#there was no foreshadowing I’ve been racking my brain

[kagomekirigiri]

Justice for Maddie 2024 they made my girl evil for no reason other than to make CaitVi sleeping together be retroactively excusable

[ae-neon]

Reading Throne of Glass (19-22)

Recap:

Dorian's mother Queen Georgina is pushing him to get married.

The second Test is upcoming

Chapter 19

Unexpected Kaltain Rompier POV?!

Kaltain is still at the ball that Dorian left early in the previous chapters, she's bummed he left but surprised Duke Perrington made an appearance.

So Kaltain is from a minor house and essentially got to court through the Duke's "favour" - she's been able to avoid having to sleep with him but she thinks her time is running out

Hm. I'm a bit disappointed with Perrington. I thought he'd be scary like the King - smart and intimidating. For Kaltain's sake it's better this way but...

I thought he'd be Dorian's antagonist at court, but he gets all red in the face and almost blurts things out in anger. I wanted him to be a smart scheming courtier.

Nice to see a bit of Dorian and Chaol's friendship even if the conversation does revolve around who likes Celaena (less than a month into the story)

HC that Dorian is taller than Chaol.

“What about that dead Champion—the Eye Eater? Any idea yet who did it, or why?” Chaol’s eyes darkened. “I’ve studied it again and again over the past few days. The body was totally destroyed.” The color leeched from Chaol’s cheeks. “Innards scooped out and gone; even the brain was . . . missing. I’ve sent a message to your father about it, but I’ll continue investigating in the meantime.” “I bet it was just a drunken brawl,”

Definitely not.

And how did he send the message if no one knows where the king went??

Chapter 20

Celaena closed her book and sighed. What a terrible ending. SJM queen of foreshadowing, very meta

So Chaol is understandably frustrated by the murder as well as the king's secret trip but the way he acted with Celaena was deserving of her reaction, especially after she had opened up to him about Endovier and her physical issues around vomiting and the damage her body has sustained.

But SJM loves writing romances like a "how to become a victim" guide. She has Celaena gaslight herself into thinking she was unnecessarily cruel and Chaol is so innocent and undeserving. Feyre is written to do the same - especially when it's obvious Rhysand is in the wrong - and I bet if I cracked open the garbage can that is ACOSF, Nesta would hate herself and call herself a monster for telling Cassian to fuck off.

Again it's less of the big things that stand out to me. Anyone can point at something obvious and say "well this is a fantasy/ the morals of the time or story etc" but stuff like this slips through the cracks of impressionable minds and is necessary to internalise to enjoy the romance.

Anyways back to tog

Celaena is bored and anxious and has rigged things in her room to make it obvious if someone tries to sneak up on her and kill her like the other competitor.

There's a piano in her room and she really likes to play

She had been good once—perhaps better than good. Arobynn Hamel made her play for him whenever they saw each other. She wondered if Arobynn knew she was out of the mines. Would he try to free her if he did? She still didn’t dare to face the possibility of who might have betrayed her.

This dynamic has the potential to be so twisted and complicated and tragic but I don't think sjm is gonna realise that potential. Still hoping he's a smart villain tho

Glad Celaena has music as a sort of therapy. But now knowing this, certain elements of acomaf especially seem lazy as fuck.

Celaena: I have set up things in my room - down to changing the hinges on the door - so no other murderer or assassin can sneak up and kill me

Dorian, having snuck in and stood behind her for 10 minutes without her realising: ...

Dorian peeled himself from the wall. For all her assassinating experience, she didn’t notice him until he sat down on the bench beside her. “You play beau—” Her fingers slipped on the keys, which let out a loud, awful CLANK, and she was halfway to the rack of cue sticks when she beheld him.

Worst assassin ever?

Pelor and his poisons >>>

Riceman is Dorian's son. Maybe sjm regretted not giving him the endgame in tog so she just dipped him in black and sent him to acotar.

How’s training going? Any competitors giving you trouble?” “Excellently,” she said, but the corners of her mouth drifted downward. “And no. After today, I don’t think any of us will be giving anyone any trouble.” It took him a moment to realize she was thinking of the competitor who had been killed while trying to escape. She chewed on her bottom lip, quiet for a heartbeat, before she asked: “Did Chaol give the order to kill Sven?” “No,” he said. “My father commanded all the guards to shoot to kill if any of you tried to escape. I don’t think Chaol would ever have given that order,” he added,

On the one hand it's understandable that Celaena would see the humanity in the other competitors and the savagery in the guards and higher-ups who are using them in this game but it's also kinda out of character that she's so torn up about this Sven dude.

If the competition had gone a little longer and come to some desperate point and Nox Owen had been the one to try to run - especially after his sponsor promised him he wouldn't have to go back to his old life - then be murdered in cold blood by the King's orders, I would understand, believe and appreciate her feelings on this.

But as it stands, she herself wants to kill some of the competitors and Sven's death was the first time we even heard of him. Who gives a fuck

And the idea that Chaol would never order the death of these criminals is such bs? He's the Captain of the Royal Guard. He's been ready to kill Celaena from the moment they met. Only the day before he asked her what she did to deserve being whipped as a slave labourer. He would definitely kill all of them if he needed to

Again, I understand sjm is trying to develop a romance and using character development to bring them closer but it's coming at the cost of the characters themselves.

Celaena even questions herself on when she became so sappy and girl idk because you've only been here like 3 weeks?!?!

So Celaena says she doesn't want to be seen as Dorian's lover because she doesn't want people to think she sells herself. Dorian calls her out on her morality given she kills people for money and she gets offended.

He's right. Why does she think she's better than anyone else? Or better yet why does she look down on those who do that in the first place - especially given where she comes from?

Or maybe it's exactly that. No matter how much she experiences - becoming an orphan, losing her country, grueling training, slavery - she still can't let go of the idea that she was born better than other people? She's still just a royal asshole at heart?

Celaena is down 10 points

Okay so Dorian is riling her up as a way of flirting but Celaena's not happy about it funny how it was unacceptable when it was Nesta who didn't want to entertain a clown

Sorry, sorry, my inner hater slipped out

It was his turn to blush. Had he ever been scolded by anyone like this? I've heard Dorian is kinky in the later books. But I just know sjm isn't gonna deliver what I hope for

This is only her 3rd or 4th time meeting Dorian and he's said the wrong thing again and again and she literally kicking him out of the room but she still just tells him the truth about Sam? It feels a little unearned

Chapter 21

We pick up in the middle of the second Test. They're scaling a castle wall to retrieve a flag. And another one of the competitors didn't show up. One of the competitors falls and dies.

A dude named Grave is tryna kill Nox Owen but Celaena jumps into action to save him.

Chapter 22

Mission impossible style Celaena jumps with a rope tied to her waist to catch Nox as he falls.

Between the weight on her waist and the fact that they both slammed into the wall, idk how she's still holding onto this man Nox

Cain wins the Test, of course. Celaena is upset, of course.

Celaena and Nox still have to compete for some reason even tho literally everyone just witnessed her insane save. They both make it through the Test.

Later, Chaol isn't happy she showed she's definitely more than just some jewel thief through her rescue actions.

She glared at him. “Well, I still lost.” (...)

Chaol’s brown eyes shone golden in the midday sun. “Wasn’t learning to lose gracefully part of your training?”

“No,” she said sourly. “Arobynn told me that second place was just a nice title for the first loser.”

I want so much from this relationship. It's shaped so much of how she acts and thinks and while it was obviously done for manipulative reasons; Celaena is who she is because of him. She has survived because of what he made of her.

She looked toward the window, and the glittering expanse of Rifthold barely visible beyond it. It was strange to think that Arobynn was in the same city—that he was so close to her now. “You know he was my master, don’t you?” “I’d forgotten,” Chaol said. Arobynn would have flogged her for saving Nox, jeopardizing her own safety and place in this competition. “He oversaw your training personally?” “He trained me himself, and then brought in tutors from all over Erilea. The fighting masters from the rice fields of the southern continent, poison experts from the Bogdano Jungle . . . Once he sent me to the Silent Assassins in the Red Desert. No price was too high for him. Or me,” she added, fingering the fine thread on her bathrobe. 

Them acting like Arobynn saying she has to pay him back for all the money he spent on training her isn't completely normal, understandable and reasonable 🙄

Like I'm sure there's plenty of reasons to hate the man so why would you point that out like he's supposed to be in the wrong for that.

Over five hundred thousand gold coins. Gone in three hours. Nesta Archeron was imprisoned for less

Chaol and Celaena have a bit of back and forth, grinning and insulting each other, cute

Surprise, surprise, the competitor who didn't show up was found dead days later

The new murder cast a pall over the next two weeks, and the two Tests they brought with them. Celaena passed the Tests—stealth and tracking—without drawing much attention to herself or risking her neck to save anyone.

Okay time jump. We're approximately two months into the story. It's nine weeks until the final duel.

Celaena hasn't interacted with Dorian since the day in her room but she feels "warm and tingly" when she sees him apparently

Chaol's side of the love scale is stacked and Dorian's side is just sjm going "trust me"

Celaena is finding herself feeling anxious about whether she'll make it to the top 4.

---

Overall we're sitting at about 3 stars. It's okay.

[ginkgomoon]

Gavin’s Old Days Date- Analysis

I received an ask just then about this date and so I’m typing my heart away at 2 in the morning. It didn’t really fully sink in to how much of a good date Old Days was until some time had passed, with the way how I looked at Gavin back then different to how I saw him now. This date brought back so many emotions and memories- especially when it’s such a well-rounded story with various hidden meanings and references which enabled me to have something to analyse!

This date circulates around Gavin and MC’s high school history in the span of days Friday and Saturday- on that fateful day when Gavin wanted to give the letter, to the night he waited for her.

It also has a circular storyline structure, from when MC first dreams of Gavin that catalyses following events. But something we also have to note is that the whole entire time until the very last few minutes- MC is ‘dreaming’.

The turbulent flow of time and space stunned me, and countless doors opened before me one by one.

The memory fragments poured in, and those images reflecting me and Gavin flew past quickly.

He turned his back to me and walked away, his white shirt fluttering in the wind, almost engulfed by the increasingly denser mist.

I shouted his name aloud and ran desperately, wanting to catch up with him, but the corner of his shirt was like wind that couldn't be grasped, dispersing between my fingers.

His figure became increasingly blurred as he was farther and farther, finally disappearing completely in the narrow field of vision.

Standing in the void, I seemed to have lost all directions and motivation forward.

Until a gentle breeze with a familiar fragrance blew the fog away.

There seemed to be dazzling sunlight piercing through the clouds, and after the mist dissipated, a completely different space-time appeared before me…

This part of MC’s dream is like a metaphor for Gavin’s sudden leave. The mini fragments of her memories and the information that she knew now compared to back in high school come together to try to form some comprehensible picture in her mind, which in this case- her dream.

(Which probably was helped by the presence of Black Cabin with the ‘“doors”. But I could also argue that it wasn’t, because this isn’t supposed to be the first time MC enters Black Cabin. Then again, dates differ from the main storyline.)

But just like how MC is Gavin’s North Star, without him, even she is lost and directionless. They both need each other. As they are each others’ mystery, they are each others’ answers.

“This uniform and medals are my beliefs, with you guiding me in the direction forward.” -Go See Him

MC wants to reach out, not wanting Gavin to leave her, just like how he left seven years ago. Though even here, Gavin’s wind helps guide her forward- to meet him again in this time-space.

Dreams are still a big mystery to us. Some say it reveals our deepest desires and fears presented by our subconscious. By listening to it, we are able to guide our efforts in achieving and chasing what we truly desire whilst avoiding our fears. And if some dreams are based on truth, then it can easily foreshadow what we are about to encounter.

As MC finally settles in appearing at their old school of Loveland High, she sees Gavin.

Through the crowds, he seemed to be looking at the girl standing on the middle of the flag raising platform with a speech draft in her hands. Without realising, he crumpled the letter in his hand even more tightly.

The infamous letter.

Moments ago he saw me, he was so shocked that his pupils contracted slightly. He also slipped when he was about to jump down.

“Who are you?”

The shock in his eyes was now replaced by alertness and uncertainty.

Gavin clearly doesn’t know this MC- because in this time-space, she doesn’t really exist. As I said above, as dreams can be based on truth and our desires, MC feels like she could have done something to correct their relationship in this course of time. But at this stage between her and Gavin, she doesn’t know much about it because he never explicitly told her and she wants to know. This dream is a manifestation of that.

MC: “Excuse me, do you know MC? I am her cousin.”

MC also experiences being her own cousin such as in Time Subway’s Loveland High Noodle Bar and STF Drill Ground.

Gavin looked at me suspiciously for a long time, and finally nodded indifferently.

Gavin: “Oh, what do you want with her?”

MC: “How is she doing in school lately?”

Gavin: “I don’t know her that well.”

Gavin helps MC locate herself- her high school self- but when she looks back, he has already disappeared. She then overhears students talking about Gavin getting beaten up by a hundred people and becomes an investigator into his whereabouts.

The next part of the date isn’t from MC’s narration, which led me to believe that this really did happen in MC and Gavin’s own universe. The ‘truth’ of the dream.

*Beating up happening*

Random Kid Who Doesn’t Have Better Things To Do: “I heard that our school overlord is transferring to another school. Is that true? Since you are leaving, why can’t you be good?”

Gavin: “That’s none of your business!”

Random Kid Who Doesn’t Have Better Things To Do: “True, but after you leave, your beloved girl will no longer be under protection, right? Don’t worry I’ll take care of her for you. And I heard she’s our campus belle.”

Gavin (fiercely with an angry face): “What did you say?”

*More beating up*

MC’s POV begins.

Finally, I found the alley from memory.

Gavin: “You won’t get off so easily next time. Try getting near her and see what happens.”

Gavin leaves and even MC wasn’t fast enough to catch a wounded, bleeding Gavin. She racks her brains to try to figure out where he is, and finally comes to the piano room.

And BEHOLD- Gavin casually sitting on a ginkgo tree dressing his wounds.

Gavin (annoyed): “Why are you everywhere…”

MC: “Are you waiting for MC? She’s preparing for exams so she won’t be here today.”

Gavin: “...I wasn’t looking for her.”

Gavin reluctantly agrees to follow MC into the infirmary and she starts to help properly dress his wounds.

MC: “Are you not a close friend with MC?”

Gavin: “... I’ve just heard her name before. She’s got good grades and she’s very kind.”

MC: “Have you ever talked to her?”

Gavin: “Nope.”

MC: “Then how do you know she’s kind?”

Gavin: “Why should I answer your questions?”

He looked a little vexed, looking away with his ears turning red.

MC: “Sorry, I meant well. It’s just that she’s mentioned you to me. She says you’re not as bad as what people say you are. You helped carry her books and took her to the infirmary…”

Gavin: “I just happened to be around.”

MC: “Err, then you must happen to be around quite a lot.”

Gavin: “How do you know all of this?”

MC: “She tells me everything. We even look very similar don’t we?”

Gavin: “But you act differently.”

MC helps Gavin finish patching his wounds and Gavin is noted to be unwilling to stay with her.

MC: “I have one more thing to tell you. MC is a bit slow. She is not as good as you think, and will also be blinded by rumours…”

Gavin interrupts me coldly.

Gavin: “She’s a very nice person. What she thinks of me has nothing to do with anyone else. If you're here just to tell me these things, then I don't need to listen to you.”

Gavin grabbed his uniform, but a white object fell from his pocket to the floor.

It was a crumpled letter. Stained in blood.

I went to pick it up but the paper slipped out and I caught a glimpse of the contents by accident.

Gavin quickly picked up the letter and put it back without saying a word.

There was a flash of dismissal in his eyes. He tried to flatten the creases on the letter awkwardly.

(RIP LETTER. He even tried to flatten it. GAVINNN)

Gavin’s view remains the same in their own universe- “You can’t change other people’s opinions but you can change your attitude towards them. Don't let yourself be easily affected. You shouldn't envy me. You’re different from me. You're kind and thoughtful. That's what makes you, you. Besides, I’m not as free as you think, and I care about a lot of things.” -Company Footage [Chapter 3-7]

The scene around her changes. MC figures that if this is the memory of her and Gavin, then the most important thing was to find him.

MC’s mind fixates on the familiar bloody letter- recalling its words. MC then sprints to the school library.

The library looked a little deserted in the darkness. Looking along the rows of bookshelves, I finally found Gavin seated next to the window.

At this point, Gavin has been waiting a whole day for high school MC to meet him. She didn’t read the letter that had the time he wanted her to come.

He turned around and the moment he heard my footsteps, and the glimmer in his eyes suddenly died away again when he saw me.

I realised that on this day, he had wanted to say goodbye.

He just frowned and looked away, uninterested.

MC: “Are you waiting for MC? She might have misunderstood. Sorry, let me apologise for her.”

Gavin: “It has nothing to do with you.”

He paused and said in a self-mockery tone.

Gavin: “I knew she wouldn't come anyway.”

I’ve never seen Gavin like this. At this time, he was still so young and one could easily read his emotions.

Only then did I realise how he described his past as a mere “regret” was an understatement. He had to endure the long wait and the misery of being understood silently.

(It’s 2am and I’m crying.)

I mistook the farewell letter as a threat and threw it away. I never tried to learn the truth and misunderstood him. And still was protected and cherished by him.

I never felt so sorry and never wanted to blame myself even more.

If I didn't know all of this, if we had never met each other after we went in opposite directions…

MC: “Although I know saying these now is meaningless...You’ll be a very awesome person in the future, and you will stick to your belief and to justice. And you’ll also meet the person you want to meet. Even though she might not be great and always troubles you, you will definitely meet each other in the future. So…”

But when I looked back up, Gavin was gone.

As if back to the beginning of the dream, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch up or make a sound.

And MC wakes up. (Circular storyline- starts and end with a dream- starts and ends with Gavin.)

“Why did it take you so long to answer? Did you just wake up?”

It was Gavin.

MC: “Gavin… I….”

Gavin: “Why do you sound so weird?”

MC: “I had a dream about you.”

Gavin: “Was it a bad dream? Don’t worry, it won’t happen. By the way, I'll be at your place soon. I brought steamed buns and soybean milk for breakfast.”

Just like how he bought milk and bread for her at the infirmary after she fainted during a school sports event.

The moment I saw Gavin, I threw myself into his arms, crying.

His strong chest, the familiar smell under his collar. This was Gavin, the Gavin who would never disappear or leave me.

Gavin: “Why are you crying?”

He tried to dry my tears clumsily, but both his hands were occupied, so he had to move to the table and put the breakfast down while I hung onto him like a koala.

Gavin: “Tell me, what was your dream about?”

MC: “In my dream, you skipped class, got into fights, and ignored me.”

Gavin: “...”

MC: “You also said, ‘it’s none of your business’ to me coldly several times.”

He held back laughter and listened to my tearful complaint. Then he suddenly took my hand, and slapped it on his palm.

Gavin: “Then bully me back now.”

MC: “Gavin, have you ever thought about… what if we didn’t meet?”

He gave it some thought and nodded seriously.

Gavin: “Yes I have. If I wasn't there, would the girl get bullied? Would someone be looking out for her? I’ve also wondered if someone would fall in love with her or give her a love letter.... Would she like someone else? So, if I were to meet her again, I must hold onto her.”

He took my hand lightly, and kissed it preciously, his voice soft.

“And never let her go again.”

(The same hands that helped dress his wounds. CRYING.)

All this time Gavin had regretted not being able to give the letter to her in person, presumably with the fear of rejection from the one person he cared about. Even if Gavin hadn’t had a conversation with her or knew her very well, the interactions they have had together was enough for Gavin to form an opinion of her- a strong enough opinion that even he refuses to listen to MC’s ‘cousin’ (interactions like wanting to introduce himself in the library but MC dashes off LOL).

Wanting to protect her continuously from the students during the alleyway fight and waiting day and night for her also really does showcase his determination and the effectiveness of having a glimmer of hope from and for someone goes a long way, especially with a loyal man like Gavin.

Additionally, MC states that he was cold to her, which shows that even someone who claimed to be her cousin wouldn't melt Gavin���s heart with secondhand words. (That wall that he built up between him and MC of how he bats each question she asks with another question LOL.)

Even in front of Cousin MC, he wants to keep up that tough and unbreakable persona, the one that high school MC is more familiar with- until the very end when he finally has to come to the conclusion that MC is not going to see him. This therefore really does make him think that she didn't want to meet him. And in the storyline, he really did have to live like that, thinking that she thought of him just like how everyone did- until they met again.

But after all that Gavin had been through, he’s willing to cherish every moment he has with MC in the future. Not basing their relationship off of the failures, misunderstandings and regrets- but their hopes and dreams of a better future together.

“Before you… I lower all my defences.” -Gavin

[jovialyouthmusic]

Two’s Company -Changes

As Lucy continues to help Brad recall their early days, Sophia and Bastien welcome two new arrivals. 

Word Count 3918

A/N This is pure fluff, but if you are triggered by issues concerning fertility, pregnancy, medical environments or giving birth, give this chapter a miss. To be truthful, this chapter mostly features Bastien and Sophia, but it foreshadows Lucy’s future...

9 Welcome to the Twins

The band started up in the ballroom, playing background music while the guests arrived and were briefly announced. The Charity Ball at the Palace was under way at last. Lucy had insisted on Brad wearing the suit he’d had for the social season in which they’d met, and he thought he knew why.

‘And why does Drake get to wear his denim shirt at this formal occasion?’ he had quizzed her, just the same. She just smiled enigmatically.

‘If you don’t know you’ll find out in good time. Now go down and wait for the guests. I’ll follow in a little while. Don’t worry if I’m late, it’s all part of the surprise’

So Brad stood greeting the nobles that had attended the social season, the former suitors presenting themselves to him one by one. Madeleine was a little sour faced, but then that wasn’t unusual. Lady Penelope gave him a deep curtsy

‘Ah, Lady Penelope. It’s been a while. How are you – and your poodles? Did you bring them tonight?’ He had no memory of the dogs, but he had been given a set of cards with relevant details to review. He knew that prior to his car accident he had excellent recall on all the members of court, and his father had uncharacteristically praised him for it.

‘Thank you your Majesty, the Queen asked me to leave them behind tonight. Morgan and Morgana were quite upset’

‘I’m so sorry’ he said smoothly ‘Perhaps next time. I’ll make sure to ask her majesty to allow it’

‘Thankyou your Grace’ she inclined her head ‘And many congratulations on your recent…’ she froze for a second, a look of panic spreading across her lovely face, scanning the ballroom, her eye alighting on Drake standing nursing a glass of whiskey at the bar. His denim shirt stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the dinner jackets and ballgowns ‘uhhh marriages’ Penelope squeaked, and moved hurriedly away. Brad noticed Drake was talking to a woman in a red dress with a mask. She looked over and started to walk across the ballroom toward him, and he suddenly felt dizzy.

‘Hello, you’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t think we’ve met’

‘We’ve actually met once before’

‘Surely I would have remembered’

‘I suppose this mask is doing its job’

‘Will you give me a hint?’

‘you were surrounded by your friends…’

‘That’s not much of a clue…’

‘And you owed me a drink’

‘Lucy! I - never thought I’d see you again’ Brad said in a dream as she reached his side. She smiled broadly, taking her mask off.

‘Did it work?’ she asked, and he nodded, swallowing.

‘Yes – I think I need some fresh air’ She turned and waved at the band, and they swooped into a familiar tune – the one they had played when they had first danced together. He held on to her tight as the music swirled around him.

‘I’m a little better at dancing this time’ she smiled ‘and it’s my turn to sweep you off behind the curtains’ Soon he was leaning on the balcony taking lungfuls of air as the memories swirled around him. The dance, sneaking out to the maze – the chase, the kiss. He shook his head and stood tall, turning back to his wife – his Queen.

‘What is it about you, Lucy? Why did you make me want to break all the rules?’ he said softly. She put her hand to his cheek.

‘Because the rules were making you unhappy’ she replied ‘and in return you changed the rules for me and brought the three of us together’ He leaned closer and kissed her tenderly, his hand grazing her belly.

‘Here’s another big change. Life will never be the same again.’ he whispered close to her ear ‘When did we next meet? I remember the maze’

‘Well, I think I can risk it rather than waiting to stage it’ Lucy replied’ It’s a long time to the races’

‘Ah, the races’ he screwed up his forehead, then his face cleared. ‘I lost my bet on the winning horse and paid the usual forfeit – except you sat on my back along with Drake’ She smiled happily

‘How about the lawn party?’ she asked, but he frowned and shook his head.

‘I’m sorry’ he said dejectedly. She caught at his arm and squeezed it.

‘Never mind, not everyone remembers every little thing. I’ve had to rack my brain too. Let’s just leave it for now, enjoy the ball’

-------

In the staff wing, the sounds of the ball were a distant whisper of sound, unheard as the TV showed Sophia’s current bingeworthy period drama. She had stopped nitpicking the historical inaccuracies and dozed, the voices murmuring in the background. She smiled as the scene cut to a Regency ball in full swing.

‘Go on, admit you love her’ she mumbled, briefly surfacing to berate the male lead for not seeing what was under his nose. The female lead smiled, gazing into his eyes as they twirled and dipped. ‘So romantic’ she sniffled and reached for a tissue to dab at her eyes.

‘Hmmm?’ Bastien rumbled as he stirred in his easy chair, leg propped on a footstool as he sat vigil by his very pregnant wife’s side. Sophia laboured to sit up a little, and he got to his feet to help her, leg stiff from inaction.

‘Simon won’t admit he’s madly in love with Daphne’ she told him ‘and she’s so innocent she doesn’t realise he’s the man for her’ she sighed ‘I know, sentimental rubbish, but I can’t get enough’

‘Whatever makes you happy, theà mou’ Bastien smiled. He knelt by her side ‘May I?’ he asked, hand hovering over her bump. She nodded.

‘You had a large part to play in my current state.’ she grumbled ‘One of the tiddlers is using my bladder as a trampoline’ Bastien smiled, smoothing his hand over her belly. A little bump rose to meet his palm.

‘Not long till we meet them in person’ He stroked it, identifying it as a foot. ‘Come on little ones, Papa’s waiting and Mama’s tired’ He looked up at her ‘Shall I help you to the bathroom?’

‘Yes please, just let me pause this’ She pressed the button on the TV remote, and Bastien helped her to her feet. She groaned, hand in her lower back. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again’ she grumbled ‘Remind me not to do this again’ Bastien decided not to comment, as pregnancy hormones made his beloved somewhat cranky and he couldn’t think of an answer that she wouldn’t turn against him right now. She paused, grimacing with pain

‘Damn these Braxton Hicks’ she muttered, and he stroked her belly, feeling it harden under his hand, waiting until it softened again. She had been having contractions for a couple of days but the midwife had assured them it was nothing to worry about.

‘It’s fine, just practice for the real thing’ she had said briskly ‘Even with twins it’s quite normal. If they don’t subside within 48 hours, let me know’ They reached the door of the bathroom, where Sophia waved him away.

‘I can manage from here’ she snapped. He had removed the lock on the door in case of emergencies, and watched anxiously as she closed it behind her. ‘A little privacy please’ she called testily ‘I can hear you breathing’ He sighed and moved a little further away, the faint sound of her urination reaching him still. He knew he shouldn’t be so fearful about her wellbeing, but years of service on the Guard brought back memories of various emergencies involving impending childbirth. The Guard were the first line of assistance before medical staff could get to the Palace, and many other mansions he had served at were some distance from maternity facilities.

One notable example was seared into his brain when a noble lady had gone into labour miles out to sea on the Royal Yacht. He hadn’t been the only one to advise against the trip, but arrogance had won out over prudence and she had almost given birth before the air ambulance had winched her off the yacht. He was thankful the weather had been fair at the time.

He snapped back to the moment as he heard a little gasp. He stood up straight, straining his ears as a wail followed it.

‘Bas’ his wife called out, a hint of panic in her voice ‘Call the hospital – my waters just broke’

-------

At the hospital, Sophia was whisked away to be examined. Bastien was curtly told to wait, and paced the waiting room anxiously, massaging his hand from the pain of his wife clutching it fiercely on the drive over. Drake and Hana arrived to find him muttering curses against the doctors.

‘Calm down, Bas’ Drake had soothed ‘She’s in the best of hands’ Bastien glowered at him and straightened his shoulders.

‘She was supposed to see the midwife in the morning’ he growled ‘The risk with twins is elevated. I knew I should have insisted on an earlier appointment’

‘What exactly happened?’ Hana said, trying to ground him. He paused and ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it out of its usual neat quiff.

‘Her waters broke’ he said ‘The babies each have their own sac but share a placenta and need to be delivered at the same time. If they’re both head down it’s possible to do it without a caesarean’ Before anyone could ask anything else, a nurse appeared.

‘Mr Lykel?’ He stepped forward, placing his hand on her arm.

‘How is she? Can I see her?’

‘She’s very well, considering’ she said, removing his hand ‘You really should have come in earlier. With twins…’ She paled at Bastien’s expression as he glared at her.

‘Our midwife told us all was fine’ he ground out.

‘Well, no matter.  She’s in labour and things seem to be moving quickly. Do you have a birth plan?’

‘We do’ he said, massaging his forehead and taking a deep breath ‘it’s filed here. Do you not have it?’ She looked flustered.

‘I think perhaps you should come through, if it’s what you’d planned’

‘It is. Take me to her now…’

Bastien entered the delivery room with trepidation. Sophia was flushed and sweaty, laying back in the bed in a loose hospital gown, her knees drawn up and a sheet covering her modesty. A midwife stood next to her and turned directly to meet him. Sophia lowered her knees and he could see the sensor strapped to the swell of her belly. A machine next to the bed monitored the babies’ heartbeats, and emitted a low whooshing noise.

‘Is this the babies’ father?’ the midwife asked brightly.

‘I am.’ He said curtly, going to Sophia’s side, taking her hand and kissing it.

‘I’m Sandy, and I’ll be looking after Mum and baby – that is, babies’ she smiled

‘Bas’ Sophia said faintly ‘Wherever have you been? You need to call Mum, let her know.’

‘I came in as soon as they said I could. There’s no need to call Edith just yet, she’ll only worry.’ Sophia gasped in pain, squeezing his hand with a deathlike grip and Sandy swiftly handed her a breathing tube.

‘Gas and air – entonox. It’s quite safe’ the midwife assured Bastien. By the time Bastien had nodded, the contraction was almost over, and Sophia collapsed back onto the pillows, her eyes a little glazed.

‘You do realise this is twins?’ Bastien queried ‘Shouldn’t there be more staff?’

‘We are very busy tonight, Mr Lykel. As soon as it’s necessary I’ll call for help’ She went to the end of the bed to examine Sophia.

‘You’re dilating nicely, Mrs Lykel. Not long and we’ll be asking you to push. Babies are doing fine and getting ready to come out and say hello.’

‘How are they positioned?’ Bastien asked.

‘Both are head down, so you can deliver naturally if you’d like, Mrs Lykel’

‘Sophia’ she said  testily ‘my name’s Sophia. I’ll do my best but I’m not against pain relief’

‘Of course, Sophia. Do you know the sexes?’

‘Yes’ she smiled, and looked up at Bastien. ‘One of each’

‘Well, it’s hard to tell which one will be making an appearance first, but baby number two won’t be far behind’

‘Bas, can Hana come in?’ Sophia asked ‘We’re may need an extra pair of hands’ He looked at the midwife.

‘As it’s twins, two helpers are allowed in the delivery room as long as all is going  smoothly’ At that moment a doctor entered with a clipboard.

‘Mr Lykel – apologies for the delay in finding your birth plan’ she said as Sandy ducked out of the room to fetch Hana. She looked down at the papers she held, scanning swiftly ‘I see you’ve opted for a natural birth if it’s possible, with minimal pain relief’. Sophia made a little moan in answer.

‘Do I have to do this twice?’

‘Don’t worry Mrs Lykel, the first delivery paves the way for the second. You’ll hardly notice baby number two’ Another contraction hit her, and she grabbed the breathing tube, gulping at it greedily. Her head rolled back onto the pillow as the contraction faded and she gazed up at Bastien, eyes glassy from the anaesthetic.

‘I’d like some Ben and Jerry’s right now. Phish food.’ He couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘Maybe later, theà mou’ He lifted her hand and kissed it. Hana entered with the midwife and went to her side.

‘Hana, you came’ She smiled beatifically ‘You’ll be Auntie soon’

‘I can’t wait to meet your little ones’ Hana beamed excitedly.

‘Oh Hana, that’s so sweet of you’ Sophia winced as the midwife examined her again.

‘Once we get started, things might happen quite quickly’ she warned ‘After all, baby number two is going to want to catch up. At this point it’s too late for an epidural, but as things are going smoothly, Entonox should be sufficient’ Lucy looked startled

‘No epidural?’ she asked ‘Oh, fuck. Bas, what if it gets worse?’

‘Sophia, gas and air will be fine. Remember, it’s what we discussed, it’s safer in the majority of cases’ he soothed, earning a quizzical look.

‘Stop mansplaining, Bas. I’m thirsty’ she snapped, and the midwife took Bastien aside as Hana handed Sophia a cup of ice chips.

‘Don’t worry, Mr Lykel, Lucy’s going through transition. She’ll get very emotional. She may even get abusive. She’s fully dilated, so I’m going to call for assistance.’ He nodded knowingly. He’d done his research and was fully prepared for her to swear and curse and berate him for ever touching her. He knew it would be the hormones talking. He braced himself and went back to the bedside as the room suddenly became very busy with hospital staff. He focussed on Lucy as another contraction hit and she took great gulps of the gas and air again. This was a long one, and she lay back once it had ebbed away, moaning.

‘Whose idea was this?’ she moaned ‘It’s not natural’ Bastien bit his tongue, desperate to point out that it was in fact the most natural thing in the world to give birth – but he wasn’t the one suffering on the hospital bed. ‘I’m never doing this again’ she panted ‘you can forget sex, I’m staying celibate’ Bastien grinned uncomfortably, trying to avoid eye contact with any of the staff. Hana sniggered behind her hand ‘Is it time to push yet?’

‘Not just yet, Sophia’ Sandra assured her. ‘You’ll know when, but I’m here to help’ Sophia gasped as another contraction hit, and took the anaesthetic again. Bastien worried that she was taking too much as she collapsed back on the pillow, but kept his mouth shut, trusting the medical staff. Sophia turned to speak to him.

‘Bas, do you think we’re having twins because of your enormous – you know?’ she hissed, pointing to his groin in a stage whisper that carried right across the room. Hana giggled and reddened, and Sandy looked amused. Bastien coloured and cleared his throat, his smile turning to a grimace. ‘He does, you know, Sandra’ she said, motioning her closer ‘He’s – you know, very big down there. The sex is great. He’s got fantastic stamina.’ Sandra made a strangled noise.

‘I’ve never come across any corelation in size and fecundity or multiple births, Mrs Lykel’ she assured her, when she was able to speak. She took a calming breath, looking at the monitors. ‘Now, I want  you to remember your birthing classes and prepare yourself to push’.

As promised, thing happened very quickly after that. Her next contraction hit hard, and Bastien lead her through her breathing, both elated and scared at the intensity of her experience. She was told to push, and he stayed with her, enduring her tight grip and murmuring words of encouragement. After each bout of pushing she lay back on the pillows, flushed and sweating, swearing that he’d never touch her again.

‘Mr Lykel, would you like to welcome baby? It’s very close now.’ Sandra said at last. He looked briefly at Sophia, torn between staying at her side and being the first to hold their child, but she nodded at him before the next onslaught. He moved down the bed as she strained and cried out with pain and effort, and was just in time to see the baby’s head emerge, followed by its shoulders. Sandra guided his hands so that he caught the warm slippery bundle. He was afraid of letting it slip, but managed to get a firm grip, and the midwife smiled triumphantly. Gazing down at the screwed up indignant face of his child, he felt an overwhelming wave of pure love and adoration unlike anything he had felt before. Time slowed and stopped as he held his own flesh and blood, his face softening into a broad smile. The little mouth opened and let out a roar of protest and rage, limbs flailing.

‘Papa has you, little one’ he crooned soothingly, knowing that first breath showed health and vigour.

‘Congratulations Mr and Mrs Lykel, your first baby is a healthy baby boy’ Sandra announced before handing him the instrument to cut the umbilical cord, and he carefully severed the connection. Briefly she wiped him clean as Bastien maintained his hold, the baby’s yell changing to wails in the unfamiliar environment. He shushed, and the little creature shuddered and quietened a little.

Sophia held out her arms eagerly and Bastien hurried to hand him over to place on her chest, wondering how long she would have before their little girl followed.

‘My little one’ she whispered, tenderly cradling him ‘We’re so thrilled to meet you at last’ She gazed down as the baby fell silent, arms folding over his chest and knees drawing up to meet them, face peaceful and enquiring. Hana sniffled beside her, and Sophia turned to the side. ‘Meet your Aunty Hana’ she breathed, before wincing in pain again. ‘I think your sister wants out’ she gasped, and a nurse swiftly took the baby and whisked him away.

‘Don’t worry, we just need to check him over, but I think he’s absolutely fine’ she assured Bastien.

‘Here’s your little girl’ Sandra called ‘Not long now’, and he went to stand ready, his hands trembling as a second head emerged, Sophia crying out again. She slipped out swiftly, but was safe in her father’s hands in an instant. He was hit by another wave of love and adoration just as intense as the last one, his heart full to bursting. Her cry was reedy and full of complaint and she wailed as he cut the cord, Sandra steadying it for Bastien to juggle his tasks. Both of the babies had seemed tiny in his large hands, both roomy and clumsy all at once.

‘Here, Papa has you safe’ he murmured ‘Come and meet your Mama’ Carefully he relayed her to Sophia. Her face glowed with happiness at holding her daughter, eyes fixed on her as she fussed at the bright light and unfamiliar surroundings.

‘My sweet one’ she crooned, and the baby quietened just as her brother had ‘You’re perfect’. She looked up at her husband ‘Look what we did’ she whispered. He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked down at the newest arrival, tiny fingers waving like starfish, little mouth opening and closing. He kissed the top of Sophia’s head.

‘Theà mou, I love you so much. I’m blessed’ his voice caught, and the nurse returned with the little boy, now wrapped up warmly, and took his sister away to be cleaned and checked. Sophia held her finger out and the baby gaped, little mouth gurning in a half yawn, half smile. Soon his sister was handed back and Sophia cradled one baby in each arm, looking from one to the other in awe. The boy had a shock of black hair like his father’s and his eyes were pale grey. His sister’s hair was black but not as abundant, her pale eyes a shade bluer.

‘How can I ever spend a single second not loving these two?’ she whispered ‘How can I feel so much love for them – and for you?’ Bastien squeezed her shoulder, unable to speak for the lump in his throat. He had never felt so deliriously happy – and scared.

‘Do you have names?’ the nurse asked ‘The babies’ tags just say boy and girl for now. There’s no hurry’ Sophia looked up at Bastien.

‘Theodore?’ she asked. They had a few names picked out but didn’t want to fix them until the babies were born. He nodded in approval, as they had also decided that she should finalise the boy’s name, and he the girl’s.

‘And Beatrice’ he replied, getting a little tilt of his wife’s head in response. He cleared his throat

‘Theodore Costa Lykel and Beatrice Edith Lykel’ he said clearly, the names floating up into the air like a declaration of existence, an acceptance into the world for the two babes. The boy’s second name was that of his foster father’s, the girl’s was Sophia’s mother’s. They could have been Theodore Robert and Beatrice Althea, or the first names might have been different, but as soon as he spoke them aloud they sounded right, and he knew Sophia agreed. She lay propped up, beaming with exhausted happiness as she held her new arrivals. She had never looked more beautiful, her damp hair curling to frame her face, cheeks rosy, and an expression of pure love and joy in her eyes. Sandra cleared her throat.

‘Sophia, we just have to check the placenta, clean you up and make sure all’s well. Perhaps Mr Lykel could take the babies, or we could put them in the cots.’

‘I can help’ Hana piped up, and Sophia nodded. Little Beatrice was closest to Hana, and carefully she took the little bundle, utterly entranced. Bastien took Theodore, making soothing noises as they awkwardly changed over.

‘Can we take them out to the waiting room?’ he asked ‘We’ll come straight back in when you’re ready’

‘Yes, but don’t hand them around’ the midwife answered. ‘New babies are still developing their immune systems, so the less contact with other people outside the family the better’

‘Take care’ Sophia urged ‘I’m not going anywhere’

‘We’ll be back soon, theà mou’ Bastien promised, and he and Hana walked out to the waiting room with his new family.@sirbeepsalot @fluffyfirewhiskey​ @dcbbw​ @kingliam2019​ @katedrakeohd​ @texaskitten30​

[vaguely-gestures-to-the-void]

Hindsight: My thoughts on Loki (2021)

Welcome back! Spoilers below!

I need to clarify that I watch Loki purely as an escape. I've got a biased perspective in that regard because I don’t actively try to find fault with the show, though there are definitely things I’m not so inclined to. This is more of what I noticed and think things mean and it’s something I’m doing for fun. Anyways, here's my thoughts on episode 2 my loves.

Episode 2: THE VARIANT

Pre-title scene

Miss Minutes’ monologue in the recap is different to the one last ep.

1985 Oshkosh, Wisconsin

C-20!

“Today’s guest performances” on a board. Don’t really know if it means anything tho.

The Iconic (TM) I Need A Hero scene.

Pony.

The green tent - the lair of Loki.

I know not everyone’s a fan of the lighting, but it made sense to me. They’re still in the dark about who Sylvie is.

Why does C-20 take off her helmet? For the drama?

I hope Sylvie cleaned her blade. Narnia taught me well.

The Time Samsung (I can’t remember what it’s called right now) says that the date’s 04/12/1985.

Loki’s first mission (?)

‘Volume 26’ - how many of these does Mobius have?? #giveMobiusajetski

“ONLY at your LOCAL AUTHORIZED DEALER” - subtext about the TVA being control freaks? Jet ski safety?

I googled Wake Magazine. They’re up to volume 20 from what I saw, whilst Loki is reading volume 26, so I guess that’s something

Loki and Miss Minutes lmaooo.

Behind Loki’s elbow is the taxidermy something from the last episode. Also confirms that Loki threatened Casey at Mobius’ desk lol.

The thing has an egg?? What the hell is Mobius collecting? (He’s a Harry Hart variant lmao).

There are little twitches in Miss Minnutes’ hands. That’s so cool!

The egg timer’s a nice easter egg (I’m a comedian).

Mobius! B-15! :)

Is it just me or do the minutemen look similar, but not exactly the same. Makes sense if they’re variants.

I just realised the lights are built into the ceiling. Whoops.

What’s Mobius’ favourite?

Couple of things:

The racks full of identical uniforms/ones just hung up on doors.

The music has started to pick up the pace, but not in the way we see later on in the episode.

There’s a sign saying ‘FARE THEE WELL’ on it. Google tells me that it’s ‘used to express good wishes on parting’. Dang that was some good foreshadowing!

The person that looks like Agatha is still present.

I wonder whether it was supposed to be colder or whether the weather was just like that when they filmed.

The pony’s still around.

I think B-15 certainty that “a Loki couldn’t have gotten the jump of C-20” comes from her experience with them. She constantly tries to make it clear that because she’s not a variant, she’d know Loki better than he would, which (personally) makes the revelation that she’s a variant feel more devastating.

Again with the lighting, they’re still in partial darkness, constantly moving in and out of the light. Whilst what Loki says about the variant setting a trap is true, it isn’t in the context that he says it. Sylvie whoops their asses later.

The black and red-orange flags remind me of tomb markers. It’s a stretch, ik.

B-15 only has tally marks on one side of her helmet.

Mobius has fake pockets in his suit jacket. They’re the worst.

The ticking increasing in tempo as they approach red line - great for setting up tension.

I believe that Loki uses personal space like a weapon - slowly approaching them from the front, and then going behind Mobius’ back when he wants his way. It would make anyone uncomfortable, especially on a subconscious level because there’s a threat behind you.

Or maybe it’s that I have different personal space boundaries, not everyone likes being approached from behind. Loki’s movement felt intentional at least.

Getting Mobius to physically turn his way because of that might have been very subtle manipulation?

Loki looking back and forth trying to judge their reactions lol.

I liked the music in this scene, it sets up tension for Loki’s first attempt at betraying Mobius but then doesn’t completely dismiss it when it’s resolved.

Ravonna Renslayer’s office

The music here is 18 morceaux, Op. 72, No. 2. Berceuse. 18 morceaux, Op. 72: No. 2, Berceuse (Arr. For Theremin and piano) by Clara Rockmore for anyone that’s curious. I found out through Natalie Holt’s Twitter (I think).

The score is, and always will be, perfection.

Mobius’ small talk amuses me.

“Why do you get to keep all the trophies from my cases in here, you don’t think I’d love having that roller skate?” Mobius, what about the thing on the shelf behind your desk????

Ravonna seems like she’s answered these questions before, but she has a fondness for him that makes me think they’re good friends.

Also does Ravonna have multiple complete collections of the Encyclopaedia Britannica in her office? What are those books??

“I hope it’s a double.” Me too Mobius, me too (drink responsibly).

I don’t get how people think Mobius doesn’t remember leaving the stains. It sounded like Ravonna was chiding him for a bad habit and Mobius just made up a remark, not confusion.

Although he does place the cup at a different spot to the rings.

The ship flying past in the windows is a wonderful detail.

“The variant likes to stall for time.” It's very satisfying to me how everything stays relevant. Every detail advances the plot/contributes to it.

“Look, I know you have a soft spot for broken things.”

“I don’t think so-”

“Yes you do.”

Both Mobius and Ravonna only look at the middle figure when referring to the time Keepers. Either the other two are side-lined or don’t contribute at all.

“I’ll delete him myself.” At this point in time, I think Mobius is serious. As the episode progresses, his status may have changed, especially after the Jet Ski philosophy session.

Ravonna’s sash on the peg reminds me of the ones the people talking to Casey were wearing in episode 1.

Man those doors are so cool.

Peak sitting outside the principal’s office energy.

Mobius whistles at Loki as opposed to talking to him like he does later.

Any screen shot from the following scene is pristine chaotic disaster bi Loki energy featuring tired-of-your-tomfoolery Mobius.

“Isn’t that precisely why I’m here?” This marked a change in Loki to me. Up until that point, he’d tried to use what he’d known, who he’d been by scheming his way to the Time Keepers. By admitting he wasn’t sure of his purpose, we’re back with the person at the end of the last episode. It’s very Loki to try all avenues to get what he wants, and after having his world turned upside-down a few times in a short period, maybe he just wanted the familiarity of his old tricks, who he thinks he is.

Loki tensing up and then trying to assert control again reaffirms what I just said.

Man, give Mobius a holiday after all of this. Loki really tested him, huh?

Loki definitely likes validation on some level.

TVA archives (a.k.a the Salad Scene)

I can’t believe that place really exists. The looks combined with the music are just *chef kisses*.

I’m not sure if I’m thinking of the right progression, but the music reminds me of a plagal cadence. Google examples and play it side-by-side, you’ll get what I mean, maybe someone knows what it really is?

On either side of the elevators near the Time Keeper statues are the signs TVA archives.

The symmetry pleases my goblin brain.

I believe the entire show was just flexing the skills of the Loki crew and I couldn’t be happier.

“Pretend your life depends on it. I’m gonna get a snack.” This was so funny in the trailers but Mobius is dead serious (delete him myself comment). And he couldn’t even enjoy his salad.

Love that the end of credits takes from some of the scenes in episode 2.

The archivist has neat glasses.

I want some TVA stationary y’all.

It’s that moment fam.

I can’t be the only one curious by the ‘DISPLACED by 000:000:002:162’. Is that in Units? It would explain why the time line looks slightly bendy whenever we see it, especially if Apocalypses are so frequent.

IT’S THE SALAD LADS!

Mobius is reading the magazine that Loki was looking at earlier. Jet skis are Mobius’ comfort character.

“Don’t set fire to the palace.”

Tom Hiddleston has so much energy, he can move so fast.

“Oh God.” - Mobius, Null Time Zone

“YOU.” - Casey, Null Time Zone

Casey!

No thoughts, head empty, the Salad (TM).

But seriously, people only seem to be at their tables with others that work in a similar section. Not hunters and analysts eating in tandem to me, folks.

Oh Casey. Please don’t hurt him.

Aw, Mobius’ little giggle warmed my heart. Owen Wilson’s giving me whiplash with Mobius. My heart can’t take this y’all.

79 AD Pompeii, Italy

They’re both so giddy, Your Honour, I love them.

Mobius snuck them out lol.

“Bird noises?”

“BE FREE MY HORNED FRIENDS, BE FREE!” The post wouldn’t be complete without this.

Loki just throwing food at people and telling them “...enjoy your last meal while you can” is top tier comedy to me.

This is the first time we see Loki openly say nothing matters. I feel like the case file on the destruction of Asgard really pushed him to treat fate as unchangeable.

LXXIX is 79. Nice one Loki crew!

Mobius’ eye twitching as he checks the variance is a nice touch.

Loki throws away the stick that was holding the goat pen closed at the end.

TVA Archives, TVA cafeteria

Mobius picked up those files so smoothly I had to re-watch it.

Their position reflected what they were talking about - when Loki thinks it’s his individual contribution, he’s walking separately to Mobius, but they meet up when working together. I loved the blocking in that little moment.

I seriously thought that Loki was unconscious when I first saw him asleep around Mobius. I’ll admit it, it felt out-of-character for someone with such bad trust issues. Both of them seem pretty tired tho.

It’s the Jet Ski conversation comrades!

I’m beaming. Mobius talking about Jet Skis was the only time I’ve really remembered it’s Owen Wilson talking. It’s such a fun line to think about!

Loki’s smile. Adorable.

Just go watch the scene, it’ll give you good brain juices.

Mobius does it all for the Jet Skis and nothing else. I don’t make the rules, the Time Keepers do.

“My own glorious purpose.” This is a recurring theme in the season. Ultimately, I think that Loki is going to run for as long as it brings in money/until Loki gets killed again. However, I do like to think that in following seasons we’ll move beyond setting up Phase 4 Marvel stuff and just get deep dives into Loki’s character, though it may happen in the later eps or not be as interesting. Part of what made this show so interesting is the new setting in the Marvel universe but it’s hard to make predictions as to whether it will last in a show featuring the God of Mischief. Whatever happens, I’m happy that we got to see Loki’s existential crisis together, lads.

The music picks up, signalling that this quiet moment is about to end.

“No one bad is ever truly bad. And no one good is every truly good.”

“Scared little boy.”

These lines mean a lot to me. Loki perceives Mobius as an equal, similar to himself but not completely identical. The TVA’s whole aesthetic is Kafkaesque (Disney+ used that word), the imperfections keeping the place from looking mechanical and orderly like what the TVA promotes itself to be. Loki wants Mobius to acknowledge it, but Mobius is in the past, not addressing what’s right in front of him, surrounding him. That’s probably because Mobius doesn’t believe, he accepts what he’s been told though Loki wants to change that. He’s still focused on his job, the variant. I don’t think Mobius will struggle against change in the ‘belief’ part as long as things are rational.

Kate Herron (director) said that the Kablooie scene was improv which makes me wish we had more B roll of Owen and Tom. They seem so professional, invested and fun on set.

“No wonder you’re so bitter.” I’m sorry Mobius you sound as salty as your salad.

‘Artificially flavoured chewing gum’ Has something happened causing artificial flavouring to be preferred?

‘Blue’ has canonically changed to ‘Bloo’ by 2050 in America in the MCU. I blame capitalism.

Why does Mobius look so tiny? I say that like Owen Wilson wouldn’t look like a giant next to me lol.

Owen Wilson is 3.5 inches (9 centimetres) shorter than Tom Hiddleston. Yet he is dwarfed as Mobius. I need to stop talking about this and move on.

There’s no ‘variance energy detected’ line in the report.

“You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.” Loki looks so chuffed.

One day, I’ll properly address my thoughts on the shipping. Until then, I just want no one to die.

“Yeah, he’s doing great.” Mobius is so hyped. Good for him.

Owen Wilson has dimples.

Ravonna’s screen doesn’t show the timeline like it does later.

Ravonna is the done mom friend. Sane, undeserving of this, please give her a jet ski moment.

Buckle up folks because the last twenty minutes of this episode are my favourite so far.

At 34 minutes in, we get the music fading in with “Okay. But Mobius...” and a transition to my favourite composition so far. Natalie Holt outdid herself. The soundtrack is nearly constant, there’s no break for a moment of clarity anymore. The progression of events is inevitable, tying the bow on a plot line created in an hour and a half. The little embellishment from the strings (possibly) as Mobius and Loki exit is perfect. Combined with Loki’s raised fist leading to a pan to the ceiling, it prepared the audience for everything being turned upside down.

The changing camera angles and shot lengths (the continuous shot when B-15 takes the knives, the circling behind as the briefing occurs) keep viewers on their toes. The continuous shot is fluid, B-15 doesn’t look at Loki or Mobius, her reaction is natural and that just proves that the timing on that scene was impeccable. The circling behind reminded me of Loki positioning himself behind Mobius as he did earlier, but now he’s on the same side, part of the team though he continues to distinguish between himself and the variant. The building sensation that change is coming is met by the incredible swell in the music as we watch the picturesque Haven Hills get destroyed by modern technology and face the terrifying reality that is the Roxxcart store. There’s a close up on the Roxxcart storefront with school buses with the words ‘Evacuation shuttle’ in the background as we see the TVA’s minutemen come out reinforcing that even when the end is nigh, large corporations will loom over. A storm is raging with worse to come. I can go on and on, but you get the point.

2050 Roxxcart Disaster

I love that y’all are calling this the Alabama supermarket breakup. Makes me chuckle, that’s for sure.

I too hate when people can hear my footsteps. Someone that gets the struggle.

Sylvie places the TVA Samsung over a Roxxcart Security manual. She’s overridden both and is in control.

The date is 03/15/2050.

I think that the way the Hunters and minutemen hold their baton things is so that they don’t get yeeted. Neat.

As always, the beats are slick yo.

I hope the Azaleas guy gets some Azaleas wherever he ended up.

I love the way Loki says “In this storm.” It’s so satisfying for no real reason.

The wonderful Wunmi Mosaku does not get the recognition she deserves for this scene. She switched from B-15 to Sylvie so effortlessly. They’re two distinct characters, her facial expressions, body language everything changed in that instant. Even from the one line, “No, they usually survive,” her delivery had changed in a way that was noticeable. It’s uncanny, exactly what was needed when facing a foe that remained unseen. And the smile? It’s before we know the variant as Sylvie, so naturally it’s that signature Loki smile with a hint of malice we associate with the variant. Damn y’all, Wunmi’s incredible! I really hope she’s recognised for being so talented in this series, if not in all her other work!

Mobius really cares about those people. I really want his redemption (?) arc.

It’s been pointed out that even in those conditions, Roxxcart were selling blankets and water. I think it means that by 2050, cash would be defunct. If only electronic payment existed, as long as there’s electricity they can run a business. Chew on that.

If the man they speak to is 50 to 60, he was a 90s kid.

There must be a difference in the reprogramming or kind of variant selected to be a hunter as compared to an analyst. The Hunters look after their own, but the analysts (or Mobius) go as far as empathising with variants.

C-20 is sitting in front of safety standards.

“A bit amateurish.” Loki knows that the variant isn’t as skilled with magic as he is.

As Loki and the possessed people walk, the lighting becomes brighter. He’s moving out of the shadows.

Me too Loki, I’m worried about B-15 too.

Sylvie unironically saying bless is hilarious.

Randy must be hella tall.

There’s a low angle shot as Loki and Randy face off with the flickering light above with a sign hanging above them like a sword of Damocles and a physical separation. Terror is nearly constant in Loki's life now, but he responds by letting go of his drive to survive.

The subtle swells in the music just add to my rising blood pressure.

C-20’s voice over is sad lads.

“I wanna go home,” we know she’s not referring to the TVA.

Mobius seems like a caring person.

When B-15 sits up and searches the room, I think it’s her realisation. Her shiver was from fear and shock, the music wasn’t about her not seeing Loki, it was about the TVA and what had happened to her.

The head snap and the score timing matching. So satisfying.

“I would never treat me like this. Hi.” I think that’s Loki realising that his foe is not willing to talk their way through conflict.

This fight scene contradicts all the magic we see later ik, but if he didn’t want to hurt anyone and was trying to draw out the real enemy it made sense.

Some of Sylvie’s powers must come into the people she possesses. The guy punched a glass screen and didn’t even bleed.

“I have shit to do.” Sylvie wasn’t raised with court etiquette (from what we know) and her lexical choice reflects that.

Dell computers survive into 2050 in the MCU. So do those robot dogs and Roombas. I am only happy about the Roombas. Where did the real dogs go? :(

“Mobius.”

“Where is he?”

“I lost him.”

“What happened?”

“I...”

Until now, B-15’s delivery has felt slightly rhythmic, like she was used to having the same arguments, particularly with Mobius. When she trails off however, I think it’s her trying to rationalise what she’s been through with Sylvie’s possession. Her devotion to the TVA was rooted in the fact that she wasn’t a variant, her life had a purpose and it was intentional. This must have rocked her, I’m invested in where she’ll go.

THE CUT TO BLACK OH GOOD GOSH.

Sylvie, my queen. I’d roll off a cliff for her.

The person with the moustache (you know the one) has pure fear on his face.

Ravonna knows what’s up.

And so do you, yes it’s the music, go listen to it.

THE RED LIGHTING

The zoom out to that incredible hallway shot and then stopping behind the time door. It was never about him after all, he was in the background of her plans.

Sylvie’s wave in Roxxcart vs. Loki’s on the train. Discuss.

The blackout, thunder and Loki’s pause under the flickering red and white light, do y’all really want me to talk about the s y m b o l i s m????

He’s conflicted, you know it, I know it, Mobius knows it.

Speaking of Mobius, there he is, we cut back to Loki and see him make his decision, zooming back in on him.

And with that final flourish in the score, we are done with episode 2!

Cue the most amazing end credits score you’ll ever hear.

Do yourself a favour, listen to all of it, including the part after the main credits, both are Works. Of. Art.

Ep 2 review

In case you didn’t notice, this is my favourite episode so far. There are parts I didn’t take to as much, but details from the previous episode being used in the plot as well as others being explained by Sylvie in episode 3. Rewatching it was easier than episode 1 though it left me wanting more. It will get more interesting from here, but until then, that was a fun romp.

See y'all next time. I hope whoever's reading this has a wonderful day!

Part 1, Episode 1 extend review link:

[coinofstone]

On Balls and Sticks

Just FYI I dug this out of an abandoned 14x10 post that’s been sitting in my drafts for a year.  Now, my swiss cheese brain doesn’t remember if anyone’s already covered this, so apologies if I’m rehashing someone else’s work. This was part of a much longer post analyzing the shit out of the set dec in these scenes, which I ended up abandoning because I couldn’t get the images to work. Now that I’ve solved that dilemma, I may revisit the post in its entirety in the future, but after seeing the ‘Drowning’ video Shaving People Punting Things posted, I had to dig this back up. For now, I want to talk about this shot:

At the time it stuck out to me because it’s so deliberate, but also so seemingly odd, random, until I stared at the pool table for a while. Is it insane to analyze billiard balls to this extent? Maybe, but here we are. This is the section I originally wrote on this shot:

All hail Amanda Tapping. Now I didn’t catch this shot, other than noticing that it seemed odd for what it was shooting - but that’s because the pesky dialog and characters in the background aren’t the goddamn point. I’ve gotta give @naruhearts @thetwistedwillow​ and @castielslostwings all the credit in the world for a) bringing this up and b) midwiving this shit out of me. The first thing I’ll bring up is the (white) cue ball and (black) 8 ball being positioned across from each other, easily interpreted to represent good and evil. The three numbered balls positioned defensively, or perhaps defiantly, in a row in the middle: green stripe (Dean), blue stripe (Castiel) and maroon solid (Sam). The Dean and Cas balls are stripes, but the Sam ball is a solid. To me, it’s intentionally differentiating Sam from Dean and Cas - those two have something in common with each other that they do not share with Sam. (Hint: it’s romantic love.) This is especially notable considering the maroon color of Sam’s ball is also available in a striped ball in any given set. The cue stick between the white ball and the numbered balls indicating the divide separating TFW and good - God and his self-imposed restriction from meddling in human affairs - evil (8 ball) has no such restriction, while still being in opposition to or confrontation with the colored balls. So TFW is left to fight evil or Lucifer without assistance from God or Heaven.  Additionally, the lights above the table - notice how there is three framed together and one on the opposite side of the pillar? One off on its own. Anyone who has read my Jack Meta piece knows that this episode spent a good chunk of time painting Jack as ‘other’ in the context of TFW. I believe this also represents that, three lights (Dean, Cas, Sam) together and one, the same but separated (Jack). Dean, Pamela, and ‘drunk’ vamp are also framed together within that shot - further representing three together, as well as the three stools and the three beer taps. These don’t have the single lone figure off to the side, (though the stools might, there IS one on the other side of that post but honestly it’s not really a focal point in this shot) so I think it’s more about the unity of the three than it is about the isolation of one. There is a whole load of actual color meta that can be read from this, but I’m not going to go into that here.

Now, the benefit of hindsight here is that I can pat myself on the back for the stuff about Jack being framed as ‘other’, but the real treat is that now I can look back on this and go ‘Wait! the fucking pool cue is Jack too!’ - I’ve specced that the ultimate endgame move for the show will be to have Jack resurrected at full power and use those powers to defeat a weakened Chuck, possibly locking him away like Chuck had once done to Amara, but more likely just locking him the fuck out of our universe. Looking back at this, I think it’s plausible that however it’s done, Chuck is going to be cut off from the rest of our world by Jack, much like the cue ball is cut off from the others by the pool stick in the shot above. While this does slightly alter my original perception of the visual narrative in this shot, foreshadowing God being cut off from the rest of our world deliberately by Jack versus Chuck cutting himself off from our world and the boys’ fight against evil, one thing remains the same - it’s still TFW vs evil, unrestricted. I’m taking this to indicate that by the end, they’ll not have sealed off Hell completely, or permanently rid the world of monsters, but they will still be there to fight them, or (hopefully) advise and assist others who choose to do so, in a more supervisory capacity. Interestingly, now that we know Rowena sits on the throne as the Queen of Hell, given her own character journey it’s entirely possible that there is a further layer to the positioning of the balls in this shot. Evil, or in this case, the Queen of Hell herself, could very possibly be read to be... on the same side as TFW against Chuck, you could say, backing them, even... Now there’s an interesting thought. Well, time will tell, anyway.

Now, I know you’re saying, ‘But Coin, why the fuck are you rambling about a shot of balls from over a year ago, now? What’s this got to do with the Drowning video? Why are you posting two separate analyses in one night when you usually average about one post per year?’ WELL. I’ll tell you, since you’ve asked so nicely. It was another blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shot from the Drowning promo video, but I would’ve shot up from my seat in triumph when I saw it, had my sciatica not been acting up. Behold, my validation:

What’s that you say? I’m insane you say? Well, you’re not wrong, but neither am I:

Look I spent like three days teaching myself to make gifs from blu-rays I haven’t figured out how to make the words I add to pictures shrink legibly when I resize for tumblr and I’m not gonna figure that shit out tonight, so just - it’s the fuckin balls again. The TFW balls are positioned with Dean and Cas together and Sam slightly off on his own, one space away from Dean. Maybe the orange solid ball between them is Eileen, GASP! maybe it’s Rowena because GINGER, maybe I just need to go to bed, but I’m NOT seeing things.

I’m just sayin’, man. The fuckin DeanCas balls wanna be together.The Sam ball wants to be slightly off on his own. Who is Sam even playing pool with he has no friends. I’m not going to sit here and suggest they set up like a trick table or something to get the balls to do what they wanted them to do - but, you know, as long as Jared hits it consistently they really only need a couple takes to realize placing all three of the relevant balls on the back line isn’t going to work because they will mostly scoot off on the break - leaving the Cas ball on the back line where it’s sitting sort of, say, on top of, or under, the Dean ball (ahem.) while still being visibly next to it, doesn’t hurt the metaphor/visual at all while also adding that layer about Cas going off on his own sometimes, which is something he, ya know, does. Sam’s ball not moving much could indicate that he intends on staying in the bunker or in the life, or it could very well just be where it ended up. This isn’t mean to be a conspiracy theory post and I really don’t want to dive any deeper into the possible machinations behind this shot - but I do want to point out that Sam’s initial rack is not how I learned how to rack, and contrary to what this post suggests I don’t actually spend a lot of time analyzing the pool tables in this show, so I don’t know if they normally follow any kind of method or if they just throw the balls in all willy-nilly every time. What I do know, is that this little blip in the promo made me think of the shot from Nihilism, and made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

[magicalsalamander]

Threads of a Resurgent

⍖ Pairing▹ BTS Namjoon ⇆ Reader

⍖ Genre▹ Grim Reaper| Witch | Horror | Fluff| Angst|

⍖ Warning▹ rated Mature; Graphic depictions of death and gore, main character death, necromancy, traumatic events, blood, animal sacrifice (not detailed), witchcraft inaccuracies, explicit language and horror themes.

⍖ Summary▹ That dress. It was all because of that tainted dress. The dress you found at a second-hand store wasn’t just a pretty thing on the rack. When the grim reaper sits across from you telling you he’s come to collect, your life takes a turn. However, he made a mistake..a grave mistake. The threads of the Resurgent begin to unravel as you and the Grim Reaper are unleashed on an adventure tangled by threads. How will you mend the threads and save your soul in time before he collects you?

⍖ Word▹31.6K

⍖ A/N▹ Hope you’re still in the mood for something spooky. I apologize for the grammar errors in advance, I will correct them asap. I made a dictionary for you to keep open while you read so you can refer to things. I hope you enjoy, thanks for reading! Gif source unknown, but I don’t take credit for it [if you know please let me know].

⇴ Masterlist | Book of Spells [Dictionary] | Moodboard 

The hangers clacked as you shoved articles of clothing past like an abacus. The clothes were so tightly packed on the rack that hangers were sticking out in all directions. Your face was in a permanent scowl as you picked through the thorn bush. Shopping hasn’t ever been a pastime that you would put high on your list of fun activities. It had its scarce perks and all, but the process was always a long journey: picking clothes, trying on clothes in a scrutinizing mirror, then returning 99% of the items to an underpaid fitting room attendant. Rinse and repeat. However, here you were, on Friday evening, rummaging through a second-hand thrift store’s dress section to find something to wear for a date in about an hour.

You kept pushing past ugly polka dotted dresses, grandmother moo moos, overtly ruffle dresses then you stopped counting. You pushed another bead on the abacus when you stopped counting when something seemed to glow, call to you. You found the one. It must’ve been a rich-woman’s dress at some point. It was a simple black dress, but there was beauty in its minimalism. You assumed it made it here because of that stupid rule: wear it once then never again.

Who came up with that rule anyways?

You happily unhooked it from the rack, but it snagged when it was halfway out. It got caught in the thorns of about three other hanging pieces. You grunted and tried jangling the pieces loose, but the hangers were as messy as headphones in a pocket. After a few minutes of trying to figure it out you were nearly placing your foot on the rack to yank it out. This is ridiculous, but you weren’t going to settle on a polka dotted dress. One tug, two, then on your last heave you heard ripping and gasp from your lips with the liberated dress finally in your hands. You stumbled backwards and held the dress up in victory, but your smile turned into a heavy frown. The dress had a slit up the side from where a metal hook from another hanger ripped the delicate fabric. You just found something, and you ruined it in a matter of seconds.

After looking at it for a bit longer, you quite liked the new look. A risqué notch up the thigh gave the dress bonus points, perfect for date night. You checked the price tag with a satisfied smile, twenty bucks was doable on your budget. No further torture was needed, end of discussion, you found the dress!

You ran up to the counter, bought the dress, then ran back to the changing room. You changed out of your professional wear that you wore to the office earlier into the dress. Luckily you were already wearing accessories and shoes that transitioned easily. You checked yourself and swiped on a fresh coat of lipstick smacking your lips. You checked your watch, you had fifteen minutes to make it across town. You ran out the store and hailed a taxi. You took a deep breath as you sunk into the leather seat and crossed your fingers in your lap. You stared out the window watching the cityscape change, you hoped this went well.

You watched the flickering orange candle light in the reflection of the large window from your booth. Pattering rain hit the glass distorting the small light, but your reflection stared right back at you clearly. For the past hour some people ran past while others were covering themselves with umbrella to fend off the sudden rain. Luckily the rain started when you were inside the café. Couples giggled as they clutched onto eachother and some kids splashed in puddles only to be scolded by their parents seconds later.

The cooper bulb lights couldn’t completely wash out the overcast sky and heavy rain, nor the apparent absence besides you. Your hands felt cold despite trying to warm them up around the tea you ordered just to warm you up. Nothing changed that awkward feeling sitting in your stomach. You had been stood up.

You heavily sighed and looked to the empty seat across from you. It’s been over an hour and a half since you were supposed to meet. You looked around the nook café, although it was slotted between two popular brick and mortars, it was empty. You were the only patron in the establishment. The once burning espresso machines had cooled and the strong aroma of espresso had dulled to a dainty waft. The exhausted barista yawned, possibly bored out of their mind. They tossed their hand towel over their shoulder and disappeared into the back.

You ran a hand through your hair with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t about being stood up that upset you, it was the principal of the matter! You spent money—hard earned money—on a new dress, a taxi, a cup of tea and it wasn’t even worth it. You couldn’t even return the dress!

You reached down and traced a finger along the ripped seam up your thigh. Risqué notch my ass…it was just torn and got you an extra five dollars off this piece of junk. What if the rip was foretelling you that this wasn’t a good idea; perhaps an ominous foreshadowing you overlooked?

The depression of air wheezed out of the cushion as someone slide into the booth across from you. You looked up and met the dark eyes of a stranger. The tall stranger leaned back, resting one arm across the back of the chair. He was dressed in a sharp black suit that covered his lean body. His dirty-blonde hair was pushed back out of his face, but a few tendrils straggled on his forehead. The sinister look on his face, sharp scrutinizing eyes, and cocky demeanor washed over you like a cold shower. You didn’t dare to shiver, but your dilated pupils trembled.

“I’ve come to collect.”

You swallowed saliva you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You looked around the cafe and found the place completely empty. It was just you…and this stranger. Collect? Maybe this dude was mistaken or intoxicated. “What?” Stupefied you answered.

He scoffed running his thumb over his plump bottom lip, then clasped his hands, hunching over the table. He was only a single man, but his presence filled up the whole booth. He lifted his head, messy bangs fully covering his forehead. He looked through his lashes at you, eyes darkening by the second. For a second you were sure smoke filtered between his pearly white teeth as he smirked, “Oh, don’t play dumb now.”

You looked out the window and the foot traffic had stopped completely, but the rain still was heavily trickling, heavier than before. Uneasiness settled in your stomach, something was not right about this guy. “I’m sorry you must’ve gotten the wrong person,” you were running out a patience. You scooted out of the booth, done dealing with this creep. You didn’t have a coat or umbrella, so you were going to have to make a run for it.

He remained in his seat hands still folded on the table. He kept unwavering eye contact with you from his spot, “You can’t keep running from what you’ve done. I have to collect.”

You busted at the seams, “I don’t have any debt! I just paid off my credit cards and stud—.” It hit you, “Sir, are you—are you…,” you leaned in a bit hushing your raised tone, “a part of the mafia or something?”

He chuckled throwing his head back in fake laughter, “Does changing now make you lose your memory?”

You had enough from this crazy, admittedly handsome—but insane guy! You snatched your purse turning around to leave. What a terrible night this has been. You’re going to throw this dress away, fifteen dollars or not, then yourself onto your bed when you get home.

You took about two steps and apparated before you in a blink of an eye. You gasped nearly running face first into him, “Whoa—What? How did—?”

His pupils engulfed his eyes in a deep black engulfing the sclera of his eyes. You could feel his hot breath on your cheeks as he growled out, “Pay-the-price!” He grabbed onto your elbow and dragged you towards the entrance of the café.

“Let go of me! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” His grip was nearly bone crushing. Through the pain you screamed, “LET GO!” You were pulled along regardless of your protest. You looked for staff, anyone, to help but no one was there to save you. Your heart was racing out of your chest, “Let me GO!”

He ripped open the entrance door, a cold front rushed over you both, but his large figure took the blunt of it. He pulled you along through the threshold, “Stop!” You expected to be pelted by rain, but instead the world warped around you, neon commercial lights whirlpool and turned into darkness that took a new life as a hazy blue-grey dense fog. He kept pulling you along with him unaffected by the transition. Nausea churned your stomach in an unfriendly manner. Your brain felt like static causing you to stumble over your own feet when your feet settled on uneven, gravelly terrain. His insistent pulling progressed you both onwards.

Where were you?

You couldn’t see anything clearly besides him in this nightmare-scape; until, in the dense fog, you began to pass trees that were characterized by their dark trunks and chaotic roots that were like spider legs sticking out the ground. This place left so much up to the imagination. Every muscle in your body was aching to run away, to fight, bite his hand even, but that fog—it felt alive. Whatever was out there in it could make the bravest being claustrophobic.

This must be the gateway to hell.

Coming from your right then left you heard the crunching of dead leaves. From the dark haze, the imagination begins to fill with horrors. Silhouetted human figures passed in different direction between the tress, but they didn’t turn towards us they kept their wandering demeaner. The fog was alive!

“Wh-Where are you taking me?” You whisper yelled it to him, afraid to attract the attention of those wandering figures in this passing hell. The ma—demon holding you hostage kept his pace graciously gliding in the fog. The silence between you was scarier.

A dark hill appeared and in short realization you realized it was a cave. He kept dragging you towards it with a sinister smile blooming on his face. Breaking through the susurration, the sound of heavy limbs being dragged was eerily followed by the crunching of bones and the mushing sound of moist flesh. The morbid sounds echoed through the forest as if it was hollow as it emanated through the cave.

Your jaw dropped in a silent scream, the nausea turned into cramps, replacing itself with a guttural twisting horror. Your heart was beating so fast that everything seemed to move in slow motion. The closer we got it reeked of death and sorrow—sulfur, methane, and burned fat. You tried sticking your heels into the ground, but he dragged you along easily. “Please, I don’t know anything, just let me go!”

The mouth of the cave greeted us with an infinite darkness and your shadows dissolved into it. Your captor chanted rapidly like a hissing snake in a voice so low and deep. A raging blue fire came to light as we suddenly stopped. You jelly legs nearly tripped over something as you came to a halt, you looked down realizing it was shards of bones. You let out a scream and pulled back, screamed louder when the formidable cave dweller came to life.

The beast feeling the heat roared in distress and moved away from the fire towards you. The colossal chains attached at its ankles rattled as it slugged forward with growls of its own. The two-ton behemoth legs and arms were thin compared to his protruding gut resembling someone with Cushing disease; except that gut was filled with digesting bodies while the souls were sent to pits. His protruding, bare torso was covered in old and fresh guts and other bodily fluids. It’s disgusting greyish, purple body was that of a human, but the head was that of a boar with horns sticking out its oversized jaw. It had a partially devoured femur in its thick hand that swung listlessly as he moved.

The beast eyes were pupilless, cloudy grey, and it searched out its victims with its other heightened senses. Your involuntary noises lead the beast to whip its head right towards you. All the suppression up until this point was peaking up your throat, you were going to throw up from fear.

Your captor spoke to the beast, “Edax Animae! I return the obliquatur pythonissam who cheated Statera and you!”

You were violently trembling, what had you done wrong? You’ve never crossed anyone, nor had you done something so terrible to deserve this! Did you do something absolutely stupid in college that’s haunting you now? Maybe when you stole Stacey’s crayons in second grade, but you swear you put it back right after using it. You swear you’ve lived fairly straight edge your whole life.

You were tugging and scratching and digging your nails into his hand with your other, “Let me go! I didn’t do anything. I swear!” Your nails were causing his hands to redden with thick scratch marks, yet he didn’t make a face or loosen his grip on you. “PLEASE!”

The beast roared and stepped towards you again, but his chains yanked him back. Fear engulfed your conscience, you screamed in your throat, pulling back, yanking hard but you could only get back as far as your arm’s length. The beast dropped the femur with a gross smack of flesh. You could feel tears dripping down your face without your conscious choice. You were going to die. You were going to get eaten alive.

“Please, please, please!” Your captor pushed you forward mercilessly, you landed at the feet of the monster. You couldn’t look up, tears streamed down your face in a steady stream. The beast wobbled forward like a toddler, blubbering blood out of its mouth. It dripped down the side of its lips and onto its torso. You cowered backwards, legs dragging on the rocky dirt, his looming colossal shadow began to engulf you. It heavily panted with each step. Hovering over you, the beast suddenly stopped and huffed a deep growl.

Your captor shouted at the monster, “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” The monster huffed again turning its stout away from you, “What-do-you-mean!”

He violently stomped over to you, bones cracking under his dress shoes, eyes completely black. He grabbed onto the hemline of your dress.

You try shoving his hands away, “What are you doing!”

“Stay still,” it was a command. He ripped a piece of your dress off where the thigh had already been cut, leaving you with an inverse scallop cut. You yelped and tried pulling the torn edge down, “Don’t move.” Your hands stilled.

He presented it to the beast and it craned its stout a few times seeking out his hand then heavily sniffed it. The beast roared again then panted like a dog, giddy about the fabric. Your captor tossed the fabric at the bottom of the monster’s feet. The monster bent down onto its knees searching for it with its snout and shoveled it in its snout and swallowed it. The beast grunted after making an audible gulp swallowing the fabric. They exchanged growls and grunts, your captor some Latin that you couldn’t understand. “You gotta be fucking with me! Just when…this-this isn’t?” He pulled at his hair in frustration, his anger shook the walls of the cave, loose rocks tumbled from their spot.

You backed away avoiding falling rocks from the ceiling. You backed up without looking and hit the cave wall with a thud. At the noise the beast made direct eye contact with you, its cloudy grey eyes focused in your direction. You froze and held your breath, it’s gaze held a hypnotic grip on your throat. Drool dripped from the side of its jaw and boiled as it hit the rustic mud digesting shards of bone on the spot.

You captor held his hand out, hissing, “Flax!” In his hand from a cloud of black smoke appeared a scythe. Your captor strode his way over to you, easily flipped the scythe around and held the long blade to your throat. You winced closing your eyes and when you opened them you could see your reflection in the blade as you took a quick glance down at it.

“Aren’t you a witch! She put you up to this didn’t she! Where is she?”

You shivered, “Witch? No! Look I don’t know what you’re pulling here—!”

The monster grunted again, and your captor closed his eyes in frustration. “That Witch!” Your captor exploded, black smoke rolled out of his mouth. He pulled his scythe away from your neck.

You shuttered and eyes bulge at the supernatural occurrence. Who...who was this guy! What was all this! You thought that this stuff was only fictional, yet a beast and whatever this guy was in front of you really existed!

The monster begins heaving like a dog and it throws up the piece of fabric it just digested, along with some other things you couldn’t make out.

You beg, “Just take me back, I’ll forget all this, I won’t say anything, just take me back home.”

He growled toxic smoke pouring from his mouth, “I can’t take you back!”

You yelled back, fear making you lose your temper, “Why? Why can’t you? Just take me back! I said I’ll forget—.” You flinched as the monster began moving towards the back of the cave again.

“You can’t forget this!” He yelled, veins in his neck popping. He recentering himself quickly, pointed to your body with his scythe, “You wore that dress…you’re tainted.”

Dress? What does this dress have to do with any of this? Tainted? “I don’t care about the dress. Just take me back!”

He sighed clanking the stem of his scythe once on the floor and it disappeared into thin air. He walked out of the cave and ignorantly you followed him like lightening was at your feet into the dense fog again. You kept close to him. You could run, but where would you go? Become one of the wondering souls? You had to persuade him to take you back home. More importantly, you needed answers.

He spoke as he walked, “That dress belonged to a resurgent. It was worn by that-that witch when they died then resurrected. A piece of their soul is attached to that dress.”

You almost felt relieved for a moment, your hands were wiped clean, this was all a mistake and you could go home. You just needed to get rid of the dress, done deal.

He spat the last words. “The fact that you wore it…that piece of her—necromancy it’s sticky—it’s tainted you. That’s why you were mistaken for her.”

He slowed his pace, “Your soul is hers and until her debt is paid, you’re tainted.”

The color dropped out of your face.

He stopped in a clearing and turned around facing you with a sad expression. “And if her soul isn’t collected in time…,” he looked you directly in the eye, “yours will be.”

Your knees gave way and you collapsed like a ragdoll. Fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. He kneeled and lifted your chin and wiped away your tears. You flinched when he touched you expecting to be hit or worse. He pulled his hands back, frown deepening, “I won’t hurt you. I know it’s hard to believe, but I won’t hurt you.” His black eyes receded into something more humanistic again. His demeanor took a one hundred and eighty, but his face was still stern. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I really am.” This was low, he’s never known it was possible to split the soul. But here you were, proving everything he thought wrong.

The tears continued to stream down your face, he tried wiping each of them away. He genuinely felt terrible, he had brought an innocent mortal into Limbo and showed them something you should have never seen. Never. However, you weren’t just an innocent mortal anymore, “But…until I can find her and bring her soul to Satera…we have to remain together.”

You screeched out, “Together!”

“I will find the resurgent.” He stood up taking your hand and gently helping you up, going as far as to dusting you off. He shrugged off his blazer and wrapped it around your shoulders. “But in the meantime, you and I are connected as well.”

You tried shrugging his coat off before it touched your shoulders, “Will this taint my soul too?” You were suspicious of everything.

He laughed, the straight-faced man laughed, dimples even appeared on his cheeks. He was quite good looking when he wasn’t threatening your life. He shrugged and placed it around your shoulders again, “Just be grateful Keres didn’t come to find you.”

You asked, “Who?”

His face went dumbstruck, “Oh.” He cleared his throat, “My sister…she would not be as kind if she were assigned you.”

“Assigned?”

He chuckled, “You have so many questions.”

You sputtered out in disbelief, “Who are you?”

“The mortals call me Thanatos, at least they used to about two thousand years ago, or the Grim Reaper more recently.”

Your jaw dropped, and spat out, “Death, YOUR death!”

He laughed again, “The one and the only.”

He held out his hand, “I can satisfy one of your requests, I’ll take you home.” You were too stunned to say anything and before you knew it you were traveling again.

You stumbled as you emerged, but he caught your arm, gently this time. He straightening you out, “You alright?”

You panted, “How-how do you do that?”

He smirked, “Comes with the job.”

He took you to your front door, for a short moment you wondered how he knew where you lived but you felt he had his ways there too. He stopped you from going inside, “I’m going to find out more…information. If you need me, call me.”

You looked at him inquisitively, “How am I supposed to call you?”

“Just say my name.”

“Reaper?”

He shook his head and scuffed his shoe, surprisingly shy, “Namjoon, my real name is Namjoon.”

You tested the name on your tongue, “Namjoon.”

He nodded, “Keep the blazer, and call me when you need me.”

You took the hint, “My name’s Y/n.”

He turned around once more, “Oh, Y/n, don’t tell anyone about this.” You wanted to scoff, but you swallowed it, nodded in understanding instead. Who would believe you if you told them anyways?

“Good night, Y/n,” he vanished in the next second in a cloud of black smoke.

What had you gotten yourself into?

Magic, the supernatural, beast, monster, and God knows whatever else you hadn’t seen with your eyes yet exist. Magic exists.

Before you knew it, it was Friday again. The whole week after you felt like a zombie, like your own body didn’t belong to you. You were still questioning if it all was just a bad dream, a twisted nightmare. The bruises from his hard grip were there…his blazer was still with me and that dress…I still had that dress. You had hooked up the dress on a hanger and left it on a hook behind your door. You didn’t know what to do with it. You didn’t know if you threw it away or that would only make things worse. The best solution you could come up with was “out of sight, out of mind”.

You came home around nine, Fridays were always hell at the office. Your coworkers were making you pay since you took last Friday off early, it was your turn to shoulder a majority of the work. Your manager would pile on work that he’d been slacking on during the week onto the team. Instead of getting off at five like everyone else, you’d usually get off the earliest at eight at minimum.

You treated yourself with a long shower to wash away the stress. You dried yourself off and replaced the towel back on the rack and slipped on fresh underwear you had set out for yourself. You lived alone, so you often went around your apartment practically nude. You stepped up to the white counter humming a tune; showers always eased your mind. The medicine cabinet open with a magnetic click, mechanically following your night routine taking out your toner, moisturizer, and toothpaste from the neat shelf.

When you closed the cabinet, getting a good look of yourself in the mirror, you noticed thick, black flakes of mascara was still caked under your eye. You heavily sighed and dug into a drawer and pulled out a pack of cotton pads, tossing them on the counter with a crunch of the plastic. You reached over scavenging between your scented lotions and perfumes for your makeup remover. You really needed to get rid of some of those lotions and perfumes. You popped open the bottle and generously dowsed a cotton pad. You looked back up and begin wiping away at the black clots under your eye. In a way this was therapeutic as well, removing physical sludge was oddly satisfying.

You tossed the dirty cotton pad in the trash and turned back to the mirror checking your work. In the corner of your eyes you caught something moving behind you. You whipped around, but nothing was there. You stared for a few more moments waiting for the trickery to happen again, but nothing, there was nothing there. Despite just taking a steaming hot shower, an icy draft came over the room. Goosebumps welted all over your body. You rubbed over your arms and shrugged it off. A draft from under the door must’ve swept in and you must’ve had a flake of mascara in your eye. You turned back to the mirror, but the hair on the back of your neck was still at attention. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s nothing. You’re spooking yourself you idiot.”

You kept looked over your shoulder a few times despite your assuring monologue as you finished up your routine. You massaged in the excess moisturizer into your neck and the wiped rest on your towel. You opened the medicine cabinet and put the products back faster than you normally would. That eerie feeling you couldn’t seem to escape was traveling down your spine, but you choose to ignore it.

It was just your imagination.

You picked up your toothbrush and applied a dollop of paste then ran it under water. You popped it in your mouth then closed the cabinet. You scrubbed your teeth and pulled your eyes back up to meet your reflection. The lights flickered encroaching you in darkness for a split second. When the lights turned back on, your reflection was accompanied.

A wasting figure began to rise in the intervals as the lights flickered. You screamed at the top of your lungs, the toothbrush dropped from your mouth clanking in the ceramic sink. You watched as the being built itself from cavities to limbs that looked Frankenstein when it was fully equipped. Your clean scent was being stained by the heavy earthen smell of soil accompanied by a smell of death. The room filled with complete darkness for a heartbeat, then a feminine figure replaced the Frankenstein when the light came on. The dark figure behind you shushed you and snaked a hand around your neck holding you in place; although, you were frozen on the spot from fear and couldn’t move regardless. As she leaned in to you her cold chest pressed into your back, she hooked her pointy chin on your shoulder you got a good look at the figure’s face. She was a gorgeous woman with sharp features, deep eyes and long, silky black hair.

She brushed your wet hair behind your ear and whispered into your ear, “So we meet.” She chuckled in satisfaction knowing she had terrified you, “We meet my pretty.” Her eyes met your bulging eyes in the mirror. There was a hollowness within them that couldn’t be conjured even in someone’s worst nightmare. An image you wouldn’t ever be able to erase no matter how hard you tried.

“It was hard finding you, you hide yourself pretty well.” You had no idea you were hiding, much less hiding from her. It clicked, this was the woman the Reaper was speaking of. This was the Witch!

“Someone finally bought my dress, I’ve been waiting for someone to come save me.” She whispered in your ear, “What a fine sacrifice you’ll be. You have such a pure soul too, Satera will surely be pleased when you take my place.”

You shakily got out with a heavy bob of your throat, “Who-who are you?”

She chuckles, “You’ll find out soon.” She held onto you tighter and dragged her sharp nails across your neck imitating a knife. “When the day comes, I will come for you and my name will be your last words.”

In the next second, she vanished just as quickly as she appeared, her sinister laughter echoed off the bathroom tiles.

You found your breath again and clutched at the counter top trying to regain balance. Where she had ran her finger burned, your hand covered the mark neck on instinct. You focused on breathing, but her words echoed in your head.

This was real. The resurgent was real, the dress was hers, and she knows where you live. The resurgent found you! You were tainted. Tangled in a promise, you were going to become that image that brought you feared.

You ripped off your underwear and scrubbed your whole body with scalding hot water. It felt like her smell was heavy gunk on you, especially where she had touched you. You scrubbed until your skin was raw and the steam began to reek of your body wash. You broke down crying. It wasn’t a dream, this was real, she was real.

You’re tainted.

It was at least a half hour before you came out of the shower. You wrapped a different towel around yourself and stuck to the wall as you walked down the hall to your bedroom. You felt so exhausted. You slip on a new pair of underwear and unusually pajamas and what you think is your robe, you aren’t really paying attention. You needed to feel covered.

You walked out of your bedroom towards the living room when a voice called to you. “Are you alright? Why’d you call me?”

You screamed using your already raw throat past its limit and held onto your robe with a deathly grip. You turned towards Namjoon, recognizing the voice, “What is wrong with you!”

He took in your red figure and bloodshot eyes, but what was most surprising was you were wearing his blazer, “What’s wrong Y/n?”

You sunk against the wall, the way he looked at you made you cave in, “She-She was in the bathroom with me. ShecameupbehindmewhenIclosed the-the—,” deep inhale, ”mirrorandheldup her-her knifes to my neck!”

Namjoon bolted towards you picking you up before you sunk to the floor. He held your hands, stopping your flailing hands to get a look at your neck. Thick lines were inflamed across your neck. He could smell it too, a faint smell of death lingering on your skin. He weighted frown settled on his lips, this wasn’t supposed to happen. She had found you despite the protection you had because of his blazer. He had even placed one on the apartment when he left that night. He wasn’t expecting her ever to find you, much less taunt you. He thought he’d have more time, a year, before she went out looking for you.

Blubbering your words, “She said, ugggnnnhhh.”

“Shhh, Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

He had made an indirect promise to keep you safe, to figure this out, yet he wasn’t keeping it. You nearly died and right under his nose. Guilt bubbled in his stomach, how much more could he mess up?

“Pack some stuff and let’s go.”

You looked up at him in surprise, “Oh no, I’m not falling for that again.”

He frowned, “She’s only going to come back.”

“Where am I going to go? I have nowhere to go.” You raised your hand to your mouth nibbling on your thumb. Wouldn’t she follow you anywhere? Was anywhere safe?

He stepped back, “With me, you can stay with me. I have a house just outside the city. Until I can get this place cleansed you can’t come back here.”

“With you!” You scoffed, suddenly remembering your connection and pushing away from him. You still haven’t forgiven him, or completely trusted him. “I’m not going anywhere with you, the last time I did I nearly died! How do I know you’re not going to just do the same?”

He sighed, “The blazer, you have my blazer.”

“What about it.”

“Just like she has a piece of you,” he pulled at the lapel for emphasis, ”with that, you have a piece of me.”

You finally looked at what you were wearing, and you realized you had his blazer on. A hot flush covered your cheeks, and it deepened as you realized the intensity of what it really meant.

“Your soul is in this blazer?”

“The uniform is like a vessel, just like that dress. It holds a small bit of me, but it doesn’t harm you or transfer, instead…it protects you.”

You lessened your grip around the lapels, feeling a bit guilty for treating it so carelessly. For doubting his sincerity, it was just hard to trust anyone at this point. You still didn’t know if you could trust him fully yet though, he needed to earn that from you.

You ran a hand through your still wet hair, “Won’t she just follow me to your place.”

He smiled, “I’ll be there to protect you then if she does.”

You couldn’t find it in you to argue with him. Fiercely flicking your wrist, you pointed to your eyes then at him jabbing it a few times in his direction for emphasis, “ I’m trusting you, so…okay, give me a minute.”

“Leave the dress.” You didn’t bother answer him, you figured that much, and continued walking away to your room.

He watched as you walked away wrapped in his blazer with a quirk in his brows. You didn’t take it off after he pointed it out instead he watched you wrap it around you tighter.

What had he gotten himself into?

You weren’t capable of handling the responsibility of driving given your shaken state. He drove the both of you in your car over to his home with a stuffed duffle bag in the trunk. He drove twenty minutes away from your apartment to a suburban neighborhood where the streets were quiet and the homes were far apart from one another and well out of your budget. You had no idea this part of your city existed, maybe because you hadn’t lived here your whole life.

He pulled up to a stone pillared gate that had an elegant white fence concealing the estate from the outside world. On each side were two grand stone dogs that had their jaws open mid bark. He didn’t need to press a remote as they opened automatically for him. He drove in slowly away from the tarmac road onto a sun stone paved driveway. Along the driveway on both sides were various floral plants, shrubbery and trees. You could only assume much because it was so late and very dark, but the yard seemed to go on about a mile out. When he parked the car in front of the garage you were gawking at the huge, two story white transitional home. Lights were on inside of the home outpouring warm orange light that was so welcoming. You weren’t expecting this in the least, the white especially.

The first intelligent words out of your mouth were, “Wow, this home is beautiful.”

He smiled, “Thanks, just got it today.”

You looked at him, jaw hanging open. Today? Did he say today?

He shrugged, “Perks of being a Reaper.”

He got out of the car and opened the trunk. You came to your senses and flung the car door open and took your bag before he could. You didn’t want to impose any further on him. He chuckled under his breath and politely pointed towards the house for you to follow him. You stepped up a short staircase to a mid-size dark wood front door and engraved in the wood was an inverted torch. Ivy clung to border of the door and the white walls of the home and wrapped itself around the hanging lanterns. There was something mysterious about this place, it felt so magical.

Your eyes bulged as he opened the front door revealing the inside of his home. You weren’t in Kansas anymore that’s for sure, maybe not even Earth. He walked past you with natural ease, his dress shoes clicking on the polished marble flooring. When you were still standing outside, he looked back, “Take off your shoes and come in. My place is your place.”

You forced off your shoes hopping a bit, your duffle bag making you slightly lop sided, “What do you mean just go it today?”

He shrugged, “I don’t live ‘here’ per say…or anywhere really, so I got this place.”

You were about to question for more answers, but he left you standing there alone in the entry way. He walked through the house confidently to the kitchen. He opened the double doors of the fridge and looked over his shoulder, “Hungry?”

You deadpanned, “You know how to cook?”

He bit his lip, “No, but I can try. It seems easy.”

You were dumbfounded. This home was completely furnished, fully stocked and it looked like he had lived here for a while. It had that lived in cozy feel with the simple architecture but defining décor in a monochrome palette.

He dropped an assortment of vegetables on the table and slung a knife out the knife rack and begun cutting a carrot. When he depressed the knife half of the carrot flew right in front of you and across the room. You broke out of your stupor and ran over to him taking the knife from his hand, “No, no, no, you may be the Grim Reaper but stay away from cooking. I’ll cook, you do Reaper stuff…or something.”

He pouted then chuckled, “Are you sure? I can help at least.”

You picked a few vegetables out of the bunch, “Put the rest away and then wash these ones.” He followed orders easily and you were able to pick some more things out of the cabinets, and a dash of seasoning here and there. He found an apron for you to wear, “Don’t get the blazer dirty.”

You took off the blazer and placed it carefully over the back of a chair. You wrapped it around you, you didn’t even realize you left your house still wearing pajamas and his blazer. Your cheeks heated up, but you kept your eyes on the frying pan.

You plated two plates of stir fry in half an hour flat. You wiped the sweat off your brow, “Let’s eat.”

Namjoon sat down at the table eying the food like you had the house, “Wow.”

You laughed as you slid into the dinning chair, “It’s just stir-fry.”

He dug in immediately and practically moaned at the taste, “I haven’t had a home cooked meal…ever.”

You nearly dropped your fork, “Ever?”

He nodded but continued to shovel food in his mouth. You smiled and ate your food peacefully across from him. You had barely made it through half your plate when he was serving himself seconds. He was like a vacuum. It was such a simple dish, yet he was treating it like fine dining. You set your fork down after taking your last bite and he shyly looked up at you. He swallowed a lump of food then shoved around a vegetable with his fork suddenly modest, “Thank you for the meal.”

You giggled and took a napkin and gestured it towards the flakes of food around his mouth.  He shyly took it and wiped his mouth. “You’re welcome.”

At this point you had completely forgotten about why you were at his house. However, you didn’t want to remain naïve to that comfort. You cleared your throat, “Who is she?”

He went silent chewing on a vegetable then swallowed it with a gulp of water. “Celina is a powerful resurgent. She’s was even one of the members of the Hecate Council. A council of only the most powerful witches. Her and her sister were one of the greatest witches to ever be a part of the council. However, that wasn’t enough for Celina. Secretly, against Hecate law, she started performing the Dark Arts.

They’re dark arts for a reason, it goes against the natural balance by betraying Hecate law. She learned cursed spells…and necromancy. The biggest sin by betraying Satera to interfere with life and death, but I’m responsible for maintaining the balance by collecting.

Celina was exiled when the council found out, her sister was exiled along with her from the council. Her whole family of prestigious witches was shamed for Celina’s betrayal to the Witch’s Oath.

Celina felt she had more potential than the council limited her to, so she went rogue and fully committed to the Dark Arts. She learned how to use her magic to achieve ‘pseudoimmortality’.

I’ve been chasing her for about a century, but she keeps changing form and finding new…host. But, resurging, it’s something that eventually eats you alive, literally. “

He took a big gulp of water, “She’s learned how to use objects to find her victims.”

He set down his fork and looked you in the eyes conveying a million things to you, but verbal unleashes the truth, “And you…you…happen to have one of them...her next host.”

His words hung heavy on your chest. Celina wasn’t an ordinary witch, she was your puppeteer.

You picked up your dishes and headed towards the sink wanting to distract yourself. Namjoon followed you, “Y/n, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said all that. She won’t bother you again.”

You turned on the faucet then turned towards him, “I know Namjoon. I know.” You took a sponge and rinsed off the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.

Namjoon stepped in taking the dishes from you, “Guest shouldn’t clean.”

You nudged back in you weren’t raised to stand by, “Who knew the Reaper was so traditional.” He laughed nudging you with his elbow playfully.

He had showed you to a room soon after you both washed the dishes and cleaned up. You followed him up the stairs insisting you could carry your bag just fine. It felt odd being doted on by the Reaper. The second floor was just as impressive as the first. He walked down a warmly lit hall, stuffed bookshelves were about, plants with exotic flowers and figurines. You noticed the reoccurring crest of an inverted torch about the house.

He opened a door theatrically, “Your room.” He allowed you to walk in first. You looked around your room in awe, the room resembled a high-class hotel room. Luscious, thick carpet soothed your feet and you were instantly sure this was heaven. Your eyes focused on the queen-sized bed, the other furniture blurred as your eyes just focused on that single piece. You walked forward and tested it out by face planting into the comforter. Around you the fluffy comforter huffed as the air trapped within the fabric released sinking you into the softness.

Namjoon laughed from the doorway then trailed in and set your bag down by the edge of the bed, “Do you need anything?” You rubbed your heads into the comforter mumbling out no. He looked over his shoulders and smiled, you had already knocked out in a matter of seconds.

As soon as the door shut softly, the smile on his face dropped. His eyes swirled, and eyes turned black. He turned down the hall holding out his hand and in it apparated his scythe. His body slowly morphed as he dissolved into rolling, fine black dust as he dissipated. There were serious matters to deal with.

When you came down the stairs in the morning you found a note on the kitchen counter along with a key for the house for you to take. You went to work like normal, you felt protected. This route actually made it easier to get to and from work. When you came home you made dinner for yourself and Namjoon. He popped in unexpectedly appearing in the kitchen like a ghost, “I’m home.” You shivered tossing the potato you were peeling in your hand as your body trembled in fright. He caught it mid-air, “Whoa!”

You looked at him wide eyed, “Jesus! Don’t do that!” He set the potato down giving you that look of a scolded puppy, “Sorry, it’s just a habit.”

You sighed, at tapped his head like you would a puppy to comfort it. This was something you were going to have to get used to. “It’s okay.”

Over dinner Namjoon told you that it would take two weeks for your apartment to be cleaned. Yesterday you would’ve groaned, but you were quite content here for the meantime. Days passed and you started a routine in your new environment. You started warming up to Namjoon. You’ve come to be comfortable with his supernatural ways. You found out despite his chic exterior, he’s quite the goof ball. You’ve banned him from his own kitchen when he set a pan on fire. On quieter nights you asked him to explain things about the supernatural world and magic. He only confirmed some things, like werewolves were actually a thing, but he refused to go deeper than that. In his words, “There were just things you shouldn’t know.”

You came home through the front door shucking off your shoes. “Namjoon, I’m home!” As soon as your feet touch the cold tile you sigh in relief. Heels, why do they make you wear heels in an office? You make it a few steps into the house and Namjoon appears out of nowhere. You gasp holding a hand over your chest, “Jesus Christ! We’ve discussed this Namjoon, appear like a normal person.”

He chuckled, “Sorry, habitual.” He watched as you stung clung to the nearest item, “Would it make it up to you if I took you out to dinner?”

You raised a brow to him, “Your treat?”

“My treat.”

You smirked, “I guess I can forgive you then, let me get changed.”

He shook his head, “No need. You look nice.” He placed your shoes back in front of you silently bidding you to slip them back on. You wiggled your feet back into your shoes, feet protesting, but you weren’t going to pass up dinner.

He took your hand in his, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You began walking towards the front door again, but Namjoon yanked you back. You stumbled and landed in his chest with a huff and an apology. He wrapped his arms tight around you, and in the next second you were being consumed in smoke, “Namjoon!”

“Calm down, it’s going to be okay.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the darkness rippled around you. You felt the world shifting around you and sudden a biting cold hitting your skin. You fought off the nausea as you staggered on the spot, but Namjoon held you up. You looked around noticing you were in an alleyway. “Namjoon, where are we?”

He took your hand, gently tugging you away, “You’ll see.”

You pulled your coat tighter around you with your free hand shivering a bit. You jogged a bit to walk next to him. Your tongue felt serpentious, “Can I pay you to take me to work in the morning? I’d really like an extra half hour of sleep if you could take me instead.”

A familiar smirk curling his lips, “My powers aren’t your taxi.”

You scoffed mumbling under your breath, “What is this then?” He kept moving forward unhearing of your sarcasm. Your hands were still entangled but you didn’t mind; his hands were very warm like a thermos. Winter was just around the corner, a few weeks before all the rustic leaves would take their final bow.  

The alleyway was an inception as it opened up to one of the busiest streets downtown. You turned onto a smooth sidewalk falling naturally into the flow of pedestrian traffic. Namjoon altered his steps to match your footsteps. Whenever you’re alone going to work you feel the need to constantly look over your shoulder but standing next to Namjoon you don’t feel the need to do so. The walking talisman pulled you closer to the left alternating between people moving maximum speed.  

You joked, “For a second I thought you were going to take me to Limbo again.”

He snorted, “No, no, I don’t plan to ever take you there again, unless—?” He raised a brow suggesting if you did want to, he could.

You punched his arm lightly. He banked further left in the crowd, “Come on.” He pushed a shop’s door open, the bell above dinging announcing your arrivals. The whistling of the espresso machine responded back to your entrance. You look over Namjoon’s shoulder and recognized the establishment. This was the same café where it all started. The familiar cooper lights, the barista with tired eyes, and it lacks the same pollution as the streets you just came from. Namjoon keeps walking and took you over to an empty booth, the same booth you both had met.

Confusion made you furrow your brows. “Why’d you pick this place?”

He waved over the waiter, “I thought this place needed a redemption. You know, give it a chance to be the place it is instead of a place where you got dumped.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, “Who said I got dumped!”

He shrugged, a fire flickering in his eyes, “A pretty lady sitting all alone with an unfinished cup of tea on a Friday night. I just took a wild guess.”

You felt your heart stuttering in your chest, did he call you pretty? You played it off coolly, “He probably was a loser anyways.”

The waiter comes over and leaves menus and glasses of water on the table. As you browse through the menu, “The scariest part about that night was the man who slid into my booth.”

He rolled his eyes, “How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

You shrugged. He set down his menu, “Next time wear pants to a date instead of a dress.” Your shoulders shook as you laughed, if only you wore pants that day. You missed it but a glimmer sparked in his eyes, he knew by the redness in your cheeks you were enjoying the teasing.

The waiter came back around and you both order dinner settling on getting the same thing. Not long after does the waiter come with your food. You poke around at your food, “Namjoon, how did you become…the Reaper.”

He looked at you silently while chewing his food, you knew that look. You could practically mock the words he spoke through his eyes: there’s just somethings you shouldn’t know. You ignore the look, “Oh come on Namjoon. Alright, fine, I’ll tell you something about myself then so were even.”

“I moved out here five years ago all by myself, fresh out of college. I wanted to move to the big city thinking that I could do it on my own. I moved in with a roommate after I couldn’t find a decent priced placed for cheap. It was nice because the person I lived with got me a job at the current place I work. She was a cool, but then it turned out she was sleeping with the boss. It got messy and she ended up leaving the company after his wife found out. She left the company and the apartment, so I had to leave. I luckily found the place I’m at now. It was either that or move back home and that was the last thing I could ever want.”

You looked up and made eye contact with the person in same position as Namjoon in the booth behind you. His eyes were wide as he averted his eyes the same time you did. You quickly sipped your hot drink; the steam could easily be blamed for your hot cheeks. You realized a bit too late you shared a bit too much.

He laughed into his coffee cup, not at you but your reaction. Hot liquid splashed onto his upper lips. He hisses and quickly wiped it away while still chuckling to himself.

“Fair enough.” He takes another sip of his coffee despite the sting.

“My great grandfather was the youngest of his siblings and the last to visit the Moirai. The Moirai were three sisters who bestowed fate. My great grandfather was a clumsy man, but an adventurer none the less. He always carried a sickle with him, a gift from his own father, Cronus.

On the day of his bestowment when he turned twenty-five, he was late to his own destiny. He got caught up in one of his adventures. He ran up the stairs of Fate and begged for forgiveness asking for another chance. Morta, one of the three sisters and goddess of death, stood up from her throne upset. She held up his thread with her scissors ready to cut the thread. He protested lunging up to stop Morta from severing his thread. In the process he tripped over his own thread, and when he landed his sickle pierced his heart. His blood tainted the thread and he died on the thread, but his fate didn’t end there. He awoke moments later, eyes completely black, because his blood tainted the thread that Morta was handling he changed his fate. His fate became to be the Reaper.

As a child I never wanted to be the Reaper. I wanted to go into education, teaching music, but that was never my destiny. The Grim Reaper before me was father, but his hour glass broke and fell before his time was up. I was only a boy, asleep in my bed when I was woken up by my Mother and I was told my father had passed. I had to take over immediately, before I turned twenty-five. There wasn’t time to mourn. The pits of hell needed to be tamed, the underworld commanded and to keep the river of Styx’s steady.”

“Why couldn’t your mother inherit the position? Why did you, so young, have to take it on?” You felt a bit of anger boiling, why would an adult put that much pressure on a child?

He smiled endeared by your reaction, “The responsibility is passed down through son. Although, women can be reapers, but they’re known as the Duximina’s. I may be the Grim Reaper, but I only have control of what happens over humans or humans turned supernatural like demons. The Duximina are reapers that can reap the supernatural. I obey Satera, but Duximina’s are of their own accord.”

The rim of your cup had coffee stains that reminded you of pulled waves leaving their foam residue. You ran your finger over the stains, the heat from your fingers softening it up. Namjoon was a young man who lived with the mind of an old man who had known suffering all too well. Although, you didn’t know his age, “How old are you Namjoon?”

He scratched at the underside of his chin jutting his chin in thought, “I stopped aging at twenty-five, because of the ‘curse’, but I will continue to live on until my time is up. I stop keeping track after three hundred, so I’d say—.”

You coughed choking on air, “Thr-three hundred?”

He looked around a few eyes were on you. He gestured with his hand towards them that you were alright, then he reached over patting your back. He passed you a napkin, “Is my age that surprising?”

You smothered the fire burning in your throat, voice hoarse, significantly quieter, “Did you say three hundred?”

He nodded, “I’d ask out of curiosity what’s yours, but I know its rude to ask a woman her age. I don’t want a felines death on my hands.”

“If we count my age in cat years, the cat would surely be dead.”

He bit his lip suffocating a laugh, “Glad I didn’t ask then.”

When you took a deep breath you got out, “Thank you Namjoon, thank you for telling me.”

His eyes softened up and just nodded, not really sure what to say. However, he found telling you easy. You were easy to talk to, easy to be around, easy to be with.

The foot traffic slowly trickled outside the window as the night prolonged on. Dinner with death was quite exceptional.

You split from Namjoon when you came home, a shower and a warm bed in your line up. You hummed contently, dinner had put you in bright sprits. You slipped your shirt off and pants changing into something more comfortable when you felt a chill rise your spine. Your nostrils filled with the scent of Earth. You turned towards the window, your curtains were gently flowing in the night breeze. You had this feeling, a pull, telling you to go towards it. You approached the window pulling aside the flowing curtains revealing an empty backyard lit up only by the moonlight. You heard your name being called melodically. You sought out the voice feeling an echo in your chest. It was calling you from somewhere out there. You froze as your eyes focused on a being levitating above the protected grounds outside the boundaries of the property. It was the Witch. Your eyes began to focus on the figure that called out to you in a changing voice that fills your room with her eerie timber. She was so far away yet she has power over you. Despite knowing what she was, you wanted to follow the enticing voice. Threads wrapped around your heart tugging you closer to the window. You brought a hand up to the cold glass, eyes glazing over as you let her control your instincts.

The door flung open, hard enough it put a dent in the wall. Namjoon swept over you like a crow with his expansive arms closing in around you and turning you away from the window. When he broke the spell, you felt like you were punched in the gut. You hunched over into his embrace groaning in pain.

He covered your eyes, “Don’t listen to her.”

He turned you into his chest and you buried your face in his chest covering your ears with your hands. You mumbled nonsense to overpower her spell. From deep within his system lava erupted, “I call upon the hounds.”

In the backyard hell hounds manifest mid stride from vapor. Despite cupping your hands over your ears tugging on your hair, feral barking resonates throughout the room. The sound dimed out until it was nonexistent and you as could only assume they chased the Witch far away.

He took your hands off your ears when it was safe. “Namjoon, what was that?” You clutched at his shirt feeling unsure about your stance.

He sighed, “It wasn’t her, just an animation of her. She can’t come inside these boundaries, don’t worry.”  

Don’t worry? How were you not supposed to worry?

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” He closed the window and pulled the curtains. You got back in bed and he sat in the corner of the room like a guard dog. You found it hard to close your eyes, but eventually your eyelids felt heavy. You somehow were able to find sleep.

Days had passed since the animation had shown up. You’ve gone on with your life, there was no there was choice but to keep normalcy.

To keep with normalcy, you were watching TV in the living room. After a long day at work you sprawled out in your comfortable clothes across the couch. Namjoon slumped into the couch with you when he apparated in the living room, this time you didn’t flinch. You didn’t bother turning towards him as he sat, but you passed the popcorn to him. You were watching Family Feud and the host just asked, “Bad jobs for someone who’s accident prone.”

You hummed in thought then responded confidently, “Grim Reaper.”

Namjoon huffed in offense, “Hey!”

You chuckled and he sat through the show with you, stuffing popcorn into his mouth. He squinted, “That doesn’t make sense, why would a lawnmower be a thing you could use to cut vegetables?”

You pointed to the board and said, “Wait for it.”

Then sure enough the host called it and turned to the board and it was on the panel with ten people having suggested it. Namjoon huffed in disbelief, some popcorn waving out of the bowl as he threw his hands in the air.

You took the bowl form him for safety purposes. “The point is you have to think of illogical answers to logical questions. That’s how the game works.”

At some point he began pacing around the couch frustrated that his illogical guesses weren’t illogical enough. When he did start getting one answer right, he sat back down, competitive with the TV. You ended up spending all night on the couch watching a marathon of Family Feud. He looked over to you calling your name, but when you didn’t respond he looked over to you. He realized he was debating on his own and you had fallen asleep curled up on the opposite end of the couch. He turned off the TV and carried you up the stairs like a princess and tucked you in bed. It became routine for you both to watch the show when he came home from wherever he went. You tried asking him where he went, but he gave you a vague response, “Everywhere.” You’d facepalm, there was never any clarity with him.

Namjoon had left his door open to his room one day, and you peeking inside wondering if he wanted breakfast with you. You stepped inside reluctantly calling his name, but there was no response. He had already gone for the day. You looked around his room, you’ve never been in there before. The furniture in his room was dark and monochromatic like the rest of the house. The first thing that caught your eye was the impressive library. You glanced over the curious book titles such as Blood testing for Vampires, Textual Power for Newts, and Sociological Incantations. There were books in Latin, but you didn’t bother even touching those.

There was a column dedicated to leather bound books. You were about to reach for one, but a wave of nausea came over you. You clutched onto the book shelf holding a fist up to your lips burping up a putrid bubble. You felt sick to your stomach suddenly, the books could wait for later. You felt the sudden need to lay down. You wanted to head back to your room, but an intense wave of nausea washed over you and you crashed onto Namjoon’s bed. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, everything was fuzzy. When an intense pain came over you, that was the final blow, then you saw nothing.

Shaking you awake Namjoon’s voiced echoed in your ears until it became crystal clear. You came face to face with Namjoon; his face was covered in dirt and dark smears of red. You sat up haphazardly, “What happened to you?”

He disregarded your question, voice simmering, “What’s wrong? Why are you in my bed?”

You blinked awake taking his chin between your fingers turning his head to inspect for any injury, “Let’s get this checked out.”

You both were avoiding eachothers questioning. You slipped off his bed and into the bathroom wetting a washcloth and went back to him to clean him up. You ran the wet cloth carefully over the gunk on his face. He asked again, “What-happened?”

“I came looking for you,” you realized it was late in the evening, ”but …I felt dizzy for a moment, then took a nap. Sorry I slept on your bed.”

He cupped your cheek taking your attention away from him, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, “I feel better after taking a nap.” You did, you felt fine.

He nodded, not fully trusting your word but he let you continue your work, “Are you okay? Will you tell me where you’ve been? No avoiding the question Joon.”

Earlier…earlier he…

He had been collecting a soul in Limbo when he felt it. He raised his scythe to his kneeling victim who was rubbing their hands together begging for a second chance. Namjoon scoffed, “A man who hurt his own children and wife doesn’t deserve a second chance. “ He raised his scythe and ripped the soul out of the demon who dared to beg at his feet. The body began dissipating and eventually dissolved into the fog. A muddy brown sludge dripped off his scythe into his hand. He collected the sludge into a ball of sin and crushed it in his hands, “Satera: Ego hoc animo metitur seges. Expiet aeternum non solum pacis sitque terras.” The dirty soul dried up from his hands as he opened his hands back up.

Edax growled from his cave and it echoed throughout Limbo. He felt the echo of vibrations within the stem of his scythe. He didn’t have to seek it out, a crippled hand busted through the soil and the body crawling its way up make the soil boil. A head erupting following shoulders, the other hand, then a torso. The grey being with a head coming from the soil. Namjoon’s nose filled with the scent of rotting meat as the dark macabre emerged from its grave. She stood tall with dark soil falling from her figure. She was wearing that dress…that dress. It hung limply from her decrepit form. A smile formed on her lips, “Hello Namjoon.”

If hatred filtered through the air, the dense fog would be dyed scarlet. Namjoon readied his scythe, “Celina!”

She wasted no time in crookedly running towards him with a shrill scream. He raised his scythe and prepared for the worst. Her dried skin hung to her thin skeleton like body like leather, yet there was so much force in her actions. She crossed blows and he did his best to block them with his scythe and returned with equal force. Her frantic, violent movements were meant to smash him into the Earth from where she had risen.

It was odd she wasn’t using magic, he knew this witch was capable of terrifying things. He lifted her up with his scythe and threw her a few feet off of him. Like an animal on all fours, she bolted her way towards him and lunged at him snarling like a beast. The impact sent the both of them rolling and she kept mauling towards him. They rolled a few times and Namjoon landed under her, her bloody fingers reached out to his face grabbing at him. She scratched at his face and tried digging her fingers into his eyes. She wanted him obliterated, destroyed with nothing left of him but pieces. He concentrated his strength and rolled again with her under him and he continued rolling in the dirt. A wave of soil came off him as he summersaulted to a stand. Taking the opening chance, he swung his scythe and severed her in half. A gut wrenching scream filled the air as he raised his sludge tainted blade one more time. He took this opportunity and severed her head, it rolled cutting through the fog.

He was panting hard, covered in soot and blood, his face was scratched, but he was glad that was all that had happened.

The skull remained in the soil chuckling, “I’m still coming for her Namjoon. You’re not going to stop me. I will always win. Her soul is mine.”

He growled and chopped down the blade going straight through her skull severing the last piece of her. The Lich disintegrated back turning into soil.

Namjoon clenched his scythe in his hands, and roared into the fog, “CELINA!”

He was so close, so close.

“I was summoned.” You remained silent. You knew exactly what that meant, and it explained more than enough for you.

He sighed, “You…can go home now.” Your home had been cleansed for a few days, but he didn’t want to tell you, earlier just solidified that. He wanted you to stay within his grasp where he could protect you. More so, he looked forward to coming home, a home, because there was someone there. A Persephone to his hadistic life.

He quickly followed, “You don’t have to go back, you can stay.”

Two weeks had passed by so quickly. You lowered your hand with the dirty rag. Those dark eyes you’ve become accustom to looking at morning and night, his constant dark attire, and slightly disheveled hair and dorky smile. You would love to stay here. This home was beautiful and felt like home more than your own apartment had ever. You felt protected here…but so was your home now. Things were going to be better. Namjoon was looking over you so she wouldn’t bother you again.

It was going to be okay.

You finished cleaning his face, careful of the scratch marks, “Thank you Namjoon, but I’d like to go home.”

He swallowed any protest, gritting his teeth but he respected your decision despite how much he wanted to argue against it. If he protested harshly you would begin to worry and question things, “Leave in the morning then, it’s too dark out.”

There was a moment of silence between the both of you. You glanced at the discarded scythe on the floor and picked it up. You handed it back to him, “Okay.”

“Okay.” It was going to be okay.

Life went back to normal, you left Namjoon’s home the following morning and it’s been weeks since you’ve moved back home. As Namjoon promised, there weren’t any more incidents with Celina, however, there was always this looming feeling. You never felt truly safe, at least not the way you felt when you were at his home or when he was around. You could take care of yourself though.

Namjoon visited your apartment for dinner every night and often stayed longer after dinner. Your apartment was fairly small, but the giant somehow fit on the couch when he fell asleep watching TV with you. You didn’t mind, you weren’t sure you were comfortable living alone anymore. The couch felt too spacious when he wasn’t hogging about seventy-five percent of it.

You were making dinner the other day when all the sudden he stood up from his chair. He knocked the chair from under him, “I have to go.” You didn’t get a chance to bid him goodbye, he vaporized and only the tossed chair was evidence he was just there. The sizzling of the food in the pan filled the room, as your previous giggling at his joke died out. Just like that, you were alone again.

That was just how things were, and that was okay. Things were okay.

You walked up the stairs to your apartment and took out your keys out of your purse as you walked up. You hummed a tune that played twice as you were making it home on the radio. A funky smell intensified as you walked up the stairs, maybe your neighbor was cooking something rotten again. You came up to your apartment door trying not breath in the foul smell. You covered your mouth with your sleeve picking up speed towards your apartment. You haphazardly jammed your key into the lock then froze when your shoe squelched as you stepped on your welcome mat. You looked down finally noticing the source of the foul smell. Flies eagerly swarmed around the severed pig head that was discarded below your feet like the mat was a dinner platter. Vivid burgundy near black blood from the head had soaked in the doormat. You dropped your keys and into your sleeve you suppressed a scream. You didn’t want to disturb or notify your neighbors. You picked up your keys with a shaky hand and opened your door up and quickly ran into the kitchen to grab a plastic bag and dust pan. You hesitated, reached out once then pulled back screaming in your throat then bit the bullet and shoveled the head into the bag with the pan. With a paper towel you picked up your doormat and blood dripped in a stream off an edge. You quickly packed it into the trash bag avoiding getting it on you, holding back the gag with all your might. You rushed back inside and got bleach and a scrub brush. You got down on your knees covering your mouth with your wrist. You poured bleach onto the blood diluting the coagulated redness replacing the slaughterhouse smell with something equally as intense. You scrubbed furiously, but the cement was stained. You wiped up as much as you could, tossing the dirty rags in the trash bag.  

You made haste towards your apartment’s dumpster. As you walked you held your breath not wanting to take in anymore of that putrid smell. The fear from earlier turning to anger. There was only so much intimidation a person could take before they snapped. You hated this! You hated that she was tormenting you, reminding you that you were tied to her. You tossed in the bag hearing it thud in the hollow bin.

A wave of dizziness suddenly over took you. You heaved and felt a sudden thickening of your saliva with an impressive wave of nausea. You held onto the edge of the bin and began dry heaving. The same dizziness you felt about a few weeks ago at Namjoon’s home. Your heaved once then as much as you tried preventing it you puked. You watched as a pile of mud mounded at your feet splashing onto your shoes. You wiped away the mud at your mouth, it tasted terrible. You looked at your hand noticing the dark sludge. Why were you throwing up dark sludge!

Something was terribly wrong!

You stumbled back up to your apartment. You slammed the door behind you and ran into your room. You yanked Namjoon’s blazer off the hanger and threw it on shoving your arms into the sleeves one at a time. You marched back out into the darkness of your living room standing in the center. You coughed then heavily breathed in, “Namjoon!” You screamed into thin air, “Namjoon!”

Moments later a thick black swirling cloud appeared in front of you. Namjoon’s head was leaning back and he slowly dipped it forward, soot eyes rumbling and smoky. He looked over you and was about to ask what was wrong, but you cut him off, “Why did you lie to me!”

You changed your train of thought, “Tell me what I gotta do.”

He sputtered approaching you, “What?”

You grabbed onto the lapels of his new blazer, “What. Do. I. Have. To. Do. Tell me!”

He grabbed onto your hands trying to release them, but you were tightly gripping, “Tell me what happened first?”

You loosened your grip and paced around for a moment, “A pig’s head on my doorstep that’s what! I can’t let you just try to solve everything Joon, I want to do something! I’m tired of just waiting around for this Witch. I can’t keep living like this! So, tell me! Tell me what I gotta do to help you Namjoon!”

He stepped closer stopping you from pacing. He wiped away the dirt and looked at it sadly, shamefully, he’s been working endlessly, traveling to different realms to find her, but every tendril he latched onto lead him to a loose end.

You shoved his hands away and sat down, wrapping your arms around your chest, the weight of everything adding onto your shoulders. “I’ve looked up who Satera, necromancy, and all this is. I wanted to know what I was dealing with.”

While at Namjoon’s you found some books that had the names of things that sounded familiar. It led you down a rabbit hole giving you more answers than Namjoon had ever. Satera was the goddess of Balance, a Titan of Earth and is the keeper of souls. You found out why witches weren’t supposed to deal in necromancy. Bringing someone back from the dead was cheating Satera and in order for Earth to be balanced a soul had to be collected. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

His eyes widen, fatigue showing through his normally passive demeanor. Anger was building in his system, just what have you been sticking your nose into.

Most importantly, “Namjoon, you said that the dress tainted my soul.”

He nodded, “Why are you stating the obvious y/n?”

You sat and thought for a second back to a passage you read, “If-if I have a tie to her because of that dress and her soul has tainted me, then that means…I have magic too, don’t I?”

He was quite for a moment, worried if he spoke it will only inspire pandora. “I don’t think it works that way Y/n.” He shook his head in disbelief, going over a thousand more rejections in his mind.

You stood up he wouldn’t look you in the eyes when he said that. He wasn’t even humoring you! “If I do, then I have to fight her! We have a fighting chance against her. I have to put an end to this! So tell me, Namjoon! Let me help you!”

He turned around opaque, black smoke spilling out his mouth, “Then what? What if you get hurt and die? If I submit the wrong soul, then I get punished and I’m gone forever! I’ll end up just like my father! You’re not the only one on the line Y/n! If they find out—Satera finds out—that a human is working alongside me—!”

You raised your voice, “But I’m not completely human right now, I’m partial to the taint, you know that! It’s all the more reason for me to help! We have to try Joon! We can’t keep running into dead ends!”

He was firm, “No, you’re not getting involved in this.”

You argued, “I can’t keep looking over my shoulder wondering when she’ll appear!”

“Just let me take care of it!” he growled.

Words flew from your mouth, “And you see how well that’s going!” You felt regret as soon the venom left your spit, you had pushed harder than was wise. Yet, it was true. You felt so useless, a coward, you hated feeling this way. You hated feeling so vulnerable. His protection was only going so far because she kept finding ways to get to you.

He hard paused, hurt passing over his expression, “I’m-doing-the-best-I-can.”

Your lower lip quivered words slowly making way out of your mouth, “But it’s not enough.”

He steamed right up to you, chest to chest as he enunciated every hot breathy word. “NO! ENOUGH! Enough of—this! That’s the end of this discussion. You’re-not-getTING- INVOLVED!” He panted over your face, neatly tucked hair falling out of its place.

The both of you stood there, your glassy eyes intensely locked on his, you weren’t backing down, not even in the face of death. The air between you was ice cold. He took a deep breath closing his eyes centering himself again. The crimson drained out of his face, face unreadable as there was no typical smirk or dimples. He showed you his back, opening his eyes afterwards. There was a beat of silence when neither of you spoke and he was gone.

When he was gone a tear rolled down your cheek. You weren’t going to give up. With no fire there is no smoke, but sparks were coming.

You knew Namjoon wasn’t home during the day, off in the Hellscape or somewhere. After the argument the molten behind your words still were rumbling; you thought over and over how you could solve this on your own. With or without Namjoon. You drove to Namjoon’s home a few days later with a semblance of plan. Your car drove through the sea of orange and red leaves and they waved around your car as you drove through the suburban streets. You pulled into Namjoon’s driveway and the gate opened for you. You parked in front of the house, not bothering to properly park. You walked up the steps to the inverted torch crested front door. You traced your hand over the torch a tingling sensation tickled your fingertips, “I’m sorry Namjoon, but I must do this.”

You stuck your hands in the ivy that surrounded the door fishing for the extra house key. When you hand felt cold metal, you plucked it off a vine. The key itself resembled a torch except the blade was sawed like a normal key. You stuck it in the lock and twisted it waiting for the click. You turned the knob and pushed inwards. You locked the door behind you and took your shoes off at the entrance. “Namjoon? Namjoon are you home?” Your voice echoed throughout the house, but there wasn’t a echo back.

You bolted for Namjoon’s room. While contemplating, tossing and turning in bed, you remembered the bookcases in his room. He must keep something, maybe vital information, within one of those books. He always had his nose in one of those when he wasn’t watching TV with you. You just knew that there had to be something in there that could help you. You skidded as you rounded the banister, the rug bunching up as you drifted. You ran down the hallway, adrenaline running through your veins in anticipation. You knew you had a few hours before he came home. The exotic plants in the hall shivered as you zoomed past. You flung Namjoon’s bedroom door open. The large room was neatly kept, rays of light filtered in through the large windows breaking through the ash tree outside his window. It strongly smelled like him too, outlandishly of charcoal mixed with natural, delicate scents. You cautiously set down your purse on a bench. You avoided going through his desk, the only thing out was an hour glass that was top heavy. Facing the expansive library, “Speak to me books.”  

You browsed through his books, taking a few down from the shelfs. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but something’s gotta give. Book after book came up with no details that could help. You touched a book shelf and it tingled just like the door had. You kept holding onto the feeling and trailed your hands along the spines of the books. The sensation picked up as you moved right skipping bookcase after case. The sensation kept building and building vibrating your skin until it stung. Yeowing you pulled your hand back like you just touched fire. You stopped in front of a bookcase filled to the ceiling with leather bound books. You were going to test your theory, you felt silly, but you spoke out like you saw all wizards in movies, “Reveal something.” You cautiously reached back and delicately touched the books. You pulled out a book upon instinct and flipped to the first page. The journal that didn’t look a part of this century or from this century. Three hundred wasn’t a joke was it?

You felt guilty for looking through it, your conscious telling you to put it down, that this was a bad idea. You shoved those thoughts back, you needed answers. You flipped through the brittle pages, but a lot of what was written was in an ancient language or Latin. Some pages were missing as the binding was falling apart from where the original creator had sewed the binding. You placed it back on the shelf and picked through more journals. You should’ve brought a Latin dictionary with you. The journals changed according to the time frame, but it was hard to place which volume came before the next. The last journal in the row was a black leather book with rounded edges. Your eyes were growing tired after going through about fifty some books. You kept flipping through the journal, some pages started halfway, some only had a top sentence, while others were just empty. You and found a passage in a readable language.

You traced your fingers over the word:

“Debt soils the heart

drives the mind mad.

I couldn’t save him…I couldn’t save her either.

I’m sorry.”

Couldn’t save him…her?

Numbers and letters were scribbled below the monologue. You turned the journal wondering if changing your perspective would give you a new view. You sat there staring at it. Couldn’t-save-him, debt, what does that mean. You pulled out your phone and plugged the numbers and letters into google and an address popped up. This was it! Maybe this place could help you! You quickly took a picture of the address and slid the journal back in place along with the rest of the books. You checked the room over once and picked up your purse. You needed to go before he came back.

You closed his bedroom door with a click as you turned around you ran straight into something. You boomeranged backwards and caught yourself on the doorframe. Namjoon had his arms crossed over his chest, “What were you doing in there?”

“I-I I left behind something in my room…and I used the extra house key to get in. I didn’t want to bother you about it.” You righted yourself trying to find some structure.

He titled his head to the side, “That doesn’t explain why you were in my room.”

You brushed the hair out of your face feeling a heavy blush creeping up your neck, “I…I was…I missed you.”

His arms feel down to his side, features softening up and a hesitant dimpled smile appearing on his face. A blush you didn’t know could exist on his face blossomed. “Oh,” that was his only response.

You bit on your bottom lip, it wasn’t a complete lie. You had missed him, you hated that the first time you saw eachother again was because of that.

He softened up, “I’m sorry about the other day, I shouldn’t have reacted that way. But I still don’t want you getting involved.” He rubbed his hands together, “I just…you’re already involved enough.” He bit his tongue, swallowing his pride, “Would you come back? Your apartment isn’t safe, no type of cleansing or spell over your apartment is going to keep her away.”

A dead rat in equal condition showed up in place of where the pig’s head was the next day. You didn’t want to stay there longer to find out what else was going to show up.

“Okay,” but he didn’t have to know that you weren’t going to give up.

Dimple sink his cheeks as he sighed in relief, the brought you into an unexpected hug.  He kept you in a strong embrace as if holding you wasn’t quite enough. You could feel every part of him as he pressed you tightly against him. You yelped then sunk into the warmth, your stomach fluttering at the feeling of his body pressing into yours. When you wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed him back his dimples became craters. You rested your cheek against his chest and heard a strong heartbeat. “I’m sorry too Joon.” He squeezed you humming in relief as an answer. You wondered if he could feel your beating heart too?

He asked against your hair, “Are you hungry?”

You laughed tapping his back once, untangling yourself from his embrace. You walked backwards towards the staircase with a side of your lips raised, “As long as you’re not cooking.”

He blinked hard jutting his chin out towards you, “Hey, I’ve gotten better! I’ve only burnt one pan since you’ve left.”

He watched your face evolve from a felines smirk to that of a classic horror film. “Namjoon, you did not!”

He walked past whistling like he had no care in the world with a fool’s smile. You followed after him, “Namjoon, was that the only thing you burned?”

Surely enough, that wasn’t the only thing he burned.

 Namjoon had fallen asleep on the couch next to you as you were watching Family Feud. You searched up the address you had taken earlier. The first result that came up was a pawn shop downtown. You did some research on the shop, but nothing particularly odd came up. All the reviews were about how they got a fair price on antiques and knick-knacks. It was nearly midnight and you decided you’d have to call tomorrow on your lunch break.

You turned off the TV and got up with a grunt. You picked up the book off of Namjoon’s face and set it on the coffee table. You pulled the throw blanket off the back of the couch and splayed it over him. You squatted down and situated a pillow under his head carefully. He smacked his lips a few times as he adjusted his head into comfortable position. You brushed the hair out of his face and kept petting unconsciously. A full minute had passed before you noticed you were longingly staring. This man was a nightmare when you first met him, he was going to have you killed, but here you were, tucking him in for the night.

You leaned in and pressing your lips to his forehead, “Night Joon.”

He was dead asleep, but you swore a faint smile pulled at his lips.

Tomorrow, you were going to figure things out. There was always tomorrow.

From the images you saw of the place online it looked like a place for eccentric hippies or kooky rich people. You snuck away from your coworkers and sought out a place where you could make a phone call in private. Your leg has been shaking under your desk all day counting the hours on the clock until you could make this call. You crossed an arm over your mid-section as dialed the number you found. When the dial tone kept ringing, you nibbled on your thumb.

A man picked up, “The Strange and Unusual Pawn Shop, how may I satisfy your curiosity?”

You swallowed, you honestly didn’t prepare well for this. You thought back to the script…him…her, you tried the later, “I was wondering if… she was there?”

He questioned, “Who?”

You honestly had no idea who “she” was, so you tried it again with an emphasis, “You know…her.”

You cleared your throat a bit, embarrassed to say it out loud, “She’s the only one that can help me. She knows someone important.”

He chuckled, “Sorry kid, can’t help you.”

You shouted into the speaker, “No, wait! I’m not some kid looking for Hogwarts, or a basement dweller that lives in their parents’ house, I—I need to—. You know what, forget it!”

You were about to hang up when the guy on the line said, “Miss, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry, but…the magician you’re asking about, she doesn’t work here anymore.”

So there was a she! At the same time, you felt your heart drop, what were you supposed to do now. You were going to have to start from scratch again.

He sighed into the receiver, “Look…I’m not supposed to do this, but whatever it is, it sounds really important. Here, write this down.”

You scrambled and pulled a pen out of your pocket and began writing down the address he was giving you on a receipt from your coffee run this morning. You sighed in relief, “Thank you, you have no idea, thank you.”

He chuckled, “Good luck,” then hung up.

You went back to work but headed straight towards the bathroom. You pulled out hair from its neatly tucked position and slapped your cheeks a few times. You lightly patted some water on your face and neck before you booked it out the bathroom towards your boss’s office. You knocked on the door and heard a muffled come in. You breathed in a structuring breath, counting down the seconds… and action!

You held onto the door knob and pushed open the door dramatically stumbling into the office. Your legs were bow legged with a case of clubfoot as you leaned on the door feverishly panting. You swallowed and held a hand up to your perspiring forehead, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can make it through the rest of the day.”

Your boss looked up at you with a panicked look, “Oh my God! O-k-okay, go home and rest up Ms. Y/L/N.”

You nodded squeezing your eyes shut, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll make it.”

Your boss asked, “Are you able to make it home okay?”

You waved him off with your hand, “Yes, yes, I’ll be fine.”

You began closing the door as he looked at you sympathetically, “I’m sorry.”

With a click of the door you speed walked over to your desk, still holding up the façade of illness. Your coworkers asked if you were alright and you coughed to play it up. You packed your stuff assuring them you just needed to go home.  You took the elevator and as soon as the door closed you let a smirk rise on your face. The elevator opened up to the parking garage, your heels clacked and echoed in the parking lot. You pulled your hair out of its tight confides and shook it loose. You threw your purse into your passenger seat and set your GPS to the address the clerk had given you. You were going to chase the smoke and dig into the ashes to find the heart of it all.

You drove through the city and ended up in a neighborhood where tightly packed townhomes went on for about twenty blocks. The townhomes were classic brick, three story tall homes with white windows and black iron fences. You found a spot luckily right in front of the address, the street was practically empty since it was still working hours. You stared at the quaint home through your passenger window, the home seemed so…innocent. You rounded about your car and stepped up onto the sidewalk as a young jogger ran past you. The community seemed to be family friendly and young. Was the woman you were about to meet young as well? Was she a past lover of Namjoon’s? Steeling your lips, you needed to find out if she could help you rather if she shared overtly friendly embraces with Namjoon.

You pushed open the gate and climbed up the cement stoop to a white door that had golden numbers reading off 45730. You lifted the gold door knocker and tapped it three times then stepped back. Behind you another jogger ran past, but this time with a speedy canine. You turned to watch them, patiently waiting for someone to answer the door. You were about to knock on the door again when you heard the lock turning. The door fully opened, and words left you, heart falling silent, you couldn’t will your lips to move. You gawked at the woman before you who had a wonky gait, probably from arthritis, as she pulled the door open. She was seventy at minimum considering the deep-set wrinkles that could rival canyons. Her height reached no more than five two and her width was plump. Her ghostly, thick grey hair was neatly braided, and it hung over her shoulder hanging down to her waist. Her deep set eyes propped on pink, cracked cheeks were cloudy and ashy like her hair, not the albino type though. You swear they pillowed like smoke as they focused on you. In short you realized, she was blind.

Her articulate voice was soft, “Hello, may I help you?”

You stuttered, “H-Hello, I’m Y/n. I’m looking for…the magician.”

She scoffed muttering “magician” mockingly under her breath. She adjusted the purple shawl on her shoulders, “There’s no magician here.”

She began shutting the door on you, but you stuck your foot in the door, grunting as the door slammed your toes. “W-ooO-wait, wait, please!”

She opened the door back up, releasing your toes. You massaged your foot hissing, “Please, just let me ask you some questions. I need your help.”

Her face fell, wrinkles sagging at the depression. She looked away from you, “I’m sorry, but the witch isn’t in anymore.”

You stood there in stupor as she slammed the door in your face. Punctuation taken. You weren’t convinced though, you knocked on the door with both hands until your knuckles hurt. “Please, please, I’m going to die if you don’t help me.” You kept knocking, but the tempest didn’t respond to your pleas. Dampness built in the corner of your eyes as your knocks turned into sluggish thuds. A carousel of thoughts passed through your mind, and each one gets more toxic in its turn. Blisters were forming on your knuckles, “Please.”

You turned around and slumped down on the staircase with your head in your hands. What were you going to do now?

The door slowly creaked open again, “Come in, don’t start attracting attention now.”

You sprung up to your feet, fixing your hair up and wiping the budding water in your eyes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

She stepped aside and let you in to her home.

The house was larger than the outside led on. You were a bit worried that she would run into things, but she navigated perfectly fine. Her furniture isn’t rounded but sharp like the creator intended. She trailed her hand over her dining table, “Take a seat, I’ll prepare some tea.” You looked up and hanging above the table was a swirled chandelier where cream candles of various sizes burned, and their wax dripped down the side like stalagmites from the edges.

You pulled out a red mid-century chair and sat down tucking your feet under you and your purse on your lap. The table was wooden, but unevenly painted teal and the chairs were mismatched that came from different times and styles. In the center of the table an incense was burning, but the ashes disappeared as it fell. She came back to the table with equally mismatched tea cups onto the table. You accepted it with both hands, “Thank you.”

She smiled, the wrinkles on her face deepening for a split second. “Green tea…it calms the nerves. I can hear your heart beating and I’m sure they can hear it in kingdom come too.”

Your face heated up, were you that obviously nervous even to a blind woman?

“I’m sorry to bother you, I called the pawn shop and they told me you were here.”

“Call me Kaya, child.”

You introduced yourself formally, “I’m Y/n.”.

She stirred her tea twirling her finger above the liquid and naturally it swirled. Your jaw dropped, simple acts of magic still impressed you. You were still getting used to this world. She spoke casually, her voice melodically filling the room, “I used to help out there, but I’ve retired from my ways a very long time ago.”

She sipped her tea with a hum of content, you followed along taking the perfectly warm cup in your hand carefully sipping from the rim. The taste is absolutely delicious, you felt a wave of calmness as it washed down your throat.

“Why are you here child? What can an old, blind hag do for you?”

You aren’t sure where to start, “I bought a dress that belonged to a witch.”

The woman across from you a-ha’s as if she knows the rest of your story. She set down her tea and stretched out her hand palm up. On her wrist was a tattoo of a wheel, but it was crossed out erratically as if it was scratched by a cat as her sleeve raised up. “Give me your hand child.”

You placed your hand in hers. Her oddly bony, cold hands ran over yours and she hummed, she squeezed your hand tight as she grunted. Fatigue plagued her suddenly worn face, “A terrible witch has touched your soul child.” She continued to run her hand along the veins in your hand, humming as she finds specific spots. “What about the dress child?”

“She was a resurgent.” She dropped your hand like she touched fire. Your knuckles thunked against the table and you brought them back to your lap shyly.

She hissed, “Resurgent?”

You swallowed hard, “Yes…and that dress, she wore it when she did her thing, so now I’m her next target.”

With a bit of confidence you scooted to the edge of your seat pursing your lips, you wanted to be honest with her, “I did some research and because I’ve been…tainted by her…some of her is with me. So, I want to know…, “you mess with your hands unable to meet her gaze, “do I have the ability to do magic as well? Am I a witch now because our souls are tangled?”

You sat in silence for a moment as she debated internally. It was the same way Namjoon had reacted when you told him. The longer she remained silent the more anxious you felt, were you unsalvageable? You sipped a bit of your tea. She bravely reached across the table again, taking your hand and brought your hand up to her chest over her heart and stared directly into your eyes. Her eyes swirled iridescently as she sought within your soul. When she let go she was panting holding onto the tabletop. You caught yourself coughing when she let go, but shakily stood up and rushed rushed over to her, “Are you alright Ma’am? What just happened?”

She looked up at you, her forehead  dripping sweat. “Child, you’re not dealing with just any necromancer…if I think who I think you’re dealing with then…,” she looked away, maybe even afraid to mutter the words.

You speak them for her, “Celina.”

Her eyes widened, you spoke the exact words she dared not to. Solemnly she repeated, “Celina.” She rose from her seat and silently you followed her as walked back towards the stairs, slowly taking each step at a time with a huff. You took her hand and moved it to your forearm to help her up. She smiled and thanked you. When we reached the top of the stairs, she still held onto your hand and led you to a huge room where a large, black, cast iron cauldron was at the edge of a long working table. Unmatched Bookcases were filled with books and other shelfs had various sized and shaped bottles filled with potions. In the bottles some potions boiled, swirled about a toxic looking smoke, or ominously glowed. Crystals grew along a wall and different species of plants hung from the ceiling, some followed your movements. A gentle fire burned in a fireplace, you didn’t remember there being a chimney from the outside.

She let go of your hand and walked up to a bookcase. Some of the books jingled and shifted as she trailed her hand along their spine, “There.” She brought out a red orange, leathery book and opened it to a page she had memorized. She skimmed over the words with her fingers nodding along as she read them, despite them not being brail she was perfectly able to read them. She clapped the book shut with one hand, “That Lich, creating Vasanima.”

You repeated the last word but butchered it, “Va-shawn-minya?”

The witch laughed kindly, “Vasanima child.” She tapped her cheek with her finger as she propped her head into her palm, “She split up her soul and that dress, a Vasanima, holds a piece of her soul…but whomever takes new ownership of the item a part of their soul gets sucked in too, tangling with the creators like a contract.”

She hesitated to tell you more, “You are right child, you have great magic within you.”

You blurted out, “Will you teach me?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head putting away the book, “I don’t practice anymore.”

You begged, “Please, I need to know. You said I do have magic!”

“I don’t practice anymore.” She gathered her hands in front of her like a prissy cat. “You may leave if tha—.”

Your stomach felt full of lead, “I’m going to die if I don’t! Satera is going to come for me instead and Namjoon is going to die! I don’t want to die!”

She whipped her head to the side, “Namjoon?”

You grabbed her hand encasing them in yours surprising her with your sudden movements. You felt the tingle between you again, “Please, please, I’ll do anything! Teach me how to do witchcraft, magic, wizardry, whatever this is, please, please…please teach me.”

She grabbed onto your forearms and stared you in the eyes again, her pearls were swirling jaw going slack for a moment. She heavily sighed, blinking away the intensity, “Hold out your hands and repeat after me: Evigilare.” Her voice rang through your body like a gong, knocking on an unopened gate.

You held out your arms in front of you, palms facing up, and tested the word out, “E-Evi-gil-are.”

She scoffed, “Confidence child.”

You clear your throat and lick your lips, “Evigilare!”

A tingling pins and needles sensation shot up your suspended limbs. You hissed wanting to rub the pinching pain away, but you fought against the urge knowing you were to endure this. The acute feeling eases out into a pulse in your fingertips then your throbbing fingertips begin glowing. Suddenly flames licked and engulfed your hand. Your vision shifts, and you see colors like you’ve never seen them before, green flickering flames ghost between rose, magenta, then back to green. You let out a yelp expecting excruciating pain, but the burn never came. It felt smooth and silky, like fire was running in your veins, and intense overwhelming power. Power…magic, this was witchcraft. It was so powerful vibrating through your whole system, “Ms. Kaya is this…is this magic?”

She doesn’t have to see to know, she feels the great energy emitting from you in her bones. She feels it, “That’s magic child.”

“Will you teach me then?”

She grabbed onto your wrist and the flames in your hands extinguish like an off switch. Your eyes bugged, how was she able to do that!

“If you must defeat her…then I will teach you.”

You light up, surging forward to hug her, “Thank you, thank you.” The building tears from earlier coming back with a vengeance. You break down in her arms, muttering out snotty thank you’s.

Her hard smile turns soft as she rubs your spine, “Enough crying child, save those tears for when you start complaining I’m working you too hard.”

You laugh through the tears and nod.

The true hardship was beginning.

You stood at the front door with your coat hanging over your arm hand reaching towards the knob with hesitation. The door flung open Namjoon standing there, “Hey, what are you doing there?”

You stuttered for a moment pulling a smile, “I was trying to remember if I left something in the car.”

He nodded and stepped aside letting you in, “I bought take out, it’s getting cold hurry up.” You stood at the door watching as he walked away. You couldn’t help staring at his figure frozen like a statue. You felt the truth bubbling up in your throat, you wanted to tell him. You hated keeping secrets.

He suddenly stopped calling your name, once, twice, then on the third time you registered it. You blinked away, “Yeah-yeah?”

Carefully approaching you, “Are you okay?”

You laughed it off, “Yeah, yeah, it’s just been a long day.” He took your hand and led you inside wordlessly. You appreciated that, actions spoke louder anyways.

You don’t tell Namjoon a single thing. You smiled through dinner except he didn’t spend late night couch hogging with you. He had work to deal with, so he couldn’t join you. You stared at him with puppy eyes, you wanted to spend a quiet evening with him. You needed that. He gave a dimply smile and ruffled your hair, “I’ll be back, I promise.”

He stepped back and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

You sighed and picked up the dirty dishes. You paused in your step as you heard the hounds barking in the distance. You kept walking, disregarding the sounds. Warm water rinsed away bits off food instantly, you moistened the sponge and scrubbed of the residue. A wave of familiarity came over you, you felt your saliva thickening, your esophagus burning with a building pressure causing you to violently cough. Holding onto the side of the counter, your core contracted sporadically as you hacked. Bile was tickling the back of your throat, the acid burning, you were going to throw up. Your cheeks puffed out as you felt your mouth filling with a thick liquid. You hunched over the sink and let the contents project out of you. At the corner of your lip a string of drool hung limply as you fully hunched over the sink. You stared at the content finding your dinner amongst the dark…dirt. Your senses felt sharper after expelling everything you had picking up on the sour scent of puke, soil and the metallic smell of iron.

Another wave of nausea and again your cheeks puffed wide, this was going to be worse than the last one. You heaved, throat burning impossibly, and your mouth stretched out a massive clot of dirt covered in gelatinous blood left you. Your shaky hand reached for the lever and you turned on the water to wash down the waste. You watched the brick mud swirl down the sink as you spat out the excess swirling in your mouth. You brought the sprayer closer to you and you washed out your mouth. You kept washing until your teeth wasn’t crunching on soil and your tongue didn’t taste iron. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, your hearing was muffled, but you stood back up.

You stood there under the kitchen lights, the TV  humming in the background and dirty dinner plates in the sink. The constant stream of water pouring was becoming clearing in your ears. You reached out and pushed the lever down cutting off the sound. You looked up through your lashes, but not focusing on anything specific.

Once more than night when you were showering you threw up again. Under your covers, fighting a headache, dizziness and a sore throat you made a decision. You flung off your blankets, sleep wouldn’t come to you anyways and began typing away on your laptop. You had to make haste, catalyze things even faster.

As you typed away, the hounds howled, snarling at what you could only imagine lurked in the tree line.

Only…imagine.

You handed in your resignation letter to work the next day with little to no explanation. You drove over to Kaya’s home immediately after, knocking on the door like a crazy woman. She answered the door already walking away as she left the door open for you. She called over her shoulder, “You’re earlier than I was expecting child.”

You shyly replied, honestly feeling groggy and jittery from no sleep, “I need all the lessons I can get.”

She smiled and led you up to her craft room. You tried helping her up the stairs but she swatted your hand away, “Child, I’ve lived alone for hundreds of years, I’m not that kind of old woman yet.”

You snickered, “I’m sorry Ms. Kaya.”

“It’s Kaya, child. Again, I’m not that kind of old yet.”

Your cheeks were hurting holding in the laughter, “Sorry, sorry.”

You couldn’t see it, but a smile was on her face as you followed her up the stairs into her craft room. She ran her hand across her work space then knocked thrice for good luck, “Prepare yourself Y/n.”

You shook your head like a bobble head, exhausted but eager, “Ready.”

Kaya wasn’t kidding when she said save the tears for later. You spent mornings until the evening at Kaya’s building the basics. She made you read and memorize what things were before you even thought about casting spells. She was surprised because you picked up all the techniques fast, faster than she ever did and memorized things with easy recall. By the end of the first week she casually suggested to finally start with actual casting.

She knocked on the table three times before she hung a hand in the air, “This is the standard position, now repeat after me and hold it until I say so.”

You held your hands up and after a few minutes your triceps were burning, “Kayyyaaaaa, how much longer?”

She smacked the underside of your elbows when you started slacking, “A Witch must have strength in their arms.”

You blinked hard at the pain trying to will it away. She finally let you release it and you heaved dramatically feeling an onset dead arm syndrome kick in. “Hmmm, you’re no match for Celina if that is too much for you.”

You turned dramatically, feeling insulted, narrowing your eyes like a feline. You wanted to prove Kaya, to yourself, you were worthy. You posited yourself in standard again, “Let’s keep going!” You challenged her word, and she responded with a soft good then three knocks.

Hours went by, you were getting familiar with casting positions and awakening muscle groups you’ve never knew existed. You could feel the reserves in your body, the same fire in your veins begging to be casted. Progress was being made.

Namjoon found himself eating leftovers for dinner because you were never home for dinner lately. He would place your plate in the microwave to keep it warm. He often would scrap it into the bin after hours of waiting. He began watching Family Feud on his own too, but it wasn’t the same. You weren’t there to compete or make the show as interesting as it normally was. There was too much blanket, too much couch space, too much popcorn in the bowl. He hated not tugging the blanket off you slowly just to bug you.

When you did come home late exhausted, dark circles were beginning to weigh heavy under your eyes. He’d ask about it, but you’d wave it off, “It just that time of the year where work is heavy.”

He…missed you.

Three weeks into training and you were learning spoken spells, finally casting. You held your arms up with a wand in your hand, you were trying to focus your energy into the conductor.

She instructed as she paced around you, “Stronger Y/n! Pour your energy into it!”

A wave of nausea overcame you. It was becoming more frequent and was becoming a normalcy. You held it in and quietly burped it away. The feeling wouldn’t settle and you knew what coming. You dropped your wand and booked it towards the restroom.

Kaya yelled hearing your feet thud on the wooden floor, “Y/n! Where are you going, you can’t just quit!”

You stumbled, running into the banister before you sharp turned into the bathroom. You flipped up the toilet seat and began unleashing. Kaya came running behind you with a hand on the doorframe. She heard the wrenching coming from you. She carefully touched along the doorframe and counter coming closer to you, “Y/n, what’s wrong?”

She rubbed your back sympathetically. When you pulled up, she caught the scent of your puke. She covered her nose with her hand and made a sound of disgust. You flushed the toilet, embarrassment taking over.

It took her a moment, but she recognized that scent: the soil of the dead.

She asked upfront, “How often?”

You wiped at the edge of your mouth slumping onto the cold tiles, “At least twice a day.”

She sighed heavily and helped you up and quietly cleaned you up, “This is something a special potion can help ease.”

She walked you back into her lab and brewed “the potion” in her cauldron. She ladled some tea out of the cauldron into a funky tea cup then handed it to you. The more time you spent with Kaya the more you realized that tea was her cure all, “It won’t stop it, but at least it’ll settle your soul.”

She poured her own tea and sat across from you. “Celina…was my sister.”

You we’re still lightly coughing, “What!”

She ran her fingers over the rim of her tea cup. Your eyes flickered down noticing the tea in her cup swirled painting the images flowing within her mind. Hypnotically you watched as the hazy image took resolution of a familiar woman, Kaya, but she was significantly younger, everything about her was so different especially her eyes. Her eyes were a deep brown that resembled the sweetest basset hound. She’s in this home, in her kitchen sipping tea at the same teal table. The front door busted open and slammed shut, clacking of heavy shoes echoed into the kitchen and out of the shadows a cloaked figure ran into the kitchen. The figure unveiled themselves pulling down the hood revealing a woman underneath. She frantically grabbed Kaya’s hands, “Kaya, they’re coming for me! We have to leave! They’re coming for me.”

Kaya pulled the woman down to sit in a seat across from her, panic painted on her face, “No Celina, what do you mean? Who’s coming for you?”

“The council! They’re going to hang me, they found out!”

Kaya was panicked, “What did they find out!”

Celina let go of her sister’s hands, embarrassed, “That I’ve been practicing the dark arts.”

Kaya spat, “You what!”

Celina began to toil with anger, “You know I am capable than more than they allow us!”

“Its illegal for a reason Celina!”

“You don’t get it Kaya! They’re going to come for the whole family, including you! They think your involved too!”

Kaya spat, “You’ve gotten us all involved! Now you think I’m stupid to do such a thing and follow you?”

Celina grew furious, “I know I was stupid, but come with me then!”

“My son, I can’t leave my son!”

Celina grew furious, “Take him too!”

Kaya smacked her hand off her, “No Celina, I don’t think you understand. I’m not guilty of whatever you were involved in. I can’t come with you!”

Celina grew furious, “You’ve never trusted me!”

“You put this upon yourself!”

Celina’s eyes glowed red as she lifted her hands up, and dishes levitated along with her, “I’ll make you then!” With her outburst dishes flew across the room towards Kaya, who ducked and found cover under the table. Kaya popped up and sent a spell towards Celina striking her. A magical fight broke out, it was like a battle between two martial artists, but lightening sparked between the two of them.

Kaya’s back slammed into the wall as her sister took a cheap shot. blood was streaming down Kaya’s face where the jinx had scathed her. Celina’s took a step forward cracking a plate under her shoe, “You’ve always been greedy sister, always in the top spot. I’ve never been able to beat you. It’s always been you!”

A boy, barely the age of ten, came into the room rubbing his eyes, “Mommy?”

Kaya’s eyes grew comically she wiped her towards the voice, “Mallory, go back to your room!”

Kaya’s son screamed, “Mommy!”

Celina smirked, “I’m going to show you true greed. You’re going to pay for all the years you’ve belittled me.”

Celina turned around and raised her hands, “Then you can’t remember me or any of this. I will erase everything.”

Kaya screamed out, “No! Celina! NO!”

Celina chanted, “Conspectum auferat, auferre memoriae, eam omnia!” A hot red bolt charged out of her and hit her nephew. Mallory screamed, and his eyes glazed over into a cataract resemblance. His head began to transform to that of a bore and his limbs lost their small stature as he began to grow into a monstrous size. He screamed as his body grew, bones extending, and he stretched out the doorframe. He thrashed about hands clutching his face, roaring in pain.

Kaya screamed, “Stop Celina!” Kaya jumped in front of her sister into the stream of magic and was struck with the spell. Kaya’s eyes lost their brilliant blue and faded into pearls, the eyes you were used to seeing. Celina tried catching her but had a loose grip on her sister’s wrist. Celina’s nails scratched over the witch’s tattoo over her wrist causing Kaya to scream even louder. Kaya screamed as she lost her sight covering her eyes. From here the memories go dark, there is only audio that rings in your ears.

“You got what you deserved,” footsteps were clattering, heavy thudding and glass breaking filling your ears, but distinctly clacking of heavy shoes echoed away until it ceased with a slamming of a door.

A black smoke began to fill the tea and eventually it was back to regular Green tea and you could only see the cracked bottom of the ceramic cup.

You didn’t realize tears were streaming down your face. You recognized the beast, it was Kaya’s son, Exadus Animae was her son.

“My sister and I were always competitive, but she took it to heart. She felt like she was less than because our parents doted on me more because I was the oldest, I had responsibility. I never wanted her to feel that way. I always made sure she was loved just as much, but it wasn’t enough. I never knew she would take it…that far.”

You can feel it in yours, this has squeezed at her heart for centuries. “I want to stop my sister. I want to put an end to her evil.” She grabbed your hand, “Child with the potential you have, you are the only one that can do it. You’re the one that can bring her down. You have the potential to become a greater witch than myself and her.”

You let the tears stream down and squeezed her hands back. “I’m sorry,” those were the only words you could get out.

There was so much you had to learn.

He hated going to places like this, but this was where evil crept freely. He made his way through the crowd; the strobing lights were blinding and the music numbing. He hated the smell of this place especially, it smelled like sorrow and sour loneliness. A succubus crashed into him swaying on her heels, she grabbed onto his arm as she pressed her chest up to him. She shouted at him over the music, “Hmmm, what is a Reaper doing in this part of town?”

He played into her trick, “Has Celina been around?”

She pouted, “Why are you talking about that Witch when I’m here?”

He trailed a delicate finger down her cheek, “Baby girl I’m asking a question, Have you?”

The succubus shivered loving the attention and nickname. She stood back up obediently with a thoughtful face, “No, but her recent play thing is here.” She pointed across the room through the swaying salacious bodies to the back of the club where a man with about five women hanging off him was tucked in a booth. He easily spotted the demon being nearly the tallest being there. Demons and their desires.

He shoved her off, “Thanks.”

She scoffed, “Hey!”

He couldn’t hear her protest anymore as he pushed through the crowd and came up to the booth. When the nymphs caught on to Namjoon they gasped and filtered out of the booth like roaches, “Hey, hey, ladddiesss!”

Namjoon growled, “Where is she?”

The playboy flipped hair out of his face and shrugged as he took a shot. “I’ve slept with many, who are you talking about?”

Namjoon didn’t humor the demon with a response.

“Don’t tell me I’ve slept with your bitch?”

Namjoon grew frustrated, “Where’s Celina?”

The demon shrugged again swirling his empty shot glass, “Don’t know.”

Namjoon grabbed the collar of the guy and dragged him outside through a side exit door into an alley. He shoved the demon up to the brick wall, “You’re going to tell me where she is.”

“And what, what are you going to give me if I do?”

Namjoon held out his hand, “Flax.” His scythe appeared in his hand and he shoved it under the guys jaw. “Nothing, you get nothing, but you get to live. I could feed you to Edax as I slice you up and feed you to him piece by piece.”

Panic filtered in the eyes as his eyes flickered between the scythe and him. “You’re the R-R-R-Reaper? “

The guy flipped the switched in a second the cocky smirk returning, “You can’t, that’s against Satera.”

Namjoon pushed the scythe harder into the guys jaw, “Watch me.”

The guy gulped, “Okay, okay, chill bro!”

“WHERE!”

“I last saw her here about a week ago. She looked really desperate, like sickly dude. I swear she was like fallin’ apart or some shit. I was gonna approach her but she already had another dude she was smashing faces with, then they disappeared.”

Namjoon kept his eyes locked on the guy waiting for more information. The guy squinted his eyes trying to think of more information, “Ugh-ugh, oh! Oh! What was weird was she smelled like cemetery soil, like strongly.”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed, “Like…dirt?”

The guy nodded frantically. “That’s all I know. Let me go!”

Namjoon released the guys collar, droping the guy to the floor like a rag doll. The guy scurried to his feet, slipping a few times, then ran for it. He made one last comment over his shoulder, “Your crazy man!”

Namjoon stood there in the alleyway in the sickly yellow flood light over him. His dress shoes chuffing the tarmac of the alley. He watches as the demon slips away.

One year, he was supposed to have a year. A Lich’s corpse last a year before decomposition is too much and the animation disapparates. She needed new flesh, soon, and consuming raw meat in the mean time wasn’t going to hold her over much longer. Celina was putting herself out in the open more, her real self. He looked at his reflection in his scythe. Time was running out.

Black smoke cradled around him and he vanished into thin air. He manifested in the entryway and caught the edge of your feet as you were ascending the staircase. “Y/N?”

You stopped mid-step and turned towards him. In a tired voice, “Welcome home Joon.” He noticed the dark circles under your eyes have become heavier. “There’s leftovers in the fridge for you, make sure to heat them up if you’re hungry.”

He nodded, “Are you going to sleep?”

You nodded in return, “I’ve had a long day.”

He felt something crawling up his throat. “You don’t want to watch TV on the couch until you fall asleep? I swear I won’t hog the blanket, I swear.”

A small smile creeped onto your face, “No, not today Joon. Tomorrow maybe, okay?”

He sadly nodded, and you turned around making your way back up the stairs.

Your scent finally registered, he was so used to coming home to a twisted sell of delicate scents, but that daunting smell hit him like a cold shower. He smelled it thickly in the air, in fact it feels like it’s taken over the house, Cemetery dirt, soil tainted by death. Its leaking from you.

His long legs took the stairs two by two and he grabbed onto your upper arm, “What’s wrong y/n?”

You both stood still for a moment, then you turned around gently and thunked your head on his shoulder. He pulled you into his arms wrapping them tightly around your waist, “What’s wrong?”

Honest words hanging on the edge of your tongue, “I’m just tired.”

He didn’t believe you, you smelled otherwise, he’s smelled it from you before. He thought back to the demon’s words: soil. Celina smelled like soil. He tried an alternative, “You sure you don’t want to watch some TV?”

You shook your head wrapping your arms around him, “I just want to sleep.” You squeezed him once then let go, leaving a lasting touch on his arm before you turned around

He called your name as you were halfway up, words hanging on the tip of his tongue but couldn’t actualize. He swallowed it, because honestly, he didn’t know. He didn’t know how much time you had left. How long it was before everything came crashing down. It could be in the next second, or tomorrow. “Good night.”

You whispered back, “Good night, Joon.”

He watched as you disappeared around the corner, your hand being the last glimpse as it held onto the banister. He felt in his gut. Celina was on the move and moving fast. That dirt…you smelled like it. He was extremely worried, but you were being stubborn about letting him in. Just as he was, but only telling you would worry you. He needed to be around more, if the connection between you both was getting stronger he needed to be by your side. The hound he had secretly tagging along with you when you left the house wasn’t enough anymore. You didn’t have to know though, he could be your shadow.

He went to your work to check up on you, he even bought a coffee to leave on your desk secretly. However, you weren’t there, you weren’t even in their system anymore. He grew worried, then angry the longer he looked for you. Your car wasn’t even in the parking lot. He went to the roof and called upon his scythe. He let blackness cloud his eyes as he commanded, “Ostende mihi Y/n”. He sliced through the air creating a portal for himself. He looked into the vortex and saw you in a familiar setting that you didn’t belong in. He watched as your hands stretched out and you were chanting out…incantations! His jaw dropped then clenched hard. You had been going behind his back! He saw blue glowing from your hands and that’s when he dropped your coffee and charged through the portal.

“Wands are training wheels for the hands, as you get more practice you won’t need a conductor for your major and instead you will be able to conjure it from your hands.” She took the wand out of your hand and set it on the table, “Try it, try it with your hands.”

“I-I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Trust me child.” She turned you to the windowsill. “See, focus on that potted plant…now levitate it, this should be easy.”

You breathed in heavily and pointed your hands at it, “Volarsa”

The pot remained still. You tried it again with a different tone, but it didn’t levitate. You turned toward Kaya with a pout, you weren’t sure about this working without a wand. She knocked three times then clasped her hands behind her back, “Be patient, it will work.”

You turned back towards the pot and kept repeating the spell. Hours had passed by and sweat was running down your temple until you taste salt in the corner of your mouth. You wiped it away and licked your lips, you had gotten the pot to vibrate. You were so close. You just needed something, a push, you let your thoughts wander about the people’s life on the line, yours, Kaya’s…and Namjoon’s.

“Volarsa!” You shouted at the pot concentrating on the object. You held up your trembling hands and it vibrated intensely as before, you slowly started lifting your hands from the wrist. The pot oscilated on the spot then finally…it started lifting. You broke a smile and kept your hands strict forcing the pot to rise. It was heavy, heavier than lifting a pot without magic and lifted off he clay pigeon until it was floating in the air. “KAYA! KAYA, I DID IT! I did it!”

A dark cloud of smoke rolled in constructing itself into a shadow, but you were too submerged in your happiness to notice. “Did what exactly Y/n?”

You jumped, hands losing their concentration as you released the spell and the pot came crashing down. You abruptly faced the Reaper, “Namjoon!”

“You lied to me! I told you not to do this.” He stomped right up to you.

You stuttered taking a few steps back, “I-I-I.” You clasped your hand behind your back as if they were the guilty culprits.

“Why are you practicing!”

Kaya came around the corner with an extra mug, “Hello, Darling, its been a while.”

The black smoke rolling around him cut off, his eyes widening, “Kaya?”

She put the mug in his hand, with a flick of her wrist she commanded the broom and dust pan to do their job. “Sit down and watch, well discuss it later; you just ruined something big.”

“She’s practicing witchcra—!”

She whipped around, “I said, sit down.”

He obeyed tucking his tail between his legs but grumbled the whole time. She beckoned you to continue, “Go ahead Y/n, try it again on the Saffron.”

You eyed Namjoon with hesitation, but you turned towards the flowers. You had to prove yourself worthy. This was your chance to show Namjoon you could do this. You had to be the one to put an end to this with Namjoon.

You breathed in a deep breath letting the oxygen saturate your blood fully with a breath laced with confidence. You wiped your brow of sweat and held out your hands, shaking out the nerves a few times, then place them in a commanding stance. You closed your eyes and sprung your hard rimmed eyes open as you casted with confidence, “VOLARSA!”

The Saffron pot jerked about, oscillating in its spot like the last time. You kept focus on it then raised your hands slowly and with a bit of delay the pot raised from the pigeon into the air. You held it there for a moment then lowered it down safely finally taking a breath again. You heaved and turned with a smile on your face and Kaya smiled back at you once she heard the clinking clay.

Namjoon rolled his eyes, “She can lift a pot, so what? How’s that going to protect her from Celina?”

Kaya smiled and sipped from her tea with her eyebrows slightly raised. “You underestimate the important of lifting a pot. Don’t you remember how you started out with your scythe?”

He shut up real quick, turning away from her in his chair like a sulking child. “Child, you’ve done well. You’re ready for the heavier, unspoken spells.”

Namjoon spit out the tea he was bitterly sipping, “Now you’re pushing the importance!”

“Hush, Joon.” She shushed him by bringing her hand up and zipped his mouth shut. He grumbled behind his closed lips. You spat out laughing hard enough your eyes shut; you needed to learn that spell. She stood up and walked her way over to you, looking over her shoulder as she stood next to you, “Someone had to do it.”

The rest of the evening she moved on to different things and taught you other foundational spells and techniques. Namjoon’s mouth was sealed the whole evening, but you could feel the tension from him. He remained patient and watched you as you picked up things easily. He was impressed, but he was afraid. The potential energy and magic that you have in your amateur hands could be dangerous. He was worried…because of whom your source of magic was coming from.

What if you turned out like her?

Kaya tapped your shoulder, “That’s enough for today.”

You sat at the work table with Joon, reluctantly sitting down across from him. His eyes were squared on you with bitterness flowing towards you. Kaya sat down at the table with a steaming kettle pouring more tea into her cup and Namjoon’s, “Float a cup over for yourself.”

You looked across the room and pointed to a clean cup. You muttered under your breath and a cup levitated itself and clunked it onto the table right in front of you.

She unzipped him and as soon as his lips were free he couldn’t hold his tongue anymore, “Kaya! What if—what if she turns out to be like...!”

Kaya turned to him, “Her?”

He spat, “Exactly!”

“After all she’s done, haven’t we’ve been through enough. Y/n doesn’t deserve this.”

You look between them, feeling completely lost. Just how much didn’t you know? How did Namjoon know Kaya? You haven’t really pieced it together until now, why was she in his journal?

He sharply turned his attention to you, “How did you find this place?”

You stuttered out a thinning voice, “I-I.”

“I contacted her, I just felt Celina’s magic again and had to figure out if it was her, but instead I found Y/n.” You were surprised, Kaya stepped in to save you.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes, he wasn’t completely buying it. Under her breath barely audible to your ears, “The hound ’s loyal to their mistress not their master apparently.”

He turned to you to question further, but again Kaya stepped in to save you, “Calm down Namjoon, I can tell you that’s not what’s going to happen. I don’t see the same darkness in her that I saw in my sister. That won’t happen with Y/n.”

You blinked in shock, “How do you two know eachother?”

She casually grabbed onto both of your hands, “Revelata veritas occulta, monstrate memoriis vero Princeps.” In the next second you felt an energy surging through you, coursing through your heart then being. Your eyes blurred, swirling in a glowing green like Kaya’s. Namjoon watched on as you closed your eyes grunting, then they sprung open completely glowing blue.

He hissed at Kaya trying to release her hand, “What are you doing!”

Kaya remained patient, holding his hand tight, “Revealing the truth.”

In your ears their argument faded out. Behind your glowing eyes you were taken back, but this time you watched through Namjoon’s eyes.

Namjoon was acquainted with the sisters, as the witch community was tangled with the supernaturals. Everyone in the supernatural community knew of the witch sisters, the greatest witches of their generation. When Namjoon inherited the role of being Reaper, Kaya and Celina were the first ones to congratulate him. He grew close to the sisters, they were like real sisters to him; especially Kaya who helped him wield his scythe and even taught him some spells on the side.

Namjoon’s heart dropped when he received word to collect, to collect Celina’s soul. How had such a good person fallen?

His memory picked up right where Kaya’s had left off with Namjoon arriving in tragic timing. Celina had casted a spell over the house to cover her tracks. When he manifested in the hallway of Kaya’s home and the smoke faded, Kaya was already paralyzed, covering her eyes with her bloody hands. He ran over to her as she muttered out, “Mallory.”

He pulled her hands down from her eyes and gasped when he saw her pearly eyes, “Kaya, what happened?”

Kaya panted, feeling for him, “Namjoon! She—She!”

He heard thumping coming from the hallway. He stood in front of Kaya protectively against whatever was there. A large gangly figure popped out form the shadows wailing, “Mommy!”

Namjoon stood there, fear struck. Kaya screamed, “Celina, what have you done!”

Namjoon knew that the council would be coming soon since Celina had just been here. Kaya grabbed at his pant leg, “Please, Namjoon, protect my son!”

Namjoon didn’t have much choice, so he did the only think he could think of. He took out his scythe and with both hands he wrapped it around the staff and casted. Mallory began to be engulfed in black smoke. His similarly pearl eyes searched out his mother, he tried screaming for his mother, but it just came out as animalistic growls taking over his voice.

Namjoon took him to the only place he knew that would be safe, Limbo. He kept Mallory in a cave with a protective seal to keep anyone from entering, safe from the knowledge of supernaturals and other warlocks. He knew if the council found out what happened to Mallory there would be grave consequences.

He stayed with the child and would visit Kaya routinely. He knew he couldn’t fill the void of her son, but he was there for her like she was for him. He’d do anything for her.

They tried everything, every spell, hex, and art she knew to uplift the curse, but nothing worked. He helped her adjust, however, Kaya adapted quickly on her own.

Kaya persuaded Namjoon to let her see her child. Reluctantly he brought Kaya to see her son. She would hug her son and he would grunt out, no longer capable of speech while hugging his mother. He was still himself despite the curse. When she felt her son she’d began crying, she’d apologize and promised him she’d find a solution to revert him back. She was never going to give up, she worked herself to the bone, researching and testing lifting spells. However, no matter how great of a witch she was, no spell worked, the curse was too heavy. It was impossible to cure the curse.

Months passed by and Mallory began to forget his humanistic ways, slowly started becoming the monster he was cursed to be.  

Against Namjoon’s protest, he brought Kaya to see her son. He had seen the change happen, the growth of the beast, the greedy curse taking over the child’s soul. He couldn’t tell her, he wanted to fix this before she found out.

As they came into the cave, they found Mallory consuming a wandering soul. Kaya heard it all, the disgusting sounds and crunching of bone. Namjoon witness the horrific image of intestines being yanked from the corpse and it being grind it up in the boar’s jaw.

Namjoon panicked, “Kaya, you can’t see him today! Go back!”

She protested, she wanted to meet her son, not believing the sounds were from her precious child. He shouted the truth, “He’s not your son anymore, but a monster!”

Kaya remained silent, the truth weighing heavy on her after she’s been denying it for months, tears streamed down her face as she stood there listening to Namjoon stopping her gorging son—or at least he was.

He hated doing this, but he had to chain him up. He couldn’t let him wander about, it was too dangerous.

Soon enough Satera found out about the souls being consumed. She herself showed up in the cave to expel the behemoth herself. “Reaper, this being belongs in the pits! He is no Earthly creation!”

Namjoon stopped her and explained what had happened, how it was Celina’s evil doing, that there was a human being underneath. Her green glow about her died down and sympathy rang about her. She slowly walked towards the beast—Mallory—who growled in agitation. She hushed him and surprisingly he obeyed. She touched his forehead and her eyes swirled as she watched the whole story unravel in her eyes. She pulled away, sorrowfully petting his head a few times. She gave Namjoon a deal ,”I cannot break this curse, his soul has been nearly completely consumed. But if you can promise me that…that this Edax Animae can collect evil or wandering souls and you’d send the spirits to the pits, then he can remain on Earth.”

Namjoon agreed immediately, “Yes, yes, I can promise that.”

She raised her hand silencing him, “And…only if you watch over him, then he can remain.”

Namjoon told Kaya of the deal for hours she cried, guilt weighing heavy on her, but she was grateful. He could live.

Years went by, decades went by and the chase with Celina continued. Celina grew stronger and her craft immensely more potent. He would visit Kaya less and less because he had to take on other collections. Celina’s disturbances became fewer and she’d always escape his grasp in the nick of time. Before he knew it, he stopped visiting Kaya all together, but he kept his promise. He always watched over Mallory, even if he wasn’t Mallory anymore.

Time speed up from there in blurs, you saw fights, the sickly image of Celina before him in a forest, but with a different possession every other memory. Time swirled again, and it was her again but different each time they fought, but she’d get away.

Then there was you. You across the table from him, as he slid into the booth. You felt the smugness as he felt like had caught the mouse. Time warped to when you were brought to Edax, then all the nights you spent together eating dinner,  you saw the way he watched you as you were watching TV, or how you came in the door after work greeting him with a smile. It was blurs of the both of you, up until this very point, you sitting across from him.  

You gasped as you were pulled back into reality ripping you from the tar of memories. The glowing green began to fade from your eyes as you came to consciousness. You felt your limbs succumbing to a great fatigue as your legs lost control and you began slipping from your chair.

Namjoon let go of Kaya’s hand and caught you before you collapsed to the floor. “Kaya, this is too much for her! I told her she needs to stay out of this!”

You gasped and clutched onto his shirt, “Namjoon, I have to do this.”

He looked down at you, “No!”

You cupped his face smoothing the wrinkles building under his eyes, “Namjoon, I’m not Celina. I’m not her.”

Something you never expected caused your hand to halt. Tears were building in his eyes until a single tear slipped down his cheek, “I can’t lose you.”

You smiled, “You won’t, I promise. She’s not going to win. Trust me.”

He looked at you then to Kaya feeling the pressure from both of you, “Fine.”

Now that you were able to practice freely your skills were only growing at an exponential rate. Especially since you could practice at home out in the open. Crafting just felt so natural to you. You were going through spell books like water. Kaya put you through obstacles testing you on your skills and reflexes. That meant training became far more intense, pushing you to your breaking point every day. She made a pseudo room for you to cast spells and strike dummies.

You paced around the abysmal room, you could never see the walls in the room, you honestly didn’t know if there were any. You stood under a bright white spotlight waiting for your next target, and in front of you Celina manifested. You knew it wasn’t her, but a dummy. It looked so much like her, like the image you saw that night in your bathroom. Even though she was a dummy you knew not to let your discomfort show.

She opened her eyes, completely black and soulless. There was no banter exchanged, a blaze of green light aimed right for you. Two more jets of green light zoomed past you from the arthritic hands of Celina. You spewed hexes and spells back avoiding each of her strikes. This was fake, so it wouldn’t have a lasting strike if it did hit you, but still you avoided each strike.

Carelessly with that knowledge you faced her straight on and called out a spell that would knock her off her feet. She swerved and in the next blink she was in front of you, “You lose.” She brought her hands up and chanted out a curse, one you had passed by Kaya before in curiosity, but she narrowed her eyes completely upset, “Never, never, EVER, utter those words.”

The black eyes of Celina were all you could focus on as she was nearly nose to nose with you. You were paralyzed in fear, none of the other dummies had gotten this close to you. You didn’t dare blink, the next moment the body melted, bubbled and Namjoon was face to face to you. The same eyes remained, he hissed like a snake, “Internum Cuppedine.”

You screamed and for a moment you believed there were walls as you screamed loud enough that it bounced off the invisible walls. Loud, hot blindingly loud. The pain was consuming as you dropped to your knees in front of Namjoon, whole body quivering. He walked around you, a smirk form on his face, “I will watch you die in the most painful way.”

This wasn’t real, this wasn’t supposed to be real, but why was the pain so real. Namjoon would never do this too you. This wasn’t happened. You struggled trying to break, but the more you struggled the more painful it was.

“It will be my uptmost pleasure.” He raised his hand up slowly, body morphing back to Celina’s figure, you levitating with it. You dangled in the air twitching as the curse caused you to spasm. He clenched his hand, you feel the pressure around your throat. It’s so much, so much. With a finally squeeze of her hand everything goes dark.

You wake up gasping for air on the floor of Kaya’s craft room. The roaring fire, the cracking of the wood in the mantle alerting you you’re back in the real world. Was this real? Was that all fake? You lifted up sitting on your side coughing. You grabbed at your throat where you felt the phantom feeling of the grasp. You felt a drop on your hand, you pulled away and a drop of blood was on your hand. You raised it and checked your nose. Your nose was bleeding.

Was that just a dummy?

You didn’t tell Kaya or Joon what had happened in the training room. The crackling fire burning in the mantle casted long shadows over the room, so you relied on the candle next to you to illuminate the words on the book you were reading. Kaya had gone to sleep a while ago, you sat there intently listening for the snores to begin. When you were sure she was asleep you slipped off your stool and ventured over to the library. Stealthily you avoided the creaky wood planks as you tip toed over to a bookcase. You trailed over books that you’ve been eyeing for a while, the forbidden ones. Kaya had warned you against them, you didn’t need to know those spells.

You thought different, the more ignorant you were to this stuff the more vulnerable you were. You needed to know what the animation had said to you.

You pulled out a nameless black book and snuck it back to the table. You pushed away the book you were “studying” and placed the new book in front of you. It felt different, it was a thin book, but it weighed as heavy as a science textbook. You tried opening the book, but it refused to open. Knowing Kaya it must’ve been hexed closed.

You thought back to all the things you had learned, sourcing through all the spells you knew. You were going to try something you didn’t know would work, but you’d try. Holding your hand over the book you whispered out, “Abracadabra.”

Nothing happened, you were expecting something a bit more dramatic. Maybe a puff of smoke or like a comical soul arising, but nothing.

You reached for the cover and it pulled back and it opened. The binding creaking with the new book sound, but you knew this book was far from being young. Gothic text etched in the center entailed “Book of Dreadful Curses.”

Your body felt giddy, you were actually going through with this. You flipped the coffee colored pages that were fragile, each page had entries that were handwritten with depictions every so often. This seemed more like a lab book than a dictionary for curses. The description for these curses were horrible promises of unescapable torture, pain and lunacy. You read over a few: Martyium promised self-sacrifice but not with the will of the cursed; Impotente promised lunacy; Dissolvo promised decomposition. You scrolled through pages, each page more interesting than the last. However, you didn’t dare to repeat aloud, only allowing them to hiss in your mind, you had that much sense.

You opened this book for one specific curse, Internum Cuppedine. You flipped through the pages and soon enough the pages were blank. The journal entries had ended abruptly. You kept flipping though and you nearly scanned past it but on a single page two lone spells were written, but one specific one caught your eye: Internum Cuppedine.

Internum Cuppedine: Level IX, extreme malice and intention to harm. A torture spell that causes sensation similar to burning from the inside out, asphyxiation, violent trembling and loss of physical control. Results from curse causes permanent damage and if continuous, death.

Shuffling came from the door, Kaya groggily asking, “You’re still here child?” You closed the book shut and propped your elbow on it, then with your elbow you brushed it under the other you were studying. Even though she couldn’t see, you still felt like a child caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

“Yeah-yeah, I just wanted to finish up this last chapter then go home.”

A smile bloomed on her face, “You worked hard enough, go home child. You’ll need the rest for tomorrow.

You nodded, “I will.” You began to pack up your stuff edging off the stool, “Good night Kaya.” Her figure disappeared down the hallway as she mumbled to you. You waited until the sound of her closing her door before you set down your bag. You were just going to read a bit more…just a bit more.

Just a bit more.

Namjoon would stop by and pick you up from Kaya’s because he knew if he didn’t come and get you you’d stay all night. Despite things being open, you’ve spent more time a part now that everything was on the table.

Besides throwing up, a new habit crawled its way into your routine. You started having nightmares every night since the dummy incident; Celina would always have the main role. The dreams would be vivid, but it was the same dream every night. You relieved the moment in the training room over and over again. Each night it would escalate, but it was the same environment. Celina’s dark figure would leave you paralyzed as she came towards you. She’d look you dead in the eyes and her lips would spread past her cheeks in a sinister smile. She violently thrusted her hand through your chest and ripped your heart out. She’d laugh and consume your heart like a morsel. She licked her fingers of your blood and with the same dirty hands she pushed you. You’d tip back unable to save yourself and you’d fall down into an endless grave.

Namjoon heard you screaming springing from his own bed and ran into your room. You were trashing under your covers, he sat down next to you shaking you awake, “Y/n! Y/n! Wake up!”

You sprung up violently sucking in air. When you noticed Namjoon was there beside you, you clutched onto him panting. He collected you into his arms holding the back of your head with one of his hands. You buried your head into his chest, he rubbed your back soothing you, “Shhhh, It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He’d lay you back down when your trembling stopped.  “Want me to stay with you until you fall asleep again?”

You nodded rapidly, “Please.”

He scooched you over and laid beside you, his body taking up a large portion of the bed. He pulled you into his chest petting your hair, “It’s okay, I’m here go back to sleep. I won’t leave.” You nodded against his chest, his scent bringing comfort to you. It took about half an hour until you fell back asleep. His naturally low, deep voice sung you to sleep.

To your ignorance he was chanting away the demons, casting a protection spell over your mind for the night. A sleep worm had made its way into your dreams. He held the back of your head as you fell fast asleep. He kept chanting, slowly pulling his hand away from your head and along with it the worm that had plagued your dream. He squished it in his hands and it sizzled in his grip. You sighed in relief when he pulled it out and you eased into his chest limply, truly asleep.

His eyes narrowed as he looked over you and into the shadows of your bedroom. It was your silhouette in the shadows, but it wasn’t you. He could only sigh and hold you close, there was no telling when, but there wasn’t much time left. He fell asleep with you cradled in his arms, he didn’t want to let you go.

In his arms, you were safe.

You didn’t want to fall asleep, it was hard distinguishing the sun and the moon lately. White bled into black and you were somewhere in Limbo. Kaya had gone to sleep long ago; teaching had worn her out despite you doing all the work. Namjoon was here earlier but left when he was summoned. You slipped on his blazer you had brought with you on accident today when a draft came over the room. It partially still smelled like him, mostly because he tried it on again today, “Sure it was an accident Y/n. You like me that much huh?”

You blushed furiously attacking him with the best come back you could think of, “You wish.”

Sitting alone you wrapped it tighter around yourself. You looked around, despite knowing you were alone, and pulled out from under your other book the Book of Dreadful Curses. You hated to admit it but you were drawn towards it. Who were the people that made such craft, and who were they after? You were just so curious.

In your ear you heard a moaning whisper, “Y/N.”

You turned around expecting Kaya in the doorway, but no one was there. Maybe Kaya and Joon were right, you have been overworking yourself to the point you were hearing things. You waited, maybe Kaya would appear a second later, but there was nothing. You went back to flipping the pages and felt a chill down your spine as another barely audible whisper tickled your ear, “Y/N.”

The lights above you flickered, and the omnipresent voice cackled. The hair on the back of your neck raised as the roaring fire in the fireplace suddenly extinguishing. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, it was dead silent. You were waiting, waiting in anticipation.

A struck of lightening jetted passed you striking the pit of embers reigniting the roaring flame, a flame so big that it licked your spine. You screamed at the intense heat and in shimmer of mist a figure before you manifested.

It was Celina.

You stumbled backwards, hitting the wall knocking down picture frames and crystals. One look at her and you could tell why she was here though, the once gorgeous woman was wilting away. Her flesh was rotting away in some spots as ghastly purple and grey chunks were missing; Streaming down her barely fitting dress was mud, you recognized that dress, it was the dress.

Celina trailed around the table with an awkward gait, “I told you you’d know my name when the time comes.” She smirked dropping a potion bottle on the floor and crunching the glass with her bare feet. “It’s our day darling!” The lights flickered manically as she raised her both her hands, fingers stretched outwards with the tips burning red.

A bolt of magic zoomed past your head and hit just near Celina’s head. The lights stabled. You turned, and Kaya was behind you with her hands raised, “Celina!”

Celina stumbled, “Sister, I thought you died a long time ago.”

Kaya scoffed, “You underestimate me.”

Celina huffed, “I won’t miss this time.”

Celina extended her arm and fired bolts towards the both of you. The crackling magic destroyed the shelf behind us and all Kaya’s tea cups fell to the floor. Kaya pushed you behind her and you both managed to fire back at her. Celina sensed the magic before the strikes and dodged them easily. You’ve never seen this before, Kaya was wielding beyond your comprehension. A rally of blue and red bolts soared across the room. You were dragged to hide under a desk along with Kaya, “Child, run, run while you can. I’ll take care of her.”

You shook your head, “No, I’m staying here and fighting with you. This is my battle as much as it is yours.”

“You’re not ready child! Run!” Kaya grunted, red flames roared above us as Celina grew frustrated.

“Come on out Kaya, you’re not a coward to hide. Come and fight me once and for all! Let’s end this!”

You couldn’t let Kaya get hurt, you’ve worked hard for this moment. This was it. “No, I’m ready,” you punctuated. You took the risk and stood up on your own. You raised your hand and fired out a spell at Celina. A charged spell shot out from your hands at her.

She dodged it and laughed, a hearty laugh, “Oh-ho-ho, Look at you my pretty! A witch in the making! Oh, how great it will be when I take over you. A perfect vessel, perfect blood.”

You fell right into her trap and she chanted, then a pulsing neon purple cloud consumed the both of you. Kaya gripped onto your hand, “NO, Y/N!” Her grip on you disappeared and you were consumed in opaque purple. A wave of nausea hit you that you were now familiar with. You came to in a dense fog feeling the cold breath of life resurge through you again. You knew this place, you knew it very well—Limbo, the edge of hell, where Namjoon first took you.

You whispered out his name out of habit, “Namjoon.”

“It’s just you and I,” the sick cackling echoed throughout the clearing. The silhouetted figures stopped their roaming as if Satan had called upon them and ran from the site. Celina’s red glow fired up and shot towards you, “Mine!”

You lifted your hands and chanted dangerous spells under your breath trying to keep up with her razor-sharp fast attacks. Her body may be decaying but her mind was sharp. It was hard to tell where the next strike would come from because of the fog. You ran behind a tree catching your breath, as quietly as you could you knocked on the tree three times. You could hear her footsteps approaching and on instincts you bolted from your safety. The next second the tree you were hiding behind cracked in half catching fire.

You ran out into the clearing and fired green jets at her with no sense of direction. She whirled around and flicked her wrist manically as she growled.

In the center of us a cloud of black smoke manifested and from it emerged Kaya and Namjoon. Kaya put up a protective shield around the both of them and ultimately you. Celina’s bolt crashed against the shield like tsunami wave crashing on a boulder.

Kaya turned her hands like a wheel and used that energy and shouted, “Praesidio!” The magical wave reversed itself and turned it back on the caster.

Namjoon sprinted towards you, “Y/n!” You ran up to him wrapping your arms tightly around him, you just needed that moment. You broke the embrace when Celina roared, and fireworks flared between Celina and Kaya.

Celina protected herself from the returning wave by casting her own shield.  She grew frustrated, “SURGERIMUS!” From the ground hands popped up like daisies, soon enough skulls and fifty some full bodies rose. Their bodies were devoid of skin with insects who’ve burrowed themselves in cavities. It was an uproar as the swarming corpses stampeded their way towards us with loud war cries. The three of you equally regarded them charging forward into the mess. In a single swipe you shattered the center of a corpse with its limbs exploding towards all directions. Namjoon moved his scythe about with brutal strength, twirling past extended jaws lunging to bite severing heads off cleanly. Kaya strikes with palm open knocking down two at a time.

She turned around confronted with Celina no less than a few feet away, “Hello Sister.”

Celina growled firing spells, cold hatred behind each venomous strike. She was sending incantations, smiting with all she had. Kaya used her instincts to her advantage, a century of development with her impairment. She swayed and slashed her magic as jets of light flew from both of them. From under them the fog diminished seeing the forest floor for the first time. The ground below them shimmering as dangerous spells fireworked around their feet. The two witches were battling for blood, for the kill.

“Oh, Kaya you can’t protect her, just like you couldn’t protect your son.”

“DON’T SPEAK OF HIM THAT WAY!” Soaring bolts still progress back and forth like a tennis rally. “You will never touch my children again!” screamed Kaya.

A side of Celina’s lips raised, “Think again.”

It happened so fast. Suddenly Kaya was lifted off the floor floating in the air, an invisible force wrapping around her neck and squeezing tight. “It’s ironic, the one who wrote the Book of Dreadful Curses is going to experience it firsthand.” Kaya’s eyes bulged as Celina’s cursed the worst forbidden curse, “Silento.” The curse wrapped around Kaya and in one movement Kaya’s neck jerked abstractly.

"Kaya…Kaya...," you stupidly repeated watching as her body falls to the ground in a single thud. You felt something in you falling, something you'd never get back. Three corpses try suffocating you, but you scream out a smite that sends the three of them soring.

Namjoon takes advantage of the opening and charges at Celina, his anger taking over his actions. He dug the stem of his scythe into the ground and used it to lunge across corpses to land in front of her. He growls as he raises from his squat, “HOW COULD YOU!”  

You slaughter any corpses in your path as you walk like Moses as your hands work without turning away from Kaya. Bones, flesh and fluids coat you and fly in front of you but you pay it no attention. You yell out, “Praesido,” casting a shield over the both of you as you fall to your knees next to her. You pick her up carefully, you don’t want to hurt her any further. You scoot her up onto your lap, you touch her face and caress trying something, “Kaya, come back, you can’t, you can’t leave me.” You continue to caress her head, “NO, NO, NO, NO!”

She was gone.

Namjoon charged towards Celina, efficiently cutting her magic as it deflected off his scythe. He readied himself and charged at her again and again no resting between his blows. Crossing of blue hell flame from the scythe and crimson magic from Celina collided illuminations. They collided her magnificent jets holding back Namjoon’s scythe, their flames blending at the collision point a vibrant violet. They were matched in power, but there was no love in war.

Namjoon screamed, “I will collect you Celina!”

Celina cackled, “Never!”

Her power surged causing an explosion between them, Namjoon was sent flying from the impact and he crashed against a tree with a thud. From the ground hundreds of hands began clawing around him. He screamed reaching his hand out of the mound that gathered around him. They buried him underneath the soil.

“NAMJOON!” From your protective shield as you held Kaya in your arms, you screamed until your throat was raw. You crouched over Kaya body tears streaming down your face, you wiped away the tears as Celina staggered towards you. Her body was falling apart as her hourglass was running out. She needed to change, she needed a new body, she needed you.

You don’t know where this strength stemmed from, but you raised from the ground. “I’m sorry Kaya.” You weren’t the same Y/n you were when you first encountered Celina. You were going to use everything of hers against her. Hands buzzed on their own accord, like some magnet, a burning emerald fire crackled on your hands. You had summoned a raging strength from deep within you. Your hands lit up and the flames of magical ombre emerald washed up to your elbows. You marched without breaking pace through your protective shield as if it was invisible. Wind swirled around you your hair whipping around you and Namjoon’s blazer rustling about.

This cycle had to stop.

Chaos ensued moments later, bolts of energy cut through the dense fog. “CELINA!” You mow through the animations who came rushing at you.

Celina shouted, “I shall have your life!”

Your power pulsed through you, it was like a second skin guiding you in the chaos.  You stomped your foot into the dense soil concentrating magic in your foot to shower her in dust. You took the opening chance to get closer to her and attack close range. You strike her chest hearing a crack then grabbed onto her arm. When you touch all the sudden both your eyes glow green. The both of you stop, the animations stop as well, eyes glowing green.

Blurs of her life past before your eyes, as you watched her and Kaya as children running through their childhood home, the same one Kaya took residence in. You watched Kaya protect Celina from bullies, but from that Celina grew furious, ‘I can protect myself’

As a teenager she pushed Kaya away. She watched her Sister being doted on by her parents, by her peers, praised by anyone and everyone. There she was, alone. You watch as she sneaks into her sister’s room and steals a black leather book, the Book of Dreadful Curses. She flipped through the book it was only full of small spells at the time. A dreadful smirk curves on Celina’s face, she had dirt on her sister. She confronted their parents about Kaya’s book, feeling finally she had dirt on her perfect sister. Yet, they didn’t believe it was Kaya’s at all, but Celina’s book. Celina’s felt betrayed and resented her sister as Kaya let Celina take all the blame.

The memory whirl pooled jumping in time where Celina was a young adult. She was in the forest with a man double her age. The man she seduced was ignorant to her eyes open as they kiss. She took a knife and stabbed the man. She placed him in a circle and chanted, wicking up candles as she performed. The man rose like nothing had happened, but his eyes are completely black. She panicked, panicked because she never thought she could do it. She murders the man once more and buries him somewhere. The cycle continues with different men and women. She writes more in the book who was mistakenly hers, she develops the curses as she practices them.

You watch as she’s brought before the Hecate council, on her knees. They found out she was performing curses and had murdered a mortal. They were punishing her when she erupted, filling the room with black smoke and escaped. She ran off to the only place she knew, home. She ran into the house, up the stairs and into the kitchen where her sister was sipping tea. “Kaya, they’re coming for me! We have to leave! They’re coming for me.”

Kaya doesn’t handle the news well. Celina does the only thing she knows, she lifted her arms and recites something from the book she created.

She regrets it as soon as it happens trying to undo the curse, but there’s no turning back. She leaves the book and disappears. Leaving all trace of her family and her older self behind.

Celina lives everywhere and anywhere sucking the life out of others, the longer she spent practicing the Dark Arts the harder she fell.

The undead aspect of it began to consume her as you watched as she looked in the mirror and she was but a skeleton. She was wearing that dress, the dress, as she woke from a new reanimation. You watch her crawl out of the soil and walk through a forest. She cracks her neck and smirks.

You knew what happened from there…you were next.

 The bond was broken and the corpses collapsed to the floor with nothing left in them. You don’t let a second blip by and you were acting.

Celina growled out, shock flitting across her face, “WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?”

You chanted out something you promised you would never use, but rules are meant to be broken. You roared out a curse, “ABSCINDERE!” Your hand glowed a violent light and for a moment you felt light headed and a blinding light surged from your hand. A guttural scream followed and Celina stumbled backwards. Her arm severed off where your hand was on her upper arm. Your eyes bulged, you didn’t think that would work. You were panting hard, you felt a surging pain in your own arm where you had taken hers. You wanted to scream in pain, but you held it back.

She screamed at you, “YOU BITCH!!”

“Kaya will always be better than you, a better Witch!” Your winced in a moment of weakness, your arm really hurt.

“She was weak, she believed in love and all that other bullshit. Just like you, and that makes you weak.” The remnants of the dress on her body taunted you as well. Spitting in your face for your foolish choice, but you weren’t going to grasp at those threads. You were going to weave your own thread, not a resurgent’s.

“Do you not understand? Do you truly not understand what you’ve done? She never wrote that book for what you did with it, it was meant to lock them away forever.” You sucked in a deep breath, “DO YOU HAVE NO REMORSE KILLING KAYA!”

You tried looking for the tremble or shift in her eyes, but there was none. She truly meant it. “You defend her still when she’s already dead. No, I do not, I’d do it all over again.”

The threads were weaved and she was wrapped in her sin.

Celina grew impatient with the banter, “Kaya is dead, and so will you be!”

At the same time you both muttered out a spell meeting in the center between the both of you with an explosive reaction. You kept your hand stretched out strong just like hers as you both projected towards one another. You were in a gridlock as the spell in the center of you swirled about fiery red mixing with emerald.

You didn’t expect it, but hands popped up form the soil and grabbed at your ankles dragging you down. It was a cheap shot. The hands clasped around you, beginning to bury your feet causing you to lose your balance. Her spell hit you with full force, but the hands kept you grounded. You screamed as it burned and fell to your knees.

You struggled to raise yourself, something hot and dense dripping off your jaw cascading down the side of your face.

Celina began murmuring words that sounded like a thousand words whispering in your ears. You covered your ears trying to cancel them out but they only got louder. Fear surged through you as you began to feel weaker and weaker. The murmurs began to register in your mind, “Internum Cuppedine.”

She had control of your being. You felt a shift in the flow of your blood going against the gradient. She laughed manically contorting her hand stiffly, “Your blood is my blood sweetie. I’m going to claim what is mine now.”

She picked up her severed arm and you horrifically watched as it began to mend itself back to her torso. She kept whispering out her curse and she held out her hand and a knife conjured. The gunmetal blade was raised in the air and black flames began to engulf the blade. She clenched her hand around the blade and swiftly cut her palm covering it in her own thick blood.

“You are mine!” She flicked her wrist and your back bent backwards displaying your chest openly. You stared at the moonless sky, grey clouding your vision. You couldn’t do anything. She picked up speed, branches cracking under her feet as she broke out into a sloppy run. You could only watch as she ran it through your chest with ease. Her cursed knife’s black flames met the soft flesh of your chest with a quick squelch and cracking  your ribs with ease. You screamed, but it quickly was muffled as you gurgled on your own blood. You shakily grabbed over her hands looking Celina directly in the eyes. She kept pushing the knife deeper into your chest and you agonized a roar. She let go of the handle only to take some blood streaming down your neck into her palm. You were convulsing, trembling while your hands still held onto the knife. Breathing was difficult as thick rivets of blood was flowing down your chest.

“Just in time, a minute before midnight.” She laughed raising her hands up to the sky, “I will rise again!” She then brought it to her lips to drink.

Namjoon emerged from the dense fog, strong clanking of chains and growling announcing his ominous arrival. He held the leash of Edax Animae and his scythe in his other, face partially covered in blood with completely black eyes. The hounds formed a V formation around him, black smoke still leaving his mouth as hell still leaks from him. “You think the Reaper would die that easily? I never make mistakes.” Edax staggered, then caught Celina’s scent and tugged on the chains. Namjoon raised the leash and whipped them letting go of them on his down swing, “Sick her boys.”

Celina didn’t get a chance drink as Edax Animae hunched down and ran towards her like an animal growling and roaring. The hounds ran behind Edax snarling and barking ferociously. With an open Jaw he pierced her with his tusk and scooped her body into his jaw like a Venus fly trap. Haunting screams followed gurgling sounds as Edax feasted. Celina’s hand fell limp as it hung out of Edax jaw. Celina was dead and because of her own curse.

A black sludge trudged like a slug away from the corpse. Namjoon brought his scythe up and chopped down on it multiple times, splatters of black ink hitting his face. The sludge evaporated, never to be dealt with again. Celina was collected.

Edax began coughing, his body hacking up the stolen body Celina had used. He roared shaking his head around violently and slowly his body began to transform. His flesh rippling, features bubbling, fur receding and tusk collapsing to the floor off his face.

“Edax!”

The being shrunk reducing itself back into a small boy covering in mud and blood. The boy panted as he collapsed to his knee fainting from the shift. Namjoon picked him up in his arms and the boy still had a pulse, “Mallory!”

His attention turned when he heard a gurgling. His eyes widened impossibly, and he clutched the boy tighter to his chest. He stood up with Mallory in his arms calling out your name, “Y/N! Where aRE YOU? ANSWER ME!”

Namjoon searched within the fog and found you kneeling on the floor not far from Kaya. “Y/N!” He gently set down Mallory to inspect you, hands not sure were to fall as he looked at you horrified. Your hands were still wrapped around the knife. “Y/N! NO, no, no! Oh my god, I’m so sorry I took so long. I’m so sorry!”

Your vision was going blurry, you weren’t sure how much longer you had, but you wanted to stay at least to see Namjoon. You needed to know he was okay. You let go of the handle and winced, but you reached out for his hand and brought it to your cheek. You nuzzled against it. You smiled against all the pain, you could do that at least. You watched Namjoon’s panicked face turn blotchy and fade out meshing with the grey background. Your body slacked, head lulling to the side your eyes fell succumbing to the drowsiness.

Namjoon grabbed at your face screaming loud enough to shake the pits, “Y/N!” He tried shaking you awake, but your body swung limply about. He felt for a pulse in your neck with his fingers, but there wasn’t a response. He brought you into his chest caressing your head to his chest rocking back and forth.

It was midnight, and the debt had been paid, but there was always a price.

A green glow filtered in through the dense fog overcoming the four of you. Namjoon lifted his hanging head as a delicate hand pushed his hair back. He wiped his head up, tears dripping down his face.

Satera’s gentle smile greeted him, “Let me see her Reaper.”

He held you tighter to his chest, “Please, don’t—don’t take her.”

She continued to smile and crouched down in front of the both of you. Her grand white dress billowing about her. She reached out and grabbed onto the handle of the knife, “I cannot give her life back, but I can give her something more.”

Namjoon looked up surprised, “What?”

“She is a Duximina. Her fate changed when she died in your uniform. Do you not remember your soul is within it Reaper? Your thread changed her fate.”

He watched as the black knife burned in her hands as she ripped it out of your chest. Your chest levitated up with the tugging and fell back into his chest. Satera cupped her hands muttering under her breathe and her hands began to glow green. She carefully opened them revealing a glowing green ball. Satera kissed it then placed it in your chest. The energy melted into your chest, the injury sealing itself, there was a silent pause. Namjoon stared at your face watching in amazement as the purple around your eyes began to fade and color began to seep back in. You suddenly opened your eyes, nearly bugging out form your skull as your back arched as you deeply inhaled. Namjoon quickly sat you up as you began coughing up the remaining blood that was left in your throat. You inspected your hands, “Wha—how?”

Namjoon brought you into his chest smothering you, “You’re alive, you’re alive.”

Satera tsked, “You’re alive my dear, but not quite.”

You turned towards the mythical being, recognizing her from the multitude of text, “S-Satera?”

She smiled happy you knew of her, “Welcome to the world Duximina,” gently taking your hand, “fulfill your destiny.”

She stood up and walked over to Kaya, “I’m so sorry dear. You’ve done well, now you may watch over them from some place else.” She looked towards Mallory, who was still unconscious then back to Kaya, “He will be well protected, don’t you worry.” She placed her hand over Kaya’s forehead and the both of them disappeared into shimmering dust.

Tears streamed down your faces, as you watched them disappear. Namjoon checked on you, “You’re alive.” That was all he could get out.

You smiled back at him, cupping his stained cheek, “We did it?”

He nodded, stray tears making their way down his face. He slowly raised up, helping you stand as well, “Stay there, don’t move.”

He walked over to Mallory and scooped the boy into his arms and went back to you wrapping your hand in his, “Let’s go home.”

The three of you vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

Your pumps clicked on the wooden flooring. It echoed throughout the empty café. You spotted the booth and you gracefully scooted in. You adjusted his blazer and crossed your legs under the table haughtily, then tossed your arm behind the seat. You looked Namjoon dead in the eyes with a brow raised, “I’ve come to collect.”

He chuckled and copied your gesture tauntingly, “Witch Reaper.”

You both laughed and he leaned over the table and took your chin bringing your lips to his, “Collected.”

You leaned right and did the same to the boy swinging his feet under the booth, too distracted with his collaring page leaving a kiss on his forehead. “ Missed you Mallory.” He grunted in acknowledgement, but you knew that was a lot from the kid.

You felt your chest tingling where your medal was, another call was coming in. You groaned, “I just got here.”

He laughed, but it was cut short when he felt the same sensation, “Guess I gotta go too.”

He reached across the table and kissed you again, “We’re still on for dinner and Family Feud later?”

You lifted your brow, “Always.”

Namjoon picked up Mallory moving him onto his lap, “ We gotta go Kiddo.” In the next second the three of you vanished in your own clouds of black smoke, a half-colored page with discarded broken crayons and the white steam from the abandoned coffee still swirled.

Collected.

Copyright 2018 © by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved.

[eeee-lye]

So I’ve finished Tempests and Slaughter and ... look, I write long, rambling works more about character development than plot, so when I say there’s not enough plot in this book, the context from where I say it matters.

Pierce has never been a tight plotter. She’s better at it in the Circle universe books, where the structures of events in a single book gives a sense of plot that leads to a more definite conclusion (like Sandry’s destroying the murderers at the end of Magic Steps). Many of her Tortall books, though, involve a sequence of events that occur over a period of time, event after event, finally reaching a conclusion at the end of the series, but often stopping mid-series because it seems like a good spot to wrap up (with some character development to make it stick, with varying degrees of success). We’re just not reading Pierce for plot, and I don’t have a problem with this most of the time.

Tempests and Slaughter has no plot and only a very quick “oh this is a romantic relationship” revelation emotional tie-up at the end (not instigated by Arram). It is solely establishing set up for everything that happens before and during The Immortals. Yes, things happen, but there’s no real conclusion, just a tour through many, many scenes that are depictions of magic and growing up and learning with a lot of foreshadowing but not a lot of things actually happening.

(Some of the foreshadowing is utterly enjoyable for old Pierce fans. It’s fun to see Ozorne and Varice interact with each other and Arram, and Pierce’s showing us Tristan, Gissa and their relationship with the three is really cool.)

The major problem here is that Arram Draper is a character to whom things happen, and, honestly? This never a good protagonist makes. There’s gods talking about how he’s destined for great things (he has a sunbird called Preet, which is basically the equivalent of Alanna/Beka’s Faithful/Pounce) but Arram Draper does almost nothing himself. Gods find him. Teachers make decisions for him. His friends find him. He ends up in situations of tempests and slaughter from the actions and decisions of others. I’m honestly racking my brain for more than one or two instances where Arram decided to do anything without someone else deciding for him or pushing him towards it. He doesn’t instigate adventures, he doesn’t try to investigate a certain mystery himself (most of Pierce’s other characters would have tried to solve it instead of leaving it for the next book). Arram does nothing but let the universe push him around, and since the book tells me so unsubtly that he’s destined for great things, it undermines this message--the telling and the showing don’t match up.

That Arram does little of his own will is why there’s no plot. A proactive character who makes decisions, good and bad, generates their own plot. A character who has his decisions made by others and handed to him does not; you just get a character coasting from scene to scene. There’s not even a great sense of character development--you see Arram learn about magic and observe things about Carthak and Ozorne, but very little about himself. One of the two character arc moments that formed the conclusion was handed to us in the first chapter!

I suspect this is meant to contrast the massive changes that Arram makes to become Numair in the next books, but it leaves Tempests and Slaughter lacking in emotional punch. It’s dull. I was reading just for the foreshadowing, for mentions of Lindhall. I wasn’t reading for the character of Arram Draper, and when compared to every single one of Pierce’s other protagonists, that’s not something I want to say.

I didn’t love Battle Magic, but it’s a much stronger story with an antagonist, a threat, something at stake, and characters who deal with magic and awfulness but don’t walk away unchanged by it. (Plus there’s delightfully polyam and bi Rosethorn.) Tempests and Slaughter doesn’t have a clear antagonist whose actions impact Arram and doesn’t have anything at stake for Arram despite the murder and political doings. It’s the Star Wars prequel trilogy of the Tortall verse.

Under the cut, I’m going to talk in slightly spoilerish fashion about mental illness and the Tasikhe family:

Mental illness has a stronger presence here than in most of Pierce’s books, excepting perhaps The Will of the Empress / Battle Magic / Melting Stones. There’s potions made that seem to be the functional equivalent of antidepressants and antipsychotics, purposefully for mood-lifting and calming. I think this is awesome, generally--I’d love to see more fantasy novels with fantastic treatments for mental illnesses. I’d love to see a fantasy protagonist take a potion every night or morning to manage their symptoms, just like I do.

But. When the only characters seen using these potions are from the Tasikhe family (Ozorne and his mother) and are generally depicted as unstable, racist and violent, and when Ozorne is a damn series antagonist, I have one hell of a problem.

(There’s also the fact that one of the characters giving Ozorne’s potion is Very Clearly Up To No Good, which leaves me wondering if the potion is meant to damage or harm Ozorne long term. That connotation, as it maps to psychiatric meds, is troubling to say the least.)

There are no other characters written as mentally ill in the same way. Arram is clearly ND-coded, written as distractible, narrowly-focused, shy, anxious, awkward--a healer character makes a comment about his mind being a singular place that reads, to me, straight from the autism playbook. Arram, though, isn’t written as unstable in the way Ozorne is, and at no point is Arram’s neurodiversity ever named; at no point is he shown getting support for it. It isn’t treated in the same way as seeing Ozorne being given a potion that settles his depression symptoms enough that he can return to more normal functioning.

Ozorne has some degree of PTSD from his father’s death and depression, specifically seasonal affective disorder, although it’s forgotten about in the later stages of the book. He is a reasonably good depiction of depression earlier on, but also prone to rage and violence towards anyone remotely connected to the ethnicity of the people who killed his father. I’m far too white to speak properly on this, but I’m not liking the approach of giving a racist character a “you people killed my father” backstory justifying his racism. What I can speak on is the fact that we’ve got a mentally ill character who is racist, violent and hateful, and while mental illness never stops one from being racist (and we white mentally-ill folks need to not use mental illness as an excuse) it is dangerous to associate mental illness with violence the way it is in Ozorne and his mother.

People with mental illnesses are more like to be the victims of violence than its perpetrators, yet here we are getting characters who are visibly mentally ill, to the point of needing treatment--one of whom will become an antagonist who does some horrifically terrible things during The Immortals. We’re getting another character, treated similarly to Anakin Skywalker in the Star Wars prequels, who is written as even more obviously and unambiguously mentally ill because it is inconceivable that anyone without mental illness can be a violent, lethal series antagonist, and as a mentally ill person, I am so not okay with this.

This is a carryover from The Immortals, but it is so damn unnecessary. Ozorne did not need to be mentally ill. He didn’t need to be written as a mentally ill character, undergoing the treatment of a mentally ill character. He could have been written as a racist would-be conqueror without any suggestion of mental illness; I don’t believe it would have changed his character arc at all.

Given that Pierce writes YA, and given that she’s written suggestions in the Circle universe of mental illness and its treatment being more normalised (at least with regards to trauma/PTSD), I think she’s done mentally ill teenagers a massive injustice here. Teens with depression and SAD do not need to see a character who has their symptoms and experiences being built up to be a series antagonist who wrecks destruction and violence.

It’s ableism, and given that this is the set up and where Ozorne’s character must go, I’m doubtful it’ll get any less ableist.

[natefromcomicburst-blog]

STABBITY BUNNY CREATOR, RICHARD RIVERA INTERVIEW

Stabbity Bunny Creator Richard Rivera Interview FEB 8TH 2018

Richard Rivera is the affable sort of guy you want to buy a beer for just to hear him spin a yarn. His engrossing approach to storytelling is evident in his breakout hit Stabbity Bunny, which is flying off the shelves. Despite its recent rise in popularity, Rivera has had to work hard to get to today, self-publishing Stabbity for several years and working directly with his fans through a grueling convention schedule. More recently Rivera has not slowed down his travel schedule, but he does have a strong partner via a publishing deal with indie darling Scout Comics. Amazing variants from up-and-coming studios like The Brain Trust have also helped create buzz for Richard’s work and fans have clearly decided to “make mine Stabbity!”

With stores selling out of Stabbity Bunny, Rivera and team have obviously hit on something special. Comic Burst reached out to Richard, who was gracious enough to grant us the following interview, which is edited for clarity and length.

Comic Burst: Thanks for taking the time to speak with us today, especially considering how busy you have been with the huge success of Stabbity Bunny. There is a lot of talk in the comic community about the book. What do you think of the success?

Richard Rivera: Oh it’s great! I’ve spent the last three years driving to conventions and I pretty much drove to them all. I’m pretty much the guy who doesn’t like to stop when driving either. I have driven 18 hours before, only to show up just in time to set up for the convention, work that day, and then crash hard that night, and I love it. I love meeting all these people who want to know more about the book. Especially going to a city for the second or third time, and having more and more people come up wanting to know if there are more issues. To get the story out was the whole point and it feels great. What Scout [Comics] has done is given me the opportunity to get the word out on a larger stage. It feels like every store is now helping me, and all the conventions are going on for my book.

Richard Rivera Stabbity Bunny Signing Forbidden Planet London

CB: Does it feel like “finally, my time has come?”

RR: (Laughing) I’m much simpler than that. I’m just happy there are more people being exposed to the book and some of those people are excited about it. I’m really, really happy for the people who bought the book over the years, and now some of those people are selling those books for hundreds and hundreds of dollars.

CB: Collectors certainly love your books! The other day a variant was spotted auctioning for around $400. That’s a lot of money for a new indie book.

RR: Yeah, I couldn’t believe it! I had not seen many for sale and then maybe a month ago an issue number one convention variant came out--because I do watch these things you know--and the numbers pretty much stick in my head. It went for $57, and then a one-through-four set went for $43. Soon after that, prices started climbing fast and I was surprised. A one-through-five is at over $400 today!

I wish I had kept a few of those issues. I had set aside ten copies of issue number five--which you can see on the inside cover is a limited 100 print run--but at Megacon people were coming up like “Hey! Do you have any new issues?” and I’d be like “yeah I have a number five” and I’d give it to them. I gave them all away, but I’m really happy people got them. I want to get the story out there! Something like this I can honestly say I never expected.

CB: You have left readers wanting more. Are there any other projects you are currently working on?

RR: Yes. I have another series called Shadowplay co-created with Alex Lobato , artwork by Clara Meath, and color art by Liezl Buenaventura, who is also the color artist on Stabbity Bunny. I can’t say much but I can say that it’s a shared universe with Stabbity Bunnyand there is a potential crossover for sure.

CB: So there is a lot to come from you and Scout Comics on the horizon.

RR: I’m incredibly happy with Scout. I have gotten to meet pretty much everyone at Scout and every time I met up with them I’m more encouraged.. A bunch of cool guys really working hard to get stories out there, to get some fresh titles. Rather than shopping Shadowplay around I want to stay with Scout and do whatever small part I can be to help them grow into the next Dark Horse.

CB: That’s an admirable sentiment, such loyalty is hard to come by today.

RR: Thank you. That’s nice of you to say!

CB: Who are your influences?

RR: It was the mid-to-late 70’s and I read whatever was on the spinner rack of comics at the store. Back then, I wasn’t conscious of writers as much as I was artists, but Marvel stuck with me with all the Neal Adams and Barry Windsor-Smith stuff. A particular memory is Vision going crazy and beating up the Skrull because they had taken Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch. To see him so enraged and actually kill and hurt more people than he had to...there were no Wolverines or Deadpool or Punisher or whoever. I enjoyed moments like that, that showed the more human side of things. I’ll always enjoy Silver Age storytelling because of the innocence.

CB: Was that a defining moment in regard to showing you the dark side that’s sometimes present in comics?

RR: It was. The next thing that really got me was Daredevil 191 along with Warrior Magazine from England. Alan Moore stories were in there, and a number of things were black and white, which were a revelation to me. Alan Moore’s Swamp Thing made me realize that writing could be structured in multiple layers, with symbolism, literary references, and foreshadowing all in a story that didn’t feel unwieldy. It flowed so well. So much depth.

A lot of my writing I feel is empathetic. Where will this fall on your emotional scale? Are these people I’d like to know? Are these people I would be scared of? Why are they doing this? The moustache twirling days are long in the past. There is a lot of cast in Stabbity. The cast of Stabbity Bunny are everyday people like you and I. I once described the characters in Stabbity as “people who put away their hedge trimmers and cook books, and show us that everyday people can make a difference.”

CB: How did you meet Dwayne Biddix (artist/visual designer) and Liezl Buenaventura (color artist)?

RR: I started working on Stabbity nine years ago, and about five years ago wrote 36 issues to start making into comic books. At first I approached a couple folks over at Deviant Art and was ignored completely, which I completely understand; every day an artist is approached by people saying “hey, I want to make a comic book!” and they don’t know that person. They didn’t know me. Then I decided that it was more important to me to find an artist on Facebook where you can see not only their work, but you can kind of get to know them and see if you can work together. After stalking Dwayne Biddix for a few months, I approached him and asked if he would check out the script. Knowing how nice of a guy he was, I knew he would at least read the script. I sent it to him at night and the next morning I’m like “so…did you look at the script?” and he was like “yeah I did…” and then “DUDE! THAT WAS THE BEST SCRIPT I'VE EVER READ!”

Then we needed a color artist. There were some really strong submissions, but nothing that made the light shine down and angels choir start playing. We eventually found this moment with Liezl though. I’ve let people try out for other series, but I always go back to Liezl.

Stabbity Bunny "Donnie Darko" Brain Trust variant cover, graffiti found Leake Street Tunnel, London

CB: Thank you very much for speaking with us today and we are excited to see where Stabbity Bunny goes from here!

RR: Thanks for having me and thank you to all the fans and stores for buying the book.

Interviewed and written by - Nathan Liberty

Edited by - Dr. No

Want more info on the smash hit Stabbity Bunny check out their website http://stabbitybunny.com and their awesome publisher Scout Comics at http://www.scoutcomics.com

Click this link below to see the original article at comic burst, now!!

https://www.comicburst.com/blog/stabbity-bunny-richard-rivera-interview/

[shirtlesssammy]

On the Head of a Pin: 4x16 Recap

Then:

Dean has angels watching over him.

Now:

Bamf!Cas is out in full force using his powers to stop one of the most annoying sounds in the world: the car alarm. At the scene of a car crash, he finds a fellow angel dead, stabbed through her throat.

For Science:

As the cops arrive, Cas wings his way out of there. The cops look down at the victim and ask, “what the hell?” as the camera pans up to reveal (large, beautiful, oh how we miss them!) wings, charred into the ground. (Man, remember how stoked we all were to see the return of angel wings in season 12? I was enjoying the return to old school continuity, but in reality they were just foreshadowing the fact that we were going to see some wings that SHOULD NEVER BE SEEN.)

Cut to Sam careening down the Lost Highway (yeah, Boris has been watching Twin Peaks this hellatus --can’t not see Lynch’s influence in anything these days) in Baby. Dean wakes from slumber and Sam fills him in on the latest with Ruby. Dean is grumpy, indifferent, but mostly tired. Sam is angry and thinks Dean should follow suit.

They arrive at their motel and find the turn-down service is two dick angels (ok, one dick angel and one slightly rebellious angel). Uriel informs Dean that he’s needed. Dean tells Uriel to back off. Cas tries to reason with him, but Uriel cuts him off, and it’s clear that there’s some tension between the two angels.

Uriel informs the brothers that seven angels from their garrison have been killed by demons. Heaven has Alastair, but they need his student to extract the information from him. “You can’t ask me to do this, Cas. Not this.” Brb, just grabbing ALL THE TISSUES IN THE WORLD for the rest of this episode. Uriel grabs Dean and they’re gone before Sam has time to react.

Once at the angel safehouse, the angels show Dean where Alastair is being held. Dean is adamant that they can’t make him torture Alastair. Cas agrees that it’s too much to ask but, “We have to ask it.” Stare, Stare, Stare, Stare. God, they’re both struggling with this so much. Dean asks Uriel if he can talk to Cas alone, and Uriel leaves to seek revelation. Dean makes a joke. Cas squints and admits that Uriel is the funniest angel in the garrison (ok, Boris 100% slow, but Cas was being dry and sarcastic here, right? He is really the funniest angel, right?) (Natasha: I always took it at face value and angels just have a different sense of humor. And by “angels” I mean Cas.)

*Classic Dialog Alert*

DEAN: What's going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?

CASTIEL: My superiors have begun to question my sympathies.

DEAN: Your sympathies?

CASTIEL: I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment.

Cas tells Dean that he doesn’t want this to happen, but they need it. Dean hears this, and his lip quivers. God Damn It, Jensen. My heart can’t take this. “You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out.” Cas simply responds, “For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.” In all rational honesty, this scene does not get any easier the more one watches it.

Cut to Dean, torture cart in hand, rolling into Alastair’s lock-up. Alastair has a great sense of humor and is singing “Cheek to Cheek” as Dean walks in. He starts laughing, but Dean tells him he has one chance to spill who’s killing the angels. Alastair decides to taunt Dean instead, eventually poking at the festering pain of John Winchester.

Sam, meanwhile, summons his good buddy Ruby to help him locate Dean. Dean’s not strong enough to get the info from Alastair, but Sam is (or will be…) Eck.

Torture break, For Science:

Alastair taunts Dean with the knowledge that John lasted 100 years on the rack, but Dean only lasted 30. I’m really glad I wasn’t in this room because, angel killer be damned, that motherfucker would have gotten a angel/Ruby/Colt blade through the throat/torso/balls so fast. Grr. Dean’s ready to torture though, and admits to dreaming in hell of this very moment. He draws a syringe full of holy water, and Alastair actually looks apprehensive. Framed with hooks and chains, Cas stands by, an audial witness to the pain.

I’m sorry guys, but I think we all need another Science break.

Meanwhile, Ruby does the old fire and map trick to locate Dean. Sam needs a little something-something. Demon blood, guys! (It really is too bad Ruby was a lying, horrible demon. Sam had some serious chemistry with her. Amelia: take notes.)

Dean continues his ministrations, while a water pipe starts to leak, breaking the demon trap. 

Anna arrives in her old vessel. La, la, la, walking right past this possible story/continuity error. Anna questions Cas on why he’s allowing Dean to torture Alastair. Anna implores him to stop this. Cas still holds strong not to question the will of God (my heart). Anna casts doubt in Cas’s heart by questioning if it’s God’s will at all. Dean continues his work. Anna continues to make it clear to Cas that this work that Dean is doing isn’t something that God would want, and what Cas is feeling “is called doubt.” She almost breaks through to Cas, but he tells her to go. As she flaps away, he looks down, with obvious regret in his face. 

Alastair complains that Dean’s not trying hard enough to torture him and casually mentions that Dean has “no idea what he did for Hell.” Dean’s rejoinder is to pour salt deep into his mouth and Alastair hacks on salt and blood. “It was supposed to be your father,” Alastair chuckles. “In the end, it was you. The first time you picked up my razor. That was the first seal.” Dean snarls that he’s lying but Alastair switches to intonation mode and says, “And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks so shall it break.”

Dean’s...affected. He turns away in horror, trying to box his emotions in as Alastair tells him Hell’s impending victory is all down to Dean’s own actions in Hell.

Alastair checks on the progress of his leaking pipe and sees that the dripping has worn away one of the lines in Cas’s demon trap. As Dean vows to kill Alastair despite his grim revelations, he turns to find that Alastair is loose. Alastair takes him down with a swift punch.

We cut to some time later with Dean beaten and bloody. Alastair is on the brink of killing him when Castiel busts in with the demon blade. Cas stabs him, twists the knife with his freaky angel mind magic, and he and Alastair have a fun drag-down fight. Alastair gets the upper hand, pins and impales Cas to a post, and begins to mutter a Latin invocation to part Cas from his vessel and send him back to Heaven.

Sam busts in then, having eaten his “spinach” and chucks Alastair against the opposite wall with HIS freaky mojo. “I can kill you with my brain,” Sam might as well have said. While Cas looks on in horror and shock, Sam immolates Alastair.

We cut to Dean in the hospital, breathing tube in and life support machines hissing. Cas peeks in on the hospital room briefly and then takes off again immediately. Sam rushes out into the hallway and angrily demands that Cas heal Dean. When Cas tells him that he’s not allowed to do so, Sam drops the news that Alastair wasn’t the one killing angels.

Cas flaps to join Uriel who is sitting meditatively in a park.

Uriel mutters about the angel attacks. Cas speculates that their garrison is being punished for failing to stop the apocalypse. He worries that the wrath of Heaven is descending on them. Cas heads to Anna and tells her that he’s “considering disobedience.” Cas looks haunted at the prospect. “I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do.”

Anna half laughs at his plea. He can’t expect her to lead him in lieu of Heaven. He’s got to think for himself. Cas lowers his head sorrowfully and flaps back to the trap he built in the warehouse. CSI Cas finds the leaky pipe and the broken line, then uses his mojo to turn off the water.

Uriel pops in. “Will you join me?” He’s ready to take our darling, broody Cas under his wing and teach him the ways of his new war - and his departure from Heaven’s orders. Cas questions him on the integrity of the trap and then, without waiting for an answer, he uses their incredibly long relationship as soldiers in arms to beg for the truth.

“The only thing that can kill an angel is another angel,” Uriel says, a blade sliding from his sleeve. (Oh, cocky, naive Uriel...how wrong you are.) Cas demands answers about the murders and Uriel scoffs at the word. He’s been converting angels to his cause. The dead ones are just collateral damage. Uriel complains about humanity’s whining dependency and the angels’ mission to protect them. His new goal is to raise Lucifer from Hell. Lucifer was strong and beautiful and he didn’t bow to humanity. He was on the angels’ side.

Cas demands Uriel’s plans about converting the garrison and Uriel insists that he’ll only kill other garrison members if they don’t convert to his cause to “bring on the apocalypse.” Cas raises soulful eyes. He’s not afraid of his own choices anymore. He smashes his fist into Uriel and sends him flying through a brick wall.

Uriel and Cas exchange blows and tear down the warehouse as they do it until Uriel gets the upper hand. “I still serve God,” Cas protests, kneeling bloodied before Uriel.

“There is no will. No wrath. No God.” Uriel growls (dropping actual truth bombs) as he prepares to kill Castiel.

Anna stabs him in the throat from behind.  “Maybe. Maybe not. But there’s still me.” Yeah, Anna!

Later in the hospital room Cas asks a slightly more recovered Dean, “Are you alright?” It’s definitely a question that applies to both of them. The unspoken answer is nope. Not in the tiniest bit.

Cas drops the bomb that Uriel is dead and that he was working against Heaven and the other angels. Dean asks if it’s true that he started the apocalypse by breaking the first seal. “When we discovered Lilith’s plan for you we laid siege to Hell.” So...yep, it’s true.

“Why didn’t you just leave me there then?” Dean asks, self-loathing dripping off the screen like black goo.

“It’s not blame, it’s fate,” Cas tells him, finally laying Heaven’s cards on the table (at least as far as he knows). “The righteous man that begins it is the only man that can finish it.” He tells Dean that he has to stop the apocalypse. No pressure, man.

Dean is understandably a little overwhelmed and presses Cas for more details about what the hell that’s supposed to mean. While Cas looks on sorrowfully he says, “I can’t do it, Cas. It’s too big. Alastair was right. I’m not all here. I’m not strong enough. I guess I’m not the man either of our Dads wanted me to be.” Heart. Breaks.

Quotes: You guys don’t walk enough; you’re gonna get flabby.

Uriel is the funniest angel in the garrison.

I’m considering disobedience.

Strange how a leaky pipe can undo the work of angels when we ourselves are supposed to be the agents of fate.

[loopyllupin]

Yousef + Even Theory

So, I’m not sure if anyone’s already thought of this but I have a theory...

I’ve been racking my brains, trying and trying to find reason behind why Yousef lied to Sana about Even in episode 4.

From Yousef’s version of event we were told that Even tried to kiss Mikael and Mikael ‘is quite religious, so distanced himself completely’. We know now from Sana’s conversation with Elias that this wasn’t true, and it never sat right with me that Mikael would do that anyway. But my theory is this:

What if it was Yousef, not Mikael, who reacted to Even kissing Mikael by distancing himself? What if Yousef said something to Even about it which set off a chain of events which ultimately lead to Even trying to kill himself?

Here’s why I think this:

We know that Yousef lied to Sana about what happened. Why would he do this if he wasn’t ashamed about it? If he felt like he had done something which led to one of his best friends wanting to take his own life, of course he wouldn’t tell the truth about it! Especially to the girl he liked but also because he probably doesn’t want to fully admit what happened himself. (Trying to pin the blame on Mikael was so not cool but I have no explanation for this tbh)

His reaction when Even was mentioned in the SMS Roulette, Hei Briskeby video. He looked so sad and up til now I’ve thought that he was just sad that they weren’t friends with Even anymore but maybe it runs deeper than that?

That Facebook picture of the Yousef vs Even battle was definitely foreshadowing right?

From the last clip of Episode 8 it’s clear that Even and the Balloon Squad are trying to repair their relationship, but I couldn’t help but notice that Even and Yousef didn’t really interact at all.

Cengiz has said himself that the most difficult scene he’s had to film hasn’t aired yet. Even and Yousef showdown where the Balloon Squad find out what really happened?

And finally, I don’t feel like we’ve been given the full story of why Yousef has chosen not to believe in Allah anymore. I’m not Muslim and don’t think it’s my place to be theorising about why this might be, but I’m wondering how the situation with Even could have impacted Yousef so badly for him to then abandon his faith.

Will we ever get answers to any of this?

(Lets face it, probably not)

[amplesalty]

Day 5 - Saving Christmas (2017)

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me.

FIVE SIDED RING!!!! No, wait...four. GOD DAMNIT!

No, sadly not a remake of the modern day Kirk Cameron classic. Why does Christmas need saving all the damn time? It needs to become empowered so it can save itself once in a while.

Anyway, with this and the Halloween movies, I tend to keep a wordpad document where I will note down any interesting sounding movies I come across so I might watch them in future years. Apparently I must have added this last year but I have no earthly idea where I picked it up from, probably that message board. It's always a bit weird going back through that list a year or two down the line with no context so I have no idea what these things are or how I found them in the first place. Like, spoiler for some future year, I have 3615 code Père Noël on the list but just looking on that makes me think I've copied some weird HTML code somehow.

The only note I've made on that entire list, outside of just film names, is on this noting 'Mike and Maria Bennett'. So clearly again I'm having to make my own way in the world of Christmas/wrestling mashups since WWE still isn't bothering. Still, Becky Lynch was just in that new Marine sequel so that might be neat. And Luke Harper was in one of their movies at the start of the year. I still can't believe Ted DiBiase Jr of all people was in The Marine 2. That guy always seemed so utterly devoid of charisma.

The Bennetts are just the tip of the iceberg though, as this credits roll shows. Tommy Dreamer, Matt Striker AND Gangrel?! Hell yes. Though, who casts Gangrel in a kids movie, honestly? I'm sure he has a...questionable filmography, shall we say. He directed porn, right? I'm assuming directed, I can't imagine someone casting him as a performer...

As an aside, can we all take a moment to appreciate the wonderful wonderful power ballad that is Mike and Maria Kanellis' WWE theme?

Also, as part of the credits, we learn that we're in Norepole, Maine. This both makes me confused for half the movie when I'm unsure if people are saying North Pole or Norepole,  and also worried about what supernatural events are going to go down. It's a possessed wrestling title and it's murdering everyone!

Let's try and get through the dull part of the movie which is pretty much the entire first hour. We have a bunch of kids that seem to be directly ripping off Ghosbusters, trying to track down a trap a ghost, whilst also dabbling in a little testing of psychic abilities. Though, I think this kid has a genuine interest in the subject. Venkman was probably just doing it for grant money, chicks or both.

Only, Douchebag McGee turns up with his hanger on to hassle our gang here. For as bad as this movie is, they at least foreshadow this one kids later betrayal by having him shut his camera off and not even take the footage to any of the teachers to rat on the bully. That or he's just following the code of the schoolyard.

Ooooh, he threw the kids science report in the bin. Real badass over here. Well, he does take it a bit too far by insulting the kids dead father. Again, just the tip of the iceberg though, we'll come back to this.

Meanwhile, we have a budget Rob Lowe over here who rocks up to a lady's salon for a hair cut. He has a cute little dog with him though so one suspects he's here for the women. It's certainly not for a haircut, $25 he pays and his hair looks literally the same for the rest of the movie.

He works for the big toy factory in town under 'Rick', played by Edward Asner. Man, that guy is old and he's still racking up credits left, right and centre. Surprise, he's actually Santa. But he feels too old and crotchety to be Santa. Where's the heart? Where's the love?!

As part of their supernatural fixation, the kids focus on a new task: to prove Santa is real. Well, it's partially for SCIENCE and partially because his little sister has become so jaded towards Christmas. After her Dad died, how could a terrible world such as this deserve something as lovely as Christmas? This must be the world's most miserable 8 year old.

Unfortunately, little Danny's belief that Santa is caught on film by soon to be former friend Jake, who gives it to the bully who plasters it all over...'Friendsbook'. I love when movies and TV shows have to come up with fake versions of social media. Friendsbook seems too sappy to ever get over. Defintely a step down from the less subtle 'Mybook' or 'Facespace'. Danny's friend pretty clearly says Facebook as well so I dunno if they had some rights issue or something that they had to sub in the visual stuff last minute? Billion dollar company and that's what your app looks like? State of it...

Back at the salon, Sammy's attempts to bang Danny's mom have now racked him up $50 in hair cut fees and he's still not had anything in the way of restyling. 24 hour bed head, that guy.

As part of the kids efforts to track down Santa, I can't believe this is a spoken like in this movie, Danny says he 'hacked the Norepole Mall database and got a list of mall Santa's from the past decade.' He also later claims that he has free reign over the toy company's security cameras but can only shutdown their security network for 9 minutes. Clearly having access to a laptop is all that it takes to be a 1337 haxor in Hollywood. One of those is now the promoter of the wrestling show in town, the XWA. If you guessed that the X stands for XTREME, ding ding ding! A winner is you!

The kids however are a little distracted by marking out over Matt Taven. Come on, he's not even good enough to get in the opening credits! Or a close up. The promoter basically tells them that he enjoyed putting smiles on everyone's faces as Santa so that's what lead him to the wrestling biz. I feel there's definitely a parallel to be drawn between Christmas and wrestling. They're both still real to me, damnit!

Sammy explains everything to Danny's mom, that being that he is actually working the real actual Santa Claus who needs a makeover. If only for the sake of plot convenience, she readily accepts this rather than running in the opposite direction. Apparently back in the day, his company and 'a very popular soda company' (he did the air quotes and everything) put Santa on the map but it's the 21st century now. As Sammy puts it, enough is enough and it's time for a change! Firstly, I knew it! You lied to me, Snopes dot com. Coca Cola did invent Santa! Secondly, it's alright Sammy, we know Santa is not a nugget. This is all well and good but I sense a problem with dressing Santa in jorts considering the time of year he has to work. Guy looks like a more urban Hugh Hefner.

If we give Santa a hip new makeover and have him turn up at the XWA Gingerbread Brawl, it could result in the most lkes, shares and retweets of all time! That's a pretty good name, it's no Seasons Beatings or Fabulous February Fight Fest but still, pretty good. And, as for the most retweets? I'm pretty sure you have to be begging for a lifetime supply of nugs to get that title.

We've now come to the best part of the movie, hands down. Danny and his sister are walking home from school. As an end of term assignment, she had to create something based around the one thing she could have for Christmas. So, she makes a memory box full of photos and mementos of her departed Father. That's odd, why did they take the time to have an establishing shot of a wood chipper? I sure this isn't ominous in the slightest.

The bully soon comes into frame. His latest plan is to steal all the evidence that Danny and co have been compiling on the whereabouts of Santa so that he can claim all the credit himself. He figures that box must have everything in it so promptly takes it. But rather than just run off with it, he takes the odd decision to kick it into the air....oh no.

Oh God! The whole thing unfolds in slow motion, a sorrowful song drowns out everything but the dull roar of wood chipper on cardboard action, as Danny's sister breaks down in tears and the bully is in tears of laughter. This is played like the death of Bambi's mother and Mufasa all rolled into one and my God is it beautiful. Danny on the other hand, he doesn't take kindly to this and promptly lays the Smacketh-down on the bully like he's Ralphie Parker on ol' Yellow Eyes.

Right, now that's out of the way, it's time for your main event! Maria Kanellis makes he showstopping, 15 second appearance to recite The Night Before Christmas to a packed locker room of all of 4 people.

Why is Tommy Dreamer on play-by-play?!

And why do your tickets say WXE despite the fact you're clearly the XWA?

I like how in a podunk town of 3,000 people, Matt Striker still has to play as the backstage interviewer. And rather than the Vampire Warrior that we are accustomed to, Gangrel now appears to be a viking called Tucker Von Magnus. Fantastic. You know how Matt Striker would always come up with those stupid names for people? Like Yoshi Tatsu was the Poison Fist of the Pacific Rim? Let's brain storm one for Vampire Viking over here, let's make this a thing.

By the way, isn't it weird that WWE had to license out the name Gangrel from Vampire: The Masquerade? A very odd collision of worlds there.

You know that whole 'Card subject to change' thing? Yeaaaaaaaaah, about that. Turns out Max Miracle (Mike Bennett) had a little motorbike accident and now can't wrestle anymore. But don't worry, he'll defend his title at January Jam! Pre-order your tickets now! Didn't you learn anything from Bret Hart?!

Holy shit, nuclear heat for this. Tommy tries to to calm the crowd down but they are having none of it. As far as I'm concerned, all of this crap in the ring represents these fans out here!

"Uh-oh, and a flying soda to the eye now rendering Tommy Dreamer partially blind." "Wow, this....this truly is a black day for the XWA."

Well, either that or, knowing Tommy Dreamer, he’s probably just crying over something.

Nevermind that, Max Miracle's replacement is non other than Santa freakin' Claus! The bully isn't buying it though and promptly jumps the rail, grabs a mic and cuts a promo on the guy. I say jumps the rail, more like takes a step to the side around the rail. How do we know this is the real Santa?

Well, for one thing, the real Santa can fly. Tommy Dreamer can't believe his one good eye.

Also, the real Santa can magically teleport Max Miracle from his home to the middle of the ring, bad foot and all. Crowd goes banana for this, including one dad who even draws a skeptical look from his daughter. She's like 'Jeez, Dad. Calm down, it's only Michael Bennett.' They act like he's a mega babyface but the guy signed his own cast earlier! What a narcissist.

All it takes is for Santa to lay his healing hands on that cast though and all is well and Max can take on the challenge of the Viking and his evil manager. This is the part I'm calling bullshit on. I didn't sit through nearly an hour and a half of this garbage to sit through a Mike Bennett vs Gangrel match, I wanted Santa vs Gangrel!

Max goes over with, of all things, a suplex and then scoop slamming the manager on top of Gangrel for the pin. Not even a Brainbuster, just a bog standard suplex. What is this, the 80's? Minus 5 stars! Still, probably the only televised victory he’s had within the past year.

[themanuelruello]

Our Mini Farmhouse Kitchen Remodel

A week or two ago I told you all about my moral dilemma with shiplap backsplash…

However, I was too long-winded to be able to include the rest of our mini farmhouse kitchen remodel drama, so here it is today.

You know that joke about the people who get a new couch and they ends up redoing the entire living room to match it?

Well, that’s how we roll with EVERY SINGLE PROJECT we’ve ever done.

This latest adventure started innocently enough with a simple shiplap backsplash, but ended with installing new custom shelving, axing the range hood in favor of a pot rack, and cutting a ginormous hole in a perfectly good wall above the sink.

Yes, I realize we are out of control.

What can I say? Home reno projects are our love language. Or something like that.

Here’s how it all went down.

The Awkward Shelves

I had these shelves installed when the cabinet makers built our cabinets during our big remodel. I had a vision in mind, which I apparently did NOT do a good job of communicating to the builders… because once I saw the shelves on the wall, I just didn’t love them. I thought I could live with them, but nope. They weren’t necessarily horrible I guess, but the feel was all wrong for the space–they were too thick, too smooth, and just too awkward.

We had to remove them in order to put up the shiplap, which was a good enough excuse for me to sweet-talk Christian into making new ones. Thanks honey.

It’s safe to say these are about a million times better.

Christian built them out of weathered roughcut pine. (They are approximately 7″ deep and 36″ long.) We shopped around for brackets online and I found some simple iron ones on Etsy that I liked. However when Christian saw the price tag and shipping cost, he decided to make the brackets himself from 1/4″ x 2″ steel. (I love this man.)

They’re rough and imperfect and totally fit my rustic, industrial, vintage, farmhouse style. (How’s that for a label. I don’t really know what I am.)

There were also some of these same weird shelves above my sink, which leads us to…

The Window Saga

When we initially removed the shelving above the sink we had full intention of putting new shelves in their place.

But as I was washing dishes at my shelf-less sink one evening, I realized how much I loved the open feel, which got me to thinking…

WHAT IF we left the shelves off and I just decorated that spot with something cool instead?

(‘What ifs’ are a dangerous thing at my house. They always seem to foreshadow some sort of major project.) 

I thought about my options, and thought perhaps an old chipped window would look neat there.

Bingo.

Now this next part I blame entirely on Christian, because when I was telling him my “hang-a-window-on-the-wall-idea” he had the audacity to mention actually installing a window there. Like a real one. The kind you can see through.

Stop the presses. You mean that’s a possibility?

OH BOY.

I’ve never loved that my little kitchen doesn’t have an exterior window… Unfortunately, when you have a 100-year old house that has been added onto repeatedly over the years, it’s not uncommon. It’s especially annoying when you want to take food photos that don’t have a gross yellow tinge to them. (If you’re wondering why some of the photos here look grainy or yellowish, that’s why… not enough light.)

At this point, even a window looking into my laundry room is better than nothing.

But there were a lot of things that had to fall into place first…

Of course I didn’t want to just buy a window at Home Depot like a normal person. Too easy. No, it had to be vintage.

Christian dug through our very nice neighbor’s barn and found absolute perfection in the form of an ancient, crusty, ol barn window that was the PERFECT size. What are the odds? Seriously.

I was beside myself.

It was meant to be. I was sure of it.

Until we started cutting into the wall, and we realized there were some big yellow (important) electrical wires running SMACK through the middle of the proposed window hole.

Nooooooooo.

Anyone that knows me knows I don’t take no for an answer very well. Once I get an idea in my head, it will happen y’all. IT WILL. No matter what.

So I begged and prayed and threw a temper tantrum and we racked our brains to figure out how to make this stinkin’ window fit in the spot.

And Christian worked magic. I don’t know exactly how he did it, but he figured out a way to (safely) re-route the very tight wires and the window found its new home. (I knew there was a reason I married a Master Electrician).

Two months later, I still can’t stop gazing at my crazy window– it really opens up the kitchen too, even though it looks into my laundry room.

Goodbye Range Hood. I Won’t Miss You.

This brings us to the last piece… the range hood. I’ve never really loved the look of range hoods, but figured I *had* to have one to prevent smoking out the house when I grill steaks inside. Sounds rational, right? However, the hood we installed never really worked that great. And since I didn’t love the look, why not just ditch it? I know, my thoughts exactly. (P.S. Anyone wanna buy a slightly used range hood?)

Thankfully, this wasn’t as intense of a project as the window– we simply installed the shiplap over that portion of the wall and I found a cute pot rack on Wayfair.com to put there instead.

Because more cast iron storage is always a good thing.

And there you have it, folks. It was a wild ride, but I’m beyond happy with my little space. I don’t foresee any more changes for a while (famous last words…). It’s cozy and rustic with a bit of a vintage vibe thrown in. It’s the perfect working homestead kitchen.

The post Our Mini Farmhouse Kitchen Remodel appeared first on The Prairie Homestead.

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[ataraxific-serendipity]

End. Fin. 完.

For 13 months, he listened to my problems - all of them and tried to help, but if he couldn’t, he would go through them w me together. For 8 months, he chased me. When I was already so done with my life, he stopped me from dying. By telling me “it’s gonna get better for you la ying”. By telling me “you’re beautiful, hunnybuns, so don’t think otherwise”. By telling me “I know it’s difficult for you, but just know that you still have me no matter what okay?” By being there for me. Throughout. At first, like every other love story, it was weird. The unfamiliar scent of his, and his cologne. The weirdness of someone loving you so much after you’ve been so broken until there’s only emptiness. And numbness. It was weird. October 2016. He would meet me after majority of my O level papers to have dinner with me and listen to me rant about Peter and his C5 envelopes, stupid Nayir and Majid and Singapore healthcare which I studied but never came out for SS. Up till now, I’m gonna admit but I’m still salty about it. Learning from you le, Saltybuns. Prom. I let you be the first person to see me fully dressed - even before my parents. You told me you would have changed into a suit right away and get me a bouquet of flowers. I’m pretty sure I asked him 182883382871 times about my appearance and “You really look damn beautiful okay?” was his reply. Every time I asked. Fast forward to November and December. I went to work. He would meet me after my work despite being tired, and even when he wasn’t working. That few times he made me embarrassed when he did the big heart shape with his arms while my co-workers were looking. And he still does it now, too, except those were in school. We would watch the stars together at night. At the carpark, or just any random bench with a clear sky. Even silence with him was comforting. I did not have to rack my brains for conversations, we found solace in each other’s presence. Eve of New year’s Eve. We sat at the basketball court, with the silence echoing but our hearts beating together steadily as everything felt peaceful, and as if everything has pieced back to wherever it’s meant to be. Results day. After my parents, he was the third person to know my results - I called him. And his happiness resonated with mine. But he went through another round of annoyance: Did I really do well? Was my question. And he’d reply with paragraphs upon paragraphs saying I did. If we were together then, I bet his arms would already find their way around me. Fast forward to school days. We had a so called couple bottle which had a pitiful lifespan of like, 1 month or so? Both ended up cracking - just like a foreshadowing of this relationship’s later stage. Recesses and breaks were always spent with each other. And I’ve his daily routine memorised in my head: eat, stare at me, eat, finish, go toilet, come back, continue staring. The last part got ‘worse’ in April-ish. (He just kept looking at me with the same look of adoration and a smile: whenever I threatened to pluck out his eyeballs, he would reply with a “WORTH IT!”) Mornings with him were my favourite. The very first thing: I would try to either 1) stand one step below him on the escalator 2) stand one step above him on the escalator and he’d always move to fill up the space between us. I don’t want any space between us, was his reason. Train rides. They were amusing - with dirty innuendos that only both of us would understand, it was amazing. Starting my day with my favourite smile from my favourite human on earth - with a face I’ve come to adore in the past few months. It just wasn’t the same with anyone else. You could tell all his smiles are genuine when with me. Same for me, too. Rainy days were not an exception. “Whip out your long stick!” he laughed as I took out my umbrella. But, we still got drenched anyway. Although he was the one that’s more drenched. Breakfast at the canteen was a daily affair for us. His favourite bao was the Lotus paste bao. He loves a drink of milo afterwards. Little things I’ve come to realize every time. As recesses were spent with each other, where we played scissors, paper and stone to see who would return the plates. There were other instances too, that I will never forget. Like how he would tag me on food pictures to make me hungry when I had no appetite. Like how he’d always make the heart shape again as he run past during PE. Like how I would sing (he’s the only one to hear my genuine singing) and he’d look at me with love. He would sing, too, and I could listen till my ears fell out. Like how he won the bear at iLight as he promised he would. The smugness and the tongue he stuck out the moment he won Mocha - it was all memorable. Like how there’s once I forgot my wallet and he had to walk into my class (with many Awwws from my classmates). Like how he would always look at me during MT classes. Even when it was time to copy things down. Like how he slashed his wrist after finding out I slashed mine. *“If youre gonna feel this pain, I wanna feel it with you too. We’ll get through this together.”* Like how he’d grin cheekily in pain with injuries after his Bball cca. And how I’d be furious and repeatedly tell him to take care and be more careful. But he’d always be playful: *says I won’t be playing for today’s session* *2 hours later* *limps to me* It was endearing. I realize I was falling for him. There are a few stages of falling. First, it’s when you crave their attention so much that you become jealous when they give it to others. I just wanted his attention and got a “teensyweensy” bit jealous when he gave it to other girls. Second, you would want to spend time with them all the time. And hog them. I guess I went overboard when he gamed and replied slow. Hah. Third, you could feel your heart wrenching when you see them walking away from you. And that was how I felt just now. The urge to just hold him and tell him to stay with me. But I didn’t. I watched as he walked away, with my entire soul feeling sapped of happiness. I wanted to be with him. But I guess I’m too much of a coward and an ingrate. All his efforts that I didn’t reciprocate, all his love that I didn’t return. Because whenever my ex pops up into my life again, it’d be my ex over him. Because I couldn’t just love him and him only, for who he is. Scarred by the memories of the past, scared to be hurt again. Yes, I’m a coward. No, I don’t deserve him. I will never deserve him. After 13 months, it'll all be over.