#ITS SO BITTER you’re either steeping it for too long or the water you’re using is too hot

[figofswords]

wow I didn’t think reblogging that tea post and then seeing people’s tags would deal me such strong psychic damage. come over I can fix you I can find a tea you will like. “I don’t like tea” how can you say that as a blanket statement when there are so many vastly different kinds of tea. head in hands

[hrtiu]

Boba/Fennec prompt: Boba really likes Fennec's hair (or her fingers, or some other, very specific part of her body, whatever you like) and can't stop touching/admiring/playing with it, and she goes from confused that he cares so much about that part to irritated that he Won't Leave Her Alone to embarrassed that he's paying so much frakking attention to her ((to realizing she likes it)) to secretly being endeared by his cuteness. Bonus points if she blushes a lot because of all this and he likes that too ;)

Thanks for the prompt! I think I ended up with something probably a bit angstier than you were thinking, but hopefully you'll still enjoy it! AO3 link.

Every morning Fennec Shand sat down in front of her burnished chromium mirror and did her hair. She started with the main braid down the center of her head, then wove together three smaller braids to either side. Once she’d tied off each individual braid, she plaited all seven together into a dark, twisting tail that reached almost to her waist. Then she took a long string of orange-red fiber and threaded it between the braids at the top of her head, tying them down and securing her bangs as flat against her scalp as possible.

“Why do you always have your hair like that?” Boba asked one morning when she came down for breakfast in Old Jabba’s palace.

“I don’t know. Why is your hair always like that?” Fennec said, helping herself to a generous slice of bantha bacon.

Boba let out a gruff laugh and shook his head. “It must take forever.”

Fennec stabbed her bacon with unnecessary force. “I don’t do it when I’m on an assignment, and beyond that I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

Boba didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Fennec wondered if maybe he was going to apologize. If he did she’d probably die of shock.

“Hmm,” he grunted, then returned his attention to his breakfast.

It was the reaction Fennec expected, but she found herself both relieved and annoyed. Shaking the contradictory emotions away, she finished her breakfast.

---

Living on Tatooine wasn’t all enforcing Boba’s will and collecting tribute. Boba was a benevolent warlord, and Fennec especially enjoyed being a part of his more generous impulses.

Most recently he’d bequeathed a chunk of his land to a tribe of Tuskens who’d cooperated well with him in the past. The Tuskens saw it as Boba returning the land to them, but regardless, they were going to be its permanent, uncontested tenants. Most of the Tusken Raiders Fennec had met seemed to enjoy their nomadic lifestyle, but this tribe was interested in putting down roots—so long as they could do it on their terms. As a show of good faith, Boba was donating three large moisture vaporators and a system for water storage to the village, and Fennec had been looking forward to the day of their installation for months.

Tribespeople clustered around the massive spires dug into the packed earth beneath the dunes, talking amongst themselves and asking questions to the mechanic who’d come up from Mos Eisley to install the thing. The poor translator Boba had dragged along was working doubletime to sort through the confusion.

Fennec stood next to Boba above the dug-out space, just a little outside of the cluster of activity. She wasn’t here to do much besides reinforce Boba’s involvement in the donation of the generators, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless. A small child whose face wrapping kept coming untucked approached the vaporator and turned the spigot, screeching in delight when clean water poured onto her outstretched hands. Fennec couldn’t help but smile.

A group of young Tusken women approached them, their hoods draped over their faces and ornamental collars jangling against their cloaks as they walked. They thanked Boba in sign language, and he signed back his appreciation with short, stilted hand motions. They giggled at his discomfort with their language, and Boba’s scarred face reddened.

“Great,” he grumbled to Fennec. “I knew that protocol droid wasn’t teaching me right.”

“Calm down,” Fennec said, resting a hand on Boba’s arm. “You’re doing fine. Just let them enjoy themselves.”

Boba frowned, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned into her touch, and Fennec felt light and warm.

The girls turned their attention to Fennec, and her contentment turned to unease. One of them pointed to Fennec’s braid and made a twisting motion with her hands, bringing her fingers together as her wrist turned. The other nodded in agreement, adding in a few giggles for good measure.

“Oh, um…” Fennec stuttered, unsure how to respond.

“They’re saying it’s pretty,” the translator from Mos Eisley said, hurrying up the steep hill towards them. “She says your hair is pretty.”

“Ah,” Fennec said. Heat rose in her cheeks, and her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Boba snorted and smirked at her, and she shot him a quick glare before smiling back at the girls. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

The translator signed Fennec’s response back to them, and they nodded and made gestures of thanks to Boba and Fennec before retreating back to where their tribe clustered around the vaporators.

“So they’re allowed to talk about your hair, but I’m not?” Boba asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” Fennec said, already heading for the steep slope that would take her down to the rest of the tribespeople. They’d be eating dinner soon, and it wouldn’t do for her and Boba to be late to the table.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t need to make sense,” Fennec said. “It’s just what I want.”

Boba rolled his eyes but followed Fennec down the slope, his steps awkward and careful on the slippery sand.

“Always what you want,” she thought she heard him mutter under his breath, but that could have been the whisper of the winds against the sand.

---

“Shand! We’re going to be late!” Boba yelled at Fennec through the thick door of her room.

His booming voice startled her, and one of her fingers slipped before she was able to tie off the last of her individual braids. “Dammit,” she muttered. “I’m coming!”

“I’m not going to look weak in front of Kanjiklub because you couldn’t stop fiddling with your hair,” he said.

The corners of Fennec’s mouth turned downwards and she saw her own eyes flash in the mirror. “We’re not going to be late. Calm down.”

His boots thudded heavily against the floor as he paced back and forth in front of her door. Fennec’s frown morphed into a full-blown scowl and she made sure to take extra care to get her braid right, taking her time with each knot. Boba needed to learn patience, and he needed to learn that she wasn’t some massiff he could train to do his bidding.

She finished up the braid then moved on to weaving the orange thread around each cord, laser-focused on her task but unhurried in execution.

Boba’s fist pounded on the door once more. “If you don’t hurry it up I’m going to cut off that damned braid myself!”

Fennec froze. She pressed her lips together and stood from her chair, leaving her hair weaving half-finished. She stalked to her bed, pulling her boots and coat off as she did so, then fell into her thick, fluffy blankets.

“...Fen?” Boba asked through the door, though this time his voice was softer—almost chastened.

Fennec held her wrist comm up to her mouth and messaged Dilick Wa, the other bounty hunter Boba kept on retainer at the palace.

“Wa? You there?” she said.

“Yep. What’s up?”

“Meet Boba on the landing pad. You’ll be going with him to meet Kanjiklub tonight.”

“...But weren’t you going-?”

“Just do it.”

She shut off the coms.

---

Lights flickered by for every floor they sank underground, each beam illuminating the red-tan-and-white of Boba’s scarred features. Normally Fennec didn’t like being underground, but on Florrum she might be willing to make an exception. Relief from the unrelenting heat and sulfur-infused dust was worth the loss of adequate sniper perches, in her opinion.

“So,” Boba said. “Arawat Ragistar. Anything else you can you tell me about him?”

Fennec forced a shrug. “Like I said: he’s an assassin. He has plenty of other skills, too. He’s tricky and dangerous, but in general he’ll stick to his word if you pin him to specific commitments.”

Boba nodded slowly. “How is he as a business partner?”

“Wouldn’t know. I only knew him as an assassin.” A heavy pause filled the space between them, and several more floors passed in silence.

“He’s a real bastard,” Fennec said, and she wondered if it was some strange trick of the senses that made her voice sound several decades younger to her ears.

“I know you don’t like him, but we need good connections on Florrum.”

“I know.”

The lift slowly came to a stop, and Fennec tensed as the doors opened. A shiny protocol droid welcomed them into the bare, utilitarian bunker that served as Arawat’s headquarters, and they followed it through a series of round vault-style doors. The final door was bigger than the rest, and it opened on a broad audience chamber, at the end of which sat a sleight, waspish Sullustan. Her old mentor.

“The great Boba Fett!” Arawat said, throwing his arm wide, “Welcome! And Little Fennec, you’ve come back home!”

Fennec nodded her head in response, biting back a bitter response. That was what he was fishing for, after all.

“Arawat Ragistar, thank you for having me,” Boba said, moving to sit in the plush chairs across from Arwat’s restrained setup. “You’re not an easy man to find.”

“Of course not,” Arawat said. “What good assassin would be easy to find? Isn’t that right, Little Fennec?”

Fennec pursed her lips. “Right.”

“We’re interested in bringing some of our import routes through Florrum,” Boba said. “It could be profitable for the both of us.”

“Now Fennec Shand, on the other hand. That’s a name I’ve heard of,” Arawat said, as if he hadn’t heard Boba at all. “‘Best assassin in the galaxy,’ I’ve heard. Of course, if anything I’d taught her had sunken in, she’d know that the best assassin is the one you’ve never heard of.”

Boba’s jaw clicked—a tiny motion Fennec doubted most anyone else would notice. “I’m not sure how that’s relevant to our arrangement.”

Arawat leaned forward over his knees and threaded his fingers together, and Fennec’s own stone face stared back at her in the mirror reflection of his shiny black eyes.

“It’s vanity, you know? Pure vanity,” he said, his voice silky smooth. “Like that hair. Do you know how many times I told her to cut it? There is no tactical advantage to long hair—not a single one. The only reason to keep it is vanity, pure and simple. ”

Fennec stared back at him, refusing to look away. Boba had fallen silent at her side, but she hardly noticed him any more in her peripheral vision. She was back 35 years in the past, her reflexes sharp and her body lean, but her spirit broken.

“Couldn’t quite get all the Chandrila out of her after all-”

“We’re through here,” Boba cut Arawat off, standing to his feet.

Arawat finally turned his attention to Boba, his jowls flapping excitedly around his cheeks. “What? But we were-”

“We’ll bring our goods through some other way. Thank you.”

Boba turned to leave and Fennec followed after him, her jumbled thoughts struggling to right themselves as she kept up with his assertive pace. The protocol droid started leading them back, but Boba brushed past him, retracing their steps to the lift with ease. Arawat didn’t follow.

The lift opened for them and Fennec followed Boba in, holding her tongue until the doors sealed shut.

“Are you crazy? We need his cooperation,” Fennec hissed as the lift zoomed upwards. Her eyes darted to the corners of the lift, searching for the holo cameras she knew must be somewhere.

Boba bristled. “I’m Boba Fett. I don’t need anybody except-” He shut his mouth. “We don’t need anybody.”

The lights from the lift illuminated his face at regular intervals, but the open emotion he’d shown down below was gone. Back was his stoic warrior’s face, the one she’d grown to respect but couldn’t fully trust.

“Fine,” Fennec said after a weighty pause. “Mustafar should work, anyway.”

“Mustafar?” Boba asked incredulously.

“Just get a few heat-resistant vehicles and you’re golden. That hostile environment is its own security.”

Boba grunted in agreement, and the lift continued upward. They fell into a companionable silence, and though the tension in Fennec’s shoulders gradually fell, she still ran her fingers nervously up and down the end of her braid.

---

The last time Fennec had been to Naboo it had been for a hit. The beauty of the planet hadn’t been lost on her at the time, but the elegant promenades and magnificent waterfalls didn’t look quite the same through a scope. This time she and Boba were here for a business deal and she had a chance to truly appreciate Theed’s splendor.

She leaned against the stone balustrade bordering the balcony and closed her eyes, letting the faint mist from a nearby waterfall gather on her face. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, but they were the comforting, familiar gait of her partner, and she paid them no heed.

“Hiram agreed to our terms,” Boba said from her side. “Production can start next month.”

“Hmmmm,” Fennec hummed. “Sounds good.” They’d thought negotiations would last longer. That gave them three whole days to relax before their shuttle was scheduled to depart.

The breathtaking vista before them occupied all of Fennec’s thoughts. In the distance threads of water laced their way down verdant green cliff sides, and elegant copper-colored buildings stood above the cliffs like sentinels on watch. The waterfall closest to their villa roared as thousands of gallons toppled over the edge every second, and Fennec could feel the power of it through her feet and into her bones. She closed her eyes in appreciation. Beauty and power—the ultimate combination.

Boba leaned on the balustrade next to her, bringing him into her orbit. “I ordered dinner,” he said.

Fennec hummed again. Dinner in their private villa overlooking the waterfalls sounded perfect.

Boba stepped to the side then his warm breadth was at Fennec’s back, enveloping her like a thick cloak. She tensed, her instincts screaming at her to bolt. But maybe this time, she didn’t want to run away.

With a sigh Boba rested his chin on Fennec’s shoulder and his hot breath tickled at the loose strands of hair that had escaped their bindings by her ear. She shivered.

Boba leaned further into her and rested his cheek against the side of her head. He took a long, slow breath in and turned his face more towards her, his nose catching slightly against her braids as he moved his head up and down in what could only be described as a nuzzle.

Fennec’s breath caught in her throat. “Boba…”

“Easy,” he murmured. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

Fennec couldn’t help a soft snort at that. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Maybe,” he said, his breath heavy and thick in her ear. “But I don’t usually have a chance to relax and enjoy it.”

His hands slid up to her arms and he pulled her gently backwards, stepping behind them until he reached a plush daybed set near the back of the balcony. He sat down and she went with him, allowing herself to be tugged into his lap.

She didn’t think. She just let her senses bask in his warmth, in his sturdy, fierce presence. She reclined against his front, her ear pressed up to his unarmored chest. His heartbeat thudded clear and strong against her cheek—a steady, constant presence she was only just realizing how much she cherished. He rested his chin on top of her head and held her loosely around the waist.

Water tumbled over the cliffs of Theed and time passed, but Fennec didn’t notice either. All she felt was an unfamiliar sense of peace and security. Maybe, after all these years, she wasn’t broken after all.

“...We could always extend our stay,” Boba said, his voice a gravelly rumble through his chest.

“Hmmm.” Fennec closed her eyes and let her fingers cling to the fabric of his tunic.

“Or visit other planets. Maybe even go to Chandrila.”

The distant blare of alarm bells sounded in Fennec’s mind, but she did her best to ignore them. It was nothing. She was fine. She was at peace, and she trusted Boba.

“I’ve never been there before,” Boba continued. “You could show me around.”

The alarm bells shrieked, and the peace shattered.

Fennec hauled herself out of Boba’s lap. She stepped back to the edge of the balcony and ordered herself not to look back. It was colder now, but the chill was familiar. “We should leave as we planned. I need to check in with our supplier in Mos Eisley.”

“Fen, come on-”

“I think I’ll call it a night.” There was a courtyard of space between her room and Fett’s, but maybe she’d stay someplace else for the night.

Boba got to his feet and followed her across the balcony, but he made no move to touch her. “You wear Chandrilan braids every day. You can’t tell me you hate the place-”

Fennec rounded on him. “I may be in your service, but that does not mean I have to tell you anything about my personal life.”

Boba grabbed her by the wrist, the snarl he usually reserved for his enemies rising to his lips. “Shand, can we leave the carbonite bitch act behind for once?”

Fennec wrenched her arm from his grasp and shoved him back. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”

She whirled around and fled the balcony, making first for her room before turning instead towards the villa’s entrance. How far away could she get for the night? It might be an interesting challenge to see.

---

She came back the next morning. She was a professional, and she trusted Boba to understand the line he’d crossed. And just as she’d expected, he didn’t mention anything about the previous night’s blowup. Two days later they returned to Tatooine, and life continued the same as ever.

Boba’s business ventures on Tatooine were actually fairly legitimate. He built up the local economy, gave loans to entrepreneurial spirits, increased imports and exports exponentially, cracked down vigorously on (unsanctioned) crime, and generally made the miserable ball of dirt and sand that was Tatooine a more tolerable place to exist. That being said, nobody could be successful in the Outer Rim while working completely above board.

Which was why it came as no surprise when the Hutts sent assassins after him for co-opting a chunk of their spice territory.

Fennec squeezed off another round from her perch on one of the palace’s domes and allowed herself a smirk of satisfaction as the target dropped.

“Last intruder down,” she said into her comm.

“Good job,” Boba said from his safe room below. “Let’s give it a half hour to see if anyone else crops up. Then regroup in my study.”

“Copy that.”

Fennec waited patiently in her perch, her sharp eyes staring through the scope for any sign of additional assailants. She was reasonably confident she’d dispatched them all, though, given the size of their transport and typical Pyke Syndicate strategies. Fennec snorted to herself. The Hutts must be really strapped for cash if they were resorting to hiring Pykes.

After the allotted time had passed with no sign of other hostiles, Fennec climbed down from her perch and made her way to Boba’s rooms. Boba was neither sentimental nor high-maintenance, but the comforts of the past few years had led to him accumulating a certain amount of personal belongings to display in his quarters. Mandalorian relics, his father’s old helmet, a Clone Wars-era DC-17—that sort of thing. Fennec walked past his mementos and met him at his armchair near the back of the study.

“All clear?” he asked, looking up from a datapad streaming updates from his security system.

“As far as I can tell. Hutt enforcement really isn’t what it used to be,” she said.

“Not the only thing around here that’s getting rusty, it seems,” a soft voice hissed behind her ear.

Fennec’s eyes widened and she twisted around, but before she could move a cold, slimy hand had her by the hair and a vibroblade pressed up against her gut.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Arawat’s hateful voice whispered near her ear. “Little Fen still has so much to learn. What did I tell you about our work? The best assassins are unseen.”

Fennec’s heart seized in her chest and with each breath her stomach pressed against the vibroblade. For now it was cutting through her coat, but soon enough it would be her skin.

“You might want to rethink your position,” Boba said, slowly rising to his feet. “There are two of us and only one of you. One way or another, you’re not getting out of here alive.”

“Ah haha, the mighty Boba Fett. You know, if you were your father I would be afraid right now. Old Jango wouldn’t hesitate to let a subordinate die to get ahead in a fight. But you’re not like that, are you?” Arawat said. With each word his fleshy jowls slid along Fennec’s neck, making her skin crawl.

Boba bared his teeth and the divots and crevasses of his scars almost turned his expression inhuman. “Care to test that theory?”

“Yes, I think I do,” Arawat said. “Put your weapons down, or I’ll gut her like a fish.” The blade pressed further into her stomach, drawing the tiniest sliver of blood.

Boba met Fennec’s gaze, and an understanding passed between them. Something Fennec had always known somewhere in the back of her mind came to the forefront, and she set her jaw. She trusted Boba. She trusted him more than she’d ever trusted another living person. She trusted him more than she trusted herself.

She didn’t know what he was going to do, but something in his eyes told her to prepare. She slowed her breathing, diminishing the blade’s contact with her flesh, and moved her hand just the slightest distance closer to the vibroblade she always kept tucked into her belt.

Boba moved to disarm himself, one hand going slowly for his blaster while the other stayed up and opened for Arawat to see. Then the thrusters of his jetpack activated, and he barreled right into Arawat and Fennec.

For several chaotic, terrifying moments, Fennec’s world was a tangle of clattering metal, unidentified limbs, and confused violence. Somehow, Arawat managed to maintain his vice like grip on her braid, and while momentum threatened to pull them apart, Arawat held onto her hair with a vicious tenacity. When they landed in a heap on the other side of the room, he yanked her to him again. Boba made a lunge for Arawat’s blade, but he wasn’t going to be fast enough. Fennec needed to get away. As she was, she was a liability.

She pulled the vibroblade from her belt and cut behind her, severing the thick braid right at the base of her skull. She flung herself away from her old teacher, and by the time she looked back Boba had already shot the Sullustant in the chest.

Arawat Ragistar was dead, and she and Boba Fett were both alive. It was a win.

She lay panting on the floor, her heart racing and blood still oozing from her side. As the adrenaline faded, her awareness tunnelled on the length of coiled black hair still hanging from Arawat’s limp hand where he slumped against the wall.

Strong arms pulled her to her feet and inspected the cut to her side, but Fennec hardly noticed.

“Hey,” Boba’s gruff voice cut through the haze. “Go see Pershing and get this stitched up. Then get some rest.”

She nodded numbly, then went to do as ordered.

---

Pershing gave her a few stitches, then added a thick bacta patch for good measure. Fennec didn’t feel anything, and Pershing’s complaints about not being a medical doctor and his demotion to glorified nurse slid easily in and out of her ears. Eventually he was done and her feet found their way back up to her rooms. She shut herself inside and sat down at her desk, her head feeling strange and floaty without the familiar weight of her braid.

Fennec stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face unchanged but somehow unrecognizable in its new frame. A soft knock sounded at the door, and she didn’t bother to shout the intruder off.

Careful footsteps sounded around her room, and Boba’s mangled face appeared above her in the mirror, the softness of his expression completely incongruous with his scarred visage.

Slowly, gently, without a word, he reached for her hair. He ran his fingers through their short, chopped length, sifting the strands carefully from side to side.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Fennec stared into his eyes through the reflection of the mirror, her body frozen in ice. Leaving her plenty of time to protest, Boba’s calloused fingers gathered up several hanks of hair from the crown of her head and started braiding. She’d never let anyone see her process before, but that didn’t stop him.

She barely had enough hair to reach the nape of her neck, but still he braided a short rope down the center of her head, then three smaller ones on each side. Then he picked the orange thread up from her desk and wove it between each braid, the extra support of the thread maintaining the seven braids’ integrity despite their length.

The last person to braid her hair for her had been her mother. Fennec could still remember the feeling of her thin, deft fingers in her hair, could still hear the sound of her soft, gentle voice cooing at her while she worked. She couldn’t remember her mother’s face, couldn’t remember her name, could hardly recall even the vaguest impression of what Chandrila was like. This memory was all she had left.

Fennec’s shoulders shook, and with a start she lifted a hand to her cheek and realized she was crying. The braids now completed, Boba let his hands fall to her shoulders, where their generous warmth helped hold her together.

Boba turned her chair around to face him and knelt down in front of her, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “It will grow back. But even before then, you’ll still be beautiful.”

She turned around in her chair and slid her arms around him, burying her face into his stomach. He sank down to the floor and pulled her down with him, holding her and murmuring unintelligible sweet nothings as he stroked her hair.

“I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” she said, her voice raspy with tears.

“I’ll never let anyone see,” Boba said. “I’ll close my own eyes if it will help.”

Fennec chuckled, her body shaking against Boba’s solid torso. “No, I think it’s alright for you. But only you.”

“Hmmm,” Boba hummed. “It’s a deal, then.”

Fennec rolled over onto her back, then tugged Boba on top of her. “It’s a deal.” She threaded her fingers together behind his neck and pulled him down to her.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Mermay - Dilliam - An Introduction

Happy Mermay!

William discovers that Mark’s girlfriend is hiding a secret known as ‘Damien’. He’d never guess the truth.

Word Count: 2,807 (I got a little carried away, and this wasn’t even what I intended to write!)

-

Even if William had known Mark and Celine for two years, he always felt like he was on the outside of the group.

(Aside from feeling like the third wheel as Mark and Celine had been in a steady relationship since Mark first introduced his childhood friend to his girlfriend)

Mark, Celine, and her family seemed to have a secret. Whenever they would chat, there would be mention of "Damien" in passing. But when William tried to ask for context, he was never given it. Mark and Celine would conveniently slide the topic elsewhere to avoid answering the question, while he was in no position to ask her parents. All William could gather was that Damien travelled but occasionally returned to the family home. Was he a businessman, forever on the roam? Was he a soldier like William? Was he family or a friend? After several years of being left in the dark, he had accepted that he'd never learn the truth.

In January, he had been sent overseas with the military as part of a peacekeeping mission. Even if there were opportunities for video calls, the three decided to write letters to give William something to do while on duty and to make the time go by a little faster. The young Colonel realised something interesting - by Celine's fourth letter, she had mentioned Damien. He guessed that the vagabond must have returned while the soldier was overseas. He noted in his next letter that he was surprised Celine willingly mentioned this mysterious figure (William? Bitter? Of course not!). As though adding to the mystery, the letter he received in reply was a curious one:

"I'm sorry I couldn't explain it before. Damien is my brother, but he's very shy. He doesn't like others knowing about him without being told first. I have told him about you and he's rather interested in what you're doing."

William was FLOORED. He'd known Celine for two FULL years and there had never been mention of a sibling?? He didn't remember a family photo with unfamiliar faces. Deciding it was a better argument to have when he was home, he instead crammed two letters into the one envelope - one for Celine, one for Damien. If the brother was secretive, it might be best to prove that William was a trustworthy friend. Friendly, short letters would be a good way to start.

--

For the next two months, the letters became a great distraction from his duties. Mark was asking William for advice on how to propose. Celine was updating William on the house she and Mark had bought, including sending photos of the ocean just at their doorstep. Damien, while proving that he was a secretive individual, wrote short letters about himself. The mysterious brother kept to himself, and it got William wondering about how shy Damien was. It was endearing, in a way. William accepted that he was wrong to take the news so harshly at first. Celine was merely doing right by her brother. 

It wasn't long after William sent his letters in response that his squad was ambushed. The attackers were defeated, but not without William having his leg broken in the process, among other things. He was sent to a local hospital before it was decided that getting him home would be more beneficial. Any letters that arrived at the base for William were instead returned to sender, as the soldier was being transferred too frequently while being treated to determine where he would be at a given moment.

-

It was June by the time William arrived home. Not even a medical boot and a crutch could dampen his spirits. Mark's hug of relief nearly knocked them both down, but Celine joining the hug successfully toppled them over William's rucksack as they erupted into laughs. The couple gave William the grand tour of their new home. It was as charming and elegant as Mark would like, while secluded from frequent public activity as Celine desired. Not only that, the house was near a cliff edge, which allowed a beautiful view of the ocean. William took in this view as he sat in the living room with a glass of water.

"Will?" Celine's voice stirred him from his daze. "I know you've done a lot of walking to get here and you're likely tired but… Would you like to meet Damien today?"

"Would I like to what?" William repeated blankly, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Your idea of sending him letters worked a treat. He asked me every day if there was a new letter for him. He's very curious about you."

"From what you told me, I thought he would have been gone by now." William's observation had Celine shaking her head.

"He waited to see you. I think learning about your injuries worried him." Celine's gaze lifted briefly to the water before she added, "He'll understand if he needs to wait until tomorrow -"

"No, no. I'll admit I've been curious to meet him as well. All this time you've had a brother and no one could tell me. What time will he arrive?"

"Actually, he's already here. Come on. I'll show you. There's one more part of the house you haven't seen."

-

William was fully expecting there to be a secret basement. Instead, he was led out to the back garden. It was small and neat, complete with a small wall to give some semblance of shelter. It looked like it belonged to a farmland cottage, especially given the gate at the bottom. Celine unlocked it and went first. William could see a path that led down to the ocean. The steps were man-made and weren't too steep. It would be a slow walk down but he could manage it in the medical boot.

"Damien is my twin brother," Celine began as she guided William down the steps, "and nearly everyone who knows my family doesn't know he exists. You and Mark are the only one of my friends who know and, well, you'll understand soon."

At the bottom of the steps was a seating area protected by some large rocks that created a safe area to swim in without worry of sudden tides whisking you out to sea. William hobbled over to one of the large rocks so he could sit down, gather his energy and curse the boot. Celine followed, climbing onto a neighbouring large rock.

"Damien? Are you here? I have my friend William, the Colonel!"

Ripples began to spread through the still water. William watched with wide-eyed curiosity when he caught movement below the surface. He had been watching the water while coming down the stairs, and there weren't any items or clothing strewn about. Before he could ask Celine, a head popped out of the water in front of him.

It was a man, or what looked like one. His smooth skin was as white as porcelain and shimmered in the sunlight. There were tiny bubble-like markings that William swore looked like scales. His hair was as dark as Celine's, but with a blue tint with the right light. It appeared to hold its shape by being stylised into smaller 'chunks' to form larger strands of hair. The ears were finned and had a pale blue along the edges. His face, despite not looking fully human, reminded William of both Celine and her father. The eyes were a different shape to the rest of the family - presumably more rounded and large to help with hunting - but the 'nose' and mouth were a perfect match. Even the eye colour was the same as Celine's.

"Damien, I take it?" William thought it absurd, but his hunch to ask immediately proved to be a good thing. The head ducked back under the water. Celine gave a knowing smirk and stepped back. In a flash, a large blur pounced for the rocks and climbed up with surprising agility, revealing what was actually a merman in full display. From head to tail, the skin kept that white tone, unlike what William would have seen in movies. There were fin-like protrusions emerging from his collar bones and his upper arms, which went from that pale blue on the edges to a dark purple at the base, almost like a sunset. This coloration was also on the frills that went down his stomach and on either side of his tail, before all three trailed off at differing points to allow the splendour of the large tail tip. William did remember Celine having posters of betta fish in her room when they met, was this why?

"The Colonel, yes? Oh, it's such a pleasure to meet you! Celine has told me so much about you! I'm so sorry I wasn't able to meet you sooner." Damien had snatched up William's left hand with both his webbed ones and shook eagerly, until he caught himself and quickly pulled back. "I'm so sorry. It's not often I get to meet new people." As quickly as he had sprung forward, Damien pulled back as his sister sat down beside him, ears flattened in embarrassment. The twins had such a likeness once the obvious differences were put aside.

"Don't apologise. I've been looking forward to meeting you too. I can't believe no one told me before I left. I'm offended!" William put a hand on his chest and dramatically sighed, only to erupt into cackles when Celine reached over and slapped his arm.

-

The three sat on the rocks for the afternoon. Celine and Damien took the time to explain to William about their genetics. Their father's grandfather was a merman who had decided to leave the life of the water behind and marry their great-grandmother. The merfolk genes became a passive trait. Their descendants had natural aquatic talents but all were completely human. Their mother, however, had magic in her bloodline, and this strengthened the recessive merfolk gene. When she was expecting twins, one was a regular human pregnancy, while the other was cocooned in water. In that regard, Damien was a miracle that he survived and had a healthy childhood...

"- but it meant no one outside a small circle knew I existed," Damien sighed. "Celine was able to go to school, make friends, while I was taught by our grandparents, as well as Celine who showed me what she learned in school. Because I'm not human-passing like movies show, I couldn't use a wheelchair and a blanket like I wanted." Not only that, there wasn't a large community of mythical creatures that they knew of. "But don't take this to be me lamenting my fate. I've had a wonderful life and have made connections with many merfolk communities around the world who welcomed me in while I am studying."

"Studying?" William looked confused, but Celine took the moment to wrap her arm around Damien's shoulder.

"You are looking at one of the top merfolk experts on culture and tradition, as well as a general fish expert. Speaking of," she patted Damien on the shoulder as she rose to her feet, "I should go back up and help Mark. We're having dinner down here." With that, she hopped off the rocks and began the ascent back up the house. Damien and William watched her go, before the soldier turned back around.

"So, an expert, eh? I happen to be rather unintelligent compared to your sister and Mark, so I'm afraid you'll have to tell me everything." He rested his elbow on his good leg, and propped his chin on his hand as he grinned at the merman. Damien's eyes darted aside and his ears flattened in embarrassment.

"Well, I wouldn't call myself an 'expert'," Damien admitted quietly, "but actually… I'd rather hear about you. I really enjoyed receiving your letters while you were away. Is that why you wear those clothes?" 

"Oh these?" Whoops. William had forgotten to change when he arrived. He barely had a moment to drop his bags to the guest room. "This is my military uniform. It's commonplace to wear it when you're on duty, even if you're simply being sent home. It's not the normal battle uniform, not anymore. That's just regular camouflage. This is an everyday uniform that shows off any badges you have earned and -" William stopped as he felt his hat being plucked off his head. He hadn't noticed Damien crawl over until it was too late. Instead of snatching it back, he ruffled his hair so that it lost the 'hat hair' look.

"How can you wear this? I've never seen anything like it!" Damien, after a brief examination, decided to try it on. The strange shape of the hat meant that it kept falling forward on him, no matter what he did to try and keep it in place. Instead of helping, William simply laughed at the merman's misfortune.

-

When William eventually agreed to help Damien wear the hat in a way that wouldn't fall off, he began to share stories of his early days in the army. Damien was enthralled, asking questions in a bid to learn more. It was no wonder that both were startled by the arrival of Mark and Celine with lanterns and all the necessities for a feast by the sea. Damien returned to the water while the humans set up, only to resurface when they were ready. His skin needed to be rehydrated for what he knew would be a long evening ahead.

Food, drink and merriment were had that night. Damien had hoisted himself onto the bench so he could fully join in. William honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a good night in the company of his dear friends. Perhaps not having to worry about a secret made it a lot easier to converse. For the first time in a long time, William didn't feel like an outsider amongst his own friends; but he didn't dwell on it much. Instead, he gave witty commentary during Mark's dramatic retelling of events the pair went through as youths.

At some point, Celine had fetched blankets from a sturdy, weathered box hidden amongst the box and wrapped one around herself and Damien. The twins nestled together as time passed, and Damien was content to enjoy being in the company of Celine and all her closest friends at last. 

The low flickering of the lanterns was the cue for the humans to return indoors. With William staying for a few days, Damien was content to let them go without feeling too sorry for himself. There would be plenty of time to chat. He sat on the rocks as he watched Mark help William back up the steps. Even from a distance, he could hear William barking something about how "this means nothing and I'm still stronger than you" and "I swear to God I'll push you down the stairs if you keep laughing at me Mark". 

"He's a good man, that Colonel." Damien jumped when Celine spoke. When did she move to sit beside him?! "When Mark introduced me, I was worried that his loud voice and brashness meant bad things, but he's been such a good, loyal friend over the last few years. I hope that he wasn't too 'much' for you today."

"N-no, no. I… he's exactly like you said he'd be." His eyes were on the two men as they disappeared out of view. "He's not angry that he didn't know about me, is he?"

"Nah." Celine leaned back, enjoying the light sea breeze. "He knew we were hiding something. I think he's happy to know he can be trusted. And he'll be stuck here for at least a day or two while Mark and I are working thanks to that broken foot. I'd bet he'll make it his mission to come down here alone just to show he can."

"I'd like that. He has a lot of stories to tell… Would it be weird if I ask him to keep talking?"

"Not as weird as it is that you've caught some sort of feelings for him. Did you get bitten by a love-bug, brother dearest?"

"Shut up, darling sister," Damien quickly nudged her, only to receive a counter-shove in response. "Just… don't tell him, alright? I know better than to interrupt a human marriage like that." He'd content himself with the company of the man who had captured his attention from the first letter. Celine slid off the rock and stretched. She glanced over her shoulder with a knowing smirk, gesturing to her left hand, which Damien knew was the hand with her engagement ring.

"His ring is on the other hand, Damien. It's a birthday present from his father. Goodnight, brother~" And off she went, gleefully ignoring her brother's confused questions.

"What do you mean he doesn't have a partner??"

[livingcorner]

How to Create Your Own Herbal Tea Garden

For these uncertain times, a step-by-step guide to growing brew-friendly plants at home, and using them to make infusions that soothe and restore.

Here, tea ingredients of rose, chamomile and lemon verbena are shown in their natural, harvested and dried states.Credit…Fujio Emura

Oct. 22, 2020

You're reading: How to Create Your Own Herbal Tea Garden

The tea garden — a typically modest plot dedicated to the growing of herbs and flowers for steeping — has its roots in ancient herbalist traditions and helped lay the foundation for modern botany. According to “The Gardener’s Companion to Medicinal Plants,” a 2016 guide to home remedies, the study of herbal medicine can be traced back 5,000 years, to the Sumerians of southern Mesopotamia, who listed the names of hundreds of plants — including fennel, mint, thyme, sage, myrtle and marjoram — on clay tablets that were later rediscovered in what is now Iraq. Modern scholars believe that the Sumerians used what they grew in medicinal preparations such as tea infusions that were intended to treat ailments from toothache to inflammation. And in England, says Timothy d’Offay, a tea importer and the founder of Postcard Teas in London, tea gardens have their origins in the work of 17th-century apothecaries such as Nicholas Culpeper, a botanist and physician whose encyclopedia of herbs, “The English Physician,” has remained in print since it was first published in 1653. “The apothecaries’ focus was on the use of herbs in healing,” explains d’Offay. “It was really the beginnings of modern medicine. We often think that drinking anything without caffeine is innocuous, but herbal tea has power.”

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In Deborah Needleman’s tea garden in New York’s Hudson Valley, rows of lemon verbena, lavender, calendula, basil, thyme and bush bean fill a rectangular bed flanked by boxwoods.Credit…Fujio Emura

Now, in this time of uncertainty, as we cleave to small, controllable comforts, the idea of the medicinal tea garden is taking root once again. Easy to cultivate on a windowsill or balcony, or in any garden bed, and yielding ingredients more potent than typical store-bought equivalents (specimens cultivated in artificial terrains tend to produce less flavor), these plots of herbs and edible flowers offer a chance to reconnect with nature, and a soothing balm for our collective anxieties. “Herbalists have long talked about the value of growing your own plants,” says Karen Rose of Sacred Vibes Apothecary in Brooklyn, “and with a tea garden you can propagate plants that will actively improve your health.” Since the pandemic hit the U.S. in March, she has seen a dramatic rise in homegrown plants, such as lemon balm, mint and chamomile, which are thought to relieve stress and help regulate disrupted sleep patterns.

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Needleman’s tea garden is attached to the 18th-century barn she uses as a drying and processing room. In the foreground, lemon verbena and calendula grow in a bed of dahlias.Credit…Fujio Emura

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Bronze fennel, whose burnished yellow florets are often used fresh in tea infusions, proliferates in Needleman’s garden.Credit…Fujio Emura

For the writer and editor Deborah Needleman, formerly of T, the joy of the tea garden is at once horticultural and aromatic. “Growing and blending teas extends the gardening season in that it allows me to be with my plants all through the year,” says Needleman, who nurtures herbs in her garden in New York’s Hudson Valley. “And the smells are so wonderful. Opening a jar of dried lavender during winter is heavenly.” Last year, she developed her first small-batch dried blend, Summer Tea, and this fall, her loose Garden Tea mix of mint, lemon verbena, rose and other fragrant herbs will be available at the florist and soap-maker Sarah Ryhanen’s World’s End farm and online store, Saipua. Here, Needleman shares her tips for establishing and harvesting your own tea garden — and she, Rose and a few other growers and herbalists share their ideas for putting your bounty to use.

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In a scrubland field beneath a walnut tree, Needleman has planted mint and lemon verbena. “They’ll just keep going until they form a carpet,” she says, “so if you have a space that needs ground cover, they’re a great, low-maintenance option.”Credit…Fujio Emura

How to Plant

While it is possible to grow your own black tea (camellia sinensis) in northern climates, without the warmth and abundant sunlight the plant needs to thrive, the effort is unlikely to be worth the negligible yield. A herbal tea garden, by comparison, is far more resilient and manageable, especially if you’re in a city apartment. “Use whatever space you have,” says Rose, who suggests starting with individual pots of lemon balm, lavender and chamomile — ingredients you can blend for a relaxing bedtime infusion. “Just a few sprigs can create an effective blend that you can use all winter.”

Where you position your plants is crucial, though. “Many herbs are Mediterranean, and so they need at least six hours of sunlight a day and they want to be dry,” says Needleman. If you’re planting in pots, make sure they have drainage holes or stones at the base and, if they’re outdoors, she advises moving them to a sunny windowsill inside during the colder months. For those planting directly into the ground, she suggests using a corner of a vegetable plot. And approach the planting, or placing of pots, much like you would a floral display, juxtaposing the various colors, shapes and textures of different species. Low-lying plants such as lemon thyme look nice along a border, while the chartreuse tones of lemon verbena create a vivid contrast against dark leaves.

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Bunches of bronze fennel, lemon balm, sage and Thai basil bound with twine for drying.Credit…Fujio Emura

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Read more: Shed Organization: 8 Easy and Inexpensive DIY Garden Tool Storage Ideas – Gardening @ From House To Home

A damask rose sits alongside dried rose petals. “All rose petals are edible,” Needleman says. “But for tea blends it’s nice to use a fragrant variety like a damask.”Credit…Fujio Emura

How to Harvest

“The more you cut, the more they grow,” says Needleman, who recommends investing in a pair of sharp scissors for trimming (she likes Joyce Chen’s Original Unlimited Scissors). Aim to harvest leafy varieties (mint, lemon verbena, lemon balm, thyme) before they flower: “once a plant blooms, the leaves lose freshness and become bitter.” By contrast, gather the floral herbs you’d like to dry (rose, lavender or chamomile) as soon as they start to bloom and before the blossom starts to decline. The time of day can play a part, too: “It’s good to harvest in the mornings, after the dew has dried, but before the plants get stressed by the sun — that’s when they’re at their most fragrant,” Needleman says. The rule of thumb is to collect around 5 percent of a plant’s total volume each time you trim and, she advises, “you want to make a clean cut for the health of the plant, cutting down to the next set of leaves and removing any damaged ones.” Wash your harvest under the tap carefully and then gently dry the herbs and flowers with paper towels, otherwise you risk bruising them and leaching out their essential oils.

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Inside Needleman’s barn, sage hangs to dry on a ladder beside bunches of the willow sticks she uses for basket weaving.Credit…Fujio Emura

How to Dry

In the spring and summer you can snip plants from your garden and put them straight into your teapot, but as the colder nights draw in, it’s worth shoring up supplies by drying what you collect. To dry, store your crop in a cool place with good air circulation and away from sunlight. Needleman likes to gather her herbs into small bunches and hang them upside down. To preserve flower heads such as chamomile, she spreads them out in wicker trays or baskets. “You have to rustle them up a bit to get the air into them,” she says of the dehydration process, which can take up to a few weeks. “When it’s really crumbly, it’s ready.” Once your ingredients are completely dry, the meditative process of destemming can begin: Strip the leaves or flowers from their stalks before storing them in airtight glass jars. It’s a task that Needleman likes to carry out at the kitchen table after supper. “It’s just so mindless and relaxing,” she says.

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Needleman’s infusion of fresh chamomile, lemon verbena, mint, lemon thyme and damask rose.Credit…Fujio Emura

What to Make

Now that you know how to plant, harvest and dry your herbs, here are a few recipes — and a couple of less expected uses — to try. Unless otherwise specified, each of the drinkable blends makes one pot and can be made with either dry or fresh ingredients (loose or enclosed in a bag) in ratios according to taste. Use hot rather than boiling water to best preserve the potency of the plants and keep your pot covered during steeping.

Deborah Needleman’s Uplifting Aromatic Blend

“The chamomile in this tea is crisp and bright like a fresh apple,” says Needleman of her custom infusion, “while the mint and lemon balm are earthy and grounding, and the lemon verbena brightens everything up. It’s a balance between sharp and earthier tastes and scents.”

Ingredients (in equal parts):

Chamomile

Rose

Lemon verbena

Mint

Lemon thyme

Preparation:

Steep for 4-6 minutes.

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The herbalist Karen Rose prescribes a healing blend of, from top, echinacea blossom, lemon verbena and calendula blossom.Credit…Fujio Emura

Karen Rose’s Immune-Boosting Garden Blend

“I love this blend because it’s so accessible,” says Rose. “Echinacea blossoms are believed to have antimicrobial and immune-stimulating properties, lemon verbena is an antibacterial known for its nervous system and gut support and calendula blossoms can also help enhance the immune system. The fact that we can all grow these plants means that wherever we are we can have access to a form of medicine that has the potential to help keep us well through the cold and flu season.”

Ingredients (per cup):

A couple of echinacea blossoms

A few calendula blossoms

1 teaspoon lemon verbena

Preparation:

Read more: Harvesting Watermelons – When is Watermelon Ready to Pick? (Updated)

Steep for 20 minutes.

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Heidi Johannsen Stewart’s Le Hammeau blend combines, clockwise from top left, lavender, rose, chamomile and lemongrass.Credit…Fujio Emura

Heidi Johannsen Stewart’s Le Hammeau Blend

“Herbal tea is such a cathartic companion,” says Bellocq tea atelier’s Heidi Johannsen Stewart, whose own Park Slope, Brooklyn, tea garden features lemon balm, rosemary, mint and sage. “This hydrating blend — one of the first I ever infused from my garden — provides an overwhelming sense of well-being. Although the flavor profile is complex, the effect is both calming and uplifting, and it particularly supports the digestive and nervous systems.”

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon lavender

1 tablespoon rose petals

1 tablespoon chamomile

1 tablespoon lemongrass

Preparation:

Steep for 6-10 minutes.

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Deborah Hanekamp recommends a blend for the bath featuring, from top, lavender, calendula blossom, pink tea rose and sea salt.Credit…Fujio Emura

Deborah Hanekamp’s Bath-Time Soak

For Deborah Hanekamp, the founder of the wellness company Mama Medicine and author of the book “Ritual Baths” (2020), the windowsill tea garden in her Brooklyn apartment provides plants for both brewing and bathing. To create her soothing tea-inspired bath soak, steep a quarter of a cup each of dried lavender and calendula, along with a small handful of dried rose buds, in a teapot for a minimum of 20 minutes — or, for a more potent blend, up to 8 hours — before pouring the brew into a warm bath together with a handful of sea salt, a spoonful of honey and a few drops of organic cold-pressed olive or almond oil. Light some candles and enjoy. “It can be beautiful to have a few flowers in the water, too,” she suggests. “Let some roses float on the surface; it’s soothing for the skin and a healing visual meditation.”

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An arrangement by the floral artist Joshua Werber featuring rugosa roses, mint and hyssop — plants often used in herbal teas.Credit…Fujio Emura

Joshua Werber’s Edible Flower and Herbal Tea Ensemble

Herbs and edible flowers can be as pleasing to the eye as they are therapeutic for the body, and overgrowth and surplus cuttings can provide material for dramatic table decorations. “Homegrown herbs have these really beautiful, wispy shapes,” says the Brooklyn-based floral artist Joshua Werber, who fashioned the sculptural arrangement above out of rugosa roses, orange and hyssop, as well as mint harvested from his own city garden — all ingredients selected in homage to his grandmother’s blend of choice: Celestial Seasonings’s Raspberry Zinger Herbal Tea.

To recreate his arrangement, take a favorite teapot (Werber used one by the English studio potter Seth Cardew) and start with a base of rose-hip branches, which will give the piece its structure. Next, introduce a few of the rugosa rose flowers, making sure you remove any foliage that obscures the blooms and position them in a way that allows the deep fuchsia petals to play off the bright orange of the rose hips. Then, tuck in a few sprigs of mint to create flow and movement, and accent with a couple of flowering hyssop tips. For a final touch of whimsy, take a citrus zester and peel off strips of orange rind before wrapping them around a chopstick and placing them in the freezer; after 20 minutes, uncoil and drape them throughout the arrangement. “I wanted to show the cycles and the processes behind the plant materials used in herbal teas,” says Werber of the piece. “Even though they can be shared, making these infusions is often a personal ritual. There’s an intimacy to them.”

Source: https://livingcorner.com.au Category: Garden

source https://livingcorner.com.au/how-to-create-your-own-herbal-tea-garden/

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

part 1 | part 2 |  part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16 | part 17 | part 18

The office still looks the same. In the space between blinks or in looking up from the desk, he keeps expecting to see Uncle Jiang behind the desk instead of Jiang Cheng. The dissonance leaves him a little unsteady, like he has to blink away the afterimage to see the present. He doesn’t mention it. No sense troubling shijie and Jiang Cheng with it. It’s not the only ghost lingering in his periphery anyway. “Yu Bujue can take over the upper level cultivation lessons,” Jiang Cheng says, “and Cao Xingtao is strong enough to take over the sword lessons.” He hates this, this calm delineation of his own weaknesses. These have been his duties since he was fifteen, since he passed half their own teachers and stepped fully into his role as Head Disciple. He’s supposed to be the one training their disciples, running them through their paces and building them back up stronger. He hunches a little into his shoulders, fiddling with Chenqing’s tassel. He doesn’t have room to object, he knows. He’s the one who told them how useless he was. They’re only doing what’s right, taking care of Yunmeng Jiang.

“Rumors are going to start if your da-shixiong is passing off all his work,” he points out.

This is why it would be easier if he just left. If he passed out of Lotus Pier in the night, he could just disappear into the shadows, let the resentment dissolve him into ash. Everyone the world around knows how inconsistent and capricious he is now. Sure, there’d be plenty to say about his own character, but at least it wouldn’t come back on Lotus Pier. At least they wouldn’t have to deal with his own shortcomings. “You said you had some ideas about defensive arrays,” Jiang Cheng says. “Defense is a higher priority than teaching a couple lessons.” Wei Wuxian stills, studying his brother. He can’t seriously be suggesting Wei Wuxian use demonic cultivation here in his own home. It was one thing during the war; Jiang Cheng has always been pragmatic, strategic in his own way. They were fighting a war and Wei Wuxian was a weapon, no matter how unsightly or unorthodox. No one looked too hard at the blood on a blade as long as it was pointed in the right direction. “You’d have demonic cultivation in Lotus Pier?” he asks carefully. Jiang Cheng catches his eye and shrugs, uncomfortable, as he looks away. “The old defenses weren’t strong enough. I promised I’d never let anyone take Lotus Pier again. So,” he says. He clears his throat. “Anyway, if our Head Disciple is the grandmaster of a whole cultivation path, it’d be dumb not to use it.” Something warm and unfamiliar uncurls in Wei Wuxian’s chest, more comforting than any embrace. He swallows and gives a short nod instead of saying any of the ridiculous things that press against the back of his throat. “Don’t do any dumb shit, I mean,” Jiang Cheng adds brusquely, “and tell me what you’re doing so it doesn’t backfire and kick your ass.” He laughs, and shakes his head. He’s had his ass thoroughly kicked by resentful energy, and he knows it would flatten Jiang Cheng if it wanted to. Still, he’s — touched by the trust. “Alright,” he agrees. “You could also teach some of the classes that don’t require as much spiritual energy,” shijie says. “The early classes on meditation and the talisman courses. It might help with rumors, and it could help stabilize your qi as well.” She sits primly on the third side of the desk, hands folded neatly in her lap and expression solemn. He forgets, some times, that she was there for all the war too. It’s easy to do when the marks of violence are so much starker on Jiang Cheng and the rest of them. He’s grown used to seeing his brother steeped in blood, grown familiar with the cold flat look in his eyes when he kills someone. Shijie isn’t half so obvious. She still smiles for them, still mothers them with that soft love she’s wielded for nearly as long as he remembers. Her scars are subtler, tucked in the tight frown she wears now as she contemplates their next steps and the quiet tears he’s caught her shedding a few times when she doesn’t realize he’s passing by. He and Jiang Cheng were out killing men on the frontline, but she followed in their aftermath, trying to hold together the wounded and dying. He wrinkles his nose, releasing Chenqing. Across the desk, Jiang Cheng’s expression is equally doubtful. “Meditation?” he says. “Shijie, I got kicked out of our meditation classes more than anyone in the history of Yunmeng Jiang.” A smile quirks at the corners of her lips, but the look she turns to him isn’t the fond exasperation he expects. There’s something knowing, something tinged with sadness, instead. “You meditated during the war,” she points out gently. This time, he’s the one to look away. He’s been trying to keep everything tucked away since he came back. It’s one thing for them to know he doesn’t have a golden core anymore, but he will not tell them about the Burial Mounds, about the resentful energy still spooled in the marrow of his bones. It lies quiescent and idle as long as his own emotions aren’t drawing on it, and he can stop that either through white-knuckled control or through the hazy buffer of liquor. He couldn’t afford to loosen his grip during the war, so he’d meditated to fine tune and strengthen his grip. Now, though — now he doesn’t want to have control over it. He doesn’t want to have to spend his every hour painfully conscious of the resentment that moves through him, alive and vicious and waiting. “Alright,” he agrees reluctantly. “Fine.” There’s a small quiet after his concession before shijie reaches out and gives his wrist a squeeze. He glances up to see her offering him a softer smile, reassurance. Releasing his wrist, she turns back to the papers laid out on Jiang Cheng’s desk. “Outside of Lotus Pier, there are still challenges from the other sects,” she points out. “Jin Guangshan’s frothing at the mouth to get that amulet,” Jiang Cheng agrees. Immediately, Wei Wuxian’s hackles rise, hand tightening around Chenqing’s neck. “He can’t have it,” he says flatly. “I’ll destroy it before he can touch it.” He doesn’t know how to explain the amulet to them. It and Chenqing were made of the yin iron sword just the same, but they’re wholly different beasts. Chenqing is his. She hums under his skin, a needling purr, hungry and ready at his call. The amulet is…different. Other. It’s more the sword than anything else and it still retains that presence. He can wield it, use it, but it’s borrowed power. It remembers what it was like to unmake him, and its teeth trace lovingly against the tender skin of his neck. It remembers their promise, their bargain. It waits. “Of course,” Jiang Cheng says, waving off his answer like it was obvious from the start. “But the fact remains the Jin Sect came out of the war nearly unscathed. They’re strong enough to take us down with one hand behind their back. And it’s not like you made a lot of friends in the war who’ll stand up to stop them.” Wei Wuxian purses his lips, annoyed that Jiang Cheng isn’t wrong. “We need alliances,” shijie says. Jiang Cheng sighs, presses a thumb into the ridge of his eye socket like he’s warding off a headache. Wei Wuxian sympathizes. He’d rather fight another legion of cultivators than wade through the tangled net of politics. “Lanling Jin’s already wrapped everything so well around them with Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie,” Jiang Cheng says. “We should’ve petitioned for Wei Wuxian to be granted sworn brotherhood, too, I guess.” “Me?” Wei Wuxian asks, startled. “But you’re the sect leader, it would’ve made more sense for you.” The look Jiang Cheng shoots him is scathing. “Who took Nightless City?” he snaps back. “We weren’t winning the war till you came. Three months of skirmishes didn’t give us much in the way of victory.” He subsides at that, feeling strangely chastised by the praise. Shijie frowns, her lips pressing together in thought. “It won’t hold the political strength of a sworn allegiance,” she says, “but you were both close with Nie Huaisang before the war. Chifeng-zun has always cared deeply for him. Perhaps you could rekindle that friendship. He could visit Lotus Pier for a time.” Sourness rolls unsteady deep in stomach at the mention of Huaisang. The three of them spent childhood summers together, towed back and forth between Qinghe and Yunmeng depending on the year. He remembers dunking Jiang Cheng under the lake water and Huaisang squealing when they teamed up to drag him into the water. He remembers laying on his belly, feet waving in the air, beside Huaisang as they painted mountains and clouds and each other. He can’t remember the last time he lifted a brush to paint anything but talismans, to create anything but ruin. The last time he saw Huaisang, he’d flinched away, shuddered up a fearful barrier between him and his old childhood friend. Guilt is an uneasy squeeze under his ribs. “And a-Xian,” shijie says, turning to him, “you should talk to Lan Wangji.” He balks, recoiling. “Lan Zhan?” he demands. “What— why?” He hasn’t spoken to Lan Zhan since the war, since the fall of Nightless City. There’s no point to it anymore, he thinks and stubbornly ignores the way his heart twists. Shijie looks at him with endless patience. “I thought you two were close friends and confidants,” she says and doesn’t give him a chance to protest. “He was dedicated in helping you during the war.” “To exorcise the evil out me,” he scoffs, looking away. “So I should tell him everything so that the great Hanguang-jun can come save this feeble man from my own wickedness?” Bitterness scrapes across his tongue, sour speckling his throat. He once thought Lan Zhan was his equal, his match. Now, he thinks of his scowl, his voice coming hard and reproachful and all the times he said that he was committing evil, practicing wicked tricks that would leave him burnt and ruined.    Telling him he has no core, that he is broken in a way no song of healing or clarity can remedy— No. Wei Wuxian knows he wouldn’t be able to stop there. If he let Lan Zhan close enough to tell him that, it would all spill out of him, all this bad blood clotted up in his heart. He would drain himself dry, and there would be nothing left when Lan Zhan inevitably recoiled, horrified and disgusted, and turned his back. He won’t do it. He can’t. He’s too selfish. He can’t have Lan Zhan’s friendship the way he once did, but he’s not strong enough to end it for Lan Zhan, to provide him this easy justification for walking away. He can’t bear to see those dark eyes wide with pity, not for him. He’d rather be hated than pitied. Rather bite back than open up his tender underbelly.

[brokasteltranslations]

Fate/Requiem: Prologue

People have taken to calling me “the Reaper”. Only once have I ever been thanked for my work.

–

This was awful. This had to have been one of the worst nights of my life.

My pursuers had grown in number once again. They were dividing, at an incredible rate. Monsters who lived only to separate humans by component parts; no matter how many I cut down, I couldn't stem the tide.

The effects of the Body Augmentations I'd equipped to my own body had long faded. The fetish charms of which I'd prepared so many, into which I'd stockpiled so much mana, had all been expended. My heightened eyesight, my improved cardiopulmonary functions and all the rest were now ragged and exhausted, barely at the level of an ordinary human. All that I had left to rely on now was my own flesh and bone, my own blood and guts: the body that I'd somehow managed to keep intact for these fourteen years.

That, and the lessons that had been carved into my heart by a needle of regret.

The Material Barrier that coated every inch of my skin had dwindled to its base parameters. A single solid hit would be enough to blow me to pieces, like a plate dropped on the floor. But I had a strange premonition that all this was only a prelude to what was waiting for me; to what would really make this the worst night of my life.

–

I sprinted through alleyways, drenched in muddy water, covered in unreclaimed garbage. Once, worshippers would take this road to reach Kanda Shrine. I tumbled down one of the narrow, steep sets of stone stairs that split off into innumerable branches. As I did so, I landed a flying kick on the  behinds of the two men ahead of me. The uninvited guests.

“Ugh, we still not at the harbour? My heart's about to damn well burst, girl! I'm gonna drop dead right here!”

One of the men tilted his neck to look at me.

“You know damn well you aren't! If you're gonna live as long as you have, you should try to have the courtesy to scrape together a century or two's worth of wisdom! Or if you can't do that, at least just shut up and run!”

“Hey now, hey now! If I'm ever gonna put a sock in it, it'll be when I go meet the Buddha! You could cut my head off right now and my mouth would still be chatterin'!”

“Like hell it would, because I'd tie it shut myself! With a good metre or two of wire!”

How many dozens of times had he made some dumb immortality gag? It had gone beyond getting on my nerves. He knew better than anyone that he could be carved to pieces or shot full of holes, and it still wouldn't be enough to kill him. Although, for all that, he was in almost as sorry a state as I was right now.

Even in this day and age, when immortality was hardly a rarity, he was still making me listen to his nonsense. And what was he doing talking about meeting the Buddha anyway, when he was a Jew?

“Just shut up and keep moving!”

“...Understood.” The other man nodded. His partner skidded as he rounded a corner, almost toppling, and he reached out to grab his belt, righting him as naturally as if he were taking hold of a jib sheet.

“Once we reach the docks, they cannot best us.”

His wild black hair and unshaven beard carried the smell of the deep. It was something wholly unlike this town's artificial landscapes: the scent of real sea breezes and real shafts of sunlight, carved deep into his soul.

“Understood. I'm counting on you, Captain.”

His response was silence.

The starkness of the difference between himself and his companion still took me aback. Could it be that sailors simply disliked wasting words? I didn't think so. He likely just didn't trust me yet. In any case, though, I was glad that I had not made an enemy of this strong, silent man of the sea. Things could have easily have gone differently.

And besides, I couldn't deny that I had found something unexpectedly endearing in the twin grey flames burning beneath his chiselled brow.

–

Needless to say, the captain's dominion was the sea; on land, he could not fully exercise his power. That was why we were now making haste to the harbour.

I was only collateral damage to the monsters pursuing us. Their real target was my companions: the two men whose protection constituted my current job. One was a Heroic Spirit, who had come in answer to a summons: a Servant. The zenith of necromantic magic. The other was human; was human, for he had abandoned his humanity a long time ago.

Any denizen of this city would have told you that Servants are safe and harmless; but peaceful and happy though this thought may be, only they believed it. That was why people like me existed: to maintain the illusions of their everyday, by doing the work that anyone else would revile. The work of killing Servants with our own two hands.

–

She, too, had been one - someone I had been assigned to dispose of appropriately.

Her name had been Kundry. A pagan woman, gone mad with love. The lingering fragrance of her loathing, the vicious curse from an enemy I should have finished with, her terrifying, meticulous booby-trap had survived her death, and pursued us relentlessly even now. Those little sprites. They would chase us forever, gorging themselves on the mana that suffused this town.

I had expected that she might make her appearance mounted on horseback. I had not expected her to have any knowledge of summoning magic. Nothing to that effect had been mentioned in any of the documents I had scoured.

The creatures Kundry had called forth were little sprites called “gremlins”. Newcomers in the world of magecraft, and monsters for the modern era. They made their nests in machines and electrical appliances. Appropriate for this town, I thought.

Vermin who swarm around open ley-lines. Efficient, I suppose.

This wasn't the time to be marvelling. Aside from anything else, they had come close to chewing off one of my fingers not a few minutes ago – but this struggle too would end, if I could set these men to sea.

“Over there! Drop down to that waterway! The side street goes straight to the harbour!”

“Damn it, girl, a one-way street? Ain't my thing at all!” He didn't even bother trying to put on an air of urgency.

Water shone slick on the concrete of the side street. The tide was ebbing: an ideal time to set sail.

“Well, ain't that lucky, Reaper girl? Looks like you'll be able to give us the nice little sendoff you wanted after all!”

“Damn right I will. I won't be sorry to see the back of either of you.”

“The Reaper really don't pull her punches, huh! What was that earlier? “Looks like Hendrick has once more failed to take a wife”? “Maybe you'll hit the jackpot in another seven years”?” The talkative one cast a glance at his partner's back. The captain remained as taciturn as ever, but his shoulders seemed slumped just a little.

Seven years. Seven years' time. Two thousand, five hundred-odd days? I didn't know how it felt to immortals, but to me, seven years' time seemed unimaginably far away. It was a world hidden behind a pitch-black fog, with no guarantee that it would ever come at all.

“I'm, well...I'm sorry about that.”

“Ain't nothin', girl, I'll cheer him right back up again. Bit of a shame, though, I liked this town. It's noisy, and crazy, and it was ever-so-willin' to look the other way for us.”

“I see.” As long as you two remain here, there can be no guarantee of that. That's why this was always going to happen.

The sails of the yachts moored in the harbour began to come into view. I expelled an inadvertent sigh of relief. Careful now, Erice. You mustn't let your composure slip, not even for a moment. “Presence of mind”. Words my master taught me.

Maintaining one's composure did not mean denying one's emotions. It meant accepting them. Anger, bitterness, suffering, terror – welcoming each and every one as an old friend, turning none away. Without doing that, it would be impossible to take a step back and view oneself objectively. More than a few times, that principle had saved my life.

We arrived at the wharf, and were lucky enough to find ourselves an unsecured vessel. It was only a small boat, rowed by hand, and cramped enough that even just the two men climbing in would be enough to fill it.

“Are you absolutely sure you don't need anything bigger?”

“This will serve just fine”, the captain said. He had procured two oars from one of the other yachts. By no means did they look like sufficient preparation for setting sail to the open sea, but whatever the case, I was grateful that they at least hadn't wasted any time indulging in sentimentality.

I checked the boat meticulously for traps, before turning my attention to keeping watch on the surrounding area for our pursuers. It was midnight on the Kanda river, and the reflections of neon lights drifted lazily across the water's tranquil surface. The harbour was deserted, and the river was devoid of the silhouettes of waterborne buses. At least there was no need to worry about any civilians getting caught up in this.

“Looks like this is goodbye, huh? My dear little Reaper girl.”

They had already climbed into the boat. The talkative one began to gather up the mooring rope that I had carelessly tossed from where I watched on the jetty.

“Ya know, I wouldn't've minded killin' you, if it woulda meant I could bum around this town just a little longer.”

“...I know. You're leaving because the Captain wishes it. You don't have any concern for me, you're just respecting his desires. That's right, isn't it...Ahaseurus? You're the oldest man alive. The man who's lived longer than even Noah or Methuselah.”

He shook his head from side to side, laughing uproariously. Next to him, the captain struck one of the wooden pillars of the jetty, changing the boat's direction. Still refraining from joining the conversation, he took the oars in both hands, and began to row with powerful strokes.

“You overestimate me, girl. You're well aware, aintcha? That I'm not the only poor bastard who turned his back on the Lord, and wound up unable to die 'cos of it. Even nowadays, the world is full of monsters. And what about you, born in this Mosaic City, in this new world - can you really be so sure you're human? Whaddaya say to that, eh?”

The little boat left the jetty behind, slipping easily through the water, growing smaller and smaller. It was all I could do to hide my humiliation beneath a calm exterior, and offer him a parting gift.

“Ahaseutus! The Wandering Jew of legend! I pray that someday, you will find your place of rest!”

The immortal was now sprawled lazily in the bottom of the rowboat, waving back at me impudently. I wish I had more time to speak to you. I wanted to learn about the way you live. But he was sneering at me now. The same cruel smile, I felt sure, that he had once turned upon someone else, long ago.

“Oh, wake up, girl! There ain't a single place of rest in this whole damn world! Ain't nothin' but inferno, as far as the eye can see! God damn... I ain't got no mind to thank ya, especially not after everythin' you did to cut our stay short, but I hate naivety more than a third helping of bagels! How about one last bit of wisdom from an old man?”

The currents of the Kanda river had finally taken hold of the rowboat, and it rapidly receded from view as he shouted from the stern.

“Try and enjoy yourself a little! That's how you live a splendid life!”

How carefree he smiled. He had spouted nonsense to the end.

“...And how am I supposed to do that?”

It might have been valuable advice from a man with centuries' more experience than I, but it wasn't the kind of joke I wanted to hear. I knew no small number of people who had striven to enjoy their lives, and died all too soon for their trouble. What did pain or suffering matter, in the face of that? Above all else, I did not want to die.

–

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The gremlins had closed the distance, and now they had cornered us in this place.

A few seconds after my prophetic chill came the sound of claws scraping on asphalt. A thousand chittering shrieks. All at once they burst forth from the shadows of the harbour, and surged across the decks of the boats docked by the wharf.

“Not this again...!”

They had no eyes for me any more. They splashed across the surface of the water, racing after Ahaseutus and the captain. They might have been weak individually, but if a horde of this size reached their boat, it would sink in an instant. The situation sent a shiver of fear through me. I levelled my final trump card - my Arcane Bullet, Freischütz - at their vanguard, and barked a warning across the water.

“Captain!”

But before my shout had even reached him, he had pushed his oars onto Aheseutus, and now stood upright in the unstable little boat. I heard the rushing sound of him sucking in a great breath.

“Yooo-ho! Hoo-howay! Yooo-hoo-howay!”

He bellowed, as though awakening after a long silence. Or rather, he sang, in a mighty, booming voice that could only have been produced by his broad chest. A sailor's song. A sea shanty, of the kind true men of the ocean hummed under their breath.

And in that moment, I saw. Aheseutus' scrawny arm, thrust lazily upwards. The distinctive pattern on the back of his right hand, that for an instant flared dull red.

“We're setting sail, Hendrick. Looks like it's goodbye to dry land for a while.”

“Hee-sa!”

A order made by Command Seal, one of the crown jewels of magecraft. From Master, to Servant. And the captain responded instantly. His piecing whistle echoed throughout every corner of the harbour. Space began to warp, and a barrage of concentrated magecraft struck my cheek.

“Raise the anchor! Unfurl the sails! Set the lookout! Tonight we set to sea! Tonight we are bound for the sea of endless storms!”

The captain roared – and voices answered his call, from below the water's surface.

“Hee-ya!”

Vile laughter, now, like the creaking of bones. And voices that continued in song even so.

“Hah!” “Hah!” “Hah!” “Hah!”

“Where's yer bride, Cap'n!”

“Give us drink from the shore, Cap'n! Give us spirits, to put fire in our throats!”

“Hee-sa!” “Hee-sa!” “Hee-sa!”

Beneath the boat, a host of pale wisps swirled. From the gremlins who had been racing across the water to close in on the boat, not even flinching at the unveiling of the captain's magecraft, now arose a shriek of warning.

An edge of red cloth sliced upwards from within the water. It met with the gremlins about to reach the boat, cutting them quite literally in two. A crimson sail.

A black pillar now rose from the water, knocking the rowboat aside. As though they had been waiting for this moment, the pair abandoned their vessel to leap to it. The waters of the Kanda river boiled and churned, as an enormous hull slowly revealed itself.

A sailing ship. An oak-wrought galleon, of the kind that forged the path across the Atlantic Ocean during the Age of Discovery. A bowsprit that thrust forth threateningly from the prow. The gentle curve of a sturdy hull. A quarterdeck like a fortress, towering intimidatingly over all it surveyed. Three tall masts pierced deep into the night sky, and from them billowed sails coloured the red of blood.

The greatest Noble Phantasm of the Wandering Dutchman.

“So that's the wandering Dutch galleon, the Flying Dutchman! A ghost ship, cursed to drift eternally upon a stormy sea...”

I was bearing witness to the manifestation of a most unique kind of magecraft. My cheeks began to tingle. A shiver ran through me at the sight of the sails and the hull – blood-red and pitch-black, just as the legends claimed. A ghost ship cursed to share the fate of its captain, the Wandering Dutchman, never to rest or be granted relief.

The waves lapping at the jetty were getting higher now, and threatening to sweep me away, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the spectacle of the ship, and its manifestation amid a mighty corona of energy.

The gremlins who had evaded the attack from the sails tried to cling to the ship's hull, but the wisps on deck would not brook such a means of boarding their vessel. One by one they changed form into the spirits of sailors and descended to the deck, brandishing the cutlasses at their belts. It looked almost like a fairground attraction.

They, too, were bound by the curse of the Flying Dutchman. One more part of a terrifying Noble Phantasm. There was never any mercy to be found in their blades.

“Hah!” “Hah!” “Heeeee-sah!”

“Worthless scum! Ain't even worth turnin' the cannons on 'em!”

“Give us more blood, Cap'n!”

“Hee-sa!”

This battle was theirs. To watch the ease with which they overwhelmed the foe, one would never imagine how much we had struggled on land. Aheseutus watched from on high. It might have been the correct approach for a Master, but something about it grated on my nerves.

The final gremlin was dispatched with a blow from the captain's oar.

“Stow the chatter, my lads! Now, set a course for open sea!”

Once more, he gave the order to set sail, brandishing his oar towards the night horizon. Lightning flickered there, and there came a distant roll of thunder. It had been the same on the night of their arrival. Now the eternal storm waited for them once again.

The ghost ship forged onwards, wind swelling in its tautened sails. Its silhouette grew smaller, until it was lost in the darkness. All that remained on the deserted shoreline was the mournful echo of the pale spirits' song.

“Dalais, Nicht, Eijikeit...

Dalais, Nicht, Eijikeit...”

I hummed it to myself. I'd heard or seen that phrase somewhere before, in the classroom library.

“Dalais...Nicht...Eijikeit...”

“The Devil's curse lies on these sails...they shall not tear 'til Judgement Day...”

I could no longer see the figure of the captain. All that remained was a single slender silhouette reclining against the railing of the poop deck, never waving, simply staring back at the town's lights until it faded into the distance.

The storm passed, and silence returned to the harbour. I sighed in relief. Now that they had set sail, I could barely move. I was overcome by exhaustion, of course, to some degree. But more than anything else, I wanted to cast my mind back over these past few days, over the ways in which these two man had unapologetically pulled my heart to and fro, and commit them firmly to memory.

–

I let out another sigh, and then touched my fingertip to one of my forelocks. My magic circuits, set to refuse communications, once more return to open...and as if on schedule, a message came in. The familiarity of the voice immediately put me at ease.

“I presume your assignment has been completed?”

“Mm-hm.”

My master and I always contacted each other this way. Delicate vibrations were transmitted into my inner ear, and I perceived them as her voice. This was a method of communication with no need for electromagnetic waves, being derived from automatic transcription magecraft. The average citizen had no need for it, but this was one of our little tricks.

“This assignment's targets – the “Wandering Jew”, the immortal Aheseutus, and his Servant, the “Wandering Dutchman”, Captain Hendrick Van der Decken – have been successfully escorted from the Akihabara ward of Mosaic City.”

“If so, then it should be seven years at the earliest before we see them again?”

“I think so. I can't speak for anyone else, but it should be that way for them, at least. Aheseutus didn't appear to have contracted with any Servant other than Hendrick.”

The captain's ghost ship was an oddity among oddities.

Even among the various wards of Mosaic City, Akihabara – also known as the Maritime City – was, as its name implied, in notably close contact with the ocean. However, its topography did not make it defenceless. If anything, it was the reverse; it was protected by a stronger barrier than the other wards. And the Grail would not permit an act so barbaric as breaching the barrier and forcibly making port.

However, a powerful curse lay on the captain and his crew: they were forbidden for making landfall more than once every seven years. And by the same token, once every seven years, they could make port wherever they wished. If they had come to Akihabara with more aggressive intent, it would have been virtually beyond me to stand against them.

“Understood.”

I could tell from her breathing that she was satisfied. Now her confirmation checklist moved on to the crux of the matter.

“And what about Kundry?”

I bit back the response that immediately rose to my throat, and paused for a moment to steady my breathing.

“Dead. I confirmed the destruction of her Saint Graph myself.”

A brutal matter to discuss openly on the street. I once more cast a quick glance around the midnight harbour, but it remained unchanged, deserted as ever.

“But...I think there's a chance that some of her enchantments might be remaining somewhere. I'll investigate again soon.”

“Oh? So you're telling me that an autonomous-type Servant's enchantments still remain, even after the Servant themselves has disappeared?”

“That's right. And I've suffered for it, too.”

“What a unique case... This whole situation has turned out to be rather troublesome. I can lend my aid as far as scanning the city for unauthorised ley line access goes, but...”

“I don't think it'll show up on a scan. I don't know how, but she's managed to conceal it.”

“I see. In that case, it seems I will need you more than ever.”

“Perhaps so.”

My master responded to me with a deliberate silence, and I followed suit. I got the distinct sensation that we were feeling each other out. If we had been talking face to face, I somehow felt certain that she would have seen right through my nervousness. It was of course possible to equip a communication circuit with video functionality – in fact, it was possible to directly send input from all five senses – but I disliked being so open about my work. And in the first place, I didn't even have the mana remaining right now.

Anyway, it seemed that she had accepted my report, for the moment.

“Understood. You can tell me about the details in person, later.”

“I don't mind coming by tomorrow, if you want. I'll be coming to class anyway.”

“...I see. In that case, I'll hear what you have to say then.”

“Alright.”

“Your hard work is appreciated, as always. Goodnight, Erice.”

“Thanks.”

My master was unfailingly polite and courteous. Odd it may have been to wish someone who had never known a true night's sleep a good night, but it did not bother me. I was just on the cusp of a suitably witty retort when I was interrupted again.

“Oh, that's right. I ought to have mentioned, Erice.”

“Eh?”

“Karin was terribly angry earlier.”

“...Karin?”

“It couldn't have been more than half an hour ago. She was rather fierce about it. She was complaining that you were ignoring all of her text messages, and wondering if there was something wrong with the network. I had to explain to her that you were engaged with your work, and were likely blocking all communications.”

“...right. I'm sorry about that.”

“As am I.”

–

“As am I”...?

Blocking communications had been the correct call. My master had nothing to apologise for...did she?

“That Karin...”

I left the jetty from which I had watched the Flying Dutchman's departure. A forest of white sails passed me by as I cut across the harbour, and set out on the road home.

Something so distracting as idle chatter with Karin while I was working would have been fatal. I would be hanged before I would allow my concentration to be so disrupted in a battle with my life on the line. But in the end, I had still been careless. I had been elated, buoyed up by the success of a job well done.

To the edge of the wharf. Into a break in the yacht harbour. Past rows upon rows of warehouses, at the top of the stairs that led to the overhead roadway – she was there.

The tail of her habit fluttered in the sea breeze. Once hidden beneath her veil, her hair now danced proud and wild.

“Pray tell me – how do you feel, in this moment?”

She asked with painstaking courtesy, her voice dripping with merciless contempt.

“Boor that you are, to steal away my love, and think to strike me down. And in the end you did not even finish me, but left me by the roadside. For indeed, you had every chance to kill me, but in your arrogance you pitied me instead. I can only imagine the self-satisfaction you must feel.”

Kundry, the pagan. Her hair was ebony, and her skin was walnut. The lids of her rich, dark eyes were lowered, as though she were half asleep. Powerful awakening magic resided within her captivating lips. Her face proudly showed her Mediterranean heritage, and it was near-flawless in its beauty...or so it seemed to me, at least. Provided I could pinch my nose to the stench of the machinations writhing in her guts.

Her clothing was stitched with horsehair, said to be worn by those who wished for atonement, and it had become torn and ragged in our battle. Here and there, her skin now lay unashamedly bared to the world. At our first encounter I had thought her a virtuous woman of the cloth, but the scandalous costume she now wore would have drawn stares even on the night of Halloween. Although what was more, the one who had damaged her so beyond repair had been me.

“Ahh...You. I believe you named yourself Erice? Nay, I misspeak. “The Reaper” was your name, was it not?”

“Kundry...”, I whispered. She was a woman beyond my help.

I had used a trap I had laid to deprive her of her mount, before engaging her in a vicious melee and damaging her heavily – or so I had thought, but it seemed that she hadn't been as immobilised as I had believed. I would have to revise my assessment of the Rider class's base stats.

I called out to her, in as simple terms as possible, trying to make her understand.

“Are you listening, Kundry? I'm repeating myself here, I don't know how many times this makes it, but all I ever did was encourage Ahesh and the captain to prioritise evacuating the city. I did not steal your lover.”

She remained silent for a long moment. Her eyes stared down at me, boring into me, not moving a millimetre. I was fully aware that she was not an opponent I could negotiate with – but more than anything else, in my current situation, I wanted time to observe her. There was something more here - something that lay behind how she had maintain control over so many gremlins even after losing consciousness, behind the ease with which she had appeared before me now - and I wanted to know it.

I knew I was outmatched. Should I request aid from my master through my magic circuits? Unthinkable. This was my whirlwind to reap. But even so, I couldn't see my decision to spare Kundry the finishing blow as a mistake. There was no doubt that leaving her unchecked would have been catastrophic for this town – but only if Aheseurus and the captain had stayed. At the end of the day, Kundry too was an outsider, and she had only appeared here in their pursuit.

“I'll tell you once more, Kundry. Leave this town. Your wounds are too deep to heal if you don't. You'll be destroyed, and I'm sure you don't want that.

“I too repeat myself. Return my love.”

“”My love”...?” I was surprised. So blinded was she in her pursuit, that she had followed us here without realising even that simple truth.

“You're too late, Kundry. Your love has already set sail, and unfortunately, all the monsters you set in wait for us have been destroyed. Continuing your chase any more would be pointless.”

Their departure I was sure about. The destruction of her traps, I was not. But whatever the case, all I wanted was to persuade her to give up.

“My love has...left me behind...? Aahhhh....”

A wail of grief arose from her throat as she bent over double. From between two hands tearing at her hair, her burning gaze pierced into me.

“I will take my vengeance! The hammer of retribution will fall upon you!”

She had firmly grasped the wrong end of the stick, and she wasn’t letting go. The flames of jealousy burned bright within her. Was putting an end to this my only option?

“You would be a fool to try. You can't win against me, Kundry.”

“Do you truly think so? I still retain my Saint Graph, Reaper. As you can see.”

She tilted her neck exaggeratedly, as she advanced down the stairs, one step at a time.

“What makes you so certain that it is not you who is the weaker of us? Already, your mana has dwindled such that you did not notice my approach. The battle with my gremlins has expended your talismans and gemstones to the last. Is that not so?”

I kept my silence.

“You are naught but a girl, not even come of age. For your courage in taking up the night watch in this fortress, and for the heavy responsibilities you bear, I admit my admiration. However...” A tatter of her habit tangled around her leg, and she dispassionately tore it away. “In the end, you are a human – and I am a Servant.”

“I know.”

If this mad queen had some awareness of her nature as an autonomous Servant, then there was only one more step left.

“That's why, Kundry. That's why Akihabara will never accept your existence. That's why, no matter where you go in Mosaic City, you will be rejected as an outsider. I installed a classification tag into your Saint Graph. Your supply of mana from the town in order to sustain yourself will be closed to you. Not only that – just by your existing in this place, the tag will pollute your Saint Graph, poisoning you from the inside out.”

There was hardly any need for me to give her the warning. Just trying to absorb mana through the act of breathing should already be wracking her body with pain. But she seemed to be interpreting it instead as the agony of parting, as suffering that proved her bond with her beloved.

Kundry furrowed her eyebrows resentfully. She shouldn't have been able to manage more than standing still while still maintaining her corporeal form. And conversely, my strength was recovering by the second.

“My talismans and gemstones might have protected me, but that wasn't their true purpose.”

“Know that whatever nonsense you are speaking, it does not sway my heart.”

“I suppose it wouldn't.”

Kundry, you learned that this place would become a battlefield, and used Akihabara for your own ends. But you must have neglected to thoroughly investigate the Reaper who lurks in the shadows of this town. The moment you learn the reason I bear this name will be the moment in which you are destroyed.

But even so -

“I do not want you to disappear here, Kundry.”

Her face twisted in incredulity.

You are a Servant. A being summoned by some unknown party - a magus of high rank, most likely. A wandering fragment of myth, fitted with a thaumaturgical perpetual motion machine of the second kind. If left alone, you will eventually fall to sustaining yourself with the life energy of the common people. You are a clear threat to this city.

“It would be such a waste...”

But it was nothing short of a miracle, I thought. That a Servant had fallen in love with another Servant. This was no destiny assigned by the Grail. It was an impossibility, one that would not come around twice. Kundry's lover had been the Holy Knight of the Swan – someone all too different from the wild captain of the Flying Dutchman.

“You fell in love with the captain, didn't you? You came to this town in pursuit of him, knowing all the while that your love was impermissible. How many decades did it take you, Kundry? How many centuries?”

I advanced towards her, slowly, deliberately, one step at a time.

“You aren't a Servant, Kundry. You aren't some spectre of the past. You're a human, living in the present. A human being.”

The story she was living now was something entirely new, untouched by any human eye. She had slipped the yoke of the Grail.

“I kill Servants who violate the rules of this town...of the Grail. That's my job. I can't lend you my aid.”

“And so you'll let me go? At your convenience? My, my... Such kind consideration...”

She descended into feeble, self-deprecating laughter, her posture slumping. Her face was pale and drawn, sickly from loss of blood.

“Kundry, you have to leave this town. You can still make it in time, if you take the train. The last one hasn't left the station!”

Cut off from her means of replenishing her mana, she likely had less than an hour. And if my master learned of the truth of her survival, all would be lost. There was no chance whatsoever that she would overlook my transgression.

“Will his ship...return someday?”

She put the question to me, her hostility faltering. Her voice was hoarse as an old woman's, but it carries the innocent words of a lovestruck young girl.

“I cannot say.”

I didn't have any answer to give her. Although at the very least, I knew that they had shown no such intention during their stay here.

Their curse was “to wander eternally”. Working from the definition, it was unlikely that they could return to any city where they had already made landfall. After all, travelling back and forth periodically between two cities could hardly be considered “wandering”. Even if they did visit the same land twice, it would only be after the name of the city had changed, and its people and the age it had existed in had moved on, that they would be permitted to dock.

What was more, Kundry too was deathless, a creature of legend fated to wander eternal; but the form her curse took was different from that of the Dutch captain or the Wandering Jew. It was from world to world that she wandered, reincarnating over and over, yet retaining her memories. Once, she had been a witch; once, the consort of King Herod II. It was even said that she was once a Valkyrie, one of the daughters of the Allfather Odin. It was her fate to serve men of strength in every life, only to be used as a tool and cast aside – and that fate would never end, until she was at last united with her true love, and granted the salvation of death.

Now she had been summoned again as a Servant, and was being used once more by another. Ordinarily, her memories of her different summonings would be reset, but the effects of her unique circumstances extended even here. The hell she was living differed from Aheseurus's in form, but that made it no less tragic.

“But...”

There was only one thread of hope I could give to this woman, struggling beneath the enormous weight of her past.

“I am sure that you will meet them again. It all turns on you. No-one knows what will come...I am sure that your future can be changed.” I drew level with her now. She was close enough that I could reach out and touch her.

But in the end, my cheap words and my naive heart were not enough to move her. I was answered with an unwavering gaze, and steely rejection.

“You lie.” She shook her head, distraught.“What makes you think I will permit such self-centred, ill-mannered applause – on my stage? What would you know of my despair?”

She had seen right through me. The desperation that had seeped my words – words that would certainly have violated the rules of Mosaic City – was plain as day to her.

“The future can be changed? My future? Well then, come, Reaper – come and kill me, if you can!”

“I'm sorry...Kundry...”

The legends told: that Kundry, the pagan woman, would never tell a lie. However, nor would she ever serve the cause of good.

She brandished her hand high above her head. In her palm, mana began to gather, and crystallise into the form of something straight and long: a spear. A long-handled soldier's spear, in the fashion of the ancient Roman empire.

“That spear...that spear is-”

I was reflexively diving away before I could even complete my mumbled sentence. This was a Noble Phantasm! The Holy Spear – Longinus!

Once more, I had been careless. Her Noble Phantasm had been neither her mount, nor her lips of awakening. It had not even crossed my mind that she might possess this spear, both blessed and cursed.

With the spear held aloft, the mad queen arched her body backwards like a whip, never once taking her eyes from my fleeing figure – and threw.

The attack closed on me faster than the speed of sound. I activated a single-action incantation. All I could manage was to instantaneously fire a sure-hit arcane bullet into the spear's path, deflecting it a little from its arc straight to my heart.

The blow skewered me deep, sending me flying sideways out across the harbour, bouncing across the surface of the Kanda river. The spray from the impact splashed high, reflecting the neon illumination of the town like tacky fairy lights.

“...Porca...miseria...”

The last effort I could muster went into that curse, and then I sank towards the riverbed.

I saw a dream. A dream of a tiny pain.

When I lost my parents, I was placed in the care of my grandmother, who was my only living relative. She lived in an old-fashioned wooden house on the outskirts of Shinjuku. As a child I never showed my emotions outwardly, and did very little to endear me to my grandmother, who must have struggled to know what to do with me.

One afternoon, she laid out newspaper in one corner of the narrow garden, and cut my hair. I sat in the chair, letting her do as she wished. I was not yet old enough for my feet to have touched the ground.

My grandmother's hands were far from deft. The toothed tip of the pair of thinning scissors she was using brushed against the top of my left ear, the metal cool on my skin  - and with a snip, cut it along with my hair.

It hurt, of course, but I let nothing show. I had simply accepted it for what it was.

In the end my grandmother realised her carelessness, and her mistake, only when she noticed the thin rivulet of blood trickling down my neck as she was finishing her work. She stared at me, lost for words, with an expression so deeply grieved that the world might as well have ended.

For a long time after that, she was silent. She treated my wound, and then she spoke. “If it hurts, Erice, you have to tell me it hurts.”

I nodded mechanically. She managed a feeble smile, although she still looked as though she were about to cry.

I still have the scar from that day on my ear. A scar like the mark left on a train ticket by the ticket punch.

I awakened from my momentary dream.

A heavy, cold pain lanced pierced through my abdomen. The moment I became aware of the irregularity, a burning numbness spread throughout my body. It had been a magnificent blow. Although I should have expected as much from the spearwork of Valhalla.

I knew this was real – that I was submerged, sinking to the bottom of the Kanda River – and yet it felt strangely like a dream. Perhaps I was numbing my own senses, in order to spare myself unnecessary suffering.

–

I was running my recovery systems at full power, but they still couldn't keep pace. The mental processing power required for self-analysis, and the underwater respiration functionality I had loaded in case of emergencies, would only last a few more seconds at best. Through my wavering vision, I watched the edges of the lance skewering my stomach begin to blur and lose cohesion, coming undone from the outside in.

So this spear...was a projection... It wasn't a genuine...Noble Phantasm...

It had been a counterfeit, reproduced by the hand of someone other than its rightful owner.

That would...make sense... If it had been...the true Holy Spear...an arcane bullet couldn't have...

But still, there was something in its framework that came extraordinarily close to the genuine article, forged with incredible precision. My lips curled into a self-deprecating smile, at the absurdity of my lapse in judgement and the situation I had been placed in.

The projection's creator showed no sign of coming to retrieve her spear, or any intention of making sure of the death of her foe. She must have found the satisfaction she sought, believing her vengeance complete. Now, she should no longer have any reason to remain in this town. I prayed that she managed to escape Akihabara before her Saint Graph disappeared in totality...although I reserved the right to register a complaint or two with her, should we ever meet again face-to-face.

–

I had lost all sense of up or down, but it seemed I must have been sinking face-up. The colours of reflected neon coalesced before my eyes on the water's surface, spreading out in front of me like a sky filled with stars.

It's...so beautiful...

My vision began to dim, and the spectacle before me felt as though it was receding into the distance. The darkness drew me silently under. My life slipped out from between my lips, in little bubbles that rose into the sky.

–

And then, I met with my fate.

–

First to come was the music. A lone piano, a woodwind ensemble, a vocal chorus; even, somewhere, the whimsical tones of an electric guitar. Melodies played by a multitude of instruments faded in and then out again, one after the other.

It wasn't a real orchestra. It was unmistakably being played back - and its recording quality was hardly the best, at that. It would have been extremely low-fidelity, even if I hadn't been underwater.

And then, suddenly, I noticed. That beyond where my eyes' drifting focuses met, a tiny, pale blue light was flitting back and forth, as though frolicking among the bubbles rising through the water. It swam gleeful and free.

What...is that?

Next to enter my ears came the words, although they were in languages unknown to me. But all of them were short, like words of greeting. Some of them even seemed as though I had heard them somewhere before.

My consciousness dimmed once more, and I blinked, long and slow – and then he was there. A child of gold.

A young boy floated before me, phosphorescence dancing across his golden hair.

His form was all too unreal, but somehow, it seemed reassuringly familiar to me.

...A...a Servant...?

I could easily have told myself it was just an illusion, shown to me by my dimming consciousness. A hallucination brought forth by my oxygen-starved brain, as its suffering reached saturation point. But still, somehow, an inexplicable expectation filled my breast, swirling, warming me from within.

His mouth opened.

“I...ask...you...”

He spoke, in halting English. He was calling out to someone – to me, directly.

“Are...you...worthy...of...being...my...Master...?”

I had no way of understanding what was happening. All I knew for certain was that on this night, my war had begun. That a Holy Grail War had begun. And that single truth overtook anything and everything else, to strike deep into my chest.

I stretched out towards him, reaching with fingers that had lost all feeling.

And in the next moment – my arm was grasped by sturdy claws, and I was dragged up once more to the world above the surface.

–

Several minutes later, I was laid flat on the concrete of the wharf, desperately hacking up water. The hand of someone drawing up close to me gently patted my back.

“Hey, you awake? You're awake, right?”

The girl who had been nursing me now leaned over to peer directly into my face – and then yelled mercilessly, directly into my ear.

“OY, OLD MAN ERI! AWAKE IN THERE, YA ROTTEN SACK OF STUPID? THE HELL YOU THINK YOU'RE PLAYIN' AT, HUH? YOU BETTER BELIEVE I'M GONNA KICK YOUR SORRY ASS FROM HERE TO NEXT WEEK!”

It was her. The girl my master had talked to me about, and one of my very few friends.

“Oh, it's just you, Karin.”

My mood had taken a sudden turn for the worse. The inside of my nose was beginning to sting.

“Blegh. ...Hang on...Karin, don't tell me...artificial respiration?”

“LIKE HELL I DID, YA DUMBASS!”

“I'm telling you, keep it down.”

“Ah, yeah, nope. Not gonna lie, I thought about it for a bit. But Momi was sayin' you'd be fine, so...”

That would explain it.

“So you were the one...who helped me, Kouyou. ...Thank you.”

The hulking form next to Karin rustled a little, in place of a response. The visage of this creature who had fished me from the water was a clear oddity, even by the standards of Mosaic City. She resembled nothing so much as a black dinosaur, with great horns growing from her head. This was the Servant who called Karin Master: the Berserker, the Ogress Kouyou. Karin had nicknamed her Momi, short for Momiji – another reading of Kouyou, “autumn leaves”.

Even knowing her true name, I still struggled to reconcile it with her appearance. But by no means did I mean to denigrate her worth by saying that.

“Hold on a-! I'm right here, y'know! The girl who told Momi to dive in and save your sorry ass! So, you're rewardin' me for my efforts, right? You're treatin' me to takoyaki, right...?”

“No idea what you think I'd do that for. Although I'll gladly treat Kouyou to as much as she wants.”

“Wha-!”

Karin's mouth kept running, and it showed no signs of stopping any time soon. I rolled over exasperatedly and made to pick myself up, but was pushed back down decisively by Kouyou. No moving yet. You would never think her arms ended in such wicked claws, so gentle was her touch – but even so, it was firm enough so as to permit no disagreement.

I tried to twist my body around as I lay sideways, and a wave of agony crashed through my midriff. I winced, almost passing out.

It shouldn't have surprised me. After all, I had been skewered through by a spear up until a few scant minutes ago. The weapon itself might have vanished now, but it had left its mark clearly on my flank.

“C'mon, just rest for a bit. Listen to Momi. Where do you think you're going, anyway, with a hole in your guts you could drive a bus through? Don't you realise that if it weren't for Momi's healing you'd be dead by now?”

“...Ugh...I guess so...”

Heat blossomed steadily throughout my abdomen as my metabolism began to accelerate. Even though Kouyou was a Berserker, she was oddly well-versed in the healing arts. I placed a great deal of trust in her capabilities – her Master notwithstanding. This was not the first time I had unexpectedly found myself having to make use of her power, or even the second.

“She's incredible, isn't she? Kouyou, I mean. I don't know why I'm even surprised any more.”

“Well, maybe you'd be a bit more surprised if she wasn't having to patch you up all the time, dumbass! And how many times did I tell you, anyway? That you should call on me to help you for big jobs?”

Karin paused in her tirade to heave an exaggerated sigh.

“Well...in the end, I guess you're just lucky to be alive, huh.”

“...You're telling me.”

I managed to catch a glimpse of the pattern of the Command Seal glowing on the back of Karin's right hand. Normally it would be transparent, indistinguishable from her bare skin, but now, thanks to her use of healing magecraft, it was awakened. The majority of its strokes had been expended. It looked like it would take a few days to recover.

Ah...

Only now did I realise that spread out beneath me lay Karin's shirt. It was soaked through, and wet with blood, although the bloodstain was smaller than I would have thought. My wound was still agonising, but the flow of blood had stemmed, and it had already acquired a thin covering of granulation tissue.

“Karin...this is...”

“Don't worry about it.” Karin produced an antibacterial patch from the pouch she carried, and gave a little smile. I must have been more fragile than I had thought, to have been on the point of showing her a moment of weakness.

–

Kouyou, still as silent as ever, was keeping watch even as she applied her healing magecraft – although no matter how much time passed, all remained quiet on the wharf. Kundry had disappeared, and left this town, or so my intuition told me. But even so, unanswered questions remained. They stayed lodged in my memory, as items requiring urgent investigation.

I quickly turned to Karin. “How did you know where I was?”, I asked.

“Ain't it obvious? I had to wring it out of your 'master'. On account of a certain somebody not picking up their phone. Got anything to say about that, eh? Hmm?”

Karin prodded one of my forelocks, an exasperated expression on her face.

“Hmm. So that's why.”

So that was the story behind my master's oddly pointed final line. She had decided that it was prudent to send Karin to the scene to lend me her help. Which ultimately meant that I was not yet strong enough to be worth of her unreserved trust.

And I suppose she wasn't wrong, either...

I grit my teeth in frustration. Still lying sprawled, I covered my eyes with my arm. Just how long would it take, before she would acknowledge me as worthy? How long would it have to be before she would assign me work outside of Akihabara?

This time it was Karin's turn to ask me a question, as I lay despondent.

“Hey, by the way, Eri-pie? Just wondering, but...”

I turned my neck to peer in the direction she was pointing, behind Kouyou.

“Who's the shrimp? Someone's kid or something? He's a Servant, right?”

“...What?” I started.

My premonition earlier this night had not been mistaken after all.

–

That boy was there.

His ethereal radiance was nowhere to be seen, and now he was just as sodden as I was. As I watched, he approached Kouyou's tail, brimming with curiosity – and then came too close and was smacked away. He was rolled first one way, then the other, like a kitten playing with its mother's tail.

“Hang on, Eri, don't tell me...he's not anything to do with your work, right?”

Karin probed me, hesitantly. I knew well that Servants should not be judged by their appearances. But even so...

“What're you gonna do? You're not gonna kill him, are you? You're really gonna kill him?”

“Uh...” I was at a loss as to how to answer her. “I honestly don't know. I've only just met him.”

What class was he? Where did he live? Who was his Master? The questions came thick and fast, and the only answer I could offer was a vague shake of my head.

“Huh? So you're telling me he's some sort of stray Servant?”

“I...I suppose he must be.”

I had finally regained enough strength to sit upright, and I looked down.

The back of my hand remained devoid of Command Seals. Just as it had always been, ever since the day I was born.

[probably-writing-x]

You tease (Part 2)

Request by anon - When you have time could you do a part 2 to the Harrison imagine you just did please?

~~~

The two of you had opted to swim as a darkness had begun to settle over the countryside landscape you had resided in. It was filled with a chill that was a little too harsh and winds that you were thankful were only coming and going.

"So, where next?" Harrison asks as he steps out of the landing pool to the last ride you'd been on, shaking his hair away from his face and splashing you in the process.

You grab his hand and drag him toward the largest of rides in the waterpark, "Come on, you know you want to,"

He chuckles and follows quickly after you, not letting go of your hand as the two of you ascend the never ending steps to reach the entrance to the slide. Luckily, it was relatively empty.

"Okay, lovebirds," The lifeguard grins, holding the rubber ring still to stop it from moving as you two clambered in.

Harrison sat behind you in the figure eight ring with you in front, his legs either side of you.

"Hold on tight," The lifeguard grins as they push you from the start, watching as you pick up pace immediately.

Haz shuffles in his seat and you find yourself moving your hands from the handles to hold onto his calves instead - the feeling of him being there feeling a lot safer than the handles.

"Are you scared, love?" He chuckles but you notice the uncertainty to his confidence.

"No more than you, babe," You smirk and tighten your grip a little on his legs as you reach the steep descent that always made your heart stop.

Both of you scream as you drop, the water splashing over to flood your visions as you hurry through the rest of the slide, entering the landing pool with chlorine still stinging just a little in its unwelcome presence.

"Thank you," You smile to the waiting lifeguard before heading out of the pool to where your photo was being displayed.

You see the way Harrison keeps his eyes open whenever you drop down that descent - something to do with him wanting to make sure you didn't fall out. It made your heart skip a little.

Haz leads you through the water park and out into the outdoor pool that now gave a beautiful view of the unpolluted star-soaked sky above.

"It's nice to get a bit of peace, ay?" He mumbles as the two of you lay back against the bench in the water, holding you at a good height to stay afloat.

You hum in response, "I think we needed some time,"

"Yeah, I've been missing this," Harrison replies with that faint little smile that floored you.

"You still see me all the time!"

Harrison tuts, "Yeah but not just you. I see you when we're all together or when my parents invite you round or whatever. But I've missed it just being us two,"

You smile and you're thankful for the lack of light covering your blushing, "Me too,"

As a bitter breeze burns through the tranquility, you're welcomed by a fresh skin of goosebumps rising over your now chilled skin.

"Here," Haz says and pulls you closer to him in the water, wrapping an arm around you and letting the two of you form a bubble of warmth in this cold weather.

You can feel his heartbeat a little too fast underneath your chest. But it isn't evident in the way his head fits against yours when you're this close or the way his hand always falls to the perfect position on your waist.

Because it is in that moment that you realise why. Because he felt that little thing you did too.

Sure, it wasn't uncommon for the two of you to have contact like this - from sleeping in the same single bed to simply cuddling on the couch. But it was inside that was affected by that. It was the harmless shudder when his hand brushed yours because you were sure there was real electricity. Or it was the flutter of your heart when you were close enough to feel his breath on your ear. It was those little things, those tiny unseen things, that made you realise you loved him.

"(Y/n)?" Harrison's voice slices through your abyss and you quickly snap your head up to look at him, "I lost you there for a minute,"

You shake your head, "Just thinking,"

He smiles and raises a brow, "Do tell,"

"Nothing to write home about," You respond, pulling yourself away from your rest to tug him into the deeper pool once again, "Where to next?"

~~~

You spent a few hours in the water park, covering every slide and confirming that you definitely did go faster down all of them - Harrison just couldn't keep up.

The pair of you split into opposite directions to change in separate changing rooms with Harrison mentioning he'd meet you outside of yours once he was done.

Shit. It was only in your moment of loneliness that you realised the revelation you'd brought upon yourself today. This was Harrison you were talking about! The guy your parents invited round to every family event. The guy you spent every moment with, talking to or thinking about. The guy you promised yourself you couldn't fall for.

You go to tug your jeans over your legs, noticing the stretchmarks that crosshatched their way over your upper thighs and the way you still had light scarring over your back. Harrison made you forget all of that. In fact, he made you embrace it. If you were looking for clothes that would cover it, he'd buy you the outfit you really wanted that showcased those parts of your body - reassuring you that he would never lie when he told you how beautiful you were.

In your moments of thinking, you realised how long you'd been in here. When you open the changing room door, Harrison is already waiting outside. He has his head rested against the frame and his hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes only glancing up when he sees you exit.

"There you are! I was starting to think-" He begins but you're quick to stop him.

Your hands reach for his upper arms and you pull yourself flush against him, lips against his like they were the final piece to the puzzle. And, damn, was it the right piece. You could tell he was stunned at first, his body taking time to relax into your gesture. And then his hands move yours to his shoulders and he rests his on your waist, the two of you caught in a single moment of deciding whether this could really work.

You're first to pull away, breathless and unsure whether you'd actually decided to do that.

You see Harrison swallow the lump in his throat.

"So, dinner?" You break the silence that was far too tense for the two of you.

Haz breaks into a smile that is quick to move onto a raspy laugh, "God damnit (Y/n)!"

You laugh and watch as he laces his hand with yours, "What? I'm hungry!"

You pull him towards the exit of the changing rooms and feel how his grip on your hand tightens. And then he's pulling you to turn back and face him, latching your lips into another kiss.

"Food can wait for another minute,"

~~~

Tags: @imarypayne @sunshine112 @bringmethehorizonandpizza @supernatural-girl97 @vibhati123 @butithasntkilledyouyet @faefictions @carisi-sonny @trap-house-homiecide @shamelessbookaddict @tommydaspidey @oneblckcoffee

[ahgaseda]

made of stone || chapter 01

⇥ synopsis : when you return after years apart to pursue a divorce from your husband, Mark, you fall back into a contentious relationship because your partner still refuses to give up his dangerous fighting career...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, descriptions of blood and violence, alcohol or drug use, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Busan was everything you remembered and more. The crisp ocean air welcomed you home with open arms and the spray of sea salt tangled in your hair. The sun fell toward the horizon while the sky darkened with not only the threatening of nightfall, but of storms as well.

As you drove, tears pricked at your eyes. You had forgotten the love you had for Busan and how well the city had loved you back. A pang of guilt manifested deep in your chest, throbbing at the memory of how you had turned your back and run away from your home the way you did.

The rickety house was just a short walk from the water and given its precarious location on a slope, there was no driveway. You parked in the gravel alongside the garage and stepped out on shaky legs. The place you had once affectionately called home was a bittersweet sight. Trees overhead rustled with the impending wind and rain. You kept your eyes peeled on the front door, listening to the pebbles crunching beneath your boots.

Your gaze fell on the black motorcycle parked beneath a small overhang. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you continued toward the house.

The seconds passed like hours as you strode across the porch and finally lifted your hand to knock, but before your knuckles could collide with the wood, the door swung inward and there stood Mark.

“Um, hi,” you stuttered, taking a step back in surprise.

“Long time no see, Mrs. Tuan,” said Mark, as if nothing had happened between you and him. His steps were loud as he strutted across the front porch, causing you to match his movements in the opposite direction. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was a polarizing force.

Sporting a simple black tank top and jeans that were riddled with tears, Mark carried himself like a man with nothing to lose anymore. A snapback covered his head, holding back the dark brown hair that had grown long enough to stray into his eyes.

You took a breath, gathering your strength for whatever confrontation would follow.

Striding even closer and still flashing that massive smile of his, Mark asked, “What finally brings you home?”

You narrowed your eyes and replied bitterly, “Mark, I want a divorce.”

The grin on his face vanished, seemingly slapped away by an invisible hand. The light in his eyes died and he murmured sternly, “I hate to disappoint you, baby, but I didn’t take those vows lightly.”

“I didn’t either when I said them at the ripe age of eighteen,” you smarted, pulling the papers from your purse.

Mark chortled and countered, “I was just a kid, too. I still knew what they meant.”

Extending the papers until they unceremoniously smacked his firm chest, the two of you stared at each other in an icy cold stalemate, but Mark showed no intention of taking the pages from you.

“Mark, I’m serious,” you insisted with exhaustion. “I’ve been serious every time my lawyer mailed these papers to you.”

Mark bobbed his head as he listened to you, then nonchalantly replied, “And I was absolutely serious every time I set them on fire. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.”

To your surprise, your husband brushed past you and strode leisurely toward the rocks along the water's edge. He was avoiding a confrontation, you knew that without a doubt. Ironically, Mark hated fighting with you.

“Mark,” you called out with bitter emotions weighing down your voice, charging after him and navigating the steep terrain with your boots.

“Yeah?” he replied without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

You grumbled and whined, “I’m not going home until you sign these.”

Annoyed, he chastised, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, sweetheart, but this is your home.”

“Mark, just stop for a second and listen to me,” you pleaded.

Mark turned, sporting a look of sheer dissatisfaction.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Your husband scoffed and grumbled, “Fighting is all we were ever good at.”

You recoiled and chided, “Mark.”

Your mind tore you back to a time that was safer, devoid of the anger and resentment you and your husband bore for each other now. Of nights spent in a hammock beneath the trees a short distance from the water. At the memory, you stopped and searched nearby, noting the hammock had unraveled to shards of rope, undoubtedly battered by the storms.

The symbolism of it weighed heavily on your heart. Your face tensed with the threat of oncoming tears and Mark turned to see where your glassy eyes had fallen. When his attention landed on the heap of knots, he released a deep sigh and rounded on you with sympathy.

“Didn’t survive the storms,” he said morosely.

“Neither did we,” you replied, trembling.

Mark bristled with anger at the surrender in your words, that you had obviously given up all hope when it came to your feelings for each other. “Not for lack of trying,” Mark finally asserted, his tone harsh and unforgiving.

“Mark, please,” you exhaled, your voice lowering in defeat.

Your husband melted at the pout on your face and you stared him down.

With a long, agonizing breath, Mark waved you forward and relented, “Come inside and we can talk about it.”

“Thank you,” you replied in relief, following him to the porch.

The loud chiming of a phone echoed through the air and Mark stopped in his tracks just shy of the front door. With a heavy groan, he turned to face you with his head down, bringing the phone out of his pocket and answering, “Don’t tell me.”

You furrowed your brow at his shift in mood, studying his face as you watched the tension gather across his features.

“I’m still game,” he said coolly. “When?”

Those words were all too familiar. You rolled your eyes and shook your head in disapproval, angling away and folding your arms angrily.

Mark kept his gaze fixated on you, noting the changes in your body language as you filled to the brim with wrath. With a sigh, he murmured, “Yeah, you couldn’t have worse timing, but yes, I’ll be there.”

The moment Mark ended the call, you stomped toward him and exclaimed, “You still fight?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Unbelievable,” you hissed.

“Baby, you know me better than anyone,” Mark chided, his voice growing huskier with impatience. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

“And me walking out wasn’t enough of an incentive to learn an actual skill apparently,” you muttered under your breath, on the verge of crying out your frustrations.

Mark put his hands on his hips, bare arms flexing and bulging with muscle. Narrowing his eyes, he scolded, “You left to push me to give up fighting. That just made me want to do it more.”

You knew he was saying that to get under your skin and it definitely worked. “Spiteful asshole,” you spat with vehemence.

“Fighting is the most primal skill we have, babe,” Mark sang with a smile, stepping into the house briefly to grab his jacket. “And I’m very, very good at it.”

“You’re very good at taking hits to the face, too,” you insisted, recalling the sight of his swollen, bruised skin. “One of these days you’re gonna get hit so hard you’ll never get up again.”

That was your greatest fear, but your husband never gave the possibility any mind.

Mark pulled on his leather jacket and flashed you an arrogant grin. “Are you coming or not?” he asked.

“What?” you exclaimed.

Mark pulled keys out of his pocket and strode toward the bike. The motorcycle was an old friend. Frankly, one you had missed dearly. Nothing compared to late night drives with Mark, clinging to him for warmth as the chill of the sea raked against you.

“You are welcome to stay here until I get back if you want,” Mark spoke coyly, knowing you would hate being left alone to wallow in boredom. “I mean, legally it is still your house, too.”

“You annoy me,” you retorted.

Approaching the bike, Mark grabbed the spare helmet and extended it toward you, adding, “No one has worn this but you.”

You watched him straddle the motorcycle, still offering the helmet to you. Fighting was the sore spot of your relationship with Mark Tuan. Two kids from the streets had to find ways to survive and this was his. He may have acted like he didn’t understand your animosity, but you knew better.

Your eyes met and you mumbled in defeat, taking the helmet and pulling it over your head. Mounting the bike behind him, you wrapped your arms around his firm waist and could practically feel him grinning as he revved up the engine.

“If you wanna put your hands a little lower, I won’t mind,” Mark flirted.

“In your dreams,” you snarled.

Mark chuckled and whispered, “Oh, baby, my dreams are much dirtier.”

You rolled your eyes yet again, but holding back a smirk of amusement was impossible. Then, the motorcycle took off with a roar, kicking up gravel, and you cried out in surprise as your husband drove toward the city.

chapter 01 ⇥ chapter 02

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[bolbianddolanhouse]

Bath Magic: ‘So please go back to sleep’ [Joji inspired]

こにちわ 皆さん! I concocted another bath spell inspired by one of my favorite rising artists, Joji. Now, I start classes again but I ALWAYS have trouble going to sleep at a reasonable time! Even though my class starts at noon, I still manage to be late to the dang class! So why not a bath spell the night before my 1st day back?! This is a sleep and anti-anxiety bath, so get ready for a good nights sleep.

はじましょ！

I used:

Lavender

Eucalytus 

Bergamot

Chamomile

Rosemary

Lemongrass

Healing bath salts [can sub for lavender scented or your favorite]

Lavender castile soap

Milky bath Bubble Bar [I used half the bar bc I also used castile soap]

Ickle Baby Bot Bath Bomb[can sub for a favorite lavender bath bomb]

tea lights [as many as you want and any scent, i used Lavender]

optional:

Sage or sandalwood Incense

This song from Joji’s Boiler Room set [take a listen to it rn :3 you wont regret it!]

crystals to aid sleeping [common ones are Amethyst, Moonstone, Malachite and Labradorite] 

Put all the herbs and flowers in a filter and tie it up tight, toss in tub filled half with hot water and let it steep. After a few mins, toss in bath salts and turn on water and add soap and bubble bar. Turn off water and toss in bath bomb, light the incense and candles as bomb fizzes out. Set crystal at edge or away from the tub if its not water safe! Put the song on loop and get in the tub. Take in all the scents and relax! Listen to the song, sing along if you want. Let yourself loosen up in the water and let any anxieties that are keeping you up at night down the drain. 

Intentions:

Sleep and anti-anxiety to start (or get back) on a sleep schedule.

Inspiration:

Like I said, Joji’s Boiler Room set STILL has me shook! I’m so excited for their album to drop and how the songs from the set are finalized. This particular song is one of their few ballads that doesn’t make me sad, bitter or curse out my ex-lover! It reminds me of those nights when i was in a long term relationship and I’m up at weird hours of the night doing work or thinking and they tell me in that sleepy, groggy voice to go back to sleep. And how could I say no to that? This song seemed so right for that reason to make a bath spell, so why not?

Outcome:

I had to re-attempt this, it worked the 1st time but then I got whole new set of anxieties to eat at me the moment I arrived at school. Like they weren’t social anxieties, they were academic ones. My Japanese 204 class (the last level at my school for graduation) was cancelled and pulled from the school roster bc low enroll. On top of that I have to wait either a whole year to take it or go to another school to take it next semester. Now I’m stuck taking only one monday class and it basically forces me to go work BUT if you know me you KNOW how long I’ve been applying with no luck getting hired (I’ve been applying to places since I was 18, I’m 21 rn). It’s messy at the moment and it’s keeping me up.

attempt #2- Done under different conditions, since it was BLISTERING hot where I live, I only did hot water for the herb infusing and filled the tub with cool water. The whole point is to be comfortable and soothed so this tempurature change didn’t matter. I was able to get into my old sleep schedule of 1am-8:30ish. Not going to lie, it was the most refreshing sleep I’ve ever had despite the heat wave. 

But everything was perfect in both instances, the water turned a nice milky blue color with a nice pile of bubbles. I turned off the lights and just let the soft candlelight help me get in the mindset of relaxation. With the things I used, my bath smelled alot like lavender, if you’re not too into those heavy herb scents, omit the lavender castile soap and use the whole bubble bar (or if you are not in the position to get Lush products, use  milk or milk powder and a mild scented bubble bath soap, the point is to get a milky/cloudy colored bath to lull in drowziness)

Tips

USE CHEESECLOTH! I can’t stress this enough! Also don’t feel like you HAVE to use Lush products, I’m not gonna lie, it was a bit pricey. I had to purchase the bath bomb ($4.95USD), bubble bar ($7.95USD) and Castile soap ($10.75USD). Since I had to reattempt this bath, I had to repurchase the bath bomb! Make do with what you have and splurge if you’d like. If you used a crystal, put the crystal under your pillow before you sleep, if you wake up in a cold sweat/sudden anxiety, take the crystal and rub it on your face gently and sing to yourself ‘Once in awhile, we dig through the stars, so please go back to sleep’ until sleep comes back. 

Sweet sleep to all of you trying this out, sorry this post is hella lengthy! Shorter posts yet to come~

[yournotamillennialstuff-blog]

I Finally Watched Game of Thrones: Still Not Entirely Sure What’s Going On

If there’s one thing our generation came of age with, it’s Game of Thrones. We were somewhere around ten and twelve when the show began; much too young to be watching the graphic scenes of nearly every nature imaginable. But that didn’t stop us from binging it the second we could figure out how to stream the episodes without our parent’s consent.

Well, most of us did.

On April 14thof this year, the eighth season of the show began airing on HBO, and it was the only thing people could talk about other than Avengers: Endgame. It was only a matter of time before the conversation found its way into my social circle. As many of my friends began to discuss who they thought would live and die, and which house they thought would take the throne, I remained quiet. I had no idea what they were talking about. Then, inevitably, someone asked what I thought, and I had to admit the bitter truth.

I’d never seen an episode.

And then people were screaming, and I was being yelled at, and my boss even offered me three weeks off from work to watch the entire series (I’m not entirely sure he wasn’t serious).

So, I figured it was high time I gave the show a start. In case you also haven’t seen the series, and (like me) you don’t have HBO, then either start combing the internet for copies of the episodes, or subscribe to HBO Now for $14.99 a month. A little steep, especially since Netflix just upped their prices, but I’ve been told it’s worth it. I managed to find a friend who was willing to share their login with me. Certainly pays to have friends in high places.

Prepare to relive the first season of what’s being called the greatest show of all time (by people I know) through the eyes of someone who went in not knowing a thing (since no one would tell me what the hell this show was about).

If you and I have been living under the same rock for the past eight years, spoilers lie ahead for the first season of Game of Thrones.

The show opens with some guys running through the snow, then one of them gets their head ripped off by a zombie. And this is when I paused the show to text a friend, because if there was one thing I did not expect from this show, it was zombies. One of the guys who lives runs off and is deemed a “deserter,” dooming himself to be beheaded by Ned Stark, who I’m told is one of the good guys, but at this point kind of seems like a jerk. Before dying, the deserter claims the “White Walkers” are back, and no one believes him, including me, because I thought White Walkers were from The Walking Dead, yet another show I haven’t seen.

We meet a whole lot of people in this episode. We meet the Starks (Ned, Kat, Robb, Bran, Sansa, Arya, and some young kid who I didn’t notice until like halfway through the season), plus Jon Snow, who’s kind of a Stark but not because he is actually Ned’s bastard. Oops. Then there’s the Lannister’s who really like each other. Like in a not okay kind of way. There’s Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion (who’s a dwarf, so the other two don’t seem to like him as much. Just each other. Too much.). Cersei is married to Robert Baratheon, who she doesn’t like, because she likes her brother Jaime (gross gross gross). Cersei has some kids with Robert (cough cough), but the only one who gets screen time in season one is Joffrey, who is (like his mother) the worst.

Then somewhere else entirely are the Targaryen’s. Daenerys and her brother who sucks but who’s name honestly escapes me. I just looked it up, it’s Viserys. I don’t remember them ever saying that, but he marries her off to Khal Drogo, king (Khal?) of the Dothraki, making Daenerys a Khaleesi, which before watching the show was what I thought her name was. Oops.

All of this information pretty much comes from the first episode. Which is why it took me like a day and a half to finish it. I couldn’t keep up and had to keep rewinding. Because there are so many people.

The basic gist of the first season goes like this. The hand of the king (I think?) dies, so Ned Stark has to leave Winterfell and go to King’s Landing because the King, Robert Baratheon, wants him to be the hand of the king. Ned brings his daughters Sansa and Arya with him, leaving Kat with Robb, Bran, and the other child in Winterfell. Robert wants Sansa to marry Joffrey, and Sansa is all for this because I guess she wants to be queen? I never really understood why she wanted anything to do with Joffrey, because he never really displays any redeeming qualities. Arya wants to be a knight, so Ned (who, as it turns out isn’t all that bad, I actually like him a lot) gets someone to teach her to sword fight.

Just before Ned leaves for King’s Landing, Bran sees Cersei and Jamie in a compromising position, so Jaime shoves the damn kid out a window, declaring, “the things I do for love.” Ew. Gross. But, Bran somehow survives, he’ll just never walk again.

Elsewhere while this is all going on, Jon Snow leaves Winterfell as well, following his uncle’s footsteps and joining the Night’s (Knight’s?) Watch. They make it super clear that once you’re in the Night’s Watch you can’t leave; you pledge for life. They literally say this like six times. It was the only thing I knew for sure while watching. I wonder, is it possible, that somewhere down the line Jon is going to try and leave?

Over in Essos (this I learned later, was where Dany and Khal Drogo are), Daenerys is growing to actually maybe love Khal Drogo, and hate her brother, who sucks. She finds her footing as Queen, and eventually, Drogo melts her brother’s face off with molten gold. Dany says her brother didn’t have dragon blood because dragons don’t burn.

What??????

At this point I kind of know what’s going on, then Baratheon declares he wants to kill Dany because Khal knocked her up, and this is pretty much where I pinpoint all hell breaking loose. Somewhere in the mix Kat kidnaps Tyrion because she thinks he tried to kill Bran, so that’s happening.

Ned is against killing Dany, so he tries to leave King’s Landing, and tells the girls the same. Arya is good with it so long as they take her sword fighting teacher with them, but Sansa claims “I supposed to marry Joffrey and give him sons with golden hair!” Way to have your own aspirations, girl. This strikes something in Ned though, because he realizes that Robert and all his descendants had dark hair. So, how did Joffrey end up a blonde? Why, he’s Jaime’s of course!

How the hell did the King never question this?

Everything comes to a head when Robert Baratheon is killed by a boar (um, what?), and Joffrey accuses him of treason for claiming that Joffrey was not the heir to the throne. Sansa begs him to be merciful, which Joffrey agrees to so long as Ned admits he was wrong. Somewhere else, Jon Snow sees a White Walker (they’re real!) and Khal Drogo is lightly scratched, yet somehow is on the brink of death. Dany has a stillborn that might or might not have been a dragon, there was a witch involved, and she suffocates Drogo in a mercy kill.

Arya, who ran away I guess, returns to King’s Landing in time to see her father on trial for treason. Then, Joffrey changes his damn mind about being merciful, and orders his guys to cut off Ned’s head. AND THEY DO.

At this point I’m completely losing it, because SEAN BEAN WAS THE MAIN CHARACTER. I’m super confused and honestly upset, because he was actually a really good dad and guy. And this little twerp just kills him. Then shows Sansa, who he’s supposed to marry, his severed head.

What a guy. Still want to give him babies with golden hair?

Arya goes off and pretends to be a guy with I guess the Night’s Watch, with some guy named Gendry who is King Robert’s bastard (but I don’t think he knows that). Sansa is kind of at this point I guess being forced to marry Joffrey, but Robb is on a mission to save them. He ends up capturing Jaime. So that’s a win. Shocker, Jon tries to leave the Night’s Watch, but ends up going back. A whole long road to get nowhere.

The season ends with Dany walking through fire and then when the dust settles, suddenly she has three dragons.

Three. Freaking. Dragons.

What?????

And thus ends season one of Game of Thrones. Honestly, I can see the appeal of the show. I found it really entertaining, but in no way easy to watch. Not because of the highly graphic scenes, but just because unless you’re really paying attention, it’s hard to follow. I kind of understand why no one would tell me what the show was about. Without doing what I just did and summarizing all the houses and who’s doing what, it’s hard to say exactly what this show is about. I was super confused for the first forty percent of the season, and by the end I was confused again. Although, I’m starting to see that this might be the appeal.

It certainly leaves room for debate, and I have a feeling every moment on screen is deliberate. If you go back to episode one, you notice Dany walking into a near boiling bath, the maid warning her not to go in because the water is too hot. She later holds a burning egg and isn’t branded by the scales like her servant is. All of this foreshadows the fact that she can literally walk through fire in the last episode and be unaffected. Something to do with having dragon blood, like they thought her brother did?

After watching the first season I can say for sure I’ll keep watching, because this show leaves you wanting to know all the answers. It may take eight seasons to get there, but I’m sure it will be worth it. I can see why this show has defined this generation, and why everyone is talking about it. I’ll be slightly off the grid for the next month while I finish the series. Until then, I’ll avoid the internet in fear of spoilers.