#( too many near death experiences in a short amount of time )

[feuerwizard]

And  it  does  amuse  him.  Caleb's  laughter  echoes  softly,  but  it  is  a  weak  and  hollow  sound  against  the  background  of  his  reddened,  tear-stained  eyes.  Tears  fall  freely,  leaving  trails  down  his  cheeks  into  his  copper  beard  as  he  tries  to  regain  composure.  “I  imagine  Jester  will  be  disappointed  if  you  did  not.  We  wouldn’t  want  that.”

His  forehead  remains  pressed  against  Essek's  shoulder,  a  comforting  warmth  though  the  coolness  of  the  ground  seeps  through  his  clothes  and  into  his  bones,  but  Caleb  is  not  quite  ready  to  move  yet.  For  once,  he’s  grateful  Jester  has  already  shared  most  everything  with  Essek.  Surely,  his  partner  knows  the  full  extent  of  how  close  Caleb  came  to  death  or  how  terrified  he  was  bringing  Luc  into  such  a  dangerous  battle.  For  now,  he  allows  himself  to  simply  bask  in  the  comfort  and  safety  of  Essek's  embrace.

Blue  eyes  bore  the  weight  of  stress  and  exhaustion,  both  physical  and  emotional.  “It  has  been…  such  a  long  few  days.”  First  Ludinus  and  then  Trent.  “How  would  you  feel  about  a  bath?”

caleb   feels   like   a   wounded   animal in his grasp,   and   there's   nothing   essek   can   do   but   let   him   bleed   out.   and   yet,   he   knows   that   simply   having   someone   in   these   moments   can   be   a   great   boon.   he   gives   caleb   another   squeeze,   his   free   hand   mimicking   the   human's-   carding   through   the   copper   locks   he   loves   so   much.   he   continues   to   whisper   to   him   as   he   cries,   soothing   nothings   to   keep   caleb's   heart   afloat.

he   chuckles,   breathily,   at   the   words.   he   knows   caleb's   trying   to   distract   himself,   but   he   can't   help   but   feel   a   pang   at   the   subject.   while   he's   happy   for   his   friends,   it's   the   cruel   reality   of   existence   that   you   can   be   in   the   worst   pain   of   your   life,   and   the   world   will   keep   spinning.

"    it   is.    "        essek   says.   he   gently   caresses   the   back   of   caleb's   neck.        "    we   will   have   to   get   you   some   new   robes.   something   pretty.    "        he   adds   a   touch   of   primness   to   the   word   in hopes of   amusing   the   other.   it's   a   recent   hobby   of   his-   styling   caleb's   hair,   dressing   him   up,   and   the   like.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 2

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: none — I’ll change it to E when we get there (slow burn, forced proximity, age gap — no age actually mentioned but rather more implied through lack of life experience, competence kink, hunting)

Summary: Part of a band of travelers, your party is slowly picked off one by one, until there are only two of you left. Finding an abandoned cabin in the woods, you decide to make camp there until you figure out your next move. As the seasons change, the nights get longer and longer…..

A/N: a truly endless amount of thank you’s to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who took SO MUCH TIME to make this actually coherent, and @mourningbirds1 who always asks the best, most inspiring questions. I love you both ❤️ Enjoy!

Chapter One

--

He shouldn’t be encouraging this. 

He shouldn’t. 

His head bowed, his steps careful as his eyes scan the forest floor for animal tracks, he had thought the wide open forest and a temporary relief from your close presence would help clear his head, but it doesn’t.

The bright optimism in your eyes flits through his mind, the confidence in how you told him about the various plants you chose to start with and why, the content smile on your face as you went about your tasks this morning. Cleaning out the old pots, filling them with fresh soil, setting up an area in the kitchen near the window to keep them safe. 

He should have said something then, but he didn’t. 

Should have said no to begin with, but he couldn’t. 

The night you had suggested the garden, he watched you leave the room and felt the urge to call you back, but like many urges he has where you’re concerned, he resisted. Hated himself for immediately shutting down your idea, but reasoned that you were too naive for your own good anyway. 

It makes him angry, your hope. He wants to stomp it out of you, harden you like he’s been forced to harden, solely because it will give you the best chance at survival in this world. 

That’s what he should do, but the second he had found himself unable to say no, he laid bare a dormant part of him that he had been denying for a while: another piece of him that wants you to keep that innocence. Unable to fathom how you’ve kept it this long, he wants to protect it, like those seeds. Keep it tucked away from the ugly world, save both it and you from waste and ruin. 

He hears the whisper of ferns brushing against each other, sees them moving out of the corner of his eye, and he crouches low, listening. Reaching back, he pulls an arrow from the pack he has on his back and, keeping his eyes on the bush, notches it in his bow. 

He waits, still and silent. 

He had stayed awake long into that night, thinking about how you were right. Every settlement is a nightmare, FEDRA no better than the free cities, smuggling a dangerous game that would most likely end in death the longer he kept on doing it. It’s not something that had really bothered him before – the thought of dying – but that was when it was just him. 

For you, it didn’t sit right. 

For you, he can’t let that happen. He won’t. 

He had gotten up from the couch to pace, mindlessly scanning the bookshelves as his brain ran through every scenario. Stopping on a gardening book, he had decided that if you wanted to make it work, then he was going to do it right. Keep some of that innocence of yours while also being smart about it. 

It’s not that you couldn’t hold your own. He has seen it before, but there is still so much that you don’t know. The sole idea of staying in this cabin betrayed your naivety, highlighting what he had already been fighting with himself throughout this entire trip: teach you, so you’d be ready, or keep you from it, so it wouldn’t be your burden to carry. 

If you are going to stay here, that changed things. 

He should teach you basic skills: how to hunt, how to set traps, how to properly handle a gun if you need to. You could do it if you had to, but you aren’t great. Inexperienced, at best, and as he waits there in the grass, he makes a mental list in his head of the topics he should cover. 

Maybe if he focuses his energy on teaching you those things, he can stop thinking about what it would be like to teach you other things. Not that he knows if you need teaching in those areas, but the idea had taken root weeks ago in his dreams and refused to let go. 

Waking up hard and aching every morning, trying to close his eyes and will it away — being ashamed of those thoughts though unable to stop them from happening, he shoved them down deep, just like he shoved you away.

Or tried to, anyway.

Impatient, harsh, taking advantage of how intimidated you are of him, he’s been gruff and dismissive, but you followed him all the same. Sticking to him like a shadow because of the protection he offers and he knows that’s part of the problem. The real reason you bleed into his dreams every night, because you’re constantly around him and on his mind every hour of the day.

A sort of misplaced attraction due to proximity alone, just like your own is due to his protectiveness - that’s all. 

He has protected you, and he still does. He will protect you from what’s out there, including himself.  

He sees the flash of shine, the animal’s eye catching the sunlight, and his fingers react on instinct, letting the arrow loose.  

Finding its target, the plant stops moving.

–

“I was good with my hands, but I was never good at that.” Joel gestures at the pot in front of you, leaning against the wall as he watches. “I always killed ‘em all.”

You laugh, gently tamping down the cool soil with your fingers. “You? Big bad Joel Miller? There’s something you’re bad at?” 

You haven’t seen it. Not yet, anyway. 

A small smile curls under his mustache. “Hard to believe, I know.”

Late afternoon sunlight streams through the now clean windows, and you shake your head at him, reaching into the bucket next to you. Pulling out another fist full of loose soil, you sprinkle it over the surface of the pot.

“Well, good thing I was always good at it.” 

You were. Had once thought it a relaxing, mindless hobby. Houseplants all over your apartment, you had found it fulfilling when something bloomed and blossomed and grew. Loved the delicate sloping vines, the broad leaves that reached for the sun, the endless shades of green. 

This new version of the world holds growth as well, but it isn’t the same. It is chaotic and overwhelming, plants and roots and whole trees sprouting from beneath the concrete, overtaking whole structures as it takes back what once belonged to it. You find beauty in it still, but sometimes the growth is disgusting and horrifying – when it’s the unnaturally colorful warning of fungus instead of plants, and when it’s a body buried underneath instead of a building. 

Pouring a little water into the soil, you think about the tiny red watering can you had, the reminder of the mundane action that used to bring you so much joy weighing heavy on your chest for a moment as your hands wipe together to brush off the dirt. 

He pushes off the wall and steps closer — always stays close, even inside, just in case. 

The swirl of his protective presence is a heady one, and you’ve become so used to it that you feel a perceptible absence when he’s not in the cabin. The same orbit pulls you unconsciously into his direction now, tilting your body to the side so he can get a better look. 

“This one should bud fairly fast, according to the packet,” you say, trying hard not to noticeably breathe in his warm scent. He doesn’t often get this close, and you hold as still as possible to encourage him to stay. “Then we can move it outside.”

He says nothing, his skepticism apparent through his silence, and you turn your head, looking at him. The wiry patch of gray that gathers at the edge of his jaw calls out for your touch, the light strands threaded among the dark, and you keep your eyes on it for a moment, tearing them away when he looks at you. His eyes focus on yours, a pull of something filling the air between you for a weighted beat, and then he shifts his gaze back to the pot. 

“We’ll see.”

You roll your eyes at his ever-present pessimism, opening your mouth to ask him what he had meant about being good with his hands before since he’s never talked about before with you, but he stands, talking first.

“I was thinking this morning,” he starts, leaning against the wall again. “I should teach you how to hunt.” He pauses, his expression shifting into something more resolute. “I’m going to teach you how to hunt.”

You look up at him, wide eyed and questioning, and he meets your eyes again for a moment before looking away, directing his words at the floor. 

“You should probably know how to do it, if we’re gonna stay out here. Just in case something happens to me, and I can’t do it.”

Your face goes still at the thought, and he backtracks, “Like if I get sick or something. Can’t get outta bed.”

“Knowing you, old man, you’ll be faking. Anything to stay in bed longer.”

He huffs, amused. “It’s a pretty comfortable one, I have to admit. It’s been nice not sleeping on the ground.” 

The beds are better than the ground for comfort, but you liked the ground for safety. Better to have him close should you need him, and you assume he feels the same way, given the way he conveyed his displeasure with the distance wordlessly, insisting the doors stay open at all times. 

“We better go before the sun goes down, try to get more than I got this morning.” His eyes flick over to the hallway. To your open door, the privacy of your room just beyond. 

“Sure. Just lemme get dressed.” 

Standing to carry the pot over to the window sill, you arrange it just so, right next to the other seedlings, and when you turn to head towards your bedroom, you feel his eyes on you until you’re out of his sight.  

–

Leaves crunch underfoot as you walk behind him, the slope of his broad shoulders a map that you follow without question. You’ve followed them for months now, those shoulders ones that you’ve seen damp with rain, covered under the taut drum of his flannel, tight and tense in unfamiliar territory and now, relaxed and loose, as he walks over to the now still bush.

“Did you get it?”

He nods in your direction, crouching with a soft grunt. “Yea. I got this one, next one is you.”

“You’ve always done it,” you grumble to yourself, watching the path. Your heart aches for the animal, but you’d never admit that softness to him. You know you have to eat, but to see it happen, to be the one who kills something so innocent - that’s a whole other matter. 

You should be used to it by now. But while you have been able to justify killing people as a means to survive, knowing they would do the same to you if given the chance, you still get slightly squeamish about doing it to animals just minding their own business.

“You wanna stay out here, you’re gonna have to learn sooner or later.” He reaches down, grabbing the small, limp rabbit by the ears, and it hangs dead in his grip, not as heavy as he hoped. He stands and turns, leading you deeper into the woods. 

Your fingers catch on the feather light branches of ferns, everything a wash of muted color as dusk descends, and it’s peaceful in your mutual silence, the woods around you alive with its own sounds. 

“We can wait here,” he says, stopping at the edge of a small clearing. The leaves of the trees rustle in the wind, a rabbit popping out long enough to hide behind some tall grass nearby, and he crouches low, your body automatically following his lead. 

“Normally you wanna keep walking. You can scare em’ out of the bushes that way. Rabbits, you let em’ know you’re coming. It’s deer you gotta stay silent for.”

You plant a knee in the moist earth, dampness creeping through your jeans, and he fixes something on his bow. Your eyes rest on the skillful way his fingers move along the bow string, the size of them compared to the delicate wood. 

Satisfied, he holds it out to you with an expectant look. 

“Show me how you’re gonna hold it.”

Unsure, you hesitate before you take it from him, but he waits patiently all the same. You’ve never held a bow before and when you look down at it for a beat too long, he shifts until he’s right next to your side. 

“Like this,” he says quietly. 

He positions your body how he wants it, the practiced weight of his hold guiding you into place, and you let him do it, trying to ignore the increasing thrum of your heart. Something stirs deep in your belly, arousal beginning to bud and unfurl, and then his calloused hand is sliding down your forearm, wrapping your fingers around the bow. 

“Hold it up, and look with your dominant eye. Like when you shoot.”

You test it out, closing one eye and then the other, the tip of the arrow visually landing directly in the middle of a thicket of tall grass. 

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his drawl curling low in your ear and a shiver rolls through you under your jacket, your fingers starting to tremble. He sees it, placing his hand on top of yours with a reassuring squeeze, and you hold your breath. 

“They always come out at dusk,” he says softly, the husk of his voice matching the low lit setting. “That and right away in the morning.” He glances at you with a smirk. “Thought you’d prefer this with how you like to sleep in.”

You can’t turn your face to look at him, lest your mouth brush his, and so you breathe out a laugh instead. 

“Very funny,” you whisper. 

Your leg cramping slightly in your tense position, you shift a little and he places his hand on the small of your back to steady you. 

“You wanna look for something shining in the dark. Their eyes, you’ll be able to see them. They reflect whatever light is around, and you’ll see it flash if you’re patient.”

You keep your eyes trained on the spot, a slight rustle to the brush, and focusing there with intensity, you wait, slipping into a sort of trance. His closeness is intoxicating, the solidness of his hold still pressing lightly into you, his voice a gentle, guiding murmur as the woods grow darker around you. 

His voice lingers in your mind, catching on every ridge, embedding itself and playing on a never ending loop. He’s spoken more to you today than he ever has, and every word has been a piece of useful information - things you’re trying hard to hold onto, but he’s making it difficult with how overwhelming his presence is. The way he’s guiding you with that soothing, low voice makes you think about what other things he can talk you through in the middle of the quiet night. 

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, and he looks from the bush to you, a frown pulling between his brows. 

The grass rustles again, and between the blades of ferns, you see it - a sudden flash of something shining.

“There,” he whispers urgently, prompting you to let the arrow loose, but you don’t. Instead you find yourself hovering on the edge, hesitating just long enough for the animal to sense you, and it moves suddenly with a thrash, bounding away. 

He lets out a heavy sigh. “What happened? Why didn’t you shoot?”

You look at him, the words pulling you from your head. Your eyes are hooded with want, your mouth slightly parted and his own gaze narrows in something akin to recognition, but it disappears from his face before you’re sure. He stands, getting some distance between the both of you. 

“Nevermind. It’s fine.” He won’t look at you, instead letting his gaze rest somewhere out in the field, and your head clears as the thick tension you felt earlier dissipates into thin air, vanishing into the twilight. 

“I think you’ve had enough for today. We can uh – we can pick up tomorrow. It’s getting dark anyway.” He stands there for a moment, weight shifting from one leg to the other while he taps the edge of his thumb against his thigh, and then he’s gone, leaving you sitting there alone. 

–

Choosing to dress the rabbit he shot earlier alone down by the water, you prepare everything else inside. You watch him make the pit, his thighs taut in their crouch as he prepares it to burn hot and low, and when he’s done cooking, you eat together in relative silence. 

He hasn’t said anything about your lesson or about picking it up tomorrow, but the way he won’t meet your eyes has embarrassment and shame coursing through you. Becoming a burden to him is something that you can’t afford and taking his avoidance of the topic as disappointment, you are stewing on apologizing when he clears his throat, sitting forward with his forearms resting on his knees. 

“I’m gonna set some traps tomorrow. I think you should help me, so you know where they are.” He brings his eyes up to yours for the first time since he’s come inside. “And so I can show you how to set them.”

Relief washes through you, and you nod, agreeing “I’m sorry, by the way. About earlier.” He frowns in confusion, and you clarify. “With the rabbit. Sorry I didn’t shoot. I’ll – I’ll try harder next time. Focus, like you asked.”

You had been focusing, just on the wrong thing, and his frown gives way to a look of understanding.

“Don’t worry about it. Your first time holding a bow, wasn’t it? Wasn’t expecting you to actually make a kill or anything. Just wanted to get you used to it.”

Second chances are something you aren’t often afforded, but here it’s different. Here, you can take your time and learn without the pressure of death as a consequence for your mistake, and it’s like he knows it too, with how understanding he’s being. 

He stands, preparing to do his usual checks for the night while you gather the dishes and place them in the sink for washing tomorrow. He grabs his rifle from the counter, leaving the cabin to walk the perimeter and then comes back in with a stomp of his boots on the rug to check every lock, scanning the forest through the window before he tells you he’s going to turn in for the night. 

“Goodnight,” you say, settling in to read on the couch. 

Delighted to find a bookshelf in nearly every room, you had spent the last couple of days going through the titles, selecting the ones you wanted to start with and reorganizing the shelf in your room to store them.

Assembling your own personal library, Joel’s face had been amused as he watched you, and you had thought maybe he would say something to discourage it. At the very least make a teasing comment, but he had held back.

Victory was yours later when you spied a worn western on his bedside table, the paperback lying open, face down.

You read for about an hour, your eyes eventually burning with tiredness in the low, flickering light of your lantern, and deciding to also turn in, you glance at that western when you pass by his bedroom. 

Stopping in the shadowed doorway, you look at him for a moment.

His broad back facing you, his shoulders are a steady, slow rise and fall. He shifts, rolling onto his stomach and the t-shirt he’s wearing strains tight across his torso as he bunches his pillow, adjusting it under his head. You see a sliver of his back in the darkness, a slice of it beneath the hem of his shirt, and the dip of his spine leads downwards, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Crawling into your own bed with your door open, you lie in the darkness and concentrate on the sensation of warm, firm velvet skimming under the pads of your fingers, his back still on your mind.

Crawling into your own bed with your door open, you lie in the darkness and concentrate on the sensation of warm, firm velvet skimming under the pads of your fingers, his back still in your mind.

Stopping in the shadowed doorway, you look at him for a moment.

His broad back facing you, his shoulders are a steady, slow rise and fall. He shifts, rolling onto his stomach and the t-shirt he’s wearing strains tight across his torso as he bunches his pillow, adjusting it under his head. You see a sliver of his back in the darkness, a slice of it beneath the hem of his shirt, and the dip of his spine leads downwards, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants. 

Satisfied that he seems to be okay, you crawl into your own bed and with your door open and lying in the darkness, you drift off to the sensation of firm, warm velvet skating under the pads of your fingers, his back still in your mind.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── PURSUIT // PROLOGUE

Series Synopsis: When your cousin goes missing right before he can challenge the Champion of your region, you must embark on a journey of your own in the hopes that one day, you might finally find him — wherever he may be.

Chapter Synopsis: Your cousin, Shoei, sets out on his journey, leaving you behind with a final gift as a farewell.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Barou & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Content Warnings: pokémon au except i make the world emo and infest it with blue lockers, angst, character death, familial bonds, found families, male-female FRIENDSHIPS, a slow burn so insane the main love interest isn’t even in a solid amount of chapters, it’s my world i do what i want which means liberties are taken, near death experiences, this story is long bro literally everything happens in it the amount of arcs i have planned is insane, original characters because reader will NOT be the only girl i refuse to write in conditions like that, this is being written as if gen vi is the last generation to come out because i cba to catch up on new pokémon lore

A/N: this is SUCH a niche crossover i’m actually crying but ykw at least it’s different from the typical aus LMAOOO anyways um please be sure to read the warnings and if you enjoy this then like…reblog or comment or send me an ask or smth HAHA (only if you want though i can’t control you)

tag list (send an ask to be added): @sharkissm

The last time you saw Shoei Barou, he was pressing a Pokéball in your hand. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his typical scowl on his face, and his Houndour sat at his feet, wagging its tail at you. The surface of the Pokéball was glimmering, ruby on top and a pearly white on the bottom, and because you could not bear to look at him, you trained your gaze on the watery sunrise it reflected.

“She’s yours,” he said. “I registered her under your name.”

“Guess that makes me a trainer, too,” you said.

“Don’t start on your journey for a while,” he said. “Or else you’ll catch up to me. Wait until I’m good enough that I’m someone you want to chase after, and begin then.”

He was embarking on his journey later than usual, but you had no doubt that he’d quickly surpass those with five or even ten years of experience on him. Shoei was like that, and so was his Houndour. What they lacked in battle prowess, they made up for with dogged tenacity, and it was impossible to imagine either of the two struggling for any amount of time.

“I won’t,” you said.

“Good,” he said. “Look, she’ll probably be better off if you just leave her in her Pokéball until you start training seriously, so don’t worry about that.”

“Won’t she get bored?” you said. He shook his head.

“Being in the Pokéball is a kind of stasis for them. She’ll know the time has passed, but it won’t be the same as if she were actually living it. It’s better that way, trust me. She’s the destructive type, and I won’t be around to help you if she acts up,” he said.

“Ah,” you said. “I see. I’ll do as you recommend, then.”

He reached out and placed a hand atop your head. You swallowed, staring at the dirt path beneath your feet, the worn toes of your old sneakers, the frayed cuffs of your too-short jeans — anything but him. You couldn’t bear it if it was him.

“You’ll be okay,” he said. “Y/N.”

“Yes,” you sniffed, though you had sworn to him so many times that you wouldn’t cry.

“You’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I promise.”

“Yes,” you said again. His hand balled into a fist, and then he knocked it lightly against your brow. Unlike you, he was smiling, and you did your best to quell the trembling of your lower lip when you made eye contact with him.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Enough with the bawling, okay? How am I supposed to call you my cousin when you’re like this? We can’t be related if you get so upset about every little thing. That’s not how it works.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, and then he sighed, hugging you tightly. His Houndour barked, rubbing his head against your calf, which was the only method the small Pokémon had of comforting you. “I can’t help it, I know I should be happy but—”

“Be happy,” he commanded you, letting you go and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Y/N L/N. Be happy. I’m going to be Champion one day, and that’s nothing to be sad about.”

“Will you come back home once you are?” you said.

“No,” he said. “No, of course not. I’ll be busy with the duties of the role. Have you seen how many television appearances Mr. Mikage does? But I’ll bring you there with me, you and your parents and mine, and all of us can live there together. Is that enough of a consolation?”

“Okay,” you said, even though it really wasn’t. But it’d be a cruelty to stop Barou, akin to clipping the wings of a Pidgeot and telling it to fly. He was as restless as his Houndour, who even now sat and stared out at the horizon instead of the home it was leaving behind. The both of them were turbulent, impossible to cage, and if one tried to hold them back, then they were little more than a brazen fool.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he said. “Try not to be to sad without me, alright?”

The Pokéball was cold and heavy in your hands as you watched him and Houndour walk off. Neither of them turned back, not for a moment, and then they were over the crest of the shallow hill in the road which led to the nearby cliffs, disappearing from your line of sight for good.

“Y/N!” It was the same boy again. He had been bothering you since you both had entered secondary school, mostly because that was around the time that Shoei had begun his league challenge. Of course, he had obtained all of the gym badges in quick succession, but conferences were only held every four years, and so he had had to wait until the next one before he could attempt to storm through it and reach the Elite Four, hence the delayed interest in his talent.

“Hello,” you said. He had never bothered introducing himself to you, and you were at the point now where it would be awkward for you to ask, so you generally pretended like you recognized him and hoped your conversations never grew to be too long.

“Did you hear the news? I mean, he’s your cousin, so of course you did, but still, still, can you believe it?” he said.

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“Barou!” he said. At the mention of Shoei, your Pokéball grew warm against your hip, and your left hand instinctively flew to the thin chain around your neck. “He’s actually done it — he beat Noel Noa!”

“Noel Noa…the last Elite Four member, right?” you said. The boy nodded at you. He was grinning as hard as if it were his own cousin who had mastered the league, or indeed as if he were the victor, but the truth was that besides you, there were very few in the entire city who could claim to know Shoei, so his pride was unwarranted.

“Yup! No one’s ever beaten him but Mr. Mikage,” he said.

“Well, Mr. Mikage is the champion,” you said. “So what’s next? Does he battle Mr. Mikage?”

“Pretty much,” the boy said. “Although he’s allowed to take his time in between and train his team. The conference win and Elite Four victories are only prerequisites, but it’s not like you have to do it all at once. In fact, hardly anyone ever does. Your team needs to rest in between battles, and besides, challenges to the Champion position are so rare that they need time to set it all up.”

“What do you mean, ‘set it all up?’” you said, sitting down at your desk at the back of the classroom. The boy didn’t usually sit with you, but today he was too excited, so he collapsed rather awkwardly in the chair at your side, leaning over with his elbows digging into his thighs.

“Didn’t you know? All Champion matches are televised!” he said. “The entire region will be able to see him battling. He’s amazing, you know.”

“Of course he is,” you said matter-of-factly. “That’s good that it’ll be filmed. It’s impossible to get tickets unless you’re a league official or have more money than you know what to do with.”

The boy coughed, his face turning red. Your eyes flicked to his belt, which was conspicuously devoid of any Pokéballs, just like the rest of your classmates, and then you curled inwards when you once again recalled that amongst your peers, it was only you who required the league-issued stipend for trainers to afford your tuition.

“Anyways,” he said, pursing his lips — a reminder to you that he had sat in the stands of the last league conference and was in fact one of those such types that you had been referring to earlier, “I’ve heard they’re thinking of moving towards broadcasting the entire conference andany Elite Four challenges instead of just the Champion matches.”

“Really?” you said, eager to change the subject. He nodded.

“Yup, it’s the case. The TV studios and news stations have been pushing for it. As long as they can throw in some advertisements and sponsorships between the battles themselves, their profits will shoot up like crazy,” he said.

“Well, that makes sense,” you said. “Why hadn’t they implemented it earlier?”

“They’ve been trying, but supposedly, there’s been a lot of pushback from some of the league officials. They think they’ll lose money if people can just watch battles online, since there’ll be less of an incentive to buy tickets to watch them in person,” he said.

“Ah. So what changed their minds? Aren’t the league officials notoriously stubborn?” you said. He snorted.

“That’s what my dad says. He’d rather deal with a Slaking than any of them,” he said. You couldn’t quite remember what his father did for a living, but if you had to guess, it was something financial-related, given the boy’s unnatural interest in the field. “Apparently, they tried it out in Johto to great effect, so they plan to give it a go here in Kalos as well.”

“Interesting,” you said. “I guess it doesn’t mean much to me now, since Shoei’s already through, but I’m sure it’ll be helpful to someone or another in the future.”

“Maybe we’ll see you onscreen next, eh, Miss Trainer?” he said. You rolled your eyes at the nickname; coming from him, it wasn’t so horrible, but it wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, you hated when the others brought up your trainer status, because it only set you further and further apart from the rest.

Of course, almost everyone had a Pokémon or two as a companion or to make the activities of their daily living that much easier, but there was a difference between a Pokémon owner and a Pokémon trainer. Trainers were the ones who were registered with the government, who were sent a monthly stipend by the league to pay for their and their Pokemon’s upkeep, and who made a career out of the sport. At least, that was what they were supposed to be, but nowadays, genuine trainers were few and far between; more often than not, those with the distinction were like you, with a single Pokémon that had never known the heat of battle and a desperate need for the extra income that their status, passive though it might’ve been, brought them.

The school-issued Gogoat that was designated to escort you home trotted along beside you, its tail bouncing with the gaiety of its pace, its ears perked against the wind as you went along. You sometimes wondered if the Pokémon you supposedly owned was anything like that, but based on Shoei’s description, you had mostly decided it wasn’t.

“Thanks for taking me back, Gogoat,” you said, patting it on the forehead when you reached your doorstep. It bleated at you, nuzzling you happily and then bounding away. You watched it go with a smile, incredibly fond of it though you knew it wasn’t actually yours — just a vehicle assigned to you because the school knew that most of its students weren’t proper trainers. The institute didn’t want to be held liable in case there was some kind of an attack, so the Gogoats had been trained to accompany students to and from their classes as well as to protect them as best as they could.

Supposedly it was a common practice, one that had been invented in Aquacorde Town, but there they used Arcanines instead of Gogoats, so privately you thought that those of you in Coumarine City got the better deal.

“Mother?” you said, peering into the kitchen, smiling when you saw her there, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. “I’m home.”

“Y/N!” she said. “How was school today?”

“It was fine,” you said, self-consciously drumming your nails against your Pokéball. “This guy told me that Shoei’s going to challenge the Champion soon. Mr. Mikage. They’re going to film it and everything. We should ask Uncle and Auntie if they want to come over and watch with us.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said. Shoei’s father, your uncle, was her brother, and they had remained so close throughout their adulthood that it felt at times like Shoei was less your cousin and more a genuine brother of your own who occasionally slept in another house. “Imagine if he can become Champion!”

“He will,” you said, unclipping your Pokéball from your belt and setting it on the table, where your mother’s Espurr was sleeping. At the movement, she sat up, giving the unassuming ball a disgusted look and climbing to the top of a shelf where she could continue to nap. “All everyone talks about is how strong he is. There’s no way he’s losing, especially if he beat Noel Noa.”

“It’ll be great for the family,” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “And for him.”

“Do you know when the match is scheduled for?” she said. You shook your head.

“No, I don’t. The guy said people usually take a break in between defeating the Elite Four and challenging the Champion, so that their teams can rest and all. I’m sure it’ll be announced well in advance, though. It’s not everyday that somebody fights Mr. Mikage himself,” you said.

“That’s true,” she said. “In the meantime, how’s this for dinner?”

“Looks good,” you said, though it was out of distraction, not approval. Your mind was racing as you tried to picture how the battle between Shoei and the Champion might go. Would he look different? Of course, he would have to, it had been a while since you had seen him last, and it might be a while more until you saw him next, depending on how long he took to put in the formal request to battle. Two weeks, or maybe even three.

Yet weeks turned into months, which turned into years, and still he did not appear to face Mr. Mikage. Eventually the excitement faded into a distant memory, and soon, if his name was brought up at all, it was as nothing but the Never-Champion, the one who was too frightened to fight against the undefeated head of the league and the Mikage Corporation alike.

At first you weren’t worried, but as time stretched on, you resorted to begging the police, the local Gym Leader, anyone who would listen, just for a chance at finding him. Yet one by one, they each refused. After all, what could be done? He was a top trainer, they worked in mysterious ways, everyone knew that. Any day now, he would reappear and that long-awaited battle between himself and the Champion might finally happen. Nothing about the situation was abnormal in the slightest. Maybe the cowardice was a bit uncharacteristic, but otherwise? There wasn’t any cause for stress.

And so, for that reason, nobody but you ever thought of actually looking for him — they never even knew that they had to.

[borninwinter81]

William Blake and Good Omens - an intertextual analysis

Please note: I did another version of this and posted it, but it was quite hurried, way too short, and was incorrect in a number of ways so I deleted it. However it had already been reblogged by the time i did so. If you happen to see another version of this meta that's not the right one, this is the version I'm happy with!

After my previous post re William Blake and Good Omens did so well, and so many people showed an interest I've decided to do a more in depth piece. This is focused upon the TV version of Good Omens, not the book.

Please don't tag Neil in this - although it's mostly textual analysis I do a very small amount of S3 theorising, and I know he doesn't want to see that.

I am in no way suggesting that Neil and Terry specifically wrote Good Omens with Blake in mind, I honestly just wanted an excuse to write more about Blake because I love his work so much, and I thought it would be interesting to try and apply some intertexuality since the works will contain similar themes, both being about God, religion, humanity, and angels and demons.

I also should stress that I am not an expert on Blake, there are people far more qualified to comment on him than I. I'm just a former literature student who loves his work.

There have been many different interpretations of Blake's work over the years, so it's completely fine to disagree with someone else's ideas about it, as with any work of art or literature. And although this piece is likely to be long, I'll barely be able to scratch the surface of all the possible meanings that could be ascribed to it.

Much like the old adage that if someone claims to understand quantum physics they're lying, I'm not sure anyone can truly fathom the full meaning of Blake's philosophy (especially in his later prophetic works, fuuuuuuck those beasts....), so if you're confused by him don't be discouraged, that's perfectly normal!

That being said, I wish to discuss the parallels between Good Omens and The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, my personal favourite and probably the most accessible of his longer works.

"Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion, Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence. From these contraries spring what the religious call Good & Evil. Good is the passive that obeys Reason. Evil is the active springing from Energy. Good is Heaven. Evil is Hell."

This excerpt is from near the opening and sets out the central idea of the work - that there is an essential duality to humanity, and each person is a combination of extremes. These extremes are not at war with each other, but rather are equally necessary, hence the "marriage" of the title. "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell" is a metaphor for the human experience.

Consistently throughout The Marriage... Blake refers to the two extremes as Reason and Energy. These terms could be construed in a number of different ways: thought versus emotion, mental versus physical, restraint versus desire, temperance versus excess, caution versus impulsiveness, and following the rules versus free will.

Blake's use of the word "Reason" in this context may be somewhat confusing, however he likely chose it because of his negative feelings towards science and the Age of Enlightenment. Blake saw literal visions of angels and prophets and the divinity of all creation, and hated that science reduced everything to formulas, calculations, and materialism, leaving the world bereft of wonder. "Art is the Tree of Life. Science is the Tree of Death" as he put it.

His ideas about "reason" are best expressed by his painting "Newton". Though inspired by the scientist, it is not a portrait - instead it depicts a figure deeply engrossed in scientific drawings and calculations, totally ignoring the beauty all around him - see below.

In the context of The Marriage... Reason is "passive" because it involves thought, caution, self-restraint, and doing what you are told, all states which block action. Energy is "active" because it is physical, emotional, impulsive and allows you to act based on your own choices and desires. It's quite clear that Blake feels "energy" is the preferable state - he tells us as much in the next section:

"The Voice of the Devil

All Bibles or sacred codes, have been the causes of the following Errors. 1. That Man has two real existing principles Viz: a Body & a Soul. 2. That Energy, call'd Evil, is alone from the Body, & that Reason, call'd Good, is alone from the Soul. 3. That God will torment Man in Eternity for following his Energies. But the following Contraries to these are True. 1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul; for that call'd Body is a portion of Soul discern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age. 2. Energy is the only life and is from the Body and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy. 3. Energy is Eternal Delight."

So the body is an aspect of the soul, not separate from it, Energy comes from the body, it is Reason which places limits upon Energy, but Energy is eternal delight. Physicality, desire, impulsiveness, emotion, sensual pleasure and free will are not wrong or evil, they are aspects of the human soul and it is from them that we derive our enjoyment of life.

This does not necessarily mean that Reason is always bad. After all, Blake tells us that both are necessary for human existence. Sometimes temperance, caution and thought before action are required. But Reason becomes negative when it "usurps its place and governs the unwilling", i.e. when it completely supplants Energy and becomes the sole guiding factor, forcing passivity.

The Angels of The Marriage... are governed by "systematic reasoning", therefore they are wholly creatures of Reason. They are also "all religious" meaning they believe the "errors" stated above. His Devils by contrast "hate religion" meaning they believe the "contraries", which are the true statements according to Blake. It does not necessarily follow that they are wholly governed by Energy, merely that they believe Energy is "eternal delight".

It is worth noting at this point that Blake saw God and religion as totally separate. For Blake, "God" is that connection with divine wonder which was integral to his life; he tells us plainly that "all deities reside in the human breast" and that "the voice of honest indignation is the voice of God". In other words all humans have a direct and intuitive link with God and don't require the church, Priests, or a religious framework and adherence to a set of rules in order to reach moral decisions. These rules exist only to "enslave the vulgar".

The importance of this ability to make one's own choices about a moral course of action is shown by one of the "Memorable Fancy" sections of The Marriage...

Blake relates how a Devil is able to use an Angel's "systematic reasoning" against them:

"if Jesus Christ is the greatest man, you ought to love him in the greatest degree; now hear how he has given his sanction to the law of ten commandments: did he not mock at the sabbath, and so mock the sabbaths God? Murder those who were murder'd because of him? Turn away the law from the woman taken in adultery? Steal the labor of others to support him? Bear false witness when he omitted making a defence before Pilate? Covet when he pray'd for his disciples, and when he bid them shake off the dust of their feet against such as refused to lodge them? I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments; Jesus was all virtue, and acted from impulse, not from rules."

The Angel has no way to refute the "reasoning" that Jesus was governed by Energy and "impulse", i.e. his own morality, the "voice of righteous indignation", not reasoning and the rules laid down by Heaven. And because Jesus is the Messiah he must be virtuous, therefore Energy is virtuous. The Angel immediately allows himself to be consumed by fire and is resurrected as a Devil.

How can these concepts apply to the world of Good Omens?  This was where my first draft was totally incorrect, as I tried to transfer Blake's ideas about Angels and Demons and Heaven and Hell wholesale, applying "reason" to Aziraphale and Heaven and "energy" to Crowley and Hell.  In fact the divide is slightly different in the GO-verse: Crowley and Aziraphale *both* represent Energy, and it is Heaven and Hell that act according to Reason.

At first glance Aziraphale may appear to toe the line - he needs creative application of the rules to make him comfortable with trying to avert the apocalypse, and when he doesn't like the way matters are being handled by the Archangels he seeks a higher authority and goes straight to God. He'd clearly prefer someone to be confirming the rightness of his actions for him. However this doesn't mean that he won't act on his own.

Immediately upon his introduction to the story he has given away his flaming sword, an action that he took impulsively because he felt it was right, not because someone told him to. It bothers him, but he does it anyway.

In the Job storyline, though he initially looks for some loophole within the rules that will allow him to save Job's children, in the end he directly goes against Heaven to do it, even though he believes he is going to Fall and become a Demon for having done so.

Though he resists it and exhausts all other possible avenues first, he eventually does take an active role in averting the apocalypse in S1.

He hides Jim at great personal risk to himself and against the will of both Heaven and Hell, again because he feels it is the right thing to do.

He is therefore perfectly capable of independent action from a position of "righteous indignation".

On a more basic level, he enjoys worldly pleasures, which all come from "energy" according to Blake's philosophy. Food and drink most obviously, but also books, music, dancing, theatre, art and so on.

Crowley is more easy to place as acting from Energy - in spite of the obvious aesthetic differences between them, he also loves worldly pleasures. Alcohol and coffee, snazzy clothing, driving his car with Queen blaring on the stereo, going to lunch with Aziraphale, Shakespearean comedies. All things he isn't supposed to want or need, and which baffle other Demons, in the same way that Aziraphale's desire for food baffles the Angels.

And he's absolutely willing to act according to his own moral impulses when they conflict with Hell's orders (or Heaven's), be it saving Job's children, ensuring that Elspeth doesn't die by suicide, or averting the apocalypse. Yes, he'll try to hide his "good" actions in order to avoid punishment by Hell, but he's firmly "on his own side".

Conversely, Heaven and Hell are both part of the structure of religion in this story, are strictly adherent to a set of rules, and their inhabitants appear to have no real desires of their own, other than possible advancement within the systems they uphold. They are "passive" in that their functions allow the status quo to continue and the "great plan" to unfold as they believe it is meant to, even though each side expects a different outcome.

Again, applying Blake's philosophy, I would say the reason for this is that "energy is from the body". Crowley and Aziraphale have both been given bodies in order that they can exist on earth, and *have* existed on earth for 6000 years, therefore "energy" - physical pleasures and free thinking - have become a part of who they are.

On a more fundamental level, possession of a body can be equated to humanity, and humanity has been shown as the most powerful force of all in this story, its influence having led to Adam becoming "human incarnate", and thus acting according to what he feels is right, instead of fulfilling the function he was destined for.

Heaven and Hell contain no material objects, and the Angels and Demons are spiritual beings, having no bodies, so they are not open to energy, and therefore are wholly governed by Reason, and the preservation of the religious structures within which they exist. Structures which, as for Blake, may not actually have anything to do with God herself. In S1 she is a distant observer, clearly aware through her narration of all that is going on, but not interceding in any way. In S2 she is barely present save for her voice being heard briefly in Job, and overlaid with Gabriel's on two occasions.

Bearing all this in mind, what predictions can we make regarding S3 by applying Blake's philosophy?

"The ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in fire at the end of six thousand years is true, as I have heard from Hell.

For the cherub with his flaming sword is hereby commanded to leave his guard at [the] tree of life, and when he does, the whole creation will be consumed and appear infinite and holy, whereas it now appears finite and corrupt.

This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment."

The parallels of the cherub with his flaming sword, and the passage of 6000 years should be obvious to anyone reading this - they have of course been lifted directly from the Bible as they are in GO.

I have read some metas which speculated that Aziraphale's bookshop, or perhaps Earth itself, is a metaphorical stand-in for Eden or The Tree of Life. Aziraphale has been commanded to leave his "Eden" and will now be instrumental in causing the whole of creation to become infinite and holy, but Blake tells us this will be done by an improvement of sensual enjoyment, which arises from Energy not Reason.

Sensual enjoyment is something which is intrinsic to Aziraphale's character, and this could make his placement in Heaven very important.

Putting aside all the "final fifteen" theories and taking matters at face value, Aziraphale tells us that if he's in charge he can make a difference - he needs to subvert the system from the inside out. The most subversive thing of all could be that a sensualist who acts according to "the voice of moral indignation" and "Energy" has become the supreme Archangel. We have seen in Blake how a realisation that Energy could be virtuous was enough to convert an Angel into a Devil (incidentally, does the image of an Angel being consumed by fire and emerging as a Devil seem familiar at all...)

We may have seen the beginnings of this already. Gabriel and Beelzebub became open to Energy from such little things as visiting earth, spending time in one another's company, and their mutual enjoyment of a song, which has given them wants and desires beyond those dictated by Heaven and Hell. This is enough to make them wish to leave their roles behind.

It's possible that the same may happen with Muriel. They haven't yet imbibed food or drink, but they have shown an enjoyment of books, which are an earthly pleasure, and open the reader up to new ideas and ways of thinking.

Of course, this would lead to questions regarding the Metatron's statement that he has "ingested things", and whether this means he is acting from reason or energy. Of course the simplest explanation is that it is a manipulation tactic, and he is lying about having done so, but if true that statement has some interesting implications. However, this is now super-long and I'm out of juice, so will leave others to speculate. I may return to this in the future!

There we go, hope you enjoyed. I doubt this will reach nearly as many people as my first Blake post, but if a few find it of interest then my work is done!

[keepswingin]

The world disappears, when he plugs into the network.

It turns into ones and zeroes, abundances of numbers and codes that he doesn't always understand. It doesn't matter how long he's been doing this, how much he learns, how many near death experiences he goes through.

Every time he plugs in, everything is created anew. The backdoors he's weaved fade into scattered strains. The way in gets taken out. The network tries to eat him alive.

It's exhausting.

He used to love that exhaustion, adrenaline racing through him as he outran a system's virus, planting his own before it could catch up. Slipping out seconds before it would overload, leaving nothing left. Waking up to a heaving chest and thousands wired to his account, body weak but alive.

Recovery was hard on him, on his body and mind, but worth it. He'd treat the group to dinner the next day, takeout they couldn't afford otherwise, pizza boxes stained with grease.

Jeongin's eyes shining in awe, Felix trying to pretend he wasn't hungry. Han reaching over and squeezing his hand, Chan shooting him looks from across the room - worried, always so worried even when things were okay. Seungmin threatening his patience only because he knew he could get away with it. Hyunjin putting aside enough for Changbin, where he would arrive harried and shoulders sagging with the weight of a world Minho hadn't been a part of for a long, long time.

He's been digital for so long that sometimes he forgets what's happened on the surface. Swimming beside code was always easier than having to deal with anything physical, like blood and bruises and a city torn apart by gang wars.

He was free, in his own way.

"Time's up."

He's pulled from the network faster than he can register, leaving him disoriented and gasping loud as cruel faces stare down at him, sneering. His heart races as he tries to remember his own body and mind, but the codes have been affecting him worse and worse every time he dives now, sticking to his brain like a brand.

He's forgetting details, tricks. The physical world, outside of the system. He only remembers his ragtag group by thinking of them at least once a day, in between being shoved under and dragged back to the surface, pulling old memories forward in an attempt of remembering to the more recent ones.

"Not bad," a different voice muses from his right, eyes scanning the computer screen beside him. "Five nodes in three minutes."

Minho's body starts to shake, an after-effect from going under that started a few years ago. Technology still grows better and better, but the human body does not. He tries to lift his arm to watch, able to count it down, but forgets that he can't move. Not freely, anyway.

"Wasn't he tapped for ten?" A deep voice rasps amidst the movement of the room, masked faces filtering in and out of his vision. A needle is prepped and stuck into the crook of his elbow, injecting a booster. It burns going in, and he's so weak that a cry spills from his lips, resulting in someone else laughing.

"Listen to the thing. He can barely handle five!"

Minho tries to shake his head, but it's useless when his body feels this way. Unsure which way is up, loaded with street drugs that were laced with things to make people who dived do their jobs without problem. But his body was rejecting it, rejecting all of it, and he wasn't sure how much longer he would last here, like this, thrown under every half hour.

No one was meant to dive continuously, no matter what was in their system. He should have never taken so many jobs in such a short amount of time, put himself out there for everyone in the black markets to see. But he'd been desperate, and Chan had been missing running on three days, and they needed a place to squat, food to eat, things to protect themselves with -

He knew the job sounded off from the moment he saw it. They were offering too much money for too little, a run and tag he could do in his sleep. The money would provide for them long enough that Changbin and Felix could start looking for Chan, while Minho kept an eye on the others as they moved from place to place.

Instead, he had failed them all.

"Fine, we'll do ten this time. If he can't handle it, we'll sell him to the highest bidder and move onto the next." A long pause. "Happy?"

"Very," the other voice snaps back. "Plug him in."

Minho tries to move. The table is freezing against his skin. Metal cages his arms and legs in, curling around his shoulders. Needle marks cover his arm. His head is splitting in half. His body is tearing itself apart.

Hands fumble at his port, and then all he knows is code as they hook him into the network again. It floods him fast, and his back arches against the table, restraints keeping him still when all he wants to do is run.

Chan is missing, and so is he.

It's the last coherent thought he has, before he hears a timer echo in the distance and all he knows is the race to what they need, before they dispose of him too.

[charcadett]

Hi!! Its me 🦀 anon again!! I just wanted to say that the ghost specialist reader hcs were amazing!! ^^ also, may I request a few grusha x reader hcs where the reader has had a lot of near death experiences. Like a very concerning amount? Idk I just thought it would be interesting ^^;

-🦀

AAA I’m so glad you liked them, that’s awesome! Okay, thats is a very cool idea, so I’m excited to get to it. There’s a bit of a discussion of PTSD and helping each other through flashbacks toward the end, so that may be a tad heavy.

Grusha With S/O Whose Had Several Near Death Experiences

- After so many near-death experiences, it’s a bit strange to admit, but your fear of death has lessened significantly. You were lucky to walk away with no lasting physical injuries, though the symptoms of post-traumatic stress are less than ideal. Once was too many times to almost die. After the fourth time, you’ve decided that life is terrifyingly short and death really isn’t as scary as you once thought. You are going to enjoy living as much as possible.

- Dating Grusha is a bit tricky with this mindset. The two of you have reacted to the trauma of your experiences in two completely different ways. Grusha has closed himself off entirely, and you have taken on a come-what-may attitude and have thrown caution to the wind. It will take a lot of mutual communication and understanding for your relationship to work.

- One thing the two of you share is the understanding that neither of you will ever forget. No matter how much either of you tries, that all-encompassing primal fear, the desperate desire to survive, is etched into your very marrow. You know what it’s like to have your breath catch and your heart race because suddenly, for seemingly no reason, you're there again and you’re so afraid.

- In situations like this, Grusha will get you somewhere safe as fast as he can. Home is preferable, but not always an option. He’ll get you something cold to drink and will talk you through your flashback until you’re grounded. If you like physical contact, he’ll hold you as tight as possible. Grusha never dwells and he never makes you feel weak. After, he will smile and ask if you’re going to be okay. He never lets go of your hand.

- When Grusha has a particularly bad flashback, the last thing he wants is to be alone. He prefers something warm to ground him, he can’t be back there if he’s warm. Soothing and repeated motions are the best way to go. Get him a cup of tea and gently run your fingers through his hair until he stops shaking. It helps exponentially and means everything to him. Before you, he was used to coping alone.

- He worries about you almost constantly. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it's that he doesn’t trust the universe. He’s convinced you might be the unluckiest person in the world, and he wants nothing more than to wrap you up in bubble wrap. It’ll make him feel better if you take one of his Pokemon with you. If you offer one of your Pokemon to take with him when he goes out, his face will soften as he cradles the ball in his hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

- Due to your shared experiences, Grusha feels like you understand him better than anyone. He helps teach you a bit more caution and you help teach him that his life is in no way over. You balance each other out wonderfully.

[ceruleanmusings]

Ravi Panikkar - Pain & Panic

a/n: so this is the intro scene to a ravi centered fanfic that i've been working on, on and off, for the last couple of years but i've been too scared to post. the minute ravi was introduced i fell in love with him. i wish he had more screentime or was used as more than comedic relief when the writers gave us a good backstory of him having had cancer as a child! and then the (potential) trauma of losing civillians! since the show won't explore his backstory, i will! i hope anyone who reads this enjoys! this also contains an oc.

------

Why was it after someone recovered from an injury or got a clean bill of health or walked away from a near-death experience, they’re told they have a new lease on life? Did the last one expire? How long was the new lease supposed to last? A month? Two? Twelve? Fifteen? At what point were they able to renegotiate and ask for better terms? Maybe they could get a good deal if they renewed on a three-month basis.

Granted, no one wants to live their life counting down the days they have left. That is, not unless that’s their only option. But when other options present themselves, what else are they supposed to do instead of count time? They were used to it. Habits die hard. It wasn’t theirs anyway, the new amount of time dropped on their laps. It was borrowed so it was best not to get too comfortable with it.

I didn’t.

-------

No matter how many times he rifled through his bag, checking and rechecking and rechecking the contents packed and in their proper places, Ravi Panikkar couldn’t shake the feeling he was forgetting something.

Blowing out a breath, lips vibrating at the effort, Ravi dug a hang through his thick, dark hair, staring down at the stack of books, notepads, extra clothes, toiletries, and towel. His eyes raked over every nook and cranny of the bag, shifting through the checklist popping up in his mind. But he always came up short at the end, a big blank spot pulsing at him, taunting the less-than-stellar results of his mental faculties.

Not that he needed the reminder; the scar on his chest did a good job of that.

“Okay, one more time,” Ravi muttered. Removing the items, he placed them on the bed in reverse order. Maybe seeing it all in front of him again would jog his memory. It may not exactly be a muscle, but it needed to be stretched and warmed up too. He needed to be wide awake and on full alert.

Slapping his face with his palms, Ravi shook out his hands and blew out another breath. “First, towels. Then the pants, shirts, books, notebooks…” As he spoke, he picked up each item and replaced them in the bag, mentally adding a little checkmark in his mind as he went. Underwear, check. Socks, check. Pens, check. Gloves, charger, toiletries, sunscreen, bug spray, watch, utility knife, power bars, flashlight, chapstick, bug spray, and wet wipes. Everything was back in its proper place, stacked large to small, bottom to top, and he even had a little space leftover. And yet the little neon sign in his head flickered and pulsed, pointing to the empty spot on his list.

What was he missing?

Turning on his heel, he left his room and made a beeline for the living room, snapping his twitching fingers along the way. The living room welcomed him in with remnants of his late-night cramming session: flashcards lay scattered around the floor like fallen autumn leaves, workbooks left open and discarded on the couch, tangled up with the gray bed sheet spread across the cushions, uncapped highlighters and dried out pens scattered across the coffee table. A pristine snapshot of the day before his life changed.

He still had time to back out, to change his mind, to respond to the email that’d been sitting unread on his computer the past couple of months. He could get back on track and this little derailment would be a little blip in his life plan. He could put all this in the rear-view mirror and never think of it again. That way everyone would win and he didn’t disappoint anyone else. Except maybe himself…

Sucking in a deep breath, Ravi placed his hands on his hips and began to pace. Every few steps he’d let out the breath he held only to suck it back in a moment later. His heart pounded against his chest and tingles popped at his fingertips. “You’re okay, you’re okay. You’re good! This is a good thing you’re doing. You want to do something good and that’s what you’re doing.” His voice was small or was the ticking of the clock on the wall drowning him out? With each ratchet of the second hand, the ticking got louder and louder, becoming a series of slamming doors, sealing his fate.

No turning back.

“Ravi?”

The scuffle by the door stopped him in his tracks, his hands flying up to cup the back of his neck, still breathing hard. Something metal scraped against the other side of the door and, a second later it swung open due to the kick of a booted foot. Ravi watched as a mass of plastic grocery bags rustled and shimmied and swung their way in through the open door, hanging off light brown arms, one lifted neon orange Doc Marten, and between the clenched teeth of his roommate, Betsy Payne.

Betsy managed to hop into the room, turn, and close the door with her extended foot. A muffled laugh of triumph sounded around the bag handles between her teeth, her lips curling up in the corners, brown eyes shinning. Her long braids swung with the movements, the gold rings and cuffs adorning the ropes clinking together and brushing against the plastic bags digging into her arms, puckering her skin, leaving deep indents behind.

“Why didn’t you take two trips?”

Her answer became muffled around the bag, but he knew what she said anyway. She said it all the time. Two trips are for chumps! It was a spectacle at this point, seeing all the ways she could come up with not having to go back and forth to her jeep. Her stubborn streak was a mile wide and equally as deep.

The smile slipped from her face and the lights in her eyes dimmed with flooding concern. Her head tilted to the side and his breath caught for a second beneath her curious gaze. It left a trail as it swept across his face, then ran from head to toe and back again. Her shoulders sagged and she spoke again, the words still coming out a mumbled mess. Are you freaking out?

“Little bit,” Ravi replied, nodding. His head jostled like a bobblehead, coming very close to the way his leg bounced before he forced himself to get up and get ready for his shift. The packing helped his jumpy limbs until he forgot something. …What was it?

“Aww.” Her compassion was short lived, being replaced with a cry of shock when the bag slipped out of her mouth and smacked against the ground. The resulting crack made both their eyes widen and drop their chins to look at the floor, where oozing yellow goop spilled onto the shiny hardwood. “Oh man! Those were the eggs!”

“Here, let me.” Ravi took the bags from her, untangling her limbs, collecting them in his hands with ease. Once set on the kitchen table, he rifled through the bags for the perishables, putting them away. Next came the frozen food and sweet treats, then the dry food, the cans, bread, junk food, and finally produce. Everything in order and everything in its rightful place, checklist complete. He didn’t miss anything.

“Ah, see, you’re already putting those firefighter skills to good use. Bet all those hoses are heavier than those bags though.” Betsy slipped past him, hand dragging against his back, juggling a paper towel roll and the cloth-pad mop beneath an arm.

“They weigh about the same with all the ice cream you buy.”

Betsy shot him a look. “It’s for emergencies.”

A smile cracked at Ravi’s mouth as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Leaning against the entryway wall, he crossed his feet at the ankles and watched her grimace while scooping up the yolk in the paper towels. “I don’t think watching Riverdale counts as an emergency.”

Betsy snorted. “You’ve clearly never seen Riverdale if you don’t think stuffing my face with ice cream to numb the pain isn’t an emergency.”

“So why do you watch it?”

“I don’t. Not regularly. That’s the point.” Betsy balled up the paper towels and dragged dry patches against her fingers, scraping off excess yolk. “It’s my last choice if there’s absolutely nothing on.”

“You can’t even settle for a Lifetime movie?”

“You know I can’t watch those without you. I can’t make running commentary on the characters’ stupidity alone.” She tossed the wadded ball at him and he ducked out of the way. It landed with a wet smack against the kitchen floor. Ravi gripped the front of his jacket and looked for any wayward stretch of yolk or egg white. It was still a perfect navy blue, the red and white lettering on the lapel as bright as when he first received it the day prior. He hadn’t gotten his uniform yet. That was for tonight. “You’re not freaking out.” Betsy speaking again grabbed Ravi’s attention. She looked at him through the parting curtain of her swinging braids with every push and pull of the mop. It gave a mechanical whir as she pressed the button on the handle, shooting cleaning mixture on the floor.

“I still am.”

“Why?”

“Because. What if…I was wrong? What if I’m not cut out for this? What if I’m making a mistake?”

“Ravi, I did not let you carry me over your shoulder up and down six flights of stairs every day for fourteen weeks for it to be a mistake." She paused in her mopping, leaning her weight against the handle. "You were one of the best in your class. I don’t know anyone else with a brain like yours. There’s no one else more cut out for this than you. You’re even made of the right material: big heart, patience, and a trusting face that’ll make a Disney prince envious." He cracked a smile at that. "It’s a winning combination, if I do say so myself. Besides, people need to see you. Maybe there’ll be other little brown boys and girls that’ll grow up thinking they can be firefighters too.”

“You think?” He couldn't keep the hope from leaking into the skepticism attached to his words.

She nodded. “I know. There’s not enough of people like you out there. Someone needs to save people, why not you? Besides, you’ll be fulfilling a lot of people’s dreams of being rescued by a handsome fireman. We can’t let that go to waste.”

“Do people really dream of that?” He asked with a laugh.

“Do people really dream of being saved from their worst nightmare or that worst fear, cradled up against the strong chest of their savior, carried to safety, held like a baby in their big, strong arms? Yes, yes they do." Throwing a wink his way, she added with a large grin, "And I’m one of them.”

His cheeks burned and he crossed his arms, giving her a look. “As long as you don’t intentionally go looking for trouble.”

“Moi?" Her eyes widened and she let out a little gasp. "I would never! I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing!" Then, waving her hand, she continued, "Besides, I don’t need to create emergencies for you to come to my rescue. You do that often enough." She resumed mopping. "That’s how I know you’ll be okay, by the way. But you won’t know unless you try." He hummed. She wasn't wrong. "Isn’t your shift soon?”

Soon. He hated that word. How many times had it been used whenever he asked when he was leaving the hospital? “Yeah, I was about to…um, I was getting ready.”

“Why don’t you get the rest of your stuff? And I’ll get you your dinner.”

“You made me dinner?”

“Of course. I figured you’d be spinning yourself into a circle by now." She peeled the dirtied mop pad off the green mop and tossed it in the nearby trash. "Feeding yourself is the last thing you should be worrying about.”

Reaching out, he placed a hand on her arm, stopping her from moving past him. “Thank you.” It was very sweet of her to be looking out for him. Especially after the last few weeks with the firehouse training schedule keeping him away and, when he was home, keeping him up at all hours. It couldn't have been easy dealing with him when she was on her own late-night bartending schedule.

“My pleasure. I gotta find a way to repay you somehow.”

He sighed. This again. “Bets, you know you don’t have to—”

Her waving hand blocked his protests. “I was going to make jambalaya, but I didn’t want to make everyone else in the fire house jealous and have a reason to dislike you.” Or more of a reason. “So I went with a breakfast sandwich. On a croissant.”

“Fancy.”

“I figure by the time your shift ends it’ll be morning and this way you don’t haveta make a pit stop before coming back here to crash.”

“Good call.”

She made the waving gesture again, this time shooing him away. Ravi followed her direction, going back to his room to grab his bag. After one more check—a quick one—he zipped up his bag and hefted it onto his shoulder, nearly folding to his side at the dropping weight. Hmm, maybe he packed too much. But it was better to be safe than sorry, right? “What were you going to do the rest of the night?” he asked once he was back in the living room.

She stepped on the heels of her Doc Martens, leaning against the wall for support as her shoulders lifted and dropped along with her sigh. “Well, I have some pictures I need to edit and get to Izzy tomorrow and I told Ms. Johnson I’d take Bear out on his walk. And the Goldsteins asked me to have dinner with them.” Her head tilted to the side and heat crawled up his neck at the look she pinned him with. It was very reminiscent of the look his mother would give him as a child. “Which I assume you had something to do with.”

Ravi rubbed the back of his neck. “…I might have asked them to invite you.”

Her head thudded against the wall when she tilted it backwards to groan. “Ra-vi!”

“I just…didn’t feel right with you being here alone," he said.

“I’ve been here alone before. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but last time—”

“I told you, I just had a bad night at work.” Her words were as stiff as the cross to her arms. “They happen.”

“I know you know this but if you want to talk about it—”

“Nothing to talk about." Her hand sliced the air, arm extended, blocking his words. "Except how you’re gonna be the bestest firefighter ever!”

He rolled his eyes. She was great at changing the subject. He'd let her off the hook, for now. “That’s not a word.”

“Because there’s not enough words in the English language that can describe how awesome you’re gonna be!" Her energy was as limitless as her smiles.

He grabbed his abandoned bag and slung it over his shoulder. The plastic on the strap creaked and groaned under the weight of the bag hanging off him. He ran through the checklist in his mind again. Check, check, check. Everything was in its place. Besides, he had a feeling if he stopped to look again Betsy would shove him into the bag and drag him to the firehouse herself.

Sucking in a breath and letting it out slow, Ravi took the steps towards the door and his future. He had one foot over the threshold when Betsy spoke: “Ravi, wait.”

“What?" God, he hoped she didn't have some sort of cheer waiting for him. Or a pinata she insisted he bust open or a mariachi band stashed somewhere. He appreciated her support but sometimes she didn't know where to draw the line. "I’m gonna be late, Bets.”

“Okay but I don’t think you’ll make a good first impression showing up at your first shift without shoes.”

Huh? Ravi dropped his chin and wiggled his toes. His bare toes. The cool grip of the hardwood into his feet, making a chill crawl up his spine. Oh.

So that’s what he forgot.

[dilfsuzanneyk]

a post about my bbc ghosts oc because @natequarter made a post that reminded me of him!

TW for mentions of alcohol, vomit and some violence

His name is Axel "Ace" Spades (he/him). Ace is basically an oc insert because I thought it'd be fun (sorry for being cringe </3 /hj). He's a 26 year old indie (wanna-be) filmmaker who died around the late-2010s (i'm thinking like March 2017?). Ace has a pretty long mullet (think like bon jovi) and it's dyed bright pink. He usually wears the same pair of crust pants that are layered with a bunch of home-made patches. Aside from that he'll wear the first thing he can find in his closet, so his shirt is always clashing badly with his pants. He's not very tall, about 158cm, and he makes no effort to look taller either. Ace died wearing a shirt that says "heavy metal" in a bubbly font that he cut the sleeves off of, his crust pants, kirby-themed socks and a pair of vans that are caked with dirt.

Most people know him as Ace because he thought it'd be cool to go by that on top of his chosen name "Axel", so there's no real cool story behind it. Spades isn't his real last name either, he just thought it'd be even cooler to be known as "Ace Spades", and he didn't want to keep using his father's name. Basically his whole deal is that he grew up in a very protected and controlling family, so he took uni as an excuse to get out of his parents' house and get as distant from them as possible. His upbringing also caused him to be a really big adrenaline junkie, since his big belief is to take whatever chance, pick whatever fight and do whatever pops into his mind "to make up for lost time". His impulses has gotten him into a lot of trouble physically and mentally, and so has actually had quite a few instances where he died for a moment and was resuscitated or just got waay too close to death, which brings me to his death and his ghostly powers.

The idea at the moment is that he died on St Paddy's Day, after a long night of bar hopping and heavy drinking. He built up the bad habit of being a pretty heavy drinker and a chain smoker. Anyway, at one specific bar, Ace almost started a stupid bar fight and got kicked out. In anger, he hopped on his motorcycle and drove up to the more secluded side of the village he happened to be in. His motorcycle broke down suddenly as he was riding, and it happened to break down right in front of the Button House borders (territory?? i'm not sure of the right english word, i apologise). He tried to walk up to the house to ask for help, but keep in mind it's about 2am at this point and Alison and Mike (and most of the ghosts) are asleep. Ace passes out on the driveway before he can even make it up to the front porch. Robin is the one to find his body really early in the morning while he's on a walk. In his excitement, he runs into the house screaming and wakes everyone up, including Ace himself, who gets up off the floor to look down and find his own body lying face down with a small pool of vomit near him. Long story short, he died in Button House territory, became a ghost, Alison and Mike have to deal with the shit he left behind, and he becomes a menace to them just like all the other ghosts <3 Now for his ghostly powers!! Basically, because of the amount of near-death experiences that Ace went through while he was alive, Ace also had Alison's power of seeing ghosts. He was just convinced that he was crazy, though. However, Alison only had one near-death experiences. Ace has had so many, he was able to wave away the ghosts he saw as "a result of some kind of brain damage". So on top of being able to see ghosts, he could also touch them if he tried hard enough. So because of his condition and the stuff he did while living, his "spirit" in a sense is confused about its state and as a result, Ace can interact with the human world normally if he focuses hard enough (e.g. he can move and touch things, he can be heard by the living) BUT he can't touch humans normally most times since it takes so much effort to do it and it generally is just uncomfortable (because y'know he's still a ghost at the end of the day). He also unfortunately can't touch or interact with his ghost friends, and sometimes he can't even speak or hear them, unless he puts in the same amount of focus and effort he needs to interact with the living. He can always see the ghosts, though, so they all found a way to mime what they want when his ghost powers go funky. Sometimes, his spirit is just too confused that he can't control what it does, so there are moments where he tries to walk through a wall but face-plants right into it, or he tries to speak to Mike/Alison and they don't hear anything. Same for when he tries to speak or hear the ghosts. TL;DR, i have a silly bbc ghosts oc insert that i went a bit too creative and silly with when i was thinking of his ghost powers and now his ghost powers (which would sometimes seem like a blessing to the other ghosts) also is a curse.

[mama-ivy]

La Fine Dell’Amore – The End of Love

Inspired by Hozier's Take Me to Church

A/N: Translations vital to the storyline are included in parenthesis. The song that is sung is a lullaby about butterflies. Warnings include witchcraft (both dark and light) and major character death.

11k words

Parte Prima - Strega and Pavel

Strega knew what she was doing back then. At least, she thought she did.  She was sure that she wanted to go through with it at the time, but that was three hundred years ago.  No matter how one tries, they cannot stay stagnant over the course of three hundred years, and should she be given the chance to do it all again, she would definitely do it differently.  Strega's problem was that she was alone.  No one had warned her about the loneliness – only the glory of near immortality. 

She had spent the last one hundred years searching for any way to reverse the self-inflicted curse that now weighed heavily on her.  When she was young and ambitious, it was easy to predict her own future and choose her path based on her bias.  She had no need for a family at that time. She had been orphaned and deserted her entire life and so there was no question that she would trade her fertility for immortality.  Unfortunately, in her three hundred years, she had gained wisdom, which is entirely different than intelligence.  She had learned that every spell has two costs – the initial trade off paid by the caster and the long-term cost for continued use paid by the recipient.  She was both. Paying off two debts. Simultaneously.

Strega wasn’t sure which was worse – the initial trade off of infertility or the continued cost of immortality.  She could bear each one individually, but together they created an infinite amount of loneliness.  This loneliness is what drove her from her comfortable home into the world that despised her in order to find something – anything – that could change what her destiny had become.  She roamed from village to village tracking anyone that could possibly help. She followed every lead that was given to her from anyone that would talk to her.  She documented meticulously every wizard, healer, witch, and priestess that she spoke to.  She experimented extensively with every known ingredient to modify spells, morph them into something new.  She failed every time.  For one hundred years.  

She had certainly not been alone the entire time.  She had taken lovers of all races, creeds, sexes, but when one is immortal, one finds it difficult to invest in a relationship that will last, at most, fifty years.  For that was just a drop in the bucket compared to the everlasting time that would pass before her death, if that indeed could even happen.  Her most recent acquisition was a young boy named Pavel.  She referred to him as “boy” (even though she knew his name), but most certainly he was old enough to marry and sire a flock of children. Exactly how old, she did not care.  Her only concern was that he was old enough to know the difference between crocodile tears and swamp water, where to find truffles, and how to catch a black widow spider without getting bit. She wasn’t sure where she picked up Pavel. She turned around one day and he was just there. Following behind her. And it dawned on her that he had been there for some time and she just didn’t notice. The only thing wrong with Pavel, it seemed, was that he was entirely too friendly and liked to talk during dinner.

He was one of those creatures that without even trying, people in his near vicinity found themselves drawn to him.  He made friends wherever he went, which proved helpful when she needed to confront a villager, but not when she was trying to study her spell book.  No matter how many times she blew him off with a short and sharp reply, he always came back with another question or statement that she simply did not find any interest in.  As annoying as he was, Pavel was equally useful and so she allowed him to stay. 

The most helpful thing about Pavel was his anonymity.  He looked exactly like every other young man in every other village. His hair and eyes were boring brown and his build was strong enough to be useful, but not strong enough to burst the seams in his plain linen clothing.  She had certainly seen men more handsome, stronger, smoother, more refined, but those men tended to draw attention in ways that she actively wanted to avoid. Pavel was just friendly. Despite the darker tints in both her hair and eyes, she attempted to downplay the natural beauty and mystery that was the unfortunate (in her opinion but not Pavel’s) side effect of her immortality. Beauty and mystery attracted the wrong kind of attention. Pavel, however, attracted the exact right type of attention – the helpful kind.

It was during one of Pavel’s famously annoying dinners of wild rabbit (which he had tracked, caught, fileted, and roasted himself – another trait that she would have to add to his usefulness list IF she was keeping track) that he mentioned he had heard of a warlock that had learned the ability to transform life from one form to another.  They were sat across from each other over a small fire on the side of the road between two small villages. She almost didn’t catch the statement as the crickets were exceptionally loud and it was sandwiched between musings of why he thought mushrooms should all be the same color and when they would be able to acquire a mule to carry her books.  She had to interrupt him in order to have him repeat himself.

“I said that I am simply tired of carrying your books myself.  I understand that they are absolutely necessary, and while I would never want you to go without them, they are extremely heavy.”

“Yes, I know. That is why you carry them and not I.  However, that is not what I am referring to, Boy.”

Pavel looked at her intently while slowly chewing his rabbit.  “The mushrooms?”

“No.  The warlock.  You said that he had the ability to do what?”

“Oh!” Pavel paused as if he had completely forgotten that he knew about a warlock. Maybe he had. She wasn’t entirely sure of his intelligence.  “The baker’s wife in the last village said she heard a tale about a warlock on the other side of the mountain that could transform life.”

“Is it true?”

“I don’t know. The baker’s wife also told me that she spoke to the squirrel that lives in her tree and he spoke back.” Pavel took another bite of rabbit. “She probably isn’t the most reliable source.”

She sighed. “Regardless, we are crossing the mountain. I must see for myself.”

“I figured as much.” Pavel grinned at her.

“What is it that you find so humorous?”

“Nothing.  I can’t smile at my friend?” Pavel went back to his dinner.

She watched him for a second longer.  His friend? Is that what she was? Is that why he wouldn’t leave her side? She had always assumed it was because she simply allowed him to stay.  “Am I?”

“Are you what?”

“Your friend?”

“Ah.” Pavel looked back up at her with another grin. “Of course, you are. My beautiful friend.”

“Only that?”

Pavel studied her face for a few moments.  “Is there something else you’d like to be?”

She watched him intently – searching his eyes for something, anything really, that would give her a clue as to where this uncomfortable conversation was going.  “You understand my reasons, don’t you, Boy?”

“I do, Strega.”

“It’s just that – “

“You will live so much longer than I will and you’ve lost so many already. I know.”

They ate in silence for a while. The air felt heavy even though it was a crisp and cool evening. The fire was suddenly too hot despite not having added fuel to it. The crickets were suddenly too loud. The rabbit had lost all taste. She didn’t like his silence. It was strange. Unnerving. Something had to be done.

“Why do you stay by my side?” Well, that was not it, she reprimanded herself. That was not the question that would lighten the mood.

Pavel had stopped eating and was just moving the tiny and bare bones from one side of his tin plate to the other. He did not look up to answer her.  “Because I care for you a great deal.”

“I cannot – should not reciprocate that feeling.”

Pavel sighed deeply. It was a sigh that she knew came from suffering. She had heard it often enough in her three hundred years.  “I know, Strega.”  He set his plate down on the ground in between his feet and the fire.  “It is late. You should rest. I will watch.”

She nodded at him and placed her plate on top of his before lightly touching his shoulder as she walked past towards her bedroll. He flinched at her touch as if her fingers were on fire and she withdrew her hand. “Good night.” She whispered before leaving his side.

“Good night, Strega. Sleep well.”

In the days following, during their route towards the mountain, Pavel remained quiet. She didn’t like it. He was always so talkative. Loud, even. She thought his incessant chatter annoyed her, but this was so much worse.  She contemplated on casting a happiness charm, but they were temporary and whatever was bothering Pavel would return ten-fold after a few days.  She suddenly found herself very concerned for his wellbeing should that happen.  How odd, she thought, that she be concerned about poor Pavel.  What a wily creature he must be to appear in her thoughts like that. In these quiet days, she found herself thinking of Pavel often.  She didn’t want to; she knew where that would lead and she absolutely must not allow herself that small luxury.  Far too many times in the years past, she found herself doing just that and those mere moments tortured her for years.  It was not a fair trade. 

The air was getting colder as they neared the mountain and she had decided that they should stop at the village nestled at the foot of it to rest and restock their supplies before scaling the foreboding land feature.  There was no way around it and she wanted to make sure they were prepared. Pavel had agreed to the stop over with a simple nod.  She led the way into the unassuming inn with Pavel close behind almost buried in the packs that held their necessities.  She was able to charm the innkeeper into giving them two free nights, however, he could only part with one room.  Thankfully, there were two beds in it.  She had started to argue with the fat man behind the bar, but Pavel simply touched her elbow and mumbled quietly, “One room is fine, Strega.  We will each have our own bed.  It will be like camping in the woods.”

The room was larger than she thought it would be, and the two of them were very comfortable and warm after Pavel started a fire in the cold stove.  They ate their dinner in the room. Still, Pavel remained quiet. She didn’t know what to say to him.  In the days since their uncomfortable evening, she attempted several times to engage him in conversation.  All she received in return were short answers.  Yet again, she gave up and readied herself for bed.  She had just settled herself in the warm blankets and snuffed out her candle when he spoke.

“What is your name, Strega?”

“You have just uttered it.” She replied to the darkness.

“What I have uttered is your title. What is your name?”

“It has been too long. I no longer remember.”

There was no reply.

The sun rose late the next morning, as was its custom in the cold months, and both she and Pavel slept until it woke them.  After they were dressed and ready, she handed him a coin purse and told him to find the stables.  “We will need a strong mule.  I cannot ask you to carry everything yourself up the side of a mountain.”  Pavel nodded and left the inn without breakfast.  She busied herself with shopping for the upcoming trip to the warlock’s hut.  Pavel did not return until after dark.  She thought about trying to locate him several times, but ultimately decided that he was probably enjoying the time alone.  When he did return, he was smiling.  His cheeks were flushed, his hair was damp from sweat, and he smelled horrifically. 

“Hello, Strega.” He greeted her enthusiastically before dropping into his bed.

“You look as if you have had a very productive day. Where have you been?”

“The stable keeper took your coin purse and ten hours of my hard labor in exchange for three mules.” Pavel grinned widely. “We will not have to walk over the mountain.”

“How very convenient for us.” She walked over to him lying in his bed and immediately regretted it. “You smell of horse dung. You will need a bath before we sleep in the same room tonight.”

He stood up before her and she instantly stepped away. “You don’t enjoy the smell of a hard-working man?” He was teasing her. This side of him was new and she not sure if she was enjoying it.

“The smell of hard work and male musk is one thing, Boy. What you smell of is a different issue entirely.”

Pavel laughed. “Go fetch dinner and I will bathe.”

She nodded and left the room.  She made it all the way downstairs to the bar near the entrance before it dawned on her that she was following his order instead of the other way around and that she had already eaten her dinner. 

By the time Pavel was bathed and fed, it was much too late for anything else, and the two of them dropped into a dreamless sleep until the sun awoke them yet again the next morning.  Pavel left as soon as he was dressed to fetch the mules so that they could pack for their journey.  They left the village shortly before noon and headed north towards the mountain.  Again, Pavel was quiet, but the quiet was a comfortable one.  She was able to concentrate on her surroundings and form a plan for when they arrived at their destination.

“Would you be terribly upset with me if I wanted to part ways after this journey?” Pavel broke the silence with a question that seemed to her to come from nowhere.

“You want to leave?”

“Actually, I’d like to stay. In that village.” Pavel looked over at her on her mule.  The two of them were side by side with the pack mule following behind attached to a rope that led to the small saddle that Pavel sat on.  “The stablemaster offered me a position with him.  I told him I’d like to think about it, but truly I only wanted to ask you first.”

“You enjoyed your day yesterday.” She replied. “That explains why you were flushed with excitement when you returned to the room.”

“It has been a long while since I labored like that, but yes, I enjoyed myself tremendously."

"You are grown. Your decisions are yours to make." They resumed their comfortable silence for a few moments before it was her that decided to break the silence.  “How did you know that ‘Strega’ is not my name?”

Pavel looked over at her again with a sly smile.  “We come from the same far away land. I have understood everything you have said in our native tongue.”

Her head jerked up in his direction. Her eyes wide. Pavel laughed at her surprise.  “And my books?”

“I can read them.”

“Maledire.”

Pavel laughed loudly at her. “Ti sorprende?”

“Yes. It does surprise me. Very much.”

“So what is your name, Strega?”

“I no longer remember.”

“Hmmm.” Pavel did not want to argue, but she was sure that he would bring it up again.  She would have to think of a better excuse.  Knowing her name meant that he was too close.  She didn’t want him that close.

The days grew colder as they neared the mountain and the nights were colder still.  They found themselves using more pelts at night to sleep and waking up huddled together, even though there was a definite space between them when they fell asleep.  It was getting harder and harder for Pavel to find game to cook for dinner, as well.  The rabbits, chipmunks, and birds were all venturing out less and less as the temperatures plummeted.  All of these things had been meticulously planned for, however, because she had traversed mountains twice before.  She was well aware of what was coming.  She knew how colds the nights would be and how much her fingers and toes would ache from the lack of circulation.  She had purchased extra dried meats and fruits for when there was none to be found around them and she had brought extra dry kindle for when the snow saturated the trees.  The only variable she was unsure of was Pavel.  Both of the other treks across mountain peaks were with men that she was sure were familiar with the barrenness of mountain tops and their dangers.  She did not know Pavel’s experiences. She had never asked.

The days up the side of the mountain were full of pleasant, albeit impersonal, conversation. She began teaching Pavel the differences in the leaves and berries that were needed for spells.  If he knew what he was looking at, then she could send him on gathering expeditions while he hunted for game and she sat by the warm fire studying.  He seemed to soak up the information like a sponge and kept it all hidden away in that head of his.  It was impressive indeed.  He, in exchange, taught her how to properly care for the mules – something she had never bothered to learn.  

It was late morning when they began to reach the forest’s edge at the top of the mountain.  She knew it was far to early to break for camp, but that if they continued on, they would be far from tree cover at the end of the day and she wished for one more night without the howling winds and biting cold. Pavel was all too willing to break early and set up the camp with a small fire.  She spent the time going through her pack while Pavel gathered kindle for the fire.  There were a few things she was beginning to run low on and she mentally made a list of plants for him to look out for while he hunted. 

“Boy, while you are searching for our dinner, be looking for Yarrow.”

“Yes, Strega. Anything else?”

“I wouldn’t mind some Lady’s Mantle if you happen on some, but I doubt very much you will find any.” She looked up at him. “Do you remember what Lady’s Mantle looks like?”

“Yes, Strega. Small and green with the silver outline.”

“Do be careful. We are heading into a dangerous area.”

“Yes, Strega.” Pavel nodded with a grin and ventured off with a small pack of dried meat and water for his lunch.

He was gone for the better part of the afternoon and only returned as the sun was threatening to disappear behind the tree tops.  He seemed pleased with himself, whistling softly and light in his step.  She watched him intently.  He must have found something either terribly delicious or incredibly useful.  Pavel was just outside of her spell range when time seemed to slow to a crawl and every nerve in her body lit on fire. There was something wrong with the air.  She could feel the tension.  Electricity.  The cat pounced from a sturdy branch above his head.  How long had it been sitting there? Watching?

“PAVEL!” she cried as loud as she could.

The surprise in his face was obvious, even from where she sat, at the sound of his name from her lips.  He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her.  The cat, thinking that Pavel would have kept walking, just missed him and landed in the snow at his feet.  As quickly as Pavel was able to adjust to the new situation that he found himself in, the cat had already recalculated, spun around, and reared up with claws out to swipe at his prey.  She sped to catch up to a suitable range and cast a protective spell on Pavel.  She was just too late.  The cat was able to get a single slash across Pavel’s chest with enough force to knock him to the ground without a breath in his lungs.  Knowing that Pavel was now surrounded by her protection, she quickly chanted another spell to push the cat back into the tree line.  He howled at the surprise of it and ran off without any supper.

She knelt down beside Pavel and quietly soothed him while he struggled to regain his breath.  “Shallow breaths, Pavel.  Be careful.”

“You.  Know my.  Name.” Pavel managed between gasps.

“Shh.  You need to get closer to the fire so I can treat your wound.” She slipped her arm under his neck to help him sit up.  “Can you walk?”

Pavel nodded and slowly sat up with her assistance and several loud groans.  The short walk to the fire was laborious.  Pavel struggled with every step and she watched his life run down the front of his shirt in rivers.  The cat had cut long and deep.  She didn’t want to imagine the pain poor Pavel was in.  His color was fading quickly and as soon as he was close enough, she settled him on the ground and cut away the remaining tatters of his shirt.  Her small gasp at the sight of his wound did not escape him.

“You can’t fix it.”  It was a statement. He was ready to resign himself to being left behind.

“Don’t be silly, Pavel.” She looked up at the fear in his eyes. “Of course, I can fix it. You will just need more time to heal than I would like.” She covered up his gaping chest with her scarf and turned to pull some herbs out of her bags. “Did you find any Yarrow? I can use it to help with your pain.”

“In my bag.” Pavel’s voice was small and getting smaller with every word. She glanced back at him to make sure he was still awake and then ran to where he had dropped his bag.  Two squirrels and Lady’s Mantle were tucked safely inside.

“Pavel! What a genius you are!”

The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly before his eyelids began to flutter shut.

Checking that he was still breathing, she set herself to the task of preparing a salve with the found treasure.  It wasn’t a large bunch of leaves, but it was enough to treat Pavel.

She let him rest until the salve and the squirrels were prepared and then woke him.  “You need to eat and I need to apply this paste.”  He nodded at her without a word, only making a hissing sound when the strange warmth of the salve hit his wound.  She carefully wrapped his chest so that it would remain clean and slowly fed him small bites of the hot meat.  When she was satisfied that he had eaten enough, she helped him lay back down by the fire and then laid down beside him.  Wrapping both herself and all of their pelts around him, she sang softly to him to keep him calm.

Farfallina bella e bianca

Vola vola mai si stanca

Vola qua, vola lá.

He sighed softly and nestled closer to her.

“Reina.” She whispered into his ear. “Mi chiamo Reina.”

“Reina.” Pavel struggled to reply to her. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“Shhh, my dear Pavel. You need your rest if we are to continue.”

“Rest.” Pavel agreed before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Parte Seconda - Pavel and Reina

It was her beauty that first drew his attention.  It commanded the room and made everyone in it nervous. Her tresses were the color of the darkest ink and lay in waves down her back and over her red silk cape.  Her eyes were the color of the night sky and sparkled like the stars that shone in it. The contrast against her ivory skin was dramatic and breathtaking. Her petite frame held a stack of books (only some of which he recognized) and several leather packs full to the brim and bursting. She reminded him of comfort, warmth, and love.

He watched as she marched up to the bar as if she were the innkeeper and with a wave of her hand was given not only the best room for the night but a hot meal and a cold drink – without coin exchanging hands.  He was dumbstruck. He knew for a fact that the innkeeper was the surliest of men and that he would willingly give out anything without coin meant only one thing. Witchcraft.  He knew it immediately; his mother practiced when he was young.  He watched her intently as she passed by the small table where he sat.  She was muttering to herself, “porcile sporco”.  Another surprise.  He rarely heard his mother’s tongue this far from home.  He glanced around him.  This rundown little inn was indeed a filthy pigsty. How had he not noticed before? Laughing to himself, he decided that wherever the strega was going, he would follow.

He went back to his room that night and put everything he owned into a small pack, took his bow and arrows and his skinning knife off of the small mantle and sat outside of the inn until she emerged the next morning with all of her books and bags. And then he just followed behind her as she left the village. He didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t matter. He would make himself useful and follow her anywhere. He had to know everything about her.

It didn’t take long for him to make himself useful. She was struggling to contain all of her belongings in her arms and continuously dropped things as she walked. A quill. A ribbon. A sachet of Rosemary. Her coin purse. He quietly picked them up as she dropped them and continued following her.  She broke for camp that evening and he simply laid all of her dropped belongings on the ground beside her stack of books and then began to gather kindling for a fire.  “I will be right back with something to eat.” She nodded at him as he spoke without showing any surprise at his presence as if she had known him her entire life. And that is how his new life with Strega began.

He thought about that meeting often, always in wonderment as he would watch her study or work. She fascinated him. She never seemed to mind that he was following along, but never engaged in any meaningful conversation or seemed to remember his name. He quickly got used to being called “Boy”. He had never really gone by his name anyway, his mother calling him “Son” and his brothers calling him “Brat”. He supposed Strega’s name for him wasn’t any different.

He also got used to being the only person to speak for days at a time.  He was never a very loud person, preferring to choose his words wisely before speaking, but Strega barely spoke at all.  If he didn’t make noise, there would be none made. So he carried on his one-sided conversations often. 

He learned quite a bit about Strega in the months following their first meeting – most of it from the notes she had taken and the books she would study.  Studying made her very sleepy, and while she slept, he would read.  Most of her notes revolved around fertility and he quickly surmised that she was on a quest for a child and often would suggest visiting villages that he knew contained someone who could help her. He also would keep his eyes peeled for ingredients that he knew she would need or was running low on.  He was unclear of whether she knew he was refilling her stock until the trip to the warlock’s hut.  Then he was definitely sure that she had no idea.  He already knew the difference between Mandrake and Mugroot, what Bay smelled like and the shape of Rosemary – his mother had taught him years ago, but the lessons kept her talking and so he let her teach him all over again.

He almost stayed behind on this trip. She was right, he truly enjoyed working for the stablemaster.  He knew the mountain they were heading towards, however, and even with her abilities, he was sure she would not be able to make the trip alone.  As it turned out, she was the one that saved him.

He knew the cat was in the area. He had seen it further out when he was leaving on his hunt. He was so excited to show Strega the Lady’s Mantle, that he completely let his guard down and was easily surprised by it and how close it had come to the camp. To Strega. And now, here he was, injured and in pain, hallucinating vividly from the burning salve, and sweating like he was on a spit while Strega snored lightly as she slept curled up into his side stroking his arm softly. He stirred slightly to get more comfortable and hopefully dislodge some of the pelts in order to cool down. The movement woke her.

“Pavel, are you alright?”

“Yes, Strega.” He was lying. His legs ached, his back itched, his chest burned, and his lips were parched.

Strega sat up, unintentionally and mercifully lifting the many pelts off of him and allowing the icy air in to cool his fever. “Reina.” She corrected.

He nodded his head and let out a small sigh.

“You look so thirsty. I’m going to get you some snow and food to eat. Don’t move around too much. The salve is not done working.”

He was able to adjust himself slightly so that he was sitting up against a downed tree trunk and watched her as she rekindled the fire and filled the small pot with snow to melt. She glanced over at him every few minutes to make sure he was still alright but continued her chores without stopping.

After a short while, Reina brought him over a tin mug of melted snow and some dried meats.  “I’m sorry it’s not hot or fresh, but I do not have the same talent of hunting that you do, Pavel.”

He smiled weakly at her and took the mug of cold water from her outstretched hand. “Never mind that. I don’t think I could eat anything more than this anyway.”

Reina carefully fed him small bites until she was satisfied that he had eaten enough and then tucked him back into the overly warm pelts minus one that she wrapped around herself before settling down near him to read her book of healing spells.  “We can’t stay here very long, Reina.  The weather is going to get worse very quickly.”

Reina glanced up at him momentarily before nodding her head in agreement.  “Yes, I’m looking for a stronger potion that I can make to help you heal faster.  I am not risking your health for my silly errand.”

He studied her for a moment before speaking again.  “Your desire for a child is not silly.”

“How did you know that is what I am after?”

“I wasn’t sure until you have only just confirmed it, but most of your spell books relate to creating life and you have told me several times how long you have lived.  I simply surmised that you gave up your ability to carry children for longevity.”

Reina looked up at him surprised.  “How clever you are, Pavel! Why is it that you know so much about me?”

“My mother was a strega before she was taken from me.” He leaned back against the fallen log and looked up past the treetops. “She taught me some useful skills. It’s not that I know about you specifically, but I do know about the many different practices.”

“And what did she practice, Pavel?”

“She was a Hedge Witch. Many of our friends and neighbors depended on her mountain recipes. There was no other healer nearby.”

“And what do I practice?”

He looked over at her sly grin. She was testing him. He smiled back at her and then replied. “Gray magic.”

“You are very clever, indeed.” Reina closed her book in her lap and watched him carefully. He wasn’t used to this much attention from her. Her gazes were making him slightly uncomfortable at the moment, but he was sure he could quickly get used to it.  “Why did you let me prattle on about herbs when you already knew what it was that I needed?”

He chuckled lightly before gripping his abdomen with a low groan. “You were speaking in whole sentences for the first time since I met you. It was a lovely change of pace.”

She opened her mouth to argue his point, but closed it again when he raised his eyebrows at her. Instead, she reopened her book and began to study again.

“You might try chapter sixteen. It has more healing potions in it than the others.” He watched her purse her lips at his suggestion and then chuckled again when she began to turn pages with a small sigh.

“Go to sleep, Clever Pavel. You need your rest.”

They did not break down the camp for several more days.  He suggested often that they needed to make haste before the winter became its worst, but Reina was adamant that he heal properly before they started on their trek again. The time was spent in pleasant conversation and studying her many heavy tomes. He enjoyed this time with her. It was different and interesting. When he was finally strong enough in Reina’s opinion to continue the journey, they set out shortly after the sun rose. He was aggravated with the time lost, but Reina had insisted that they wait.

Their first night away from the protection of tree cover, they were fortunate enough to find a small cave in the mountain face that had been abandoned by its previous owner. By the contents within, he surmised that the previous owner had been a bear (most likely male from the lack of cub evidence) and had been empty for at least a season so that there was no fear of an angry owner returning to claim his bed. Reina marveled at his tracking abilities, again calling him clever, and set herself about creating a small camp as deep inside the cave as he dared allow her to venture.

“I’m going to see if I can find us some meat to cook.”

Reina’s eyes shot up from her task and looked at him full of dread. “Please, Pavel. Stay with me.”

“Don’t be silly. You are very capable of taking care of yourself while I am gone.”

“No, I –“

“Reina.” She dropped her eyes at the sound of her name. “What is bringing on this sudden burst of emotion? I am not used to it, and I’m not sure I’m enjoying it.”

“I almost lost you. I cannot do this journey by myself.” She paused before lifting her face in defiance. He could tell that she had put on a mask of bravery and arrogance. “I need your help with my things.”

He shook his head. “Neither of us will make the journey without something in our bellies. I promise I will be back before nightfall.” He could feel her eyes boring into his back while he walked out into the howling snow.

He had plenty of time to think on his new situation with Reina while sitting quietly and waiting for the rabbits to come out for their evening meal. Yes, he had followed her from the inn to learn more about this woman that had reminded him so much of his beloved mother, but the more he learned about her, the more he discovered she was far from anything like his mother. She was fiercely independent, intelligent, resourceful, and more beautiful than the world that surrounded her. He found himself falling for her more every day. This new attitude that had taken over her bothered him. She seemed scared and alone. It worried him immensely.

He watched intently the trap he had set up while he pondered and was abruptly jarred from his inner dialogue by a small hare that was coming to investigate his bait of cowberries. He had happened on a small bush not far from the cave that was bravely growing much too late in the year for the berries to be anything close to delicious, but would make the perfect bait for starving creatures. Holding his breath, he watched as the obviously young hare came closer and closer and eventually was caught by the trap that he had laid. It was too small to fill both of their bellies, but it was enough and with a supplement from their packs, they would survive another day. He was satisfied and quickly packed up to return to Reina.

She was stoking the small fire when he entered the cave. She had wisely kept it small so that the cave would not fill with smoke. She looked up at him with a smile.  He held up his prize before laying it at her feet in order to pull out his hunting knife, but the action of bending over caused his wound to run over the sharpness of his ribs. He let out a small groan and quickly grasped at his chest. Reina jumped up to assist him, but he held up his hand stopping her. “I’m fine. Please stop fawning over me like a child.”

“Pavel, please let me help you.”

“Reina, I am not a useless and injured animal.” He sat down opposite her and the fire in order to skin the animal for roasting. “I’m not sure where this new Strega has emerged from, but I don’t know that I will be able to get used to someone waiting on me like I am the grand lord of a castle.” She nodded slightly and sat back down without a word. Supper meal was quiet.

After putting out the fire so that it would not attract the wrong sort of company and making sure they were safely tucked away, Pavel motioned for Reina to join him in the pile of pelts.  “We will be warmer together.” She did so without a word and allowed him to wrap himself around her. He was almost asleep when she spoke in a whisper so small that he very nearly missed it.

“I can’t allow myself to lose another one. I will not survive it.”

He wasn’t sure she was speaking directly to him, but he answered her just the same. “You will not lose me.”

Reina let out a small sigh into his chest before speaking again, this time louder. “Can I stay with you? In the village?”

“What?”

“The village with the stables that you enjoyed.” She lifted her chin to look at his face. “Can I stay with you?”

“You are grown. Your decisions are yours to make.” 

“Buona notte.”

“Good night, my Strega.” He responded softly. “I promise to be here in the morning.”

The sharp pain in his chest is what woke him. Piercing – like a knife through him. When he was able to catch his breath, he realized, Reina was beating on him in the midst of a night terror. He sat up to save his wound from being torn open and shook her in an attempt to wake her.  It didn’t work. “Reina! REINA!” Still she cried softly and swung about in horror. She opened her eyes, but the creature that was looking at him through the silky black pools was not his Strega. “Reina? Please wake.”

In a last attempt before doing something drastic, he bent down and kissed her. Maybe the surprise of it would jar her out of her terror. It did. Her entire body stiffened and the crying stopped. He sat back up to find that her eyes were wide in confusion and surprise, but it was, indeed, an awake Reina that looked back at him. And then she slapped him.

He let go of her and grabbed his reddening jaw. She gasped and then reached for him. “Pavel, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“You were right to do that. I was out of place.”

“Why would you wake me like that?”

“You were having a night terror and I was unable to wake you any other way. My other choice was to toss you out into the snow.” He groaned as he laid back down next to her.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“You punched me.”

“Did I hurt you?” Reina sat up and gently laid her hand across the wound in his chest. He hissed from the touch. “Your wound.” She quickly lifted his shirt to inspect the damage she had done and finding nothing of note, carefully placed the linen back in its place. “It needs a bit more salve. The sun is almost up anyway, lay still and I’ll prepare us some breakfast.”

He watched her move about the small cave mixing herbs and warming water. “What were your dreams about?”

“I never remember after waking. I’ve been having them since I lost Luca.”

“Luca?”

“My husband. He was taken by dark forces shortly after we were married.”

“You’ve been having them for a long time?”

“Luca’s death is what caused me to seek out my craft. A very long time ago.”

“Why have I never noticed them before?”

“I’m told I am a quiet dreamer. Most of my companions sleep through my terrors.” She brought him over a small plate of the remainder of the hare from the previous night and a mug of cold water. He lifted the pelts so that she could join him underneath them while the cave warmed up from the relit fire. She sat down beside him and reapplied some warm salve while he ate.

The next week of the journey went smoothly considering they were on the top of a mountain during the coldest time of year. They spent as much of their day as they dared traveling and most of their time huddled together with the mules trying to stay warm. Pavel was mercifully able to find enough food to keep them going and when they finally reentered the tree line on the valley side of the mountain, they spent an extra day simply resting and deciding what to do when they reached their destination. By late afternoon on the ninth day after leaving the cave, they could see the smoke from the crumbling chimney rising above the valley below them.

Parte Terza – Reina, Pavel, and the Warlock

“Calm yourself, Knox. I am aware they have almost arrived.” The old and greying warlock bent down slowly to scratch the familiar on his head. The wolverine stopped his growling at the neighboring forest and instead started whimpering at his master.  The warlock finished his task at his small well and carefully trudged with the full bucket back to the small wooden cabin. He paused at the doorstep to allow Knox to enter into the collapsing structure before sighing deeply and following his furry companion inside.

He thought often of repairing the small building that he and Knox called home, but what was the point? The seer’s bones had told him. He would not survive the winter. His many lifetimes were drawing to a merciful end. He wondered if Knox could sense his demise drawing near for he had not left his master’s side save to find small game to sustain them. The old warlock shuffled to the fireplace with his prize and filled the small cauldron hanging inside.

“Tonight we shall dine on dried meats and broth, Knox, but tomorrow our guests will have arrived and we will surely make a fine meal of the gracious gifts from your hunt. I suspect that they will be hungry after traversing the mountain during this time of the year.”

Knox huffed in annoyance and finding no sympathy from his master, settled himself on a small rug in the corner of the single room.

The warlock spent the rest of the evening preparing for his incoming guests. He did not enjoy company, but he also was not sour enough to turn away travelers during the coldest months of the year – especially when said travelers had dared to cross his mountains.  He had fully expected multiple guests this season. They had a strange habit of turning up in droves whenever he discovered a new spell. And this last spell was something to behold. He could only assume that the incoming travelers were here to learn it. He contemplated not teaching it to anyone. After all, creating life was a dangerous thing. He ultimately decided, however, to first determine if the student was worthy of such a talent. It seemed a shame that such a difficult spell die with him so soon after its discovery. He had sacrificed so much in its research that it would all be for naught unless the knowledge was passed on.

Bright and early the next morning, the warlock rubbed his aching bones and exited the cabin with the bucket to gather more water. He looked around for Knox as he neared the well. The pesky familiar had cried all night, forcing the warlock to let him out into the valley in the wee hours of the morning with the stern warning to not bother the incoming visitors. Knox approached his master with a small rodent in his mouth.

“Knox, how clever of you. Breakfast will be much appreciated.” The warlock finished his task and scanned the tree line. “I expect we shall see them by mid-day from the looks of the smoke from their fire.” He sighed deeply. “I had really wanted to be left alone this winter, but I suppose that was not in the bones.”

The visitors arrived just as he expected – when the sun was high in the sky. He could tell immediately that only one of them practiced the arts and wondered if the other even knew what he had gotten himself into. “Witch.” He greeted them.

“Warlock.” Came the curt reply.

“Reina, please be polite. We’re trying to ask for his help.” The mortal man chided gently. The warlock grinned slightly. Apparently, he was fully aware of what was happening but was probably blissfully naive of what was to come. “Kind sir, my name is Pavel and this is my friend, Reina.”

“Friend, is it?” the warlock asked.

“Friend is all you need to know.” Reina interrupted. “We have heard you have certain abilities that we would like to utilize.”

“Utilize or learn?”

Reina looked over at Pavel who only shrugged his shoulders. “Learn if you are willing to teach, utilize if you are not.”

“Hmm.” The warlock motioned for them to enter the small cabin. “I am willing to teach those that are smart enough to learn and wise enough to practice. However, I fear I no longer have the time necessary for such an arrangement.”

Reina nodded at the Warlock before entering the small room followed closely by Pavel. The walls were lined with shelves covered in various bottles and jars. All of them contained ingredients and none of them were labeled. Pavel only recognized some of them.

“Explore at your own risk.” Was the only warning the Warlock gave. Pavel wisely chose to forgo the exploring and instead sat on the small bed in the corner.

“My name is Lucius and this is Knox.” The Warlock motioned to the wolverine that guarded his master with bared teeth.

“We met Knox this morning while he was hunting.” Reina knelt down and held out her hand to the familiar. Knox did not advance with a greeting. “He was not the most welcoming.”

“He tends to be more and more protective of me as my life drains.”

“I see.” Reina replied as she stood.

“Witch, your aura is strange. It seems to be fighting with itself. Do you practice Black Magic?”

“Gray. Black Magic is what got me in my mess to begin with. I prefer not to return to the source of my trouble.”

“Ahh. I see.” Lucius replied. “Your aura states otherwise. Your affinity is for the dark arts. You would excel at them.”

Pavel watched the exchange from his perch behind Reina. He saw the muscles in her back and neck tense at the suggestion.

“You have been practicing for a long time, Witch. Your skills are great.” It was not a question.

“I have, and I am tired. This is why we seek your help.”

“You want me to remove your immortality.”

“You are very wise, sir.” Reina replied. “Are you able?”

“I am. It has taken me fifteen lifetimes to learn. I will not be able to teach you, but I can still help if you are willing to pay the price.”

“And that price is?”

“I am in need of someone to care for my belongings after my death – Knox included. I also need someone to send my soul to my ancestors by preforming the death rituals of my people.”

“I have no problem taking control of your affairs, however, I fear for Knox’s opinion of me.”

Knox will warm to you enough after he no longer has a charge to bother himself with. Worry not about that.” Lucius motioned for Pavel to join them. “Come, Pavel – was it? We have much work to do and a strong young man will prove to be very helpful.”

The remainder of the afternoon was spent preparing for the spell and Lucius’ death rituals by Reina studying several tomes that Lucius produced and Pavel chopping wood, gathering water, skinning small game and ultimately taking Knox into the wood for another hunt while Lucius followed around barking orders at everyone. The time seemed to disappear and the sun began setting over the mountaintops far too soon for anyone’s liking.

Because the room was far too small for everyone to relax comfortably, Pavel started a fire just far enough away from the cabin so as not to endanger the rotting wood with embers. He was able to find two tiny rodents and with Knox’s previous hunting game there was enough food for everyone to fill their bellies.

“Fifteen lifetimes is a long time, Lucius. How have you fared without your family?” Pavel asked during the dinner.

“I have always preferred my own company. I was exiled from my home city during a time when practicing the arts was frowned upon. I have never looked back.”

“And what city is that?” Reina asked.

“Rome. The arts were practiced mainly by women and regarded as evil. Witches were often put to death. They were confused by my affinity and merely wanted me out of their sight. I obliged.”

Reina nodded. “Yes, I remember it.”

“Italia?”

“Yes. A long time ago, but yes.”

“And you, young Pavel?” Lucius asked.

“Sí.” Pavel answered. “Not as long ago, of course, but yes. Italia.”

“Interesting. All my life, not another brother have I met, and on this day – two at once.” Lucius sighed and shook his head almost in disappointment. “It surely is a sign.”

“Of good things, I hope?” Pavel smiled.

“Signs are never good in my experience,” Lucius answered. “and hope is for the young. Hold on to it while you are still able.”

The three chatted absently regarding nothing in particular for the remainder of the meal and as they sat watching the fire die down, Lucius spoke again. “What exactly are you attempting to achieve by this visit to my humble valley?”

“I have traded fertility for immortality and I wish to correct that mistake.”

“It is a dangerous path you tread. I fear you shall not be fond of the outcome.”

“It is a risk I am willing to make.”

“If you think that is the risk you are taking, you are mistaken. The risk you should be thinking of lies in the sacrifice you must make. Life is not free and the only price is itself.”

“I don’t understand, Lucius.” Pavel interjected. “How can something cost itself?”

“Many men have claimed it so, but life cannot be created - only taken from another life. Even in the process of childbirth, the child has pieces of both the mother and the father that it has stolen in order for it to be.”

“I am giving my own immortal life so that I may create another in my womb.” Reina said.

“The life that you have lived many times over already?” Lucius shook his head firmly. “Tsk, tsk, Witch. Your life is used up. It will take a much younger life than you or I own.”

Reina stared open-eyed. She knew what life was needed, but she didn’t want to believe it or say it out loud.

“Mine.” The answer from Pavel was small and quiet.

“No! There must be another way. I have only just found him.”

“I was mistaken.” Lucius stood. The dimming firelight made him look taller, scarier to the seated guests. His eyes began to glow and his hunched back straightened. “I thought you wiser than this, Reina, but you are a fool indeed. You will not be welcome to my services after all.”

Lucius turned to leave and Knox rose to follow him. Pavel stood to call out to him. “Wait! Gracious sir!”

Lucius stopped walking towards the cabin but did not turn around. “What if I freely give of my life for her?”

“Pavel, no!” Reina stood and reached for Pavel.

“I am willing and I freely give, Lucius. Please.”

“We begin at dawn.” Lucius resumed his short walk to the door of his home. “There is a small stable around back where you and your mules will be warm. Water my mare while you are in there, and get sleep. You will need it.”

After closing the door behind himself and Knox, Lucius let out a great sigh and relaxed his body causing it to slump to the ground. Knox whimpered and nuzzled his master gently. “I am fine, Knox. Just tired. Very tired.” He knew now how he was to die. He would have just enough energy to perform the spell-casting in the morning. Nothing more. “Veronika, bless me. I will be coming to you on the morrow.”

He stayed on the floor in front of the warm fire for a few moments building the strength to walk to the small bed. There were no more preparations left. All of his ingredients had been gathered and stacked in a basket by the door. He only needed rest. As much as he could get. Maybe he would stay here and sleep next to Knox. He would enjoy that.

He and Knox fell asleep to the sounds of crying, pleading and ultimately yelling coming from the stable.

Knox stirred in his arms inside the small pile they had created from their bodies. It woke the warlock from his sleep. He listened carefully but did not hear any noise from the stable. Maybe they had graciously left in the night. One could hope. He could tell it was just before dawn from the slivers of soft light coming in from the window. “Just in time, Knox. Thank you. What a wonderful rooster you would have made.”

Knox huffed. The warlock slowly eased his aching limbs into action and allowed Knox out of the door and into the biting cold to hunt for breakfast. “Nothing for me, my friend. I shall not be eating on this day.” He saw from his doorstep the young Pavel building the dead fire from the night before.

“I thought you would have left.”

Pavel looked up at him. “You will need a hot fire, yes? As hot as I can get it.”

“You are very smart. I will indeed, thank you.”

“Give me a few moments and I will be in to fetch the ingredients that you collected from your walls yesterday.”

“Where is your friend?”

“She is still in the stable.”

“Sleeping?”

“No sleep was had by any living creature in that building last night, despite your hospitality.”

“My mare is deaf. You still kept her awake?”

Pavel smiled slightly at the statement. “She is very intelligent. We could not tell she had the disability.”

After Pavel had collected the basket of jars, Lucius followed him outside to find Reina warming herself by the fire.

“Where is Knox?” she asked.

“Hunting still, I believe. Better that he is not here. Once I begin, he will keep his distance. He has been singed one too many times, I’m afraid.”

Pavel set the basket down near the fire. “Anything else that you will need?”

“There is a large cauldron in the stable. Use the cart just outside to bring it here.”

After Pavel left, Lucius turned to Reina. “You will need to make an altar. The stones necessary are under that tree over there.” He pointed toward an evergreen with a small pile of granite underneath. “They are not very heavy, but be careful nonetheless.”

By the time the sun began to peek over the mountaintops, they were ready. The cauldron sat atop the fire and the water inside was bubbling. The altar, while slightly wobbly, was sturdy enough for its purpose and was placed only a few feet from the fire. “Are you prepared, Witch?”

“I am.”

“Reina, remember your promise.” Pavel warned.

Reina looked up at him but said nothing.

“Repeat it back to me.” Pavel continued. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I cannot.”

“Witch,” Lucius interrupted the conversation that he feared would quickly turn into something else. “I know not what you are planning, but I can make a wise assumption. I do not recommend your course of action. It will not end well for anyone.”

“Who will stop me, Warlock? You?”

“I will be quite unable to stop anyone from doing anything, but heed well my warning.”

Reina did not reply.

Lucius frowned but motioned for Pavel to climb atop the altar.  Pavel did so and laid face up but turned his head toward Reina who ran to be at his side. “Please, Pavel. It’s not too late. I would prefer to find another way.”

“There is none, my love. It must be this way.”

“Lucius,” Reina turned to the warlock who was adding various herbs and liquids to the bubbling water. “Surely there is another life we could take in his stead. A mule, perhaps?”

Lucius stopped working and laughed at Reina’s question. “You are more than a fool, Witch. You are truly a wonderment of idiocy. Human life requires human life and a life so dear as a child requires an equally dear life. It must be him. Say your goodbyes.” He returned to his task without any sign of remorse or empathy for Reina.

Reina sobbed quietly into Pavel’s chest while he held her and whispered into her ear. What he said did not concern Lucius. The warlock was not curious in the least and ignored them while he finished his preparation in the bubbling cauldron.

After chanting low enough to not disturb the mourning witch, the liquid inside the cauldron turned a fiery red color and stopped bubbling despite remaining on the heat. Lucius turned and walked over to the alter before raising his hands in the air. “Almighty Mercury, welcome us to your fellowship. Guide us to our new residence with the Great Dis Pater. We ask blessings from Veronika and Diana that our endeavor may be successful.”

“Who is ‘us’, Lucius?” Pavel asked. “It will not just be me?”

“My boy, I fear I will be following close behind.” Lucius lowered his arms and laid his hands on Pavel’s arm.

“I shall be glad for the good company, my friend.” Pavel smiled weakly. “Together we shall overtake the Underworld.”

Lucius smiled warmly. He was well aware that Pavel did not believe in the Old Gods, but his willingness to acknowledge them based on another’s beliefs only proved that his caring soul would be perfect for the unfortunate sacrifice. He pulled out an ornate dagger from deep within his robes and handed it to Reina.  The large wooden hilt was delicately carved with the necessary symbols for blood sacrifices and the curved blade had been carefully shined and dipped in an anesthetic so as to make it slightly less painful for the victim of its point.

Reina took it hesitantly. “I have to do it?”

“I am not the one that wants the life. You vex me greatly, Witch. Enough with your inane questions.” Lucius stepped back from the altar to allow Reina room. “Pierce his heart. It will be quicker.”

Lucius began chanting over the still liquid in the burning hot cauldron. He watched as Reina leaned over to tenderly kiss Pavel.

“Please, Pavel. Reconsider. We can find another way. Senza di te la vita non ha più senso (Without you, life has no meaning).”

“What I give to you will be greater than my life or yours. My sacrifice is nothing compared to a new life.” He carefully wiped her tears with the pad of his thumb. “If I can give you nothing else than this, my life has served its purpose. I want you to do this.”

Reina nodded and then whispered, “I’m sorry, amore mio. I’m sorry.” She raised the dagger high above Pavel’s chest while he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Within seconds, the blade had found its target and Pavel exhaled for the last time.

Lucius continued his chanting while he held a small clay pot underneath the altar to collect the life blood of poor Pavel. Reina watched while tears streamed down her cheeks.  Lucius took the vessel of his last ingredient and carefully poured it into the red liquid. Never stopping his chanting, he handed the empty vessel to Reina who dropped the dagger in the dirt and started sobbing. She leaned back over Pavel and wept.

Lucius watched as the red liquid started bubbling again and shifted colors to the most vibrant green. Billowing smoke tinted the same green color formed pillars above the fire and rose to the sky. “Death becomes life. Old become young. You must drink, Reina.”

Reina took the clay vessel and dipped it into the bubbling green liquid. Lucius’ chants became louder, his voice deeper, his black aura became visible around him and he raised his hands and face towards the sky. Louder and louder he became while Reina drank deeply. Suddenly everything stopped. The entire valley was still. Reina felt a strange sensation wash over her. Suddenly she very tired. More tired than she had ever been before. Her arms and legs felt as if they weighed far too much and she looked over at Lucius just in time to see him collapse on the ground near the fire. She took a single step towards him before everything went black.

Parte Quarta – Reina

Reina’s eyes fluttered open. It took far too long for her to realize where she was and remember what had happened. The fire under the cauldron had gone out and Knox had reappeared to search for his master. His crying at the loss of his closest friend was the only sound that filled the valley. Reina looked up at the sky. The sun was high.

“No!” She sat up quickly. “It’s been too long!” She attempted to stand, but every joint ached and her eyelids wanted to shut again. She forced her body into action. “Pavel!” she cried as she rushed to the altar. He lay unmoving and pale – drained of all life. “I should have already cast this.” Reina mumbled to herself. “Veronika be with me, this needs to work.”

She started chanting as she pulled a small vial from the bodice of her dress. Carefully, she poured the liquid into Pavel’s mouth drop by precious drop. It took far too long to get the entire contents into his barely parted lips, but Reina was determined to not lose any of it. She had not made a second vial. This was her only chance. Her spell recited, she waited patiently with baited breath. “Torna da me, Pavel (Come back to me).”

There was no response and Reina began to cry. She bent over and kissed Pavel’s cold lips carefully. When she lifted her face and opened her eyes, Pavel’s jaw stretched and his eyes opened and began to dart back and forth. Reina gasped. “Pavel?” She stepped back away from the altar and Pavel sat up. She watched in amazement for a moment before she realized there was something wrong. He was still far too pale and his eyes were glassed over. He seemed to be looking everywhere and nowhere, but beyond that, he was still not drawing breath. She watched as he climbed down from the altar and fixed his gaze on her.

He stumbled slightly on his first few steps and she ran to help steady him. Her final mistake. Pavel let out a deep growl and began to tear at her dress and hair. In her final moment, Reina realized far too late that this creature before her was not Pavel. It was not controllable. It was not friendly. She had dabbled in an art form in which she had no training and placed far too much trust in an ability that she did not possess. She had played with life and death and she had lost. Everything.

[supersaiyanjedi14]

SABEZRA WEEK: Day 3 (Nov 16): Kiss

*My AU: Near-death experiences are nothing new, but this latest one was too close for comfort for the young Jedi and Mandalorian.  As they say, when on Naboo…*

-events are a mix of Season 3 finale “Zero Hour” and issues 50-55 of the Marvel comic run, the “Hope Dies” arc-

 The Mako-Ta shipdocks burned.  The Imperial ambush had been as devastating as one could ever hope for, pieces of the destroyed ships floating lifelessly around in space.  Well over half of the fleet the Alliance had worked so hard to build was reduced to shrapnel, along with who knows how many lives.  The only reason the devastation was not worse was thanks to the quick thinking and daring acts of the Rebellion’s young heroes, getting the vital transmission codes to the ships still serviceable so they could escape and fending off what they could of the Imperial onslaught.  The reinforcements from Clan Wren of Krownest had certainly helped with the former, straffing the Star Destroyers and recovering the troops that had infiltrated the flagship.  The day was a disaster, but the actions of the Rebels and their allies made sure there was something salvageable.

Provided they all made it out in one piece.

“Come on, come on!” Sabine bellowed towards Ezra.  The plan had been to set the charges right at the door to the hanger and detonate right after takeoff, damaging the controls and depressurizing the hanger.  But that was being hampered by the amount of stormtroopers Ezra was still fending off.  For every step he took towards the hovering Gauntlet fighter, he had to stop to bat back six or seven blaster bolts, evade three more, and return a couple of his own if he was lucky.  They were losing valuable time the longer they stayed here, and Ezra of all people knew this.  He could at least take heart in that Rex, Zare and the rest of the commando team were safely aboard already.  Sabine was helping where she could by picking off stormtroopers, but there were just too many to get this done in a timely fashion.

Ezra’s mind raced.  He was sure the DL-17 in his left hand would overheat and blow any second, and the emerald blade of his lightsaber could only do so much at this distance.  He resolved to try his trump card, the option he had refrained from using until now for fear of disrupting the bombs.  Now, however, they were short on options.

“Sabine!” he called back, “I’m going to try something.  Once I do, trigger the charges!”

“What?” Sabine shouted over the blaster fire.  “What are you-?”

“Just do it!”

Ezra wasn’t sure what expression was behind her helmet at the moment, but its bobbing told him she understood.  Turning his attention back to the horde of white armored assailants, he called upon the Force.  Power gathered in his body, flowed through his arms and into his hands.  Even with his fingers clenched around his weapons, he was able to give this power shape, and with an exertion of his will, he unleashed it.

The Force crashed over the stormtroopers like a tidal wave.  Men, weapons, and anything in the hanger not bolted down went flying.  Most were lucky enough to go through the door and skid across their rears, but others were less fortunate, smashing into the walls or getting crushed under debris.  The blast was impressive, but it was only the preview.  As soon as the wave left his hands, Ezra whipped around and shouted towards the colorful Mandalorian.  “NOW!”

Her finger hit the button on her vambrace a split second before his feet left the ground.  A flash of light erupted behind him as he lept towards the ramp.  As he landed in front of her, an ear-splitting boom filled the air and an unseen force threw them both into the hold of the ship.

Then everything went black.

…

“zra?...Ezra?”  the voice was pitched, full of worry.  As the ringing in his ears subsided and his vision began to un-blur, he saw her face.  Sabine had discarded her helmet, those solid brown eyes flanked by her bright pink hair.  Her features were as familiar as ever yet crossed with concern and, dare he say it, fear.  With feeling returning to him, he felt her lightly shaking him in addition to the light throbbing on the back of his head.

“Ezra!” she called again, “come on, say something!” He let out a groan and began to push himself into a seated position, catching a sharp sigh of relief from her as he did so.  Rubbing his head, Ezra looked up at last, blue eyes meeting brown and just lingering there for a moment.

After an awkward silence between the two, Ezra let out a small grin and a light chuckle.  “So,” he asked, “how was your landing?”

Sabine’s face twisted into about a dozen expressions at once.  Scared, confused, amused, angry, all morphing from one to another as she tried to say something.  All that came out were choked up bits of “I…you wer…I thought…you…it nearl…you…you little…you…You!”

Ezra was about to throw in another snarky reply when he got a closer look at her face.  Her eyes were beginning to water, her lips were trembling, and her gloved hands shook like he had never seen before.

“Sabine, are you all-“

Ezra didn’t have the chance to finish speaking.  As suddenly as the explosion, Sabine had lunged forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, and virtually slammed her still quivering lips onto his own.

Ezra’s eyes went so wide they would have dwarfed the Death Star.  His brain went lightspeed as he tried to comprehend what was happening.  Sabine was…kissing him?  The very thought, to say nothing of the act, was causing blood to rush to his face.  Even as he regained his senses, part of him hoped they would remain distant.  She was kissing him.  Even if the pressure of their locked lips hadn’t been there, he could pick up on the grip of her arms around him, the smell of sweat, ash, and the faintest remnant of hair dye, and the wetness trickling down both their faces as tears leaked from her sealed eyes.  The combined sensations were unexpected and alien, yet coming from Sabine, they were also tantalizing.  Just as quickly as his brain had regained its composure, he released it once more, melting into the kiss and wrapping his own hands around her waist.

No sooner had he done this than Sabine broke away.  With the haze slowly lifting, Ezra once again took in her face.  Tears were dripping from her eyes, her breathing was fast and hard, yet her mouth was an unmistakable smile.  “You little Loth-rat,” she wheezed, her voice barely composed.  “Never…ever scare me like that again!”

After a few seconds, Ezra found his voice, no small feat given how short his own breathing was.  “I think we both know I can’t promise that.”  Then he smiled himself- not his usual sarcastic smirk, but a genuinely warm, somewhat flustered but still comforting expression worthy of the girl who was now far more than his best friend.  “But I think,” he moved one of his hands to her moist cheek, “I can still do my best.”

“Deal.” Sabine choked out, assuming a more relaxed embrace than the death grip they had just had themselves in.

“Sabine, we just entered hyperspa- oh.”

“Ezra!  Ezra, are you o-?”

A new voice snapped the two back to the present.  Turning towards the hatch, they saw two men in the doorframe, one with a beard wearing a simple green tunic and the other clean-shaven in yellow and gray beskargam.  The two had clearly been intending on checking on them, but their surprised and embarrassed faces indicated their abrupt stop.  After getting a better look at their position, Sabine basically laying atop Ezra on the floor with their arms wrapped around each other, the two felt their faces start burning.

“Well, well,” said Tristan, his mouth curling up slightly, “what have we here?”

“Nothing!” Sabine said shrilly, backing away and glaring at her brother.  “It’s nothing!  I was just…Ezra, he…I just wanted to make sure he was… we weren’t- mph!”

Sabine’s rambling was cut off by Ezra closing the distance again, taking her face in his hand, and reuniting their lips.  Though his eyes were closed, Ezra was sure Sabine’s were just as wide as his had been.  This kiss was much briefer, with Ezra breaking it and turning to a slightly embarrassed Kanan and Tristan.

“It’s alright, Kanan,” Ezra smiled up to his old master.  “We’re fine.  We all are.”

Kanan regained his composure with a soft smile of his own.  “That’s good to hear.  We’ll be up in the cockpit when you’re ready.”  With that, he grabbed a flustered Tristan by the shoulder and pulled him away.  Once the two had left, Sabine blinked a few times before wheeling on Ezra.

“What the kriff was that?!”

“Hey,” Ezra raised his hands in mock surrender, “you surprised me with the first one.  Now we’re even.”

Sabine opened her mouth to argue, but clearly decided against it.  Indignant glower transitioned into the same soft smile she had been wearing just before they were interrupted.  “Well then,” she said as she pulled Ezra closer to her again, “what do you say we keep it even for a while?”

Ezra’s response was to place one hand on her waist, brush a strand of pink pang out of her face with the other, cup her cheek, and stare deeply into those brown eyes he could now only describe as beautiful.

“Works for me.”

This time, the kiss was shared, deliberate, and so deep and full of love that a million supernovas could not have pulled them away from each other.

[1004sface]

TV Guide 1997.01.23 - 'Solving the H.O.T. Syndrome' (pt. 1)

Scans credit: hot.dataclub.net (but the opening section is missing!) · part 2, part 3

[Measuring their popularity]

1,000 fan letters in a day

Companies scrambling to cast them in commercials

The 5-member boy group H.O.T., who after "Warrior's Descendants" are furthering their popularity with "Candy", are gaining 5 times the popularity of a solo artist with their individual characters, good looks, and exceptional talents.

In a single day, over 1,000 fan letters rush to their company's office. They're the sole group where posts related to them gather explosive amounts views on PC communication networks like HiTEL, Chollian, and Nownuri. They've dominated the net to the point where finding posts about other celebrities is near-impossible. Not only is their every move both on-stage and off shared, but rumors and guesses about the group are prevalent too. A fanclub on PC communication fanclub "Oh Bang Jang Gun" meticulously provides news about H.O.T. and also serves the role of leading public opinion.

There were a few instances where Seo Taiji and Boys released new music after eight to nine months of silence and livened up PC communication, but H.O.T. are the first singers since them to integrate themselves into the public view. H.O.T. are also setting audience attendance records for public live broadcasts and events. Not just in Seoul, but also in other districts are H.O.T. gathering audiences ranging from 500 to over 1,000 people, even though they lack an official fanclub. During the MBC Starry Night public broadcasts last December that toured Korea's major cities, H.O.T.'s popularity was unrivaled. Particularly at the Daegu stop, H.O.T. fans flocking in roves waiting for the group's appearance led to two deaths and a number of injuries. Upon hearing the news, H.O.T. had to cancel the performance and hurry back to Seoul.

Damin Planning is the company in charge of H.O.T's portrait rights. The company says that "H.O.T. postcards and posters are so short on supply we can't sell enough of them." Companies that focus on celebrity portrait rights like Wi Productions, Star Focus, and Pudaim are operating in large numbers domestically. These companies produce merchandise targeted towards primary and middle schoolers like postcards and posters, and according to them H.O.T.-related products sell three to four times as much as the few top class solo singers. 

In the commercial industry, advertisers are picking H.O.T. as their "number 1 target." Offers are piling up from over 20-30 companies, and the group have already received down payments of $150 to $250 million won from companies they've signed with. Their appearance fees have been reaching the sky.

"Candy" is dominating the charts of the big 3 TV stations' music programs, and it's the same on music-focused cable channels like KMTV, M.net, and Downtown. It doesn't seem like there's anything in the music industry that can stop H.O.T.'s rise.

[Dance & Music]

Comical motions, "double hammer dance" fever

A sweet, melodic change to their singing style

The boys of H.O.T. have reigned the streets as famous dancers since high school—it's no wonder their choreography is nothing short of extravagant. The members have 5 at least to 9 years of experience at most, and they favor hip hop dance the most.

Right after their debut, H.O.T. offered a stunning performance in the form of "Warrior's Descendants", whose choreography contains 3-4 high level techniques. A hip-hop based group dance with many twisting movements, the main point then was the "fan dance." The five members would dance using isolating motions, then suddenly fall down and spin on their knees. Next was Jang Woohyuk's "eagle dance", a type of electric boogie (in which one follows the beat with slow movements). The movement, like the spread out wings of an eagle, conveys a tremendous strength.

In the follow-up track, "Candy", Moon Heejun presented the "power racer", while Jang Woohyuk presented the "hammer dance"—the key point is the "double hammer dance", which Heejun and Woohyuk perform together. A creative "needle dance" (imitating the motion of being shot by a needle) also shows up here and then. The comical hammer-hit movements that seem to recoil to the person next to them, which match the song's cute mood, have also been key factors in H.O.T.'s rise to popularity. Back in "Warrior's Descendants", H.O.T hit our ears with a unique assortment of raps—Tony's nasally English rap, Kangta's so called "Jeong Joo-young style" twangy rap, and Jang Woohyuk's rock-style shouting built variety and tension. But unlike "Warrior's Descendants", which stood out for its intensity, "Candy" puts softness above everything else. As Kangta and Moon Heejun lead vocally, all of the members contribute to the vocals and rapping, building a solid harmony.

[Fashion]

A flashy, candy-colored pastel style

Mittens and overalls trending big

The promotions of "Warrior's Descendants" had all 5 members wear the same hip hop-inspired, black-colored street fashion. But with "Candy", the group's made a change by using colorful palettes.

This "candy fashion" has recently gotten popular with the young generation, and is the newest fashion item selling like hotcakes.

When a star is born, it's natural for their hairstyle, fashion, and every little move to start a trend. Moon Heejun's sun cap and the mittens and overalls H.O.T. wear have boomed in popularity, thus creating the name "candy fashion" or "H.O.T. fashion."

Like the name implies, "candy fashion" puts candy colors, i.e. bright and cute pastels like pink, orange, and chartreuse on artificial mink to give a soft, comforting feel. The jumpers worn by the group are mostly popular with girls, probably on account of their colorful hues. But individual items like Moon Heejun's sun cap, Jang Woohyuk's bucket hat, Kangta's bag, as well as all five members' oversized mittens, are in with teens regardless of gender.

H.O.T.'s fashion items can be seen from shops in Shinchon, Dongsung-dong, and Myeong-dong, all the way to handcarts, with names like "the Jang Woohyuk hat" or "the Moon Heejun hat". "The doll-shaped claw pins on Jang Woo-hyuk's hat aren't being sold just on hats, but also as stand-alone hair pins," says a shopkeeper in Sinchon, explaining the H.O.T. boom in street fashion, "and hairbands imitating the duck shape on Moon Heejun's sun cap are also popular."

These items differ in price depending on the area and shop, but their cheap costs, ranging from ₩3,000 to ₩15,000 won, make them more tempting for youths to buy. It's also a trend amongst schoolgirls to tie their with colorful rubber bands, imitating Lee Jaewon's babyish and slightly dowdy hairstyle, and the color painting on all 5 members' faces is seeing explosive popularity in ski resorts.  clothing, items, and style are trending en masse, giving a brilliant color to the previously grey winter streets.

Stylist Go Kyeong-min speaks about H.O.T

Every member has a clear-cut image

They can pull off any style of clothing

H.O.T.'s biggest strength is their members' fair, bright skin. Accordingly, they look good no matter what color they wear, from dark blacks to brilliant primary shades. The members aren't all the most handsome faces, but their baby faces and distinct images make them able to pull off even the most unconventional styles. Lee Jaewon's "fountain hair" or Moon Heejun's sun-cap, for instance, may look old-fashioned, but it accentuates their cuteness and gives them each a strong impression. Kangta wasn't given any special accents due to his clean-cut, manhwa character-like image, but that serves to differentiate him from the other members.

Their unique, individual impressions and styles that allow them to try experimental fashions make me say as a stylist that they're the perfect models.

[Their debut process]

Members scouted through newspaper and magazine ads

1 year of "free housing" while practicing choreography

H.O.T. are the idol stars of the future, born from the thorough, perfectionist calculation of their production team. The music industry, too, has now reached the stage where commercial strategies need to be planned through precise market research. One can see H.O.T. as a "character product" created with that marketability in mind. Jeong Haeik, SM Entertainment's head manager, formed a dance group in snatches of time while managing the R&B singer Yoo Youngjin.

"I planned it to be a five member group from the start. There were already many duos and trios in the music scene. I did think of making a quartet, but thinking about the group's on-stage appearance, I figured a five member ensemble would look the most cool and balanced."

Jeong started by printing recruitment ads in newspapers and magazines. The first members he scouted were Moon Heejun and Kangta. It's said that the two most popular of H.O.T. immediately caught Jung's interest. The next member to be chosen was Jang Woohyuk, who won over 700 people to become the 3rd H.O.T. member.

Feeling the need to add a member who can rap in English, Jeong printed an ad in a Korean-American magazine in LA. The two people who passed by sending in their pictures and documents were Tony Ahn and Lee Sunho. Lee Sunho was a middle school senior at the time, and his parents refused to let him join the group, so he quit and only Tony was added. Lastly, Lee Jaewon's scouting completed the framework for H.O.T. Tony, who lived in America, trained by watching videos he was mailed of the other members dancing, and in June he came to Seoul, officialy becoming a member.

The only members without living places in Seoul were the Korean-American Tony and the Gumi resident Jang Woohyuk. Jeong Haeik accommodated the two with meals and lodging in a boarding in Bangbae-dong. Ever since then, Jeong Haeik has done Woohyuk and Tony's laundry and made their food.

H.O.T.'s first TV appearance was through Saturday Night Music Show, broadcast on September 7 last year. But their real TV debut was on KBS 2's Super Sunday, which broadcast on the 8th but was recorded two days prior. When the MCs of that show asked the group to introduce themselves to the audience, H.O.T. responded with "please let us grow." These words promptly became a hot topic, and they've come to signal the H.O.T. craze.

[intcritus]

Best experiments to date?

I hate to say this, but recreating a serum from Salem's feathers. You see, he had stumbled upon Salem before his current rebirth, not because they were friends, but because Draco is infinitly curious about everything. And Salem had always been rather closed off and downright rude to him ( Salem could smell scientist on the fucker and it never boded well for their kind ) So short of drugging, kidnapping and strapping the phoenix to the table and quite literally ripping out Salem's feathers, he experimented on the phoenix, for almost 4 months. And one thing someone has to understand is, ripping out those feathers is like slowly flaying the skin with a rusted knife, it's the way Salem feels it, the pain is agonizing enough that it forced them to pass out, to send them near death too many times to count.

Draco doesn't see himself as cruel since everything is in the name of science, he knows he probably took it too far, but the end result was successul, somewhat. He used to be a very heavy smoker, so there's clogged aortas and his lungs and heart were failing him. Capturing and experimenting on Salem was a means to an end. Eventually, he decided to take the serum created ( he was only able to extract a small amount since every other attempt was unsuccessful ) and he took it. Unfortunately, or fortunately whichever way you'd see it, Elliot had tracked Draco down when the scientist chose to let Salem go. The Phoenix was near death, bleeding, pale, and pissed. Elliot didn't need to hear a distress call to find him because they're mentally linked like twins.

Needless to say, once Draco attempted to let Salem go after coming above ground, Elliot took his fucking head off. And like I was saying, after Elliot rescued his bestfriend and attempted to nurse them back to health, Draco unfortuntely ( or fortunately for himself ) had ressurected. Oh, he was joyous ! Experiment completely successful, the flaw in his plan though ? The clogged aorta, CAD, none of that stuff actually healed or went away. He still suffered from those, no matter how many times he ressurected intentionally. So he suffers, but he still finds it to be one of his best tests yet.

The second best would have to be using rudimentary morse code to communicate with insects and small animals alike to do the most mundane things, even if it's simple telling them to respond in any way they can. He's very proud of this because he finds that insects are intelligent creatures with a personality all their own, and they just need the patience and care to communicate properly. He likes knowing there's a way to communicate, since they can tap out morose code with a beat of their wings, their chittering, or whatever they chose to use. It's fascinating to him.

[rybsteinmedical]

Signs Of Heart Disease That Should Never Be Ignored

Your heart is a hard-working organ that beats more than 100,000 times a day. Irregular functioning of this pumping organ can lead to serious heart disease. In the U.S., it’s one of the leading causes of death. Hence, it’s important to take good care of your heart. If you experience these signs, never ignore them! Instead of leaving them unattended, see a cardiologist in New York to get the required treatment.

This article describes the eight reasons that indicate the need to see a heart specialist near your place.

Chest Pain -

This sign is often mistakenly considered the symptom of heartburn. Though there could be many causes of chest pain, chest pressure worsening with any physical activity is a serious sign of heart problems. The pressure in your chest increases due to the failure of the heart to get sufficient blood. A cardiologist can help diagnose the issue, know the cause, and make the right treatment plan. 

Sometimes, chest pain can occur as a sign of a heart attack. If this is the case, it could lead to an emergency. If you or someone experience this sign, don’t hesitate to visit a cardiologist or your internal medicine doctor in Brooklyn, NY. 

High Blood Pressure -

Did you know that blood pressure is the blood’s force that pushes against the walls of the artery? If this pressure increases, it can lead the pumping organ to work harder. It can enhance the risk of heart attack and stroke. 

In addition to increased blood pressure, you can experience other signs such as palpitations, shortness of breath, or dizziness. A cardiologist in New York can determine if these signs result from any heart condition. These symptoms most commonly indicate a person suffering from coronary artery disease (CAD) or abnormal heart rhythm.

Diabetes -

High blood sugar levels are often linked to cardiovascular disease. If you have diabetes, it can affect the functioning of your blood vessels. In addition, it can also increase your risk of developing CAD.

A cardiologist in New York can work with your primary care doctor to help you determine what could be the best possible treatment available for you! In addition, he can plan some prevention strategies that can help reduce your risk of getting any other serious heart conditions.

Smoking -

Smoking is a risk factor for heart and other health conditions that can be preventable. It can lead to high blood pressure and even increase the risk of cancer. Hence, it’s advisable to quit or limit it to the minimum. Doing so can reduce your risk of developing heart disease due to smoking!

High Cholesterol -

Cholesterol is found in many food items. It’s a fatty substance that is present in your liver too. A healthy amount of this substance will not harm your body. But if it is found in high levels, it can lead to plaque formation in your arteries. 

You might be wondering what could be the best way to reduce your cholesterol level. If this is the case, you can consider eating a healthy diet. In addition, you can see your doctor.

An internal medicine doctor in Brooklyn can prescribe medications depending on your condition. Consuming them at the recommended time for a suggested period can help you treat your high cholesterol level. Moreover, managing your cholesterol level can help you reduce your risk of getting a heart attack.

Chronic Kidney Disease -

If your kidneys fail to function properly as they used to, your risk of developing heart disease also increases. Kidney disease is directly related to high blood pressure. So, if you have kidney disease, you can consult a cardiologist and learn how to reduce your blood pressure risk and save yourself from experiencing any severe heart condition.

Family History Of Heart Disease -

Some types of heart problems can be genetic. In case you have a relative who had or has heart disease, you might also be at risk of developing this problem. So, it’s recommended to see a cardiologist and keep your heart health in check. He may even suggest you get some tests done or advise preventative strategies.

Physically Inactive -

If you are an inactive person, you may be at risk of developing not only a heart condition but some other health problems also. It’s best to exercise regularly. Exercising can help you stay fit and healthy. It is known to play a significant role in preventing heart conditions and supporting the treatment of heart disease. But if you are a beginner with any health issues, you can consult your doctor before exercising. 

PAD (Peripheral Arterial Disease) - 

Arteries are the blood vessels whose role is to deliver oxygen-rich blood to different body parts. If you have an issue in arteries, you are more likely to suffer from coronary artery disease also. A cardiologist in New York can tell you whether it is required to go for testing or not. In addition, he can discuss the necessary treatment options with you.

[baglove]

(via cat lovers Mask by mohammed elhachimi)

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[alexwreakinghavoc]

From You, The Flowers Grow

Losing someone, a person you have loved so deeply, is painful. No. I feel like that word is not enough, no. Losing someone is like losing a part of yourself. It is the urge to tell them how your day went but they are not there to listen. It is looking for advice and they could not offer anything anymore. It is looking in their house and finding it empty. It is petting their dogs and knowing that they don’t understand how their beloved owner is gone. It is reminiscing all the good times with them and realizing you can’t make any memories ever again. It is going home, his ashes on a table with his prized possessions, not giving us a last glance at his face because they burned him. It is looking at his children and all that he left behind. It is reading his name, etched on a tombstone surrounded by flowers.

Growing up, I prided myself on being my grandfather’s favorite. I am his second child’s second child. I have many cousins but for some reason, I am always confident that I’m his favorite (or maybe I’m just delusional), I just know it. He wasn’t like those hard-ass grandfathers who were stern and doesn’t really laugh like how my friends describe their grandfathers. No, my Papa was a jokester (though his jokes don't land too often, especially with my dad). He minds his business and only butts in when necessary. He likes his job a lot. He's been a jeepney driver before I was even born for 37 years, until the day he died.  

During the pandemic, I missed him like usual. We were separated for so long (he lives in GMA, we live in Carmona), that I feel like it didn’t make a difference. Of course there is that fear that he will catch the virus, especially since he’s in his 70s. An article I read written by Professor Vally in 2020 said that the elderly are more susceptible to diseases because in their old age, their immune system weakens. But with blind hope, I’ve always believed that he won’t catch it. In all the years we lived with him, he never got sick, so I thought ‘this wouldn't be any different’. But seeing the deaths on TV, hearing the lived experience of other people, it made me anxious

When the pandemic gradually subsided just for a small amount of time, , instead of an ECQ (enhanced community quarantine), it was loosened to a simple quarantine only. There were no more guards in the checkpoints so we were able to visit our family in GMA. I should have known something was wrong when Papa said he wouldn’t be able to join us when we had lunch. Said he was coming down with a cough. We were worried but he said it was nothing. I went down to his house to talk to him for a while. I didn’t know that that was the last time I’ll ever be able to talk to him. His last words to me were “Buti na lang binisita mo ako ngayon”.

His symptoms got worse. It wasn’t just a cough. My parents rushed to go to him when my uncle said he was asking for my mom. Hospitals near his house wouldn’t accept him. My parents kept calling and the only hospital to accept was the University of Perpetual. But as soon as they were in the emergency driveway, my grandfather wasn’t breathing in the car. My mom, and my uncle couldn’t move. My father (who always said Papa made fun of him often) was the one who carried him inside the hospital. But it was too late. It was late at night when we found out. We were in our room, supposed to be sleeping. My mom called my ate and she didn’t tell me; but I knew. She cried so hard that I just knew. I passed out from crying.

He was cremated. During that time, the authorities required everyone who died from the virus to be cremated. We never got Papa’s result; whether he was infected or not. But they had him cremated. It was too fast for me. He lived long enough for us to remember and love him; but too short that he won’t ever see our success, our achievements. He won’t be in our future. In our lives. All those spiritual sayings that ‘he will always be here’, ‘he is looking after us from above’ are crap. I know that he’s gone; that he will stay gone. Sure, he will forever be in our hearts. But his presence, his very being won’t be.

It was a tough time for us. He died on April 29, cremated on April 30, the wake was prepared on May 1, and dad left us on May 2. Just as we lost our grandfather, our father left to go abroad for work. It was hard. Although not permanently, I also lost my father just when I needed him; but we needed the money more. So he left. And we were left grieving for two. If it was tough on me, it was tougher on my mom. She lost her father and her husband (temporarily, but at that time, it was a loss). We went to the wake, and there he was. It was ironic. Such a somber atmosphere, the jar of his ashes surrounded by the brightest flowers I’ve ever seen.

I didn’t cry at the wake. I didn’t cry at the burial. I didn’t know what I felt during that time. Maybe sad, maybe empty. I never knew. Did I even feel something? Sure, I’m not an emotional person, but not crying at his wake and burial? Maybe something is wrong with me. I guess the random crying every time I remember him makes up for it. My cousins, I would say, aren't as close with Papa as we were. They tried hard to cheer us up, even went home with us to keep us from being lonely despite their home being far away. I had school at that time and I just abandoned it for a week. My mom tried to be strong, I could see it. And it was a support me and my siblings needed.

I wonder, after all that happened; after my mind cleared; after I ‘moved on’. I wonder if there was anything that could’ve been done to prevent it. His death. Maybe my dad’s departure? But mostly his death. Maybe if he stopped driving, doing his job, a lot earlier maybe he wouldn’t acquire the virus. We aren’t even entirely sure that he caught it. But he’s got symptoms. But maybe it was just a cold, and he got worked up, and his heart just gave in. Lots of speculations (but nothing could change it).

During that year (rather, the school year after his death), our research paper for grade 11 was about the lived experiences of nurses during the pandemic. It opened my eyes to a lot of things. One of my what ifs was if Papa was admitted earlier in a hospital, he would have lived. But so many hospitals rejected him. Only one accepted and even then, they were too late. I hated hospitals at that time. Thinking it was their fault; they could’ve done anything to help him. But they didn’t. I was the one that interviewed one of the nurses for our research. Their answers, as well as our entire paper, helped me realize a lot of things.

The hospital couldn’t accept any more patients. They were full. If they weren’t full, they were understaffed. The reason they are understaffed is because the nurses are overworked and underpaid. There was even a ban on them leaving the country to get better paid abroad. I’ve always thought about it, but the government’s reaction to the pandemic was poor. They had time to close the borders. To employ the travel ban. But they didn’t. And the result of that was the virus spreading rapidly and vastly, causing too many deaths. Including my grandfather.

Few months after Papa passed away, my mom got the virus. We were shaken. Would our mom succumb to the same fate as her father? It was a strenuous few weeks. She did get better. And I thank every deity listening for that. There is always that little fear though. It never goes away. Especially since our mom goes out everyday for work. 

I feel like lots of this suffering would have been avoided if the people responsible acted accordingly. Maybe then, there won’t be an uneasiness in my chest whenever a loved one coughs. Maybe my mom wouldn’t get so choked up when she hears the word ‘ulila’. Maybe I wouldn’t have broken down, seeing my school IDs on Papa’s cabinet door (my siblings were there too but my pictures were a lot more than them which of course makes me the favorite).

[neufer]

My thoughts after rereading TWS

Currently on a reread and just finished The Whispering Skull! Once again, here are my many, many thoughts + just stuff that stuck out to me (another long post, of course). PS - I love this book a lot more than I thought I did.

1. Right away, this book is chuck full of humor, sass, snide remarks, and sarcasm -even more so than TSS and I absolutely love it.

- “Fittes agents,” I said. “Oh great,” George growled. “I think I preferred the Wraiths.”

- Lockwood shook his head. “No, I’d always be tripping over him, or losing him down the back of the sofa.” (In regards to Bobby Vernon).

- “I had to speak out,” George said. “Sorry. It was either that or punch him, and I’ve got sensitive hands.”

- ‘George groaned audibly. “We’ve had near-death experiences,” he muttered, “we’ve had domestic fights, we’ve had a pitiful amount of sleep. But this is going to drive me over the edge. If I leap on the table and start shrieking, don’t try to stop me. Just let me howl.”’

- “Sorry, can you repeat that? It’s those shorts. I couldn’t concentrate on what you were saying.” (Might I add, this was George’s response to Lockwood being mad at him).

- “If there’s one thing more stressful than being attacked by ravenous ghost-rats, it’s finding that you’re going to a fancy party and you haven’t got a thing to wear.” Lucy only speaks the truth.

- “Sure you’ve got your shirt tucked in, George?” “Quit worrying. I even brushed my teeth as well.” “My God, you have made an effort.”

2. Speaking of humor, sarcasm, etc., we get the Skull and Flo in this book!! They’re both such great additions, and I had a lovely time picking out some of their best moments/mentions.

- First, I love how after not saying anything for seven months, the Skull leads with, “Feeling rough?. . . Because you sure as hell look it.”

- He is SO dramatic too. “Bickerstaff? No. That wasn’t the way it happened at all.” “How can you know?” “Very simple. I was there.” 

- “I saw [Flo] chuck an agent into the river once. Just lifted her up by the leg and tossed her in. Flo was in a good mood that day too, as it happens. But she’ll like you, I’m almost sure. Just don’t say too much, and stay out of stabbing distance.” Flo❤️.

3. Lucy’s clear (even though not to her) attraction to Lockwood is definitely more noticeable, to us and to other characters as well.

- ‘I stole a quick sidelong glance at him now. He was standing with his sword held ready: tall, slim, as nonchalant as ever, watching the slow approach of the second Visitor. The lantern light played on his thin, pale face, catching the elegant outline of his nose, and his flop of ruffled hair. He wore that slight half-smile he reserved for dangerous situations: the kind of smile that suggests complete command. His coat flapped slightly in the night breeze. As usual, just looking at him gave me confidence.’ Lucy, honey, come on. This is like, 3 pages in btw.

- ‘His face was serene, his hair glistened; his eyes shone with dark intent. I watched him from the door. “Yes, I’ll have a slice, thanks,” George said. “If you can tear yourself away.”’

- ‘I had a fluttery feeling in my tummy and my legs felt weak. It was probably the late night catching up with me.’ Haha. Hahaha.

- ‘George gave a skeptical snort. “Oh, come on. You love all that mystery about him. Just like you love that pensive, far-off look he does sometimes, as if he’s brooding about important matters, or contemplating a tricky bowel movement. Don’t try to deny it. I know.”’

- The whole necklace for the Fittes party is so them just being cute little teenagers and I love it. Lockwood being so casual about it (“Just something I had” my ass) and Lucy not even comprehending what’s happening? And then not wanting to take it off later when they crash the auction? Beautiful.

- And of course, them holding hands as they jump into the Thames🥰.

4. Once again, the side characters fall victim to Lucy’s brutal/outrageous descriptions.

- ‘Being diplomatic, I’d say Kipps was a slightly built young man in his early twenties, with close-cut reddish hair and a narrow, freckled face. Being undiplomatic (but more precise), I’d say he’s a pint-sized, pug-nosed, carrot-topped inadequate with a chip the size of Big Ben on his weedy shoulder. A sneer on legs. A malevolent buffoon.’

- [Kat Godwin] was good-looking, though her jaw was a bit too sharp. If she’d repeatedly fallen over while crossing soft ground, you could have sown a crop of beans in the chin holes she left behind.’

- ‘[Barnes’s] face was as lived-in as ever, his pouchy eyes still sharply appraising. As usual, though, it was his impressive mustache that attracted my attention. To me, Barnes’s mustache closely resembled some kind of hairy exotic caterpillar, probably from the forests of Sumatra, and certainly previously unknown to science. It had a life of its own, rippling and ruffling in accordance with its owner’s mood.’

5. Jack Carver dying on their entryway floor is truly the kind of thing that could only happen to Lockwood & Co. We get so many good lines from that one scene, but the best has to be ‘George sat back with a cry. “Juice! He wants juice! Can we give him that? Are we allowed to give him juice?” He hesitated, frowning. “Have we actually got any?”’ (And of course the one about the dodgy tattoos).

6. I can’t think of a good word to describe Lockwood as a preface for these quotes, but I think you’ll get the idea.

-  ‘“Who knows? Maybe it’s my natural style he envies, maybe my boyish charm. Perhaps it’s my setup here -having my own agency, no one to answer to, with fine companions at my side.” He caught my eye and smiled.’

- “Well, it’s that time of the afternoon. I’m going to stick a sword into a straw woman.”

- “Hardly. It was only because I could already see that you saw who I was that I stopped myself driving the pommel of your own sword sharply back into your abdomen using the Baedecker-Flynn reverse-strike maneuver. Lucky for you that I did, and so didn’t.” 🤦‍♀️

- “Just a quick look, and then we’re done. Burglary’s more fun than socializing, I always say.”

- “Well, if you judge success by the number of enemies you make, that was a highly successful evening.” One of my all time favorite lines.

7. On the other hand, Lockwood is also just such a good leader/hero character. It’s called balance, okay? I love him.

- The first time I noted this was when he sticks up for the annoying night-watch kid. This moment also proves what a badass he is (and Lucy). “Then [Shaw] turned and punched Lockwood hard in the side of the face -or tried to, because Lockwood swayed back and dodged the blow. Shaw’s momentum carried him forward; Lockwood took hold of his flailing arm and twisted it sharply to the side and back. At the same time he stuck his boot behind one of Shaw’s ankles. Shaw cried out, lost his balance, tripped over his own feet and fell. . . Shaw’s face flushed purple; he instantly sought to rise, but he found the point of my rapier gently resting against his chest.”

- And of course we have to talk about the whole, ‘“The entrance stairs are locked, and I’ve shut off the catafalque mechanism from below. No one can get down, unless they want to jump twenty feet into a pitch-black hole. And who would be prepared to do that?” There was one person I knew who might.’ Because yeah. Lockwood IS that person. This isn’t him being reckless and throwing himself into danger for unhealthy reasons, this is him being prepared to do whatever it takes to help his friends.

- Furthermore: “[Joplin] pointed the gun at me. A polite cough sounded beside us. I looked up; Joplin turned. Anthony Lockwood stood there. He was covered in grave dust, and there were cobwebs on his collar and in his hair. His trousers were torn at the knees, his fingers bleeding. He’d looked neater in his time, but I can’t say he’d ever looked better to me.”

8. On a similar note, it’s time to examine just a couple of the Lucy Carlyle Badass Moments in this book.

- First up is throwing her rapier like a javelin to save George and Joplin from Bickerstaff’s ghost. Iconic, certified Badass moment.

- And then there’s of course fighting off Bickerstaff’s ghost AGAIN, this time by swinging an iron chain. Listen, when the chips are down and I’ve got my back against the wall, I want Lucy on my team because she’ll for sure get me out of it. “I ran toward Kipps, toward the ghost. As I did so, I bent down and grabbed one of the lengths of iron chain that had been scattered by Joplins fall. I picked it up, went on without breaking stride. Even as I reached the chair, I was already swinging it in front of me. I met the ghost of Dr. Bickerstaff head on.” Um? Hell yeah. If you look up the word ‘badass’ in the dictionary you’ll see a picture of Lucy fucking Carlyle.

9. Don’t think I’m leaving George out of this conversation. George really is That Bitch there at the end, pretending to die and then ‘coming back’ with the element of surprise. Truly one of his more iconic moments. And I LOVE “At that distance, I’m totally blind. I couldn’t see a thing.”

10. This book has more hurt/angst than I remembered. A lot of it stems from George fighting the influence of the bone-glass, and then the subsequent tension between him and Lockwood whenever Lockwood blames him for not prioritizing the right things. The tension between Lucy and Lockwood in terms of Lockwood being too secretive is also very real. I wanted to highlight a few excerpts that I think show the angst very well.

- “George had been very subdued for the past few minutes. He had barely spoken, and there was an odd expression on his face. His eyes showed numb distress, but they also held a yearning, far-off look; he kept gazing back toward the pit as if he thought he had left something there. It worried me.”

- ‘“All I’m saying,” I said, “is that it’s not right the way he keeps everything to himself. I mean, we’re his friends, aren’t we? He should open up to us. It makes me think that-” “Think what, Lucy?” I spun around. Lockwood was at the door.’ I swear my heart drops every time I read this.

- “Sometimes, George, we have to act on the spur of the moment. Life’s not all fiddling around with ghost-jars and paperwork.” “Listen, I’m in the front line too,” George growled. “Who was it that got a face full of that haunted mirror the other night? I can still feel the effects now. It’s like something’s tugging on my mind, calling to me. I reckon I wasn’t far from meeting the same end as that relic-man we found, and that’s not a nice sensation.” 💔

- “Funny how an actual death always hits you so hard. Visitors are scarier, sure, but they don’t have quite that power to shock. Lockwood seemed as cool and in control as ever, though. Maybe deaths didn’t have the same effect on him.” Gee, Stroud. I wonder if you could be alluding to something there. Ouch.

11. This is angst too, but I wanted to talk about it by itself: “Always, when you’re alone and vulnerable, emotions seek to undermine you. Mine went haywire now. I thought of Lockwood, fighting for his life upstairs. I thought of George -and the haunted, yearning expression on his face after glancing at the mirror five nights before. I thought about how easily everything I cared about could be destroyed.” Talk about heartbreaking. This one sentence speaks volumes when you think of what happens in THB and just hits so much harder when rereading the series. 

12. And to remedy the hurt/angst, here is the trio being their own little found family and some moments that may be a little sad but at the same time sweet😭.

- The moment when Lucy talks about her and Lockwood protecting George in the Bickerstaff house always gets me. “George had become subdued. He moved slowly and spoke little, passing up several cast-iron opportunities for sarcastic or insulting remarks, which, frankly, was unlike him. . . Subtly, without drawing attention to ourselves, Lockwood and I moved so that George was between us. We protected him on both sides.” I know they’re also just being good agents here but, ugh❤️.

- Something else that always gets me is Lucy and George at the end. They really went from not being able to stand each other to being loyal friends. And when George comes to after being knocked out? And then it’s “I’m so angry with you I could burst.” “I know. I’m really sorry.” and “If you do this George Cubbins, I’m going to be so mad.”?? Yeah, that did me in. 

13. A few other things that I noticed that didn’t really relate to anything else:

- “[The Winkmans] had owned the place for twenty years, since their predecessor had been accidentally crushed beneath a piece of Indian erotic statuary.” I truly had never noticed this tidbit of backstory before. I’ve been enlightened. 

- Whoever designed the Black Library did a great job because it sounds like that room absolutely fucks. “The Black Library of Fittes House proved to be a vast octagonal room, rising the height of two full floors toward a glass dome in the roof. . . The walls were bookshelves, tier upon tier, with a metal balcony running around them at first-floor height. In two places, spiral staircases descended from this to the ground level, where we stood. The floor was made of wooden tiles, mostly of dark mahogany; but in the center, a design in paler woods depicted a rearing silver unicorn.”

- I know he probably only had it because it was the only drink being served at the Fittes party, but I will forever think of Barnes as a cocktail man from now on.

14. Lastly, Stroud really loves a cliffhanger, doesn’t he? I will give credit where credit is due. Revealing the Skull can talk to Lucy was pretty good, but he really stepped it up with the dead sister reveal.

Onto THB❤️.