiful girls before, hell Shimizu is the manager of his team and even she’s never captivated him like this. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen many talented female volleyball players up close before? But that can’t be it. No other female player in the room even remotely peaks his interest. No...it’s something deeper than that and he swears it feels like there’s an invisible thread tying the two of you together. 

He watches and watches until a lanky arm is thrown over his shoulder, a sly voice purring in his ears. 

“Sa’amura. My, my, my. I thought a country bumpkin crow like you would have better manners than to gawk at our pretty Tokyo girls like a creep.” 

Daichi scowls at the messy haired Nekoma captain, but his face heats up when he realizes how strange he probably looked just staring at a gym full of female athletes. But before he can spout any excuses, Kuroo hums in interest as he follows Daichi’s gaze to see who he had been looking at so intently. 

“Well well well. I guess birds do attract each other. You have some good taste, Sa’amura. She’s a great player, although I personally think she would have been a better fit at Nekoma than Fukurodani. She moves a lot like a cat, doesn’t she? But if you want to get closer to her, try talking to Bokuto. They’re both pretty close.” 

A cat? Daichi wordlessly waves goodbye to Kuroo who’s strolling away before turning his attention back to you. And he’s surprised to see that there’s something eerily correct about Kuroo’s observation, something about your feline movements that nags at a deep unconscious thread inside of him, and it’s unnervingly easy to imagine you with a tail swishing back and forth behind you, to imagine you with soft ears and claws. But when he blinks, there you are, completely human once again, celebrating a point your team had scored, no cat appendages anywhere in sight. 

He doesn’t take Kuroo’s advice, never approaches Bokuto to learn more about you, and he leaves training camp without even exchanging one word with you. But from time to time for the rest of his life, he’ll dream of you, dream of a friendly cat he feels like he used to know and he’ll wake up with a pang of regret, wondering what would have happened if he had the courage to talk to you all those years ago. 

VI. 

Daichi groans, nursing a hangover as he groggily sits up in bed and turns off the ear splitting alarm. Thank God for humans and their habits, his brain not needing to work at all as he methodically brushes his teeth and throws on his uniform. But as he makes his way to the precinct, he pauses at the corner of the street, intrigued by the sight of a newly opened cafe. There’s technically coffee at work and the smarter and financially responsible choice would be to just wait and drink the free caffeinated liquid, but something draws him into the quaint storefront and before his mind can even catch up to his body, he’s already pushing open the door and walking towards the counter. 

He hears your voice ring throughout the small store, telling him you’d be with him in just a moment and he takes his time to peruse the menu, the soothing scent of coffee whetting his appetite and making the pastries in the glass case look even more appealing. He’s narrowed down his options to either the chocolate frosted donut or the coffee cake when he sees you approaching from the corner of his eyes and he smiles only to freeze when he sees your face.

“Do I know you-”

“You look familiar-”

Both of you start and stop talking at the same time and there’s an awkward silence before you both burst out laughing. As you prepare his order, both of you throw out possibilities of where you may have met before, but nothing pans out, and you both shrug your shoulders as you hand over the paper wrapped pastry and piping hot coffee. It’s a big world with tons of people. Perhaps both of you had met someone who looked similar to the other. But as Daichi sips his coffee and as you wait in the cafe for your next customer, neither of you can stop thinking of the other, wondering if you really hadn’t met before. 

And maybe it’s that curiosity that leads Daichi to regularly return to your cafe on a daily basis, that leads you to always perk and brighten up when he walks through your door. Daily morning coffee runs before work is how it all starts, but pretty soon you’re seeing him at all times of the day. Sometimes he pops in to order a sandwich and some chips for lunch. Sometimes he’ll plop down at one of your small tables, plugging his laptop into an outlet as he works for hours on end even on the weekends. And sometimes, when there’s no one else in the store, when you’re technically closed, you’ll join him, sharing a new dessert you’re testing for the menu with him and chatting away into the wee hours of the night. 

So really, it shouldn’t be a surprise when Daichi nervously enters the cafe right before closing one day, making sure no other customers are around before asking you out on an official first date. And even though you knew that the day where you two would discuss what your relationship exactly was would come soon, your face still heats up. But you eagerly nod, fingers instinctively interweaving with his when he hesitantly reaches to hold your hand and as the two of you walk hand in hand to the restaurant he’s chosen for dinner, you both can’t help but feel like your hands fit perfectly together, like you were made to be with each other. 

Romantic candlelit dinners become more frequent casual affairs after a while and the two of you find yourself cuddled up on a couch in comfortable clothing, eating a meal the two of you had cooked together more often than not. You make fun of Daichi’s bachelor closet, dragging him to go shopping and ignoring his squawking when you pay for all his new clothes while he’s still changing in the fitting room. He teases you for how flustered you get when you see him in his cop uniform, purposefully striking a cheesy pose in the doorway only to bend over in a belly bursting laugh when you just wordlessly gape and stutter at the sight. 

But the change that both of you love the most is never having to sleep alone again and your bodies slot together perfectly like two puzzle pieces when you curl up with each other in bed, letting sleep, body warmth, and rhythmic breathing lull you both into the best nights of sleep you’ve ever had. 

Well, usually that would be the case.

Daichi grumbles as you insistently shove his body until he begrudgingly sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and batting away your hands that keep on nudging him awake. He looks at you in confusion and maybe the slightest hint of irritation at being woken up at such an ungodly hour of the night, but the bright smile you flash his way softens him and he internally groans about how weak he is for you as he stumbles out of bed, sleepily accepting the bundle of clothes you throw at him and haphazardly throwing them on. 

He lets you drag him out the door, shivering a bit as the cold night air wakes him up and he holds you close to him, his cop instincts keeping him alert as he continuously scans the area. You live in a safe neighborhood, but it is the middle of the night and he’d be a hypocrite to not be aware of his surroundings when he’s always warning people not to be out by themselves late at night. But the two of you make it to what he assumes is your final destination unscathed and his jaw drops in disbelief when he sees that you’ve brought them to the neighborhood park. 

“You woke me up at 3 in the morning for this?” 

You giggle at his outburst, slapping his arm in mock anger as you pull him to sit beside you on one of the benches. 

“I checked the weather and tonight’s supposed to have the clearest skies for stargazing! And you and I both have off tomorrow, so it seemed like perfect timing. Don’t be such a grumpy old man.” 

And how can Daichi possibly be angry when you’re practically radiant, the soft glow of the stars illuminating your features as you stare up in awe, holding his hand and snuggling into his side as your free hand points at the different constellations you recognize. But the two of you freeze when you hear rustling nearby, letting out a sigh of relief when only a stray cat stalks out from behind a bush and you both watch in amusement as it regally walks towards your bench before plopping down with its stomach bared right at your feet. 

But just as Daichi is about to reach down and accept the invitation to pet the furry creature, a loud squawk echoes throughout the area and suddenly the cat is leaping to its feet as a crow swoops down and hops around on the ground just a few feet away. And the two of you watch in amazement as the two creatures play with each other, paws lazily batting at the bird while wings spread wide and teasingly brush against a whiskered face in a practiced friendly dance. 

It should be just a light hearted scene, maybe heartwarming at most, but to the two of you it’s more than that and your hearts ache, tears streaming down both your faces in a strange combination of soul crushing sorrow and gratitude for the present. But why is it so sad? Why are you both crying? The two of you shakily laugh, apologizing for your strange behavior as you hurriedly try to wipe the salty streaks away, but they don’t stop, only growing worse and turning into body wracking sobs as pain, loss, regret, and unrequited love built over what feels like multiple lifetimes slam into both of you all at once. 

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. 

But like magic it all instantly fades away when the two of you find yourselves tightly wrapped in each other’s arms, your body somehow now in Daichi’s lap as you bury your tear stained face in his chest, his arms wrapped around you in a bone crushing hold as he buries his face in the top of your head. And the two of you just stay like that for a bit as the calming breeze swirls past you, as the creatures and sounds of the night begin to fade away, as the morning sun begins its ascent into the sky, all the while exchanging words of love with each other, words of gratitude for finding each other. 

And when the tears have finally all been wiped away and the sun is shining brightly down on both of you, the two of you share a smile before Daichi is ushering both of you back home, jokingly whining about immediately going back to sleep once you both return home, both of you animatedly bantering as you walk away, ignorant of the way the cat and crow lay curled up beside each other, both their eyes never straying from your retreating figures until you’re out of sight. 

Neither of you ever discuss that night again. Neither of you ever try to understand and explain the chaotic overwhelming mess of emotions that had bombarded both of you. But every now and then, even after the two of you exchange vows, even after your shared home is filled with children’s laughters and voices, the echoes of that night follow both of you in your dreams and you wake up with tears in your eyes and a lingering ache in your hearts. 

But all it takes is a quick glance to your side, the reassurance that both of you are together, right where you belong, to completely snuff out any negative emotions and you let the comforting warmth of love lull you back into slumber, smiles gracing both your lips as Daichi holds you just a bit closer and tighter to him, as you snuggle just a bit more until you’re firmly tucked underneath his chin.  

Heart Of The Darkness

This was a Secret Santa that I never posted for @Nikki!

Rating: Mature Characters: John | KryozGaming/Jaren | SMii7Y, Eddie Gluskin Tags: Outlast, Panic Kisses, Secret Santa Warnings: Violence, Minor Character Death, Creepy Motherfuckers Words: 2,135

It’s only when John turns around, looking as though he’d been in a dozen fights and is still ready for another, that Jaren feels hot tears spill over reddened cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry! Are you okay? I—No, you’re not okay.”

{Read here on AO3}

Three simple words keep Jaren quiet. They repeat like a broken record, a mantra that increases with every blood-curdling scream and fresh wave of iron-laden air that floods the damp room. He’ll return once the exit is clear. Shaky hands flatten against rusted metal, taking comfort in the cool chill as he peers into the gloomy area, straining to see human-shaped demons in the shadows.

“Darling!” a sultry voice crows from the right, singing sweet lullabies.

‘No, fuck, not him.’

Every muscle tightens, lungs clenched and breath held, but frantic eyes refuse to close. Pleading cries respond to unnervingly saccharine words. A dull thump preludes a sobbing groan, hoarse and crying with desperation as nails scrabble against moldy tiles.

“What did I say about keeping your stress levels down? No child can be borne like this.”

The stomach-churning memory of mangled bodies cut apart and sewn together, a mockery of a carrying woman, has Jaren silently gagging, a palm covering his mouth and nails cutting into his cheek.

They should never have come here. ‘Abandoned’ mental asylum, his ass! No power doesn’t mean the crazies inside are gone.

“No, no, no, please, please!”

“I warned you and you didn’t listen!”

A wet squelch spills into the air, Jaren choking at the possibilities. His eyes grow wet, face turned against his torn and muddied sleeve.

“Oh?” the man purrs, a childish laugh bubbling beneath. Jaren freezes, swallowing and peering between the metal slits of the locker. “Have my followers… brought me another bride?”

He’s a deer in headlights, a hare hypnotized by a stoat, a hen frozen in fear of a fox. Fingers twitch, useless when his arms can’t even push the door open.

He has no chance when a body slams against the front, jostling him within. Manic eyes stare back at him, lips pulled into a grin. Can’t breathe, can’t scream, can’t move.

“There you are, dear! The perfect gift after… a terrible tragedy.” Yeah, tragedy. He can only imagine the leftovers, the body slit and covered in gore and blood, still warm. Something metal tracks across the front of the locker. “But don’t worry, I’ll fix you up, make your body a welcoming vessel.”

Voice cracking, he lets out a shaky, “Fuck you.” A crazed laugh echoes through the grotesque room, head thrown back as he smacks the rusty locker. Barely illuminated, he looks like a dirtied man from the mall, covered in blood and grime, bowtie falling off. Palms sweating, Jaren smacks his hands against the door, only for the rattle of metal to trap him within. “Let me out!”

“Nooo, no, no, my love, I can’t let you out in this state, you’ll only hurt yourself!” Blood pounds within his ears, rushing like a torrent, an uncontrollable stream. Jaren slams his fist harder against the metal, the growl in his throat fading into a desperate whine.

He’s not getting out of here alive.

A blade scrapes across the locker, barely glistening in the light shining through the window. Jaren shrinks away, knees buckling, ducking down from the slits in the door. He’d rather not have a scalpel in the eye.

“Now, I don’t want to ruin your perfect body,” he begins, voice dropping with warning, “but I will if you keep fighting me.”

Tongue dead weight, Jaren swallows and scrunches his eyes shut. ‘Where is he?’

“Why would I fight you?”

A coo spills forth, hair standing on end and spine rigid. “Much better, sweetheart,” he hums, taking a step backwards. Metal scrapes again on the locker, hinges squealing and revealing the crazed man’s horrifying appearance. It takes every single ounce of self-restraint to stop from running, hands shaking and gaze darting, searching for an escape route. “Look at you, the perfect vessel, don’t you think?”

Jaren’s stomach twists over itself, tightening up like a knotted rope. A shake to every word, he whispers, “Okay.” His stare lingers on the blade in the other’s raw-knuckled grasp, the weapon raising when he takes a shaky step forth.

“You want this, don’t you? Want to become beautiful, to pave the way for our loving family.”

‘No,’ he thinks, ‘I want to leave with John.’

He refuses to let this psycho know of the other’s presence. Fingers crossing behind his back, Jaren hopes to at least have his body recovered before it’s mutilated beyond recognition like the corpses of earlier.

“Okay…”

The hand against his elbow has him jumping, strung taught and on edge. “Come, my love, I’ll show you the way, the truth…”

Movement catches his eye, moonlight glistening against silver.

Jaren snaps his gaze away, movements slow and steady, gaze tracked onto the blade. He needs to get the weapon away, get the scalpel out of his white-knuckled grasp, so John has a winning chance. They won’t get out of this alive if this fucking maniac still has his weapon.

He stumbles.

The man’s face twists into a grimace and he lunges.

Jaren yelps and finds himself slammed backwards against the wall. His head pulses, skull smacking against the tiles as metal stings at his throat.

“Wait!”

“You scared me, darling, you shouldn’t try to escape like that,” he pants, leaning in closer. Nostrils flared, dark eyes soak in his appearance, leaning closer. His stench alone has Jaren swallowing bile, flinching at the hand caressing his cheek. Shaky hands grab hold of the man’s elbow, struggling to keep him at bay, to squirm his way to freedom. The blade digs into his throat, bringing him to a halt as a strangled cry spills forth. “Maybe it’d be better if I just cut out your voice box. Wives are supposed to be seen, not heard.”

Frantic, Jaren rushes to say, “I’ll be quiet, I’ll be quiet, please, I promise.”

There’s a flicker of movement over the man’s shoulder.

Jaren looks for a moment too long.

“What—”

The man twists in time for a grazed elbow to slam into his unsightly face, flinging him aside.

Jaren jumps away, grabbing his own throat, feeling a thin line of blood beneath his palm.

The stumbling form snaps his head up, scowling and frothing with broiling hatred. “How dare you—”

“How dare me?” John spits, backing up and glancing over a shoulder at Jaren. Upon realizing the other isn’t in immediate danger, he glares at the crazy man and huffs, “Stay the fuck away from him!”

“You can’t come between us!” he shouts, posture menacing and looming. The blade in his hand draws attention like a magnet, dragging their eyes towards it as he flicks the weapon within gnarled fingers.

Jaren flinches when the man steps closer, hip bumping into a table laden with jars of intestines. A whimper slips out, capturing both of their attention for a split second.

John positions himself between them, shoulders hunched and fingers clenched, shielding Jaren. The blade raises. John flinches, balancing on the balls of his feet, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed.

“No, no, nothing is as strong as… as the bond we form—”

A boot slams into the man’s shin, dragging a shriek from raw, bloodied lips. Jaren’s head whips to the side, spotting a door and quickly running towards it. He freezes in the crooked doorframe, looking back, spotting John grappling with the bedraggled man, mouth pulled back into a sneer. The silver scalpel wavers, tip nicking at John’s clothing, held back like a snarling dog.

No warning, the man yanks himself away, pulling his arm free, only to slam the blade downwards.

A scream tears free of Jaren’s hoarse throat, the metal sinking into John’s arm, drinking rich scarlet blood.

Wild eyes scan the room, flicking between the garishly cut body on his right to the mess of broken furniture to his left.

Jaren latches onto a metal rod, breath rapid and uneven, yanking it free from the wooden debris.

No hesitation, he runs closer and swings, a sickening crunch filling the air as it connects with the man’s skull. He tumbles to the side, leaving John scrambling free. When he freezes up again, staring at the blood already dripping from the damage he’d caused, John takes the weapon from him and wastes no time in bringing it down directly on the deranged man’s neck.

He falls to the ground and goes limp. Air slides free from rattling lungs as haunted eyes grow dull.

‘Oh god.’

Jaren hiccups, eyes locking onto John, on the fucking handle still embedded in his bicep. Tears well within green-blue eyes, brows furrowed and lips parted. “Your arm,” he gasps, stepping closer, hands raising, only to freeze when he realizes he doesn’t know what to do.

A yell reverberates through the dusty air, a low growl following, filled with hunger and desperation.

John grabs him by the elbow, already yanking him away. It doesn’t matter where they’re going, as long as John’s with him, they’ll be fine.

They’re red-faced and panting by the time the shouting dies down, inaudible. John shoves them both into a shadowed room and slams the rattling door shut. A metal cabinet serves as the perfect blockade, stopping any unwanted visitors from entering their makeshift safe room.

It’s only when John turns around, looking as though he’d been in a dozen fights and is still ready for another, that Jaren feels hot tears spill over reddened cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he whines, stepping closer and staring through bleary eyes at the weapon still in John’s arm. “Are you okay? I—No, you’re not okay.” Every inch of John is tensed, frozen as he keeps glancing at the door, breathing through his nose. He flinches at the hand on his shoulder, finally meeting Jaren’s watery stare. He’s still ready for a battle, on edge, antsy to keep them both safe. “Fuck, John, your arm, oh god…”

“It’s fine,” he grits out, still standing there with a doctor’s scalpel sticking out of his sleeve, careless of the blood soaking his shirt. Jaren’s instincts are screaming to run, to get away, John’s a threat. But every other part of him is desperate to help, to ease his pain, make him better, and repay his kindness.

Jaren takes hold of his good arm, leading him towards the unsteady table against the wall. “Let’s just… fix it up, yeah? Make it better. We can fix this—” A loud crash from outside has John jolting, pushing himself to his feet, despite Jaren’s attempts to get him seated. “It’s fine, they can’t get in, let me—”

“They’re close—”

“Don’t worry about them—”

“How can I not worry when they’re—”

“You’re bleeding!”

“I can make more blood.”

Fingers snatch hold of greasy hair, snapping John’s gaze towards him for long enough that he can press a desperate kiss against his bloodied mouth. The wildness in his eyes fades, returning to his familiar stare.

Jaren relaxes his hold, eyes flickering to the side.

“You can’t make another you,” he counters.

John licks his lips. “What was that for?”

Jaren backs up, mouth twisting to the side, failing to hide his embarrassment. “You weren’t listening and I—” He swallows. “I’m scared we won’t get out of here and I just—I just wanted to, just once, sorry, I shouldn’t have…” The silence that ensues has Jaren’s fingers itching, staring at the blade which, now that he looks at, isn’t all that deeply embedded into John’s arm. Swallowing, he clears his throat and says, “Let’s get this—”

“Better be more than just once.”

A frown embeds itself on Jaren’s face, blinking at John. He’s met with surprising determination.

He doesn’t even ask before John’s explaining, “We are getting out of here. That better not just have been a once off haha joke.” Jaren doesn’t have a response to that, letting slip a confused little noise followed by an awkward laugh. When he says nothing else, John asks, “You gettin’ this knife outta me or what?”

“Wh—Yes! Yeah, hold on, I…” Jaren fumbles for a moment before shedding his overshirt, figuring it’s cleaner than anything in this place. “Can you—” John grabs hold of the scalpel and yanks it out, a grunt and hiss following. Crimson spurts out, seeping quickly. Jaren gasps and hurries to wrap the fabric around the wound to stop the bleeding. “Fucks’ sake, John.”

A bloodied hand against his chin has Jaren freezing, allowing his head to be tilted upwards until he can meet the other’s gaze. “We’re gonna get out of here,” he states firmly. His hold shifts, resting against the side of Jaren’s face. Warm concern and conviction replace the earlier rage. “We will, I promise.”

The knot of unease wrapped vice-like around Jaren’s heart unwinds, loosened by trust and belief. On his own, no, he wouldn’t believe that, but with John here…

“I know we will.”

Little bit sick, little bit sleep deprived, but above all desperately in sudden need of a Corpse Bride au, but with polyamory like the original SHOULD have ended.

Like say the Argents are the old money family, whose money has actually run out after Gerard dumped all of it into hunting. It’s left Chris with nothing to give his daughter.

The Stilinskis are nouveau riche, and good people. John offers to help out Chris, possibly lend him money for stable investments that might help. Chris is embarrassed but grateful. Victoria is ashamed and suspicious.

She insists that the deal can only go through with a marriage of their children to ensure that the fates of their families are intertwined. John won’t be able to pull the money out from under them without it effecting his own son negatively.

Chris is 100% against it, ready to say absolutely not, but Allison steps in. She knows what their financial sitation is. Their house is falling apart around them. She’s willing to do whatever has to be done to save them.

John, for his part, is shocked by the request. He offered his help, and now they’re asking for his son? He’s ready to say no, to condemn Victoria’s interference, but Stiles, like Allison, steps in.

The Argents need help. Stiles is under no illusions as to how most marriages work. His parents’ was one of the very few that began for love rather than economic reasons. He’s never met Allison, but has heard enough about her from their social circles to think they’ll make passable partners. There’s really no reason to say no, especially not if it will save her family from poverty.

The arrangement is made, and they meet. It goes better than anyone could have hoped, honestly. Stiles is happy to find Allison clever and engaging, and Allison is relieved to find that Stiles seems to be very encouraging of her sportsmanship. It certainly doesn’t hurt that they make a gorgeous pair.

It’s not love at first sight, but it could easily grow into something beautiful.

The ceremony is rushed, what with a rather immediate need for money. The invitations are sent out to family and friends- the McCalls, the Hales, the Martins- but almost no one will be able to arrive until the day of the wedding. Luckily at least one family member is able to make it for the rehearsal dinner.

Allison always was a favorite of Aunt Kate.

Stiles is nervous, though. His ADHD doesn’t do memorization very well, and he cannot, for the fucking life of him, remember his vows. Despite quiet encouragement from Allison, the anxiety starts to overwhelm him and he has to step outside for a moment between courses.

He paces in the woods just out of sight for a bit, trying to remember the words.

“Your cup- this cup- ah fuck.”

He gives up and pulls the little sheet of paper out of the pocket, reciting the whole thing from beginning to end.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows

Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.

With this candle, I will light your way into darkness.

With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

A sudden howl of wind tears through the grove of trees he stands in. Dead leaves swirl around him, and the ground beneath his feet begins to move, rolling as if it were being pulled like the tide. Stiles falls on his back.

A figure appears before him, a half decayed body dressed in a tattered suit, the space between exposed ribs showing the starry sky behind him.

“I do, darling.”

Stiles wakes up in a bar in the underworld. Convenient, as he’s honestly never been more prepared for a drink in his life. It’s too bad all of the drinks are for a deader liver than his.

The handsome corpse- can a corpse be handsome? Stiles spends a moment on the question, and decides that finding a corpse handsome is probably the least of the things he should be worrying about right now.

The corpse, who is by at least some definition handsome, introduces himself as Peter, and then turns around and immediately starts introducing Stiles as his husband.

“Uh, sir? Excuse me sir?”

“Oh ‘sir’ is it?” Peter says with a sinful smile and a raised eyebrow. “I can work with that.”

“No- I mean maybe- Wait, no, I can’t be your husband! I’m about to be someone else’s husband!”

“But you’re already mine,” Peter points out. “You asked and I said yes.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was just-“ Stiles waves a vague hand, “-talking.”

Peter frowns a little.

“But I said yes. We’re married now.” He shrugs a little, as if it’s no consequence. “I suppose if you’re really attached to them, they can be our husband too.”

“Wife,” Stiles corrects, wondering how a dead man is steering this conversation so successfully when he doesn’t even have all of his finger bones.

“Oh a wife! I’m not picky. It’s good to have variety.”

Meanwhile, above ground, Allison knows something must have happened to Stiles. Her mother is convinced that this is just the Stilinski’s trying to ruin their family name, and Chris is desperately trying to keep the peace between her on the warpath and John freaking out over his missing son. Allison tries to slip out with her bow to track him, but Kate catches her.

“You should stay here,” she says, guiding Allison back to her room. “Who knows what your mother will think if you disappear too?”

Allison argues, tries to reason with her, but before long she’s back in her room, listening to the lock of the door click behind her.

Frankly she’s shocked that Kate would take such an attitude about this. She’s always been supportive of Allison’s archery and tracking. Maybe even too supportive, because Kate’s attempts to stop Allison have zero affect on her. It’s just ten minutes later that Allison disappears into the woods after climbing out her window and down the side of the house.

Kate, meanwhile, is just thrilled that she doesn’t have to come up with her own diversion. The chaos of the missing fiancé will provide the perfect cover for her to intercept the Hales before they arrive, and finish killing them off.

Underground, Stiles discovers that if he listens closely, Peter reveals a lot in the spaces between words. Eventually Peter admits that he has to have a True Love Up Top in order to visit the living. And he has one very, very important visit to make.

“She promised to elope with your nephew, and then tried to murder him?” Stiles whispers, shocked.

“Wolfsbane,” Peter answers grimly, and to be honest, werewolves have been the most acceptable surprise Stiles has suffered today. “He got away. I didn’t.”

“Shit.”

They’re both silent for a minute.

The Stiles says, “Alright, well what are we waiting for? Let’s go kill her.”

Peter falls a little bit in actual love then.

When they get to Elder Gutknecht, Peter proudly lifts up his hand, showing off the ring rattling around the bone there, and says, “Gotta pop up for a bit and visit the in-laws!”

Elder Gutknecht peers closely at Stiles (who is trying not to think too hard about the purpose of glasses for a skeleton) and says, “What the hell have you done now, Peter.”

“You said I had to have a True Love who was still alive!” Peter says, stubborn. “This is my True Love, Stiles. The truest love. We’re married, even. That’s how in True Love we are. And he’s alive. Send us up, Gutknecht.” There’s more than a touch of threat to his tone by the end.

Elder Gutknecht, who was not prepared for this in seminary and honestly thought there would be more clouds and wings in his afterlife, says, “Fuck it. Drink this. You have 12 hours.”

Moments later, they’re standing in the grove where Stiles recited his vows on accident. Allison immediately drops down from a tree, bow pointed directly at Peter.

“Step away from my fiancé,” she growls, sounding utterly threatening and wolf-like in her own right.

“Oh, is this our wife?” Peter asks, delighted.

“Ally, where’s your Aunt Kate?” Stiles rushes to ask, stepping between them.

Allison lowers her bow, confused.

“She’s back at the house,” she says slowly. “At least I think so. She locked me in my room and I had to sneak out.”

Peter’s lost his sense of smell with the degrading of his body, but he still has other senses to rely on.

He hears coaches and horses.

Familiar coaches and horses.

His family is arriving.

Peter takes off running through the woods, Allison hot on his heels, not at all convinced that she doesn’t need to shoot him. Stiles falls behind, but manages to keep them in his sight.

Up ahead, Kate is lying in wait with wolfsbane smoke bombs, ready to disrupt the coaches and massacre the beasts within. Or she was ready, before her brother discovered her.

“Kate, you can’t do this,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s murder. This is how our father destroyed our family.”

“It’s not murder to kill a wild animal,” she says, neither listening nor caring. The coaches appear. She throws a smoke bomb and opens fire. Peter hears everything from the tree line as he barrels toward them, and Allison sees what her Aunt has done.

Chris tries to tackle her but only succeeds in knocking her aim astray. The Hales are stumbling out of their coaches now, coughing and choking. Talia is trying to gather her betas, trying to asses the danger, but suddenly she sees the image of her dead brother and wonders if maybe they’ve already lost to whatever attacked them.

Then her brother leaps at a woman on the side of the road and rips her throat out.

Maybe not a ghostly spectre after all.

It’s all a bit of a Business™ after that.

Explanations are had, both past and present. Peter rushes things along a bit, because he only has like 11 hours left now and it’s going to take at least 9 to do the necromantic ritual that will bring him back to life, suck on that Elder Gutknecht.

Chris explains to Allison about their family’s hunting history. The Hales explain to Chris exactly what Kate had done. Stiles explains how he accidentally got married. Peter explains again that he really has to get moving now.

In the end, Stiles and Allison still get married. Peter is in attendance with the rest of the Hales, and at the reception somehow manages to get the second dance with both the bride and the groom.

He doesn’t give the ring back. He manages to get a third matching one in time for the ceremony though.

Till death do us apart

･:*:･✿ Pairings: Jaehyun x reader (kind of Seonghwa as well)

･:*:･✿ Non Idol imagine

･:*:･✿ Angst (?) Fluff (?) Horror, kind of mention of a corpse, a tiny bit mention of blood.

(Side note: the original story is a creepy pasta but this one is by Snarled on YouTube the only thing I have changed here is the characters for example instead of the friend snarled has chosen I choose Seonghwa, instead of the groom I picked Jaehyun and instead of the bride I choose the reader. I hope you guys enjoy this bc it's one of my favorite creepy pastas, and make sure to check out snarled's YouTube channel)

There once was a couple, Jaehyun and  Y/N, who seemed to be over the moon in love.

One of the things that brought them together was their competitive nature. They liked to push each other to be the best versions of themselves, of course all the competitiveness was friendly and well intentioned.

It sometimes meant silly little games of tag here and there or maybe some nights of hide and seek... they were both sort of adult children.

After many years they became engaged and were off to the races, competing with each other to see who can find the best venue for the best price.

But there was one point of tension in the relationship. Jaehyun was incredibly jealous of Y/N's best friend from childhood, Seonghwa, he was convinced that this so-called friend was in love with his bride-to-be and would try and sabotage the wedding by any means possible.

Y/N always had reassure him that he was over thinking things and that there was nothing to be worry about.

"You have no reason to feel this way, Seonghwa is my oldest friend. " said Y/N.

"Just tell me this," Jaehyun asked "Did you ever have feelings for him? "

Y/N paused "Yes... I have but it was years ago, please you have to understand. "

Jaehyun wasn't happy with this answer, "You have to uninvite him. "

"Are you crazy, he's my best friend. I can't uninvite him. "

"I honestly don't know if I can handle seeing him there. It's our wedding day it's supposed to be perfect. "

The couple stared at each other both silently challenging the other to give in first.

Y/N sighed, "If that's what will make you happy I'll talk to him. "

Months later the day of the wedding arrived the engaged couple had forgotten about their past arguments and were just happy that the day had come.

Y/N ended up finding the best venue for the best price, her parents large and lavish Victorian mansion.

The ceremony was going to be held outside in the gorgeous gardens and the reception would take place inside.

The guests were filling in and finding their seats while Y/N was hiding from sight near the end of the aisle.

Suddenly Jaehyun appeared next to her, "Jae you're not supposed to see me-"

"He's here, why is he here. You told me he wasn't going to come. "

"Oh my god, he's sitting in the back you literally don't have to see or speak to him."

"Well I did see him and I just can't believe you'd do this to me. "

"Really? You're gonna do this right now. "

At this point the couples voices were rising causing the guests to turn and look over at them.

"Hey, you know what will be fun. Why don't we play a game of hide and seek with all the guests, that always cheers you up and afterwards I can talk to Seonghwa again. Deal? "

Jaehyun exhaled, "I'm so sorry I know I'm being ridiculous I know that. I know he's important to you and it's not fair of me to act this way. I love you. "

Y/N pecked his lips, "I love you too, now let's play. I'll be it. "

The guests are all informed of the game of hide and seek before the ceremony and they willingly participate.

Y/N closed her eyes and began counting backwards from 50 and everyone scattered to find a hiding spot.

The property was huge so there was plenty of space. "Ready or not here I come!"

Y/N grew up in this house and knew every nook and cranny so she had no problem finding everyone... except for one person, Jaehyun the groom.

So all the other guests began to help Y/N look for him.

Y/N heard some people whisper that they thought Jaehyun might have gotten cold feet and ran away.

After they searched the entire property with no sight of Jaehyun Y/N collapsed to the floor in tears.

Seonghwa approached her, "I know this isn't what you want to hear but I think I saw Jaehyun running out the gates during  the game, I mean he could be coming back but I don't know. I'm so sorry Y/N/N."(your nickname)

The wedding was clearly no longer happening so the guests returned to their cars and headed home while Seonghwa continued to comfort the bride.

" You're my best friend and I will always be  here for you. Remember, " He held out his pinky finger, "Together forever. "

The bride smiled, wiped the tears from her eyes, and hooked her pinky on to Seonghwa's and said: "No matter what ever. "

Years went by Seonghwa and Y/N became closer than ever.

Memories of old crushes, resulted in casual dates which led to a surprisingly fast engagement, the wedding venue Y/N's parents Victorian mansion.

Y/N's parents felt a little strange that their daughter would want to plan a wedding at their home again but they just wanted her to be happy.

So Seonghwa, Y/N, and her parents began to clean out the manor.

Y/N went upstairs to see if she could find some tablecloths and decor to use for the wedding.

That's when she noticed a door, it wasn't there when she was a kid. "Mom was this door always here? "

Y/N shouted down the stairs to her mom who replied, "Oh we added that room a couple of years ago for extra storage. "

Y/N opened it to find a very messy and dusty room filled with boxes and furniture, in the middle of the room was a large antique trunk there was a lock with the key still inside.

Curious she turned it and hoisted the heavy lid with both hands.

Immediately a putrid stench seeped out through the open crack as new air flew in old air came out, she dropped the lid on the side and covered her nose.

She peered inside and her eyes went wide. The rotting corpse of a man, face stretched in anguish, lay battered and broken within the trunk.

There were scratch marks highlighted with dried blood on the inside of the lid, the man's skin was leathery and stiff just like the suit that hung across his gray flesh

The dusty and rumbled suit of 𝘑𝘢𝘦𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯.

Y/N heard footsteps behind her, she turned around to find Seonghwa in the door way.

"Seonghwa you said you saw him leave the property. You- you knew he was in here didn't you. "

Seonghwa continued to stare face devoid of all emotion. "Seonghwa did you do this? "

"We made a promise Y/N and I wasn't going to let anyone get in between us, don't you remember. "

He held out his pinky, "𝘛𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘙 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳. "

YOUR WRITING IS LITERALLY TOP TIER !!!! can i request a herbert west x reader on a first date ?? 🥺 thank u lovely !!!

Thank you so much <3 !!! Of course you can ! Still struggling to characterize Herbert, so I’m very glad you all are letting me exercise !

We’re going to set this one in that BIG GAP between Bride and Beyond so you get freshly stored wine Herbert for this one! We’re going to say, you’re the temporary replacement for Dan until they inevitably link up again for the thirtieth time. Herbert had never been a very conventional man. He never wanted to be. Conventional men lacked his mental prowess- His raw intelligence. Conventional men thought small or too big. Herbert prided himself on his realism, he truly did. However, he found himself wishing he could have even a sliver of the more common mind to aid him in moments like these. To... fix the way he did things. When it came out of his mouth, it didn’t actually sound like a request- Or an invitation. It was a demand.  “ Get dressed. We’re going out. “ It was the dead of the night. You rose, exhausted, from your bed to catch the edge of Dr.West’s silhouette leaving your door frame. The light from the living room shone in on the foot of your bed, and you did your best to drag yourself out despite your bodies pleas to go. back. to. bed. You had no clue what Herbert wanted. You rarely did. You figured it had to do with another corpse. Fresh, he called them, so you threw on the designated ‘ bloody overalls ‘ and black t-shirt combo, and headed out, expecting to be greeted by a somewhat shabby looking Herbert West. Not that Herbert ever let himself dress any other way than- Exactly how he was in that moment. Looking far too pristine for any form of grave digging. A nicely pressed shirt, a nice, leather trench coat, black slacks- He looked... Fine. Not in a ‘ Oh, he’s so fine. ‘ way, or a ‘ Oh, it’s fine. ‘ way- He looked like the word fine. Not a hair out of place on his head, his glasses at a perfect angle, shirt neatly pressed, standing by the doorway with his hands in his jacket pockets. You suddenly felt very under dressed. “ Doctor West? “ You croaked, looking the man over, slightly in awe. He seemed to be knocked from thought, standing up straighter than he already had been. He gave you a judgmental once over and grimaced. “ You’ve misunderstood tonight’s activities. I said get dressed, not prepared. “ He clarified. A small grin broke out on his face. “ What? Did you think we were digging up flowers? “ He chuckled grimly, as he always did when he made a joke that only he found funny. Herbert West had a rather sick sense of humor, as you had come to realize. “ Cl-clearly. “ You mumble, turning back to your room, heading straight for your closet. You’re left a little starstruck by his appearance, as you often were when it came to Herbert. Although it was a grossly morbid thought, you often found yourself romanticizing him in his lab coat- Or with his sleeves rolled up while he sliced into a ‘ fresh ‘ corpse. This was the same image that played in your head as you watched his surgically skilled hands poise themselves before tearing a knife through a thick, still bloody cut of steak.  The restaurant was so upscale, all you could do was take in the scenery as slyly as you could, hoping Herbert didn’t notice. Although it had no real reason to be, the air was tense around you two. Palpably so. It was drowning out the taste of whatever weird, high end food Herbert had ordered you in whatever romance language the staff was speaking. You still managed to be grossly under dressed. Even compared to the staff, you looked quite out of place. The restaurant goers were in nice, mid thigh dresses- business casual attire. However, everyone wore the most expensive looking jewelry you had ever see-

“ It’s rude to gawk. “ Herbert reminded as he swallowed his food. You quickly trained your eyes on him- Only him. Which didn’t feel any better, nor less judgmental, than the eyes of the other patrons. Every time you would try to take a bite out of your food, Herbert’s eyes would shift down at your plate, and then back up to you.  After about twenty minutes of shakily shoveling in what you determined was a kind of pasta, you carefully sat down your fork and straightened your back. “ May I ask what we’re doing, Dr.West ? “ “ Eating. “

“ I could’ve made something at home- “

“ I highly doubt you can make Chateaubriand at home. “ You rubbed the bridge of your nose.  “ That’s not the point. “ You huffed. “ I don’t even think I can afford this- “ you worried, motioning at the plate. 

“ You won’t be the one paying, so it’s fine. “ He reasoned, raising his glass of water to his lips. Even the ice in it somehow managed to look expensive.

“ I can’t make you pay for all of this- “

“ You’re not making me do anything. I brought you here of my own accord. I chose to do this. “ He explained, cutting you off once again before you could get back into the long list of grievances, “ Now eat. “ He ordered. “ It’s not as good cold. “ “ Do you not need to - talk about something? “

“ We can’t talk about anything relating to work here. “ He clarified. “ Too many people within ear shot. “  “ Then what’s the purpose of this if not for work, Dr.West. “ He put his hand up as he took another long sip of water. 

“ Please, for tonight, call me Herbert. “

“ But Dr.- “

“ Herbert. “ He pressed again. The word felt foreign on your tongue. It felt foreign in your mind. The first time you had called him that, he gave a quick, yet stern, lecture about how inappropriate it was for you to be calling him that. You shook your head and laughed, nervously.

“ Herbert, “ You squeaked out, “ Please tell me what this had to do with work. “ He scoffed. 

“ It’s been a while sense I’ve been to a restaurant. “ He explained. “ I wanted to eat at a restaurant. “

“ Why’d you bring me, then? “

“ I wanted to eat with you. “ There was something pleasant about the admittance. It made you begin to fiddle with your fingers, laughing lightly.... Was this?... No. Doctor West didn’t - didn’t date. And if he did it certainly wouldn’t be you. You were his junior by a mile. How ridiculous for you to assume such a thing. He’d probably call you stupid for even considering something like that- “ It’s rude to ga- “

“ Is this a date? “ You felt every nerve in your body collectively commit cell suicide as those words left your mouth. As if a pike had been slammed into the center of your spine, the tensity of the air reached its peak. Only once Herbert sat down his glass did you realize how much of a leap in logic you had made. His mouth pressed into a thin line, accusatory.

“ Yes. “ You didn’t want to throw up on such appetizing food, but the world itself spun for a moment, causing you to bury your nails into you calve.

“ I’m sorry? “ You questioned, laughing lightly. “ I think I misheard you. “

“ This could be considered a date. “ Herbert responded. “ I apologize for not making my intentions clear. “ You shook you’re head.

“ No no- you’re fine. Please don’t apologize. I just- wish I had dressed better for the occasion. “ You smiled, picking up your own water to try and wash the lump in your throat down.

“ Well, you’ll have another chance next Tuesday. “ Herbert mused, your eyes going wide. “ Or, we can go dig up flowers if that’s more to your liking. “

No 6. PLEASE…. “Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please”

Title: Like Dogs Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Tabris, Shianni, Soris, Nelaros Rating: M Warning(s): implied/offscreen rape, violence against women, blood Wordcount: 1640 Summary: It was supposed to be a good thing, getting married. It wasn’t. [this is really just a love letter to the origin that fucking shooketh me]

cross-posted to ao3 [eventually] @whumptober2020

Natalia woke on the stone floor of some unfamiliar place. Shianni was immediately beside her, firm hands helping her sit up. “Oh, thank the Maker,” she said softly, embracing her cousin. “When you didn’t come to… I was so worried.”

Natalia glanced around. It seemed like all the women at today’s wedding- her own wedding- were there. Even the Chantry sister was huddled in a corner, muttering prayers under her breath and crying. “Is everyone alright?” 

“We’re scared but unharmed,” Valora answered. She looked down for just a moment. “So far.” When she looked up, her eyes held a surprising amount of fire in them. Maybe Soris’ drowned mouse wasn’t so hopeless after all. “They locked us in here until that bastard is… ‘ready’ for us.”

Natalia swallowed down the trickle of fear that would be a torrent if she allowed it. She thought of her mother instead, and felt along her boot to see if the shems had taken her knife. They hadn’t, and she drew it with a grin that bordered on feral. “We’ll kill anyone who walks through that door.”

“No, we can’t!” One of the other girls- Natalia couldn’t remember her name, but she was Valora’s bridesmaid- looked like she might burst into tears. “We should just let them do what they want, go home, and forget any of this happened. It’ll be worse for us if we fight.”

“It’ll be worse if we don’t.” Shianni met Natalia’s eyes with a grim determination. She hadn’t forgotten her aunt any more than Natalia had. 

Valora jerked her head toward the door. “Someone’s coming!”

All the women watched with trepidation as the sound of armored footsteps drew closer. Natalia hid her knife behind her back. The door swung open, and no fewer than six armored humans walked in, their swords drawn. “Hello, wenches. We’re your escorts to Lord Vaughan’s little party.”

The chantry sister stood, stepping in between the soldiers and the women. “You’ll not touch these girls, Maker damn you!”

The soldier who had spoken snorted and slashed through the sister like it was nothing. Her body hit the floor with a wet thump.

“You killed her!”

His smirk was disgusting. Natalia wanted nothing more than to cut it off his slimy face. “I guess that’s what happens when you try teaching whores some respect.” He glanced back at two of the soldiers behind him. “Now, you grab the little flower cowering in the corner. Horace and I’ll take the homely bride and the drunk. You two, bind the last one.” His eyes met Natalia’s and she scowled. “She’s the scrapper.”

It happened so quickly that there was no time to react. Two of them grabbed Valora’s bridesmaid, Horace grabbed Valora, and the speaker grabbed Shianni. They were nearly dragged from the room while the remaining two marched toward Natalia, pinning her against the back wall. “Don’t worry, we’ll be perfect gentlemen,” said the one with a hideous mustache, waggling his sword.

“Right,” said the other. “Be a good little wench or you’ll end up like the sister, there.”

Natalia bared her teeth at them. “Try it and see what parts you lose first!” 

The mustached man laughed. “Davies was right. She is a scrapper!”

Natalia wasted no time, darting forward and driving her knife into the gap in the other man’s armor, slipping right between his ribs. He let out a gasp and dropped to his knees, ripping the knife away and causing the wound to bleed profusely.

“You bitch!” The mustached man swung wildly at her, his eyes wide. Natalia ducked under it and came up directly in front of him. It was so, so easy to slash the knife across his throat. His sword clattered to the ground and he fell seconds later.

The man she’d stabbed was attempting to get up, his blood trickling freely through his fingers clamped over the wound. She kicked him over and picked up his friend’s sword to drive straight through his neck.

“Natalia!” She swung around, dagger held before her, but it was just her cousin Soris. His eyes went wide at the sight of her and she looked down. Her front was splattered with the mustached man’s slit throat. “Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

She shook her head. “The others. They took the others to Vaughan.”

Soris’ face went paler. “We’ll have to hurry, then. Nelaros is guarding the hall for us.”

Nelaros wasn’t guarding the end of the hall for them. His corpse, however, laid just outside the door. Natalia felt an odd numbness steal over her as she knelt by his body. She’d only just met him, sure, but she’d been expecting to have the rest of their lives together getting to know him. Now, she didn’t even have that. His hand was tightly clenched around something. After a few seconds of working his fingers open, a ring- her wedding ring- fell out and into her palm.

“Oh, Nat…” 

She didn’t respond to Soris’ soft words or his hand on her shoulder. She reached down and closed Nelaros’ eyes. As she stood, she slipped the ring onto her finger.

They would pay.

They burst into the kitchen. The cook had no more than taken two steps, already yelling about bandits and dirty knife-ears, when Natalia simply stepped forward and slit his throat. Soris stared at her as she turned toward the other elf in the room- likely just an assistant. “Run,” was all she said.

He did.

The next room had a handful of guards playing cards together. One turned and started barking drink orders at them. She drew his own sword from his scabbard and slammed him down onto its point before anyone could react. The other two jumped up and moved toward them. Natalia threw her knife at the closest one; it sank into his chest and he stumbled backward a step before falling over. She drew the first’s sword and advanced on the last man. He looked cautious, not willing to move closer to the blood-soaked, silent elf. She lunged forward, right over the tabletop, and slashed at his sword-arm. He yelped and dropped his weapon, and when he moved for it she slashed at his throat.

Soria followed in silence as she knelt by the man on the floor. He grasped weakly at her knife, trying to pull it out. Natalia did so for him and his face fell slack in seconds. She wiped her knife on his shirt and turned back toward Soris. 

He said nothing, following her toward the hall.

The next three in the hall were facing the other way and didn’t even stand a chance. Like a ghost, white wedding dress trailing behind her, Natalia sprinted up to them and cut their necks from behind. From behind the door they were watching, she could hear someone sobbing. 

She turned toward Soris and he looked at her like… like she was a stranger. “Wait here,” she said, voice rasping. Maybe it was exertion. Maybe it was unshed tears. Either way, he nodded his assent and turned his back toward her, guarding the hall.

She stepped through into an antechamber. To the left, the sobbing was louder. It was also familiar. Natalia knew without a doubt that it was Shianni. The numbness that had clung to her for so long fell away, eaten away in a flash of white-hot anger. She ran forward and threw the door open.

Vaughan and two of his friends stood in the room. Between them, lying on the floor in a crumpled heap, her body shaking with tears and her clothes in tatters, was Shianni. Vaughan’s grin grew monstrous as he turned toward the door. “My, my… what have w-”

Natalia lunged toward him and shoved the hilt of her knife into his throat. His face spasmed as his words and his airflow were cut off. He dropped to his knees. Natalia stepped around him to cut the throat of one of the other humans before either could react to her presence. The last one drew a knife of his own. She turned toward him. The blood from the last human’s throat had splattered on her cheek, and she wiped it carelessly with the sleeve of her dress.

“Wh- what do you want for my life?” The man’s hand trembled as he dropped the knife. He took a step backward. “Gold? I’ll give you gold. A house? I have houses, plenty, right here in Dene-” He took another step backward and tripped over the edge of the bed. Natalia stalked forward, snatching his knife off the floor. “Please, I’ll give you anything!”

Natalia took his knife and shoved it up under his ribs, right at his heart.

Vaughan looked up at her as she walked over to him. Whatever he wanted to say to her couldn’t come out; he wheezed around what she’d done to his throat. His eyes conveyed it all- how much he hated her, how little he thought of elves, how terrified he was to die. Natalia grinned at him, teeth bared and feral. An elf standing over him was the last thing he saw before she cut his throat.

Natalia knelt next to Shianni, hands gentle as she turned her cousin over. As soon as Shianni saw who it was her tears doubled. “Please, don’t- don’t leave me alone. Please. I… I just want to go home.” Natalia held her hand out for her cousin to help her up. “So much blood… it’s everywhere…” Shianni grabbed her hand like it was a rope in a storm and she were cast out to sea. Her grip was crushing. “You killed them, didn’t you? You killed them all.”

It was nothing to lay a hand over her cousin’s, to bend her head so that their foreheads touched. “Like dogs, Shianni.”

Favourite music of the decade!

This is some of what I’d consider the most innovative, artistic and just great to listen to music from 2010-2019.

First a Lot of very good songs:

Crying - Premonitory dream

Arcade Fire - Normal person

Sufjan Stevens - I want to be well

Deerhunter - Sailing

Foster the People - Pumped up kicks

Carly Rae Jepsen - Boy problems

Grimes - Butterfly

Travis Scott - Butterfly effect

Future - March madness

Kanye West ft. Nicki Minaj et al - Monster

Juice Wrld - Won’t let go

Danny Brown - Downward spiral

Kendrick Lamar - Sing about me, I’m dying of thirst

Kate Tempest - Marshall Law

The Avalanches - Stepkids

Iglooghost - Bug thief

Vektroid - Yr heart

Ariel Pink - Little wig

Mac Demarco - Sherrill

Vektor - Charging the void

Jyocho - 太陽と暮らしてきた [family]

Panic! at the disco - Ready to go

The Wonder Years - An American religion

Oso oso - Wake up next to god

The World Is a Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid to Die - I can be afraid of anything

And my top 20(+2) albums:

Calling Rich gang’s style influential on trap would be like saying Nirvana may have had some impact on early-90s grunge. In 2019 with trap so omnipresent in popular music, hip hop or otherwise, through the impact of artists like Drake and Travis Scott it’s almost hard to remember when this was a niche genre - it was Rich gang that popularised its modern sound here. Birdman’s beats with their rattling hi-hats and deep bass could have been made 5 years later without arousing suspicion, while Rich Homie Quan and Young Thug deliver consistently entertaining flows and numerous bangers between them. Thugger, this being his first major project, steals the show with his yelpy and hilarious rapping style. This may have once been the defining sound of house parties in the Atlanta projects; now it can be heard blasting in the night from white people’s sound systems around the world.

Early 21p may have never aimed to be cool, to avoid a certain appearance of lameness, but they did have a knack for writing some really catchy pop with an optimistic message. To the devoted, the critics of Pilots’ apparent mishmash of nerdy rap, sentimental piano balladry and EDM production were just stuffy, wanting music to stay how it was back-in-the-day forever and unwilling to get with the times. This viewpoint is understandable when you approach this album openly and actually listen to Tyler Joseph’s lyrics about youthful anxiety and insecurity, delivered with real conviction and sincerity, actually recognise that disparate musical elements are all there for emotional punch. A few songs do underwhelm. But this is emo for post-emo Gen Z’s and it’s easy to see why to some it can be deeply affecting.

The musical ancestor to the ongoing and endless stream of ‘lo-fi hip hop beats’ youtube mixes, chillwave filled the same low-stress niche, and Dive released at the peak of the genre’s relevance. Tycho’s woozy, mellow sound prominently features rich acoustic and bass guitar melodies over warm synths, enhancing the music’s organic feel compared to that of purely digital producers in the genre. The experience of starting this album is like waking up in a soft bed, the cover’s gorgeous sunrise reddening the room’s walls, while a guitarist improvises somewhere on the Mediterranean streets outside. And it is indeed great to study or relax to!

Simple, minimal acoustic guitar and vocals. If you’ve got talent this type of music shows it, or else it doesn’t: perfect then for Ichiko Aoba. Her touch is light, her songs calm, meditative, in no rush to get anywhere. As if serenely watching a natural landscape, one can best understand and enjoy Aoba’s music in quiet and peaceful appreciation.

Through the incorporation of genres like shoegaze and alternative rock, Deafheaven managed to create a rare thing: a metal album that’s both heavy and accessible, needing no sacrifice of one for the other’s sake. Over these four main songs, there’s a sensation of being taken on an intense, atmospheric and even emotional journey, with the band stepping away from the negativity and misanthropy that dominates most metal. The vocals, closer to the confessionalism of screamo than classic black metal shrieks, express more sadness than they do aggression, and in respites between solid blaring walls of guitar and drums, calm pianos and gently strummed guitar passages set a pensive tone. This totally enveloping, flawlessly produced sound can take you away, like My Bloody Valentine’s best work, into a dream or trance.

By the late 2000s MCR had taken their thrones as the kings of a subculture formed from the coalition of goth, emo, scene and other assorted Hot Topic-donned kids, and earned a lifelong place in the hearts of many a depressed teenager. But after the generation-defining The Black Parade Gerard Way took off the white facepaint and skeleton costume, ditched the lyrics about corpse brides and vampires, and embraced an anthemic, purely pop punk sound. The silly story of Danger Days, set in a dystopian California where villainous corporations rule and only the Punks can stop them, serves as a kind of idealised setting for the all-out rebellion against authority and normality that so many fantasised about taking part in. The band’s electrifying performances are the most uplifting of their decade making music. For many diehards the upbeat sound here was a celebration that they’d made it through the most difficult years of their lives, and a spit in the face of those who’d done them wrong.

The teller of rural American tales, the indie legend, the teen-whisperer himself. John Darnielle, long past his early lo-fidelity home recordings and now backed by a full band, loses none of the heart his songs are famous for. The theme of the album, taken straight from John’s childhood when the pro wrestling on TV offered an escape from his abusive stepfather, is complemented by the country and Tex-Mex flavouring to the instrumentation. Some of the best lyrics in his long career infuse the stories of wrestlers with universal meaning - his characters try, fail, lose hope, reckon with their mediocrity, and when they step into the ring they’re up against all the adversity life can throw at them. John Darnielle’s saying that when that happens, you stand up and sock back.

Folk music was always a major part of the Scandinavian black metal scene during its peak years, so when American musicians began exploring the genre naturally they incorporated American styles of folk. The complex, oppressive and sometimes hellish compositions here, starkly contrasted with bluegrass that sounds straight from the campfire circle, give the impression of life in the uncharted woods of the American frontier, in the middle of a brutally cold winter. Almost unbelievably, one-man-band Austin Lunn plays every instrument on the album: multiple guitar parts, bass and drums as well as banjo, fiddle, and woodwinds.

Andy Stott seems to delight in making his music as unnerving, haunting, perhaps even scary, as possible. The female vocals these songs are built around become ghostly, echoing and overlapping themselves disorientingly. The percussion, audibly resembling metal clanging, rustling or rattling in the distance, is often left to stand for its own, creating a tense space it feels like something should be filling. UK-based club and dub music can be felt influencing the grimy almost-but-not-quite danceable rhythms here, but the lo-fi recording and menacing vibe makes this feel like a rave at some sort of dimly lit abandoned factory.

There’s so much Mad Max in this album you can just picture it being set to images of freights burning across the desert. True to its title, the nine songs on Nonagon Infinity roll into each other as if part of one big perpetual composition, with the end looping back seamlessly to the start and musical motifs cropping up both before and after the song they form the base of. With its fuzzy, raw sound, bluesy harmonica and wild whooping, the Gizz create a truly rollicking rock’n’roll experience. The band would go on to release 5 albums within twelve months a year later, but Nonagon shows these seven Australian madmen at the height of their powers.

Sometimes you just want to listen to fun, hyperactive pop. The spirit of 8-bit video game soundtracks and snappy pop punk come together to create a vividly digital world of sound that seems to celebrate the worldliness, connectivity and shiny neon colours of early 2010s internet culture and social media. The up-pitched vocals and general auditory mania recall firmly Online musical trends like nightcore and vocaloid, while the beats pulse away, compelling you to dance like this is a house party and the best playlist ever assembled is on. It demands to be listened to at night with headphones, in a room lit only by your laptop screen.

“You hate everyone. To you everyone’s either a moron, or a creep or a poser. Why do you suddenly care about their opinion of you?” “Because I’m shallow, okay?! … I want them to like me.”

The fact that that Malcolm In The Middle quote is sampled at the emotional climax of this record should give some idea to the absurdity that defines Brave Little Abacus. It’s not even the only sample from the show on here. And yet the passion and urgency so evident in Adam Demirjian’s lispy singing and the band’s nostalgia-inducing, even cozy, melodies are made to stir feelings. The tearjerker chords and guitar progressions are so distinctive of emo bands with that special US-midwest melancholia, and they are interspersed with warm ambiance and playful sound effects ripped from TV and video games, seemingly vintage throwbacks to a sunny childhood. Demirjian’s lyrics, yelled out as if through tears or in the middle of a panic attack, verge on word salad in their abstraction, but that’s not the point: you can feel his small town loneliness and sense the trips he’s spent lost on memory lane. The combined effect all adds to Just Got Back’s themes of adolescence and the trauma of leaving it. While legendary in certain internet communities for this album and their 2009 masterpiece Masked Dancers, the band remains obscure to wider audiences.

These Danish punks know how to convey emotion through their raw and dramatic songs. Elias Rønnenfelt’s vocal presence and charisma cannot be ignored: his husky voice drawls, at times breaks, gasps for breath, builds up the deeply impassioned, intense force behind his words. The band sounds free and wild, unrestrained by a tight adherence to tempo, often speeding up, slowing down or straying from the vocals within the same song, as if playing live. Instrumentally the command over loud and quiet, tension and release, accentuates the vocals in crafting the album’s pace. Horns and saloon pianos throughout give the feel of a performance in a smoky, underground blues bar, with Rønnenfelt swaying onstage as he howls the romantic, distraught, heartbroken lyrics he truly believes in.

At some point on first listening to Death Grips, a thought along the lines of “He really yells like this the whole way through, huh?” probably crosses the mind. When Exmilitary first appeared, quietly uploaded to the internet, the rapper’s name and identity unknown, another likely reaction among listeners might have been “What am I even listening to?” But perhaps more revolutionary than Death Grips’ incredibly aggressive sound and style might have been its foreshadowing of how over the next decade underground rap acts would explode into the mainstream through viral songs, online word of mouth and memes. It showed all you needed to come from nowhere to the top of the game was to seize attention, and it did that and far more. MC Ride’s intoxicatingly crass, intense rapping captures the energy of a mosh pit where injuries happen, the barrage of sensations of a coke high, while the eclectic mix of rock and glitchy electronics on the instrumentals is disorienting in the best way. If rap were rock and this was 1977, Death Grips would have just invented punk. Ride’s lyrics paint a confrontational, hyper-macho persona; unlike much hip hop braggadocio, the overwhelming impression given is that Ride truly does not care what anyone thinks. He just goes hard and does not stop. It’s music to punch the wall to.

Inspired by classic rock operas, this concept album represents some major ambition and innovation in musical storytelling. Delivered in frontman Damian Abraham’s gravelly shouted vocals, the complex lyrical narrative of the album follows a factory worker, an activist and their struggle against the omnipotent author (Abraham himself) who controls their fates. Featuring devices like unreliable narrators and fourth-wall breaking, it takes some serious reading into to untangle. But it’s the bright guitarwork, combining upbeat punk rock and indie to create some killer riffs, that gives the album its furious energy and cinematic proportions.

Joanna Newsom is enchanted by the past. Like 2006’s ambitious Ys, the music on Divers makes this evident with its invocation of Western classical and medieval music, throwing antiquated instruments like clavichords together with lush string orchestration, woodwinds, organs, folk guitar and Newsom’s signature harp. With her soulful, moving vocals leading the way, it’s hard not to imagine her as some kind of Renaissance-era country woman contemplating nature, love and mortality in the fields and the woods. As always Newsom proves herself a stunningly original and creative arranger with the sheer compositional intricacy and flow of these songs, and most of all the harmonious intertwining of singing and instrumental backing.

Burial’s music is born from the London night: the bustle of the streets, the faint sounds from distant raves, the buskers, the rain on bus windows. This EP’s dreamlike quality makes listening to it feel like taking a trip across the city well after midnight, watching the lights go by, with no idea where you hope to get to. Every single sound and effect on these two songs is so precisely chosen, from the shifting and shuffling beats, the swelling synths and wordless vocals that sound like a club from a different dimension, the ambient hiss and pop of a vinyl record. Musically this sound is drawn from UK-based scenes like 2-step and drum ‘n bass, but twisted into such a moody and abstracted form as to be nearly unrecognisable as dubstep. Just when this urban, dismal sound is at its most oppressive, heavenly soul singers or organs cut through like a ray of light in the dark.

There’s an imaginary rulebook of how construct music, how to properly make tempos and combinations of notes sound harmonious, and Gorguts have spent their career ripping it up and throwing it in the bin. On 1998’s seminal Obscura, their atonal experimentation sounded at times like random noises in random order. But listen closely to Obscura or Colored Sands, their return after a long hiatus, and the method behind the madness emerges. One mark of great death metal is that it’s impossible to predict what direction it will go even a few seconds in advance, and the band achieves this while presenting a heavy, slow, momentous sound. The density of inspired riffs, and the intricate balancing of loud and quiet, fast and slow paced throughout these songs are exceptional. In instrumental sections the guitars will echo out as if across a barren plane, then the song will build up to the momentum of a freight train. Behind the crashing and twisting walls of guitar the patterns of blast beat drumming are almost mathematical in nature. Luc Lemay’s harsh bellows sound like a warlord’s cry or a pure expression of rage to the void. It’s threatening, menacing, unapproachable, but it all makes sense in the end.

Futuristic yet deeply retro, Blank Banshee’s music takes vaporwave beyond its roots in the pure consumerist parody of artists like Vektroid and James Ferraro and makes it actually sound amazing. Songs are built out of a single vocal snippet processed beyond recognition, new agey synthesisers, Windows XP-era computer noises, hilariously out of place instruments, all set to the 808 bass and hi-hats of hip-hop style beats. The genre’s pioneers intentionally sucked the soul from their music using samples pulled from 70s and 80s elevators, infomercials and corporate lounges - here the throwback seems to be to the early 2000s childhood of the internet, and the influence of a time when email and forums were revolutionary can be felt. The effect of this insanity is an album that whirls by like a techno-psychedelic haze: the atmosphere of dark trap beats places you squarely in a 2013 studio one moment, the next you’re surrounded by relaxing midi pianos and humming that a temple of new age practitioners would meditate to. Still, at some point when listening to this album, perhaps when the ridiculous steel drums kick in near the end, you realise that this is all to some degree a joke, and a funny one. It’s hard to overstate what an entertaining half-hour this thing is.

While 2012���s Good Kid, m.a.a.d City presented a movie in album form of Kendrick’s childhood and early adult years, TPAB’s journey is one of personal growth, introspection, and nuanced examination of the state of race in post-Ferguson America. It’s simultaneously the Zeitgeist for the US in 2015 and a soul-search in the therapist’s office. Sounding deeply vulnerable, he openly discusses depression, alcoholism, religion and feelings of helplessness. The White House and associated gangstas on the cover give some idea to the album’s political themes, with Lamar contrasting Obama’s presidency to the political powerlessness and lifelong ghetto entrapment of millions of black Americans. Everything I’ve written about the lyrics here really only scratches the surface because the words here are substantive, complex and dense with meaning. Near enough every bar can be analysed for multiple meanings and interpretations, essays can and have been written on the overall work, anything less does not do justice. The musical versatility on display is astounding: the album acts as an extravaganza of African-American music, from smooth west coast G-funk to east coast grit, neo-soul and rock to beat poetry, and most of all jazz. Like an expertly laid character arc the record progresses through its ideas in such a way that they’re all impactful, with the slurred rapping imitating a depressed drunken stupor followed later by exuberant, defiant cries of “I love myself!”, the white-hot rage against police brutality balanced by the hopeful mantra: “do you hear me, do you feel me, we gon be alright”. Perhaps the most culturally significant album of the 2010s and an essential piece of the hip-hop canon.

This harrowing hour chronicles the struggles and everyday tragedy of a series of characters and their relationship with the city they live in, narratively driven by some outstandingly poetic lyrics. Jordan Dreyer’s wordy tales despair at the poverty, gang violence and urban decay in the band’s native Grand Rapids, Michigan, an almost childlike open-hearted naivete in his words as he empathises with the broken and alienated people in these songs. There’s no jaded sneer or sly lesson to be learned as he sings about the child killed by a stray bullet or the homebird left alone after all their friends move away, just genuine second-hand sadness and a dream that compassion and community will eventually heal the pain. Taking elements from bands like At the Drive-In’s fusion of punk and progressive, and mewithoutyou’s shout-sung vocals, La Dispute hones its sound to a razor edge to put fierce instrumental power behind the lyrics. Not an easy listen, but a sharply written songbook and a perfect execution on its concept.

Around 2008, Joanna Newsom met comedian Andy Samberg. Within a year, their relationship was becoming the basis upon which the poetry of Have One on Me was spun. Newsom’s lyrics, exploring her relationship with her future-husband, nature, death, spirituality, are above all else loving. Through her warm and vibrant voice, at times an operatic trill and in others deeply soulful, she expresses the joy of love for another, the peace and earthly connection of her beloved pastoral lifestyle, deeply affecting melancholy and grief. Contemplative, artful, genuine or expressive: every lyric in every sweet melody is used to offer her ruminations on life or overflowings of passion.

More so than her previous and next albums, the feel of the album is of not just a folkloric past but also the present day, with drums, substantial brass and string arrangements, and even electric guitar anchoring the sound to Newsom’s real, not imaginary, life in the 21st century. Yet songs here with moods or settings evoking simpler lifestyles and the women living them in 1800s California or the Brontës’ English moors still have a universal relevance. Whether rooted in past of present, the instrumental variety of these compositions, from classical solo piano, grand orchestral arrangements led by harp, to the twang of country guitars or intricate vocal harmonising, makes it apparent that this is the work of a master songwriter in full command of well over a dozen talented musicians. Ultimately, what makes this my favourite album of the decade is that, very simply, it is one stunningly beautiful song after another, all collated into a cohesive 2-hour portrait of Newsom’s soul.

Long Time No See pt 4

Trigger Warning: mentions of blood, violence, and dead bodies

Your grandmother lived in the countryside far away from Gotham. She'd lived there ever since your mother was a little girl. When you arrived at her house, she was overjoyed to see the both of you. Instead of telling her the truth about Jerome, your mother told her that the house was being fumigated and that the exterminator said he had no idea how long it would take to finish. Your grandma didn't question anything and showed you to your rooms. Your room was small but not cramped. There was one window that had a view of the beach across the way. You started unpacking your suitcase and putting your clothes away. When you were done, you went downstairs to have dinner with your mother and grandma. As you ate, your grandma asks about what you've been up to lately and all that was mentioned was your new job and taking care of your mother. "Is that all??" asked your grandma. "Oh come on, y/n. Working and looking after your mother shouldn't be the only things to do with your time! How about getting out in the world and meeting a nice young man?" You froze right before taking another bite of food and looked at your mother as she cleared her throat and inserted herself in the conversation in an attempt to change it. "Well now mom, y/n isn't going to base her whole life on finding a man." Your grandmother scoffed and waved her hand around. "Honey, how do you expect her to give you grandchildren if she doesn't start dating anyone? I'm sure there's someone out there who would make a mighty fine husband!" You stood up from the table without saying a word and walked back upstairs to your room. You plopped down onto the bed and buried your face in the pillow, muffling your loud sobbing. A few hours went by and you had finally ran out of tears to shed. You sat up and wiped your face with a tissue and stood up to look out the window, watching the peaceful waves. It reminded you of the creek you went to with Jerome. The one where you two had your very first kiss. What a beautiful time that was, when everything was perfect with you and your adorable redhead. There was a knock on the door. You said nothing in response as the door opened and your mother stepped in. She walked over to you and gave you a hug from behind. "I'm sorry honey. I tried to get her to leave it alone." You turned around to look her in the eyes. "It's fine mom. Don't worry about it. I just want to go to bed if that's ok." She nodded and gave you a goodnight kiss on the cheek. Then she turned and walked out of the room. As you changed into your nightgown, the golden necklace fell out of your pants pocket. You picked it up, stared at it for a few moments, and then put it into a pocket in your suitcase for safe keeping. You climbed into bed and shut off the light on the nightstand. You laid your head down on the pillow and eventually was able to drift into a deep sleep. Then you started having a very lovely dream. A dream about Jerome. You were walking down the aisle of a church in a pretty white dress and your dreadlocks in the usual bun. Jerome was standing at the podium with a priest while dressed in a black tuxedo, his red hair combed and parted. He donned his adorable grin as you approached him. When you arrived at the podium, Jerome flipped your veil back in order to see your face. He had tears in his eyes from the sheer beauty of his new bride. You had tears as well, overwhelmingly happy about the handsome redhead that you were taking as a husband. Once the vows were said, you and Jerome kissed each other, just like at the end of a fairy tale. But as you were walking down the aisle together, you see Lila Valeska's bloody corpse sitting at one of the benches. Jerome walks over to her and gets in her face. "You see mom?", he hissed. "I finally found someone who loves me! We're going to live happily ever after and there's nothing you can do to stop us!" He turns around to you with that horrifying grin on his face and starts cackling manically. Then he pulled out an axe from nowhere and turned back to his mother. He raised the axe high and was about to chop his mother's body into pieces while still cackling. But right as the axe came down, you jumped up from your bed in a cold sweat. You ran into your bathroom and vomited in the toilet. Once you had gotten it all out, you just curled into the fetal position and wept. That felt too real. Too scary. But that dream was nothing compared to what was about to happen to you in real life.

from sweet to rotten.

The wedding dress was simple, a plain white with a simple knotted waist and a heartline to showcase the family heirloom: the blood ruby of the Dan family. Vampire nobles. Purebloods. She wore a veil with a small crown, sitting atop her bun. Her hair was dyed back to its natural colour, though she was assured she could dye it back to whatever wacky colour she wants after the wedding ( she previously had it blonde ). Her makeup was done to showcase her youth and beauty, thus felt almost bare.

Amelie held the bouquet of frozen flowers, the frost clinging onto the petals and making them rigid. Magic, it never ceased to amaze her. As she watched her silhouette in the mirror, she could barely recognize herself. Here she was, a bride and her life had just begun.

Well… more so, her old life had ended and her new life was just beginning. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. She can’t be sad. Not on her wedding day. Not on the happiest day of her life ( as she was being told over and over again ).

❝ You only have minutes to speak to Hannibal before the ceremony starts, ❞ her mother told Amelie, holding her hands tightly. It was as if she was making sure Amelie held onto the flowers instead of it being a comforting gesture. Her mother had tears in her eyes, but not because she’d miss Amelie, but at the overwhelming honour of Amelie being chosen to become a royal lady. Not that she would expose her parents but she had heard how amicably they’d be compensated for birthing the perfect daughter for the Dan family. ❝ Don’t waste them, darling. ❞

Her heart was pounding. Not like a drum in her ears but like a restless ache in her chest that tightened each time she breathed. The servant opened the door to the parlour, bowed their head, and waited for her to enter. As her shoes clacked onto the marble, the servant closed the door.

Amelie held her head high, despite her clammy palms and trembling lips. She made sure to keep her eyes straight ahead. She can’t stumble. Not now, not when she was this close to her new life. She couldn’t hesitate ( what if her new husband didn’t like nervous women ?? ).

❝ Amelie ?? Wow, you’re— ❞

Her gasp interrupted him. Not intentionally, of course. But, her expectations weren’t met and she was happy to say she was relieved. She imagined a snivelly older vampire, with cold eyes and thirsty lips. Instead, she was met with a young man with rosy cheeks and wavering glances. His smile was sheepish, not expecting the reaction that he was given.

❝ I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— ❞

❝ No, it’s okay. When Mother mentioned a child bride, I thought she had meant, a child. I didn’t want a child bride so to say that you’re a pleasant surprise, is quite the understatement. I-I don’t mean that you’re not young but you’re only a few years younger than me if any at all, ❞ he began, almost rambling. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. A smile began to grow on her painted lips. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

❝ I’m eighteen, ❞ she chimed, bringing up the flowers to cover her now wide smile. She must be blushing. But she felt like her eyes were shining, watching her groom fumble over himself.

❝  I-I’m turning twenty next month, ❞ he admitted shyly. She couldn’t lower her bouquet and he kept staring at the ground. Despite awkward, she felt it was magical. ❝ I-I’m sorry my family pulled you into this. If it was my choice, you’d get to stay in the life you’d have wanted for yourself. Just because your blood is perfect— ❞

Hannibal had turned red with embarrassment. Or was it shame ??  Or was it guilt ??

❝ Don’t think like that. ❞ She stepped closer to him, letting go of her bouquet to grab his hand, that had started fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. He was warm. Why had she imagined cold ?? ❝ I-I was scared, yeah, that’s true. I was so scared that my life would have ended right here and now. But… But… m-maybe this won’t be so bad. M-Maybe, if not lovers, maybe we can learn to be friends, not just husband and wife. I… don’t see my life ending anymore… Do you ?? ❞

❝ Not since you walked through that door, ❞ he said with a confidence he hadn’t had moments before. Amelie’s heart skipped a beat. Hannibal, her groom. Hannibal, her husband. Her new life was just beginning and finally, she was excited.

She twirled in front of the mirror. Her hair was a bright red, put up in twin buns. Glitter and rhinestones adorned her cheekbones. Her gown was a holographic silver with a low scoop neck and a figure-hugging shape. The skirt flared out, flashing iridescent colours as she spun. She felt like a school girl getting ready for a homecoming dance. With a childish smile, she patted more gloss onto her lips before leaving her quarters in search of her husband of five years.

Amelie’s feet were silent. She never cared for heels and preferred being barefoot. It was all the more fun to creep around the manor, especially with her prowess as a vampire. As she searched, she thought about what Lord Hannibal did so late into the day. She trusted him as a husband ( from marriage to friends to lovers was actually a quick course, and they found themselves happy within a year of being married ) so she needn’t worry about other women.

But, as a warrior, she fretted over him quite a bit. He’d come home with burns from sunlight, with UV bullets hidden beneath his skin, with liquid silver pouring out of his mouth. Lord Hannibal Dan was a nobleman with a noble cause. He fought to dismantle the illegal blood banks that greedy vampires created, drugging unwilling humans and harvesting their blood as if they were nothing more than a food source. They festered in the darkness, prying away from the rules that the nobles had set up to protect other creatures’ rights. Hannibal believed in praising ❛ blood bags ❜, showering them with gifts and validation in exchange for their services, and thus, so did Amelie.

Lady Hera Dan, Hannibal’s mother, argued with him about his recklessness. To, at least, bear children before he risked his life. To make sure the legacy of the noble family continued. After all, Amelie was the perfect bride. Fertile, beautiful, and with no imperfections in her blood. Hannibal always argued that it was never the right time, that he had to prove himself a warrior before he could prove himself a father. Amelie always supported her husband’s decision. She learned that despite his hesitance, he was a proud man with unshakeable values and a good heart.

Amelie promised Hannibal that when he was ready, she’d give him a strong, healthy child. A child as optimistic and uplifting as she was and as proud and devoted as he was.

She hid behind a pillar on the second floor of the manor lobby, waiting for the doors to open. Just as she had waited so anxiously to see him standing at the altar, she waited for him to appear in his operative gear. When the doors opened, instead of her heart bursting with happiness, it fell.

Oh, how it fell.

A widow at twenty-three.

In Hannibal’s will, he gave Amelie his blessing to remarry while carrying the Dan heritage. She could use it to further the family’s noble name. He gave her everything: the family estate, the wealth, the land that the Dans have looked over for centuries. Even after his death, he made sure his sweet wife would be taken care of.

The other noble families would whisper that her sweetness had died with Hannibal that day. It was replaced with a delicious, addicting burn— like the searing taste of alcohol. It was as if she no longer cared about anything. Hera and Aesculus Dan, the previous family head figures, had no control over what Amelie could and couldn’t do. How could they control a mourning vampire ??

Instead of a doting wife who would dress up any time her husband would return, Amelie had become an enticing party monster who would lure greedy vampires in with her smeared lipstick and smoky eyes. They’d pull at her fishnets, not knowing that she had sought them out, that she could smell their disgusting stench from miles away. She’d snap their neck, one by one, these vampires who her husband detested to his core. She’d rip out their hearts out. She’d bleed them dry. She’d put their corpses on display for the other greedy vampires to see.

Hera and Aesculus thought she didn’t care about anything. That wasn’t true.

She only cared about her husband. She cared about the vision he had for the world. She cared about how he treated blood bags. She cared about not letting his ambitions die with him. She cared about only Hannibal and only ever Hannibal. And she’ll destroy everything that took him away from her.

Halloween Mix (October 31 ‘18)

Happy Halloween to all my favorite witches, vampires and ghouls--This week's mix is pretty self explanatory but I had so much fun making it and think that it can be listened to even when it's not Halloween because we all have spooky hearts year round

Listen on Spotify

1. Witch by the bird and the bee - The beginning of this song with the xylophone sounds already sets us up for some interesting tones and makes it all the more spooky vibed throughout, which was automatically very ear catching when I first listened to it. But other than that, the entire love-lust-desire themed song of a witch entrapping someone in their spell and taking names without mercy is such a great trope for female empowered music. There are so many references to the "spells" "biddings" "conjurings" "hauntings" in this piece which makes it a classic halloween song. But I didn't find this during witching season, in fact, I discovered it over the summer which goes to show that it holds the test of time and can be enjoyed not just on this specific day (although I highly recommend it going on your own Halloween mix for sure). There is also another really cool instrumental segment in the mid part of the song where an electric guitar or string instrument of some sort is introduced followed by the step down chords of the synthesized creepy piano/string sound that is recurring in this piece. 

2. Ungodly Fruit by Wax Tailor - This artist, who I have featured one other time on a previous mixtape, produces some of the the smartest and most unique pieces that I have had the pleasure of hearing with unworthy ears. There are not many words in this piece and in Wax Tailor true character, the words in the song are samples from different films. The first lyrics heard are Sampled from Professor Alexander Siletsky in the 1942 film To Be or Not to Be. The second portion of lyric is sampled from the 1934 film The Man Who Knew Too Much. Listening to the extravagant horns throughout the piece along with the interesting harp and assorted strings woven through create a vintage love/horror movie vibe that perfectly aligns with the samples of the movie lines that are showcased. 

3. Black Magic Woman by Fleetwood Mac - Please for the love of halloween and all things magical, do not try and tell me that this is a cover of Santana's song because it is the other way around actually. His much popularized cover is quite fantastic, I agree, but there is something special and essential Fleetwood Mac about this piece that sets up the vibe of the band from very early on in the metamorphosis of the group. Now, if you are only familiar with the more recent group, you would be confused by this track because it sounds different and queen Stevie Nicks is not anywhere to be found. The group used to consist of Peter Green, Mick Fleetwood and Jeremy Spencer before the grouping was changed to what we know now. Honestly, this song is just a prediction about the queen witch that would later grace the band, but also a desire song about a mystifying woman.

4. Monster Mash by Bobby Boris Pickett & The Crypt Kickers - If you have been living under a rock for every October since you were born, then you don't know this awesomely spooky hit. Otherwise, I'm absolutely sure you've sung, you've danced, you've enjoyed this graveyard smash of a song that has created a rippling effect over halloweens for over fifty years. I remember being in kindergarten at my Halloween parade and walking around showing off my angel costume to this song, so yes, it has had a lasting effect on me for sure. Lou Simon, senior director of music programming at SiriusXM Radio, says, “‘Monster Mash’ has timeless appeal. The generations who grew up with it have fond memories of the song from the ’60s and again from its ’70s renaissance. The familiar arrangement is uncomplicated and delightful. It’s just one of those records that wears well and makes people happy.”

5. The Boy With The Thorn In His Side by The Smiths - Ok starting this one off with a literary definition, just in case you don't know exactly what Morrissey is referring to... To have a thorn in one's side is to have something or someone that continually causes problems for you; my definition of this is when someone will not quit pissing you off and making life hell even if they are unaware of doing so, we all have one of these and they are utterly unshakeable such is the way of life. When asked if this song was inspired by Oscar Wilde in an interview, Morrissey replied: "No, that’s not true. The thorn is the music industry and all those people who never believed anything I said, tried to get rid of me and wouldn’t play the records. So I think we’ve reached a stage where we feel: if they don’t believe me now, will they ever believe me? What more can a poor boy do?" 

6. Leave Me Be by Beau - This is one of two songs on this week's mix that does not exactly conform to theme I laid out but there was no way I was going to leave it out because the sounds and emotions included in this piece is perfectly in line with the general feeling of the playlist. The singer's voice is so weird and unique, I have not heard anything like it before, but it definitely reminds me a bit of Lene Lovich's (80s singer) voice when she does those big jumps in range and pitch in the chorus of the song. I guess the voyeuristic image of someone bothering the speaker of the song and pestering her like an impetuous ghost following one around does conform to the theme of ghoulish natures and general halloween-ness. My favourite line from the song is the repeated phrase "All I ever wanted was just to be left alone/All I ever wanted was something to call my own" because me too... me too. 

7. The Piano Duet by Danny Elfman (Corpse Bride) - Sitting in the piano room of my college dorm in the East Village on a Monday night a couple of weeks ago, I was exhausted of studying statistics and needed something to bring me to a peaceful state of mind. At first, I tried playing other pieces of music, but they proved too complex for my muddle mind at the time. Then I came across this simple and wonderful piece hailing from the classic animated king of Halloween, Tim Burton's The Corpse Bride. I was fascinated by the wandering notes that can be played with literally one finger which turns into this complex two handed piano piece that takes more time than I had to learn in its entirety. Danny Elfman has composed a lot of music for Burton which has become well loved and renowned but this short piece is striking and emotional for me. If you have the chance and a piano, you should play around with it because I think it is so satisfying to play. 8. Agony by Yung Lean - Originally I found this song in another version, one that was done by the alternative band Beach Fossils and I was hesitant not to put that version on the mix, but in the end decided the original needed to be heard and loved more. Coming from the Swedish hip hop/rap/emo/etc performed and artist Yung Lean, this vulnerable piece of music which describes how it feels to become unraveled is unrivalled by a lot of other songs about chaos that traps you in your own mind. What's more is that the song comes from a place of truth because the artist, Jonatan Hastard's (Yung Lean), spent time in a psychiatric facility due to mental health issues which were making him unable to live successfully. I think that it is so important that mental illness be represented in the music industry because it shows not only that having illness is okay, but that you can deal with it and get through it. So, thank you for showing us yourself, Hastard, and encouraging us to do the same. 

9. Skeletons (Acoustic) by Yeah Yeah Yeahs - How fitting for this celebratory day with none other than the queen of being spooky and distorted. In this track, the speaker asks her lover to basically tear her apart, to destroy her by any means necessary because she has already been destroyed by the love she has experienced. Now, one of the most important things to remember about a song that has very few lyrics is that the ones that are there, are there for a particular reason. The phrase "frost or flame" returns more than once, and it is due to the reference to the poem by Robert Frost "Fire and Ice" in which he details which way the world ending would be better. The speaker relates this to the way that her lover can destroy her: either by burning her or icing her out. I am going to include the poem because I love it so much: Some say the world will end in fire/Some say in ice/From what I’ve tasted of desire/I hold with those who favor fire/But if it had to perish twice/I think I know enough of hate/To say that for destruction ice/Is also great/And would suffice.

10. Femme Fatale by The Velvet Underground - I'm sure you've heard of this phrase before, but do you know why and when is became such an iconic phrase? No? I didn't either until I heard this wonderful song. This phrase has actually been around since the turn of the 19th century with the mass popularization of the gothic type of novel, but it resurfaced with this song in the 60s and has stayed relevant to this day. What I didn't know about the 'femme fatale' is what I found from contributors on Genius music (I use this all the time for insightful explanations): "Edie Sedgwick was an American socialite, actress, and model that came from a very wealthy and prestigious family. She was a part of Andy Warhol’s “factory” crew, and became one his closest friends and muses as Warhol brought her to fame." I think that this tribute to a friend and inspiration makes for the perfect song and gives a deeper meaning to a tale of a heartbreaker and 'take no prisoners' woman that is depicted here. 11. I Put A Spell On You by Annie Lennox - Classic. Breathtaking. Magical. Three words that describe this song and specifically the Lennox cover of this song. Something about the way the high chords of the keyboard are struck in the beginning of the piece is so gratifying, I just knew I would be in love with listening to this in the first few seconds. Honestly, and I never thought I would be saying this but, I have to thank whoever put together the 50 Shades of Grey film because that is the reason the cover of this song exists, which is kind of annoying. Nonetheless, it thankfully exists, and tells about a man who cannot be faithful to the woman who is telling the story in the song. So, she puts a spell over the man so he will not leave her and remains faithful to her instead. Despite having such amazing music to go behind it, this is such a wicked sentiment and fits perfectly with the season. 

12. Found Love In A Graveyard by Veronica Falls - This song is really, really sad. And I wasn't sure I was going to include it because it is really striking and makes me feel very emotional due to the intense meaning behind it. But, I think that music is, yes, supposed to uplift you and put you in a good mood, but not always. Sometimes, songs have a power to touch the things deep and dark inside of us that are untouchable by anything else, and this is a beautiful concept; sad, but still beautiful. The minor and eerie chords and drumbeat that start the song off with the discordant "ooohs" let us know this is not going to be one of those sunny, uplifting songs, but one of the darker ones. This piece can very well be about the literal sense of finding love in a graveyard with someone who is no longer alive, but I think it's about finding love in someone who is not present in one's life and wanting them so much but not being able to have them anymore. Listen with caution if you are already in your feelings. 

13. Zombie by The Cranberries - Let me paint a picture for you: it was summertime five years ago. A thirteen year old girl who was just discovering her musical genre for singing and listening alike stepped onto an outdoor stage in mid-June. The heavy guitar of a somber rock song come on and she begins to sing; surprise, the song is this one, and the girl is also this one who is writing to you. This song particularly has had more influence over my own writing and singing style than any other in this mix, both because it is beautifully metaphorical and because it is truthful to the point of tears in some respects. The song tells about the Troubles which occurred in Northern Ireland between the unionists and nationalists, the tensions and violence which spanned over decades and literally tore families apart. Dolores O'Riordan, the writer and singer of this song said, "This song is our cry against man’s inhumanity to man, inhumanity to child."

14. Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show - Not going to lie, I first heard this song and saw the scene performed when I was 12 and discovered the wonderful television program that is Glee. After that, though, I further investigated the chaotic goodness that is the Rocky Horror Picture Show and became enamoured with the explicit messages of open sexuality, breaking social norms and utter weirdness that makes up the show. This song is the most recognisable from the show, but by no means diminishes the other pieces that are performed. If possible, I really suggest either seeing a live performance or watching one online because all of the different characters, which you can hear in the recording are produced on the stage; the visuals make all the difference in the holistic experience of listening and I think in this instance, enhances the value you will hold with the song particularly the ever shifting point of views and voice sounds exhibited.

15. Werewolves Of London by Warren Zevon - First and foremost, all credits for this song being in my life go to my father because I have been listening to this with him since before I could write, much less write about music on a blog for my friends and family. Because it was such an integral part of my music experience from a young age, I enjoy examining not just what it means, but what it means to me.  The song is based on the 1953 film "Werewolf Of London" and if you haven't seen it, I recommend the viewing of this, because it's a really good movie, but either way you can enjoy the song separately because it stands on it's own. It describes and details a werewolf doing all normal human behaviour and a man meeting him and being like "wow this is really strange". Even just the first line of the song depicting a werewolf getting chinese food at the store is so funny and strange, and then talks about in the next lines a woman being mutilated by werewolves. I love the contrasting images outlined in this piece with such a simple 3-chord progression that is so catchy. 

16. Voodoo Child (Slight Return) by Jimi Hendrix - The distortion of the guitar in the intro for this track is so awesome, I cannot get enough of it and it is quintessential Jimi Hendrix  classic rock. Hendrix's gruff and raw rock voice comes through amazingly in this song and tells us a story about psychedelic experience of exaggeration with voodoo practice that was popularized especially during the 1960s and 1970s. The image of chopping a mountain down with the edge of one's hand presented in the first verse suggests that this is a drug induced experience in which the narrator is having an out of body vision of this happening, or so we can assume (I don't think Jimi chopped down a mountain, but who knows). As for the much iconic phrase 'voodoo child', I attributed this notion to the feeling of some of the African heritage and cultural spirituality that centers around practice of voodoo which has traced back through centuries. The intervention of God given to shamans or mediums, the servants of the spirits, results in a magic of spiritual nature. 

17. Blood In The Bathtub by Bonny Doon - I think the only scary thing pertaining to this song is the title and matching phrase that is repeated in the chorus of this low key song, but otherwise it is really of a loving, sensitive nature for year round enjoyment. Again, the guitar in this song is so present and the riffs included are indicative of some blues inspiration which is really nice and adds a lot of colour. As for the meaning, I ascertained that the speaker feels bad about his actions towards the end of his and the subject's relationship and is trying to explain his feelings about their demise. The aspect I appreciate about this song is that the speaker isn't trying to get back or win the affection of the subject, but instead agree that they have the right to leave and be lost or confused, which is a really valid feeling. The blood can be many things, but I like to see it as an impurity where the goodness (water) of the relationship was supposed to be. 

18. Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) by David Bowie - I often find that this spectacularly strange man can describe feelings that we all have in surreal ways no one would think to, yet do it so precisely we can't help but love it. This is a description I found online for the piece that I think is really perfect and I couldn't say it better myself: "The song title was inspired by a Kellogg’s Corn Flakes ad campaign: “Scary Monsters and Super Heroes”. It describes the feelings of an obsessive man when he gets a shy girlfriend. Though his influence on her initially works out well for the relationship, it becomes too much for her. She soon becomes a recluse, leaves the man, and descends into madness, seeing all strangers as ‘scary monsters’." I love this thought of being terrified of strangers and can relate on days in the city when I don't feel like talking to anyone.

19. Monster by ALASKALASKA - A new song for this mix, which was hard because surprisingly, not many artists cater to the halloween aesthetic genre of songs. I impose the thought that we need some bands/artists that only write for this holiday and season because I want more halloween music, not just the same old same old. This song is not about making someone else the monster, but the other way around of someone making you out to be a monster in order to place blame and flip the script. If you've ever been in a relationship where someone uses an ugly aspect of you in and twists the conversation to make you look bad, you can definitely relate to this song. The electro indie sounds in this song which are discordant and not so pretty go perfectly in line with the songwriter's intentions of meaning, in my opinion. 

20. Which Witch by Florence + The Machine - A bonus track and a demo from the How Big How Blue How Beautiful album and quite possibly my favourite song from the album at the same time. This song makes so much sense coming from Welch because she exudes the witchy nature in every way and writes about pagan nature and deity folklore a lot in her music which is so outside the realm of regular music that we are used to, which makes her so likeable and a force in the music industry. This track describes a two fold witch trial: one in the realistic and historical sense of witches being put on trial for having sinister ways and doing unexpected things for women for their time period. The other is her having her heart put on trial for loving in a way that was not desirable from her lover, even though she never tried to hide what she was. Now that she is escaping from the relationship, she explains she has no regret for what has happened, no matter what the man says in retaliation to her opinions. 

Thanks for listening and reading!

See you next week,

Julia