#evil demon grass seed

[comshipbracket]

Antis DNI - Block the tag "comship" if this causes discomfort.

Remember, you are voting for the ship you prefer, not the ship you find more problematic

Propaganda for both ships under the cut.

Disclaimer: All ships (other than NozoCoco) on this bracket are FOLLOWER-SUBMITTED ships, the Mods do not always hold necessary knowledge to be aware of any errors or fanonizing what should be canon material that may arise.

Finncest Propaganda (Incest - Technically(?), Selfcest, Toxic Dynamic, Arguably Age Gap - Grass demon is of indeterminate age)

"Finn loves all of his selves, and Fern just wants to be Finn. They should've kissed instead.

Fern's existence as an alternate Finn is tragic to start. He's a time paradox Finn who got trapped in a sword. He was created because Finn took his alternate self for granted and was tricked into stabbing him with a cursed grass sword.

Fern has a body only because of a grass demon. He struggles with finding an identity, because he's supposed to be this big hero just like Finn, but he's a violent little guy who has no qualms about cutting tendons and killing.

Finn says `we're like brothers… Maybe even closer` and almost confesses he has feelings for his frustrated alternate self, but by the time he starts showing it more clearly, Fern has already decided to trap Finn in a dungeon and take over his life.

That's the first time Finn kills Fern.

Fern becomes Finn's evil counterpart and pulls a Green Knight. Finn tried to redeem Fern and succeeds, but then Fern just loses his body until all that's left is a seed.

The seed grows into a replacement of the home they briefly shared — literally, Fern becomes a home for Finn."

"Finn loves every version of himself he meets, but Fern is special. He's a paradox who spent over a year trapped in a sword which got broken traumatically, and was then given a body by a demon who used to be the other Finn's right arm. Fern is constantly measured against Finn and can never measure up, to his ceaseless frustration. But Finn loves him unconditionally. Finn Mertens basically confesses that he loves Fern as something closer than a brother, only to be rejected and betrayed by Fern, who wants to take over Finn's life. This leads to the first time that Finn kills Fern. In the end, though, they face their demons together."

ZADR Propaganda (Toxic Dynamic, Species Difference - Dib is human while Zim is an Irken alien, Age Gap, AdultxMinor - Sort Of)

"These two self-serious goofuses are obsessed with each other. Each validates the other's delusions just by existing. They're nemeses who resent others getting between them. Each may be the only one who really understands the other."

[oilofyuruhuwa]

You are what you eat.

(Cotl Fanfic Helob×Sozo）

The spider is called a butcher by some and a slaver by others. The commodity he deals in is live animals. He leaves the use of his products to the buyer, whether as food, sacrifice, or comfort, and the spider does not care what happens to them. With his speed of escape, he dealt with parties large and small, from lowly demons to bishops.

One day, while the spider was setting up store in a tree forest ruled by a four-eyed frog, a lone ant with a dazed gait arrived.

“Welcome. I've never seen you before. I'm very good at catching the tasty-looking ones... How's it going? Wanna take a look?”

The ant stared at the energetic merchant, shaking the mushrooms growing from his head. The spider was so used to this evil world that he could laugh at his bloodshot and completely unfocused binoculars.

“You gotta be high! Let's give this pretty to you for the first service. Maybe I'll close up the store while you eat.”

“Mushrooms! Mushrooms! Do you have mushrooms!?”

The ant suddenly let out a loud cry. The thread that had caught its prey broke, so the spider reinforced it by grabbing a handful of thread from its buttocks.

“Do you mean the ones that grow around here? I think the one who just I ate it had it.”

“Yeees That's it! Give the mushrooms to Sozo, give them to Sozo, give them to Sozo, give them to all for me!!!”

The ant circled its eyeballs in excitement. The color of his eyes, which finally seemed to come to their senses, seemed to flash red and white with each blink. The broken speaker repeated mushroom, Sozo, mushroom, Sozo. The spider was finally at a loss, because it had never encountered a guest like this before.

The spider had no choice but to take one of the bones buried in the purple body hair. Then light blue eyeballs, berry seeds, spider ovaries, and uneaten meat littered the ground.

“You call them mushrooms? You traitor, You cheated me?”

“Chill out!　Mushrooms don't run, you know?”

This time, when he pulls the bone near the buttocks, about four of the desired pieces spill out and into the hands of the customer with unnoticed speed.

“You are the benefactor of Sozo. I can't believe we've never met before.”

Holding the mushroom with all his four arms, Ali pressed the overhanging umbrella against his face and smiled. He closely examines the longitudinal fibers of the shaft and the folds on the underside, and sniffs until he runs out of oxygen. I don't care if I get spores on my face. After some talking, the spider began to understand the ant who called himself Sozo.

“Hmmm... I've figured it out. This ant is sober when he's not sober.”

The mushrooms were tossed into its triangular mouth and disappeared in a flash. Drooling over the mushrooms, the ant thanked the spider in ecstasy.

“Ahhh... ah!　The grass, the trees, they began to glow. Thank you, Spider, the animal seller. How can I pay you?”

“You have to taste the delicious food! After you've eaten all of it, that's fine.”

The ant's cheeks turn red at the spider's generous offer, and it happily begins to lick the spores from around its mouth, scraping them off with its hand.

Strangely, the spider was filled with a sense of fulfillment that he had never felt before. The ant was even more pathetic than the poor creature entangled in spider silk and begging for its life. Like the spider, it was a predator, but its well-developed mandibles were used only to chew through the tender cells of the mushrooms, not serving their intended purpose. The beautiful trees have lost their luster in the sea of poison and rotten smell. The mushrooms' illusions would take him to great heights, and as soon as the action wore off, his entire soul would hit the ground. Unable to return to sobriety, he will seek new hallucinations.

“I just don't have any money on hand right now. You said service, right?”

“That's not gonna happen.”

“You are right. I'm in your debt. What do you want?”

The spider ransacked the ant's tasty parts.

“How about a leg, you have six legs, why not just one?”

“Sozo is a traveler, I can't afford to lose even one leg.”

“And the belly? The taste of mushrooms dissolved in acid! I might be interested.”

“Sozo is a researcher. I need to eat a lot of mushrooms.”

“Aww, the jaws? Hard, crispy and delicious.”

“Sozo is a guru, and my followers sometimes beg me to bite. After they eat the mushrooms, chewed and be pleased with how good it feels.”

“Are you a very dangerous guy?”

The ant's body, covered with a hard skeleton, has few parts that would make for a tasty meal. Much to the spider's dismay.

“If only there were eggs. I wish I had at least a soft, mashed egg.”

At the mention of eggs, the ant blinked. He pointed to the white, fluffy part at the junction of the head and body.

“We're like eggs here! You like eggs and Sozo likes mushrooms. You like eggs and Sozo likes mushrooms, so it's a win-win situation.”

“If I sell mushrooms again, it's only if they taste good to you. Better than free, I'll take it.”

The spider stood on the side of the ant. It placed its foot between both legs and secured its head with four arms. The other two arms were free in case of emergency. This was to ensure that even an inebriated ant could not inflict a fatal blow with its two jaws, which boast a force 300 times its body weight. When the spider came close to its face, the ant grabbed the spider's tentacles and stopped it from moving.

“It's close! So close! I'm not at all happy to be kissed by you. If you want to please me, bring me more mushrooms.”

“Otherwise, I won't be able to eat the fluff around your neck.　Don't ever bite me! ”

The spider gave a small click of its tongue. It was more interested in the skeleton hidden by the white cotton than that one, and was about to take a small bite. The spider could not remember how many pieces of bread have eaten so far, or how many animals it had preyed upon. As it had done before, it thought that once the ants injected with poison stopped moving, it could use the insolvent guests as a preservative.

“Hey, it's okay, right? I'll eat, okay? Oh, I met the right person. It looks so delicious.”

To make things quick, I untangle my arms from the tentacles and sink my fangs into the shell. Before the venom could seep out of the maxilla, a crunchy smoke spread into my mouth. It tasted like stomach acid dissolving sludge from a rotting puddle. I felt a heartbeat pulsing through my brain marrow and pushed the ant away.

“Ugh. Damn, that tastes bad. You eat mushrooms all the time, that's why you taste funny.”

“That's rude! Of course it tastes good because Sozo only eats mushrooms!”

Even without reaching flesh and bone, the spider instinctively understood that this ant should not be a component of its body. However, against its will, the heartbeat not only quickened but also moved its glands to accept the ant. The fluid, which was neither poison nor acid, overflowed and dripped from the mouth that could not be closed.

In truth, the area around the ant's neck was not an egg but a mushroom bed. The fibers taken into the mouth became tiny masses of mash that violated the body from the inside out, clinging to the throat and stomach.

“Uh...nn what, a, yeah...ah my ant?”

That's what it looked like to the spider. The camellia flowers swelling and shrinking, the feeling of getting wet even though it was not raining, and looking down at the saucer that had grown so large that it could crush a saucer with its foot were all real to the Spider. For the Spider, what he saw was a certain truth. With every breath, the body melts. When the spider crawled to pick up the melted body, it was swallowed by the ground with its hands. Everything in sight spoke to the spider.

“What are They all talking about? Hey, Sozo, are you with me?”

“Yes, I'm here！ Can you see it? It's the truth of the world.”

The ants were in a good mood the whole time, eager to talk about how to eat the delicious mushrooms and how to consume them efficiently, but the spiders were too overwhelmed by the fast-moving world to even nod. How many hours or seconds passed? Sozo, who had been standing by Helob side, sat up.

“Helob, if you want to eat mushrooms, come visit the spore cave!”

“Why do you know my name?”

“I won't tell you. See you.”

The spider just stared at its back, which was getting smaller and smaller.

💜🍄💜🍄

One day, the Spider was setting up store in a wooded area once ruled by a four-eyed frog when a lamb arrived.

“Oh well, big discount today! I’ll sell one who needs a little rest.”

Spider greeted the clients he met outside the cult. The lamb, the only one in the world, was special both as a customer and as a creature. I imagined many times how tender the flesh hidden in the tactile feathers was, but not even a bone remained in the path he took. Despite his cute appearance, his true nature is vicious. As soon as the spider set up camp, the lamb took a swing of his scythe and uprooted the meat he was roasting with the intention of eating it. It was no opponent to fight.

The lamb shook its head. He pulled a red and white mushroom from his yellow cloak and showed it to the spider.

The spider, familiar with their poisonous colors, clutched its belly and say to lamb.

“You can't eat that one!”

[looklikeapencil]

THE DEPUTY'S DARK DOO-WOP. a far cry 5 playlist for all your shippy needs.

okay, the last playlist (for now) and it's specifically shippy songs! it's a mix of genres but plenty of country gothic, which have a handy-dandy "✞✞" next to them if that's what you've come for. they're grouped by topics (again).

i think the overarching theme is this quote from wuthering heights: whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. because in the end, they all use violence as a means to an end. the deputy and the seed family both use violence to save people. they define the word differently and how they define the word "save" also defines their relationship.

🕇 WHO IS THE LAMB AND WHO IS THE KNIFE? 🕇 our paths will always cross.

Coming For You - Andrea Wasse ✞✞ Dream Girl Evil - Florence and the Machine Gun in My Hand - DOROTHY ✞✞ I Know Your Secrets - Katie Garfield I Walk the Line - Halsey One Way or Another - Until the Ribbon Breaks Power - Seratones Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) - Florence and the Machine Seven Nation Army - Zella Day ✞✞ Someone's Gonna Die Tonight - Gin Wigmore ✞✞ You Can Run - Adam Jones Under Your Spell - The Sweeplings ✞✞

🕇 WASH AWAY MY DEMONS 🕇 help me to save my soul, father.

Big God - Florence and the Machine By the River - Stu Larsen ✞✞ Carry Me Home - The Sweeplings ✞✞ Cup Runneth Over - Kiki Rockwell Devil's Resting Place - Laura Marling ✞✞ Holy Water - Janet Devlin ✞✞ Medicine Man - Dorothy ✞✞ Nothing But the Water - Grace Potter & The Nocturnals ✞✞ Personal Jesus - Michelle Kash Ritual - Ellie Goulding Take Me to Church - Hozier ✞✞

🕇 WE SEE OUR FATE 🕇 a red string of fate, wrapped around my pinky.

Blue Eyes Blind - ZZ Ward Dark Doo Wop - MS MR Devil's Backbone - The Civil Wars ✞✞ Dirty Work - Sydney Wayser ✞✞ Fade to Blue - Roniit Legendary - Welshley Arms My Love Will Never Die - AG & Claire Wyndham ✞✞ NFWMB - Hozier ✞✞ Until the Levee - Joy Williams ✞✞ When It's All Over - RAIGN

🕇 WE'RE NOT US ANYMORE 🕇 dysfunctional is my middle name. and my last name.

Apocalyptic - Halestorm Born to Die - McKenna Michels ✞✞ I Can't Go On Without You - KALEO ✞✞ I Hate Myself for Loving You - Halestorm JEKYLL & HIDE - Bishop Briggs Love is Blindness - The Damn Truth My Blood - Ellie Goulding No One Knows but Me - Torii Wolf Nothing Breaks Like a Heart - Miley Cyrus Snakes in the Grass - Jenny Mitchell ✞✞ Tear Me to Pieces - Meg Myers Touch - July Talk You Belong to Me - Cat Pierce

[queer-eye-for-the-london-eye]

Pan Vs Pan

One of the missions we were given was to hunt down the two Peter Pan statues at Great Ormond Street Hospital and Kensington Garden. On day 10, I packed a blanket from Argos, a book and my camera, and I was off to find the Peters.

One of the things that I kept in mind from the book was just how disturbingly Peter Pan is described: "He was a lovely boy, clad in skeleton leaves and the juices that ooze out of trees but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth. When he saw she was a grown-up, he gnashed the little pearls at her" (Barrie 9). I'm not sure who exactly would find that "lovely," but the image of a child with all their baby teeth being gnashed at you is not one that I would find lovely or entrancing. Many people, myself included, tend to picture Peter Pan as ten or twelve years old, so the image can quickly become one of horror. As someone who joined this program ore for the horror and monstrous perspectives, I was definitely unsettled.

I knew that neither statues would necessarily depict Peter in a horrific light, so I made myself go into the search with an open mind. I started at Great Ormond Street Hospital. There was immediately a juxtaposition between where I stood and the hospital itself. I thought of the mythology surrounding Peter as the angel of death for children. How this darker image put a heavy feeling over me as I watched some children enter the hospital. I found myself wondering how many children walked past this statue only once, never to see it again. Oddly, this statue felt appropriate for that dark feeling.

He stands in a dynamic pose, feet pointed and back arched. He faces the entrance to the hospital, blowing a kiss with one hand while Tinker Bell pulls at a thimble on his other hand. This Peter Pan's face and body seem older than the description in the book, but he also seems fitting foro the setting. His face is gaunt, and his spine is showing through his skin, almost like so many children suffering through ailments. He is posed with whimsy, but his eyes and brow are set in hard lines. He feels no joy in this place: no matter how cheerful the Peter Panbulance tries to be.

Kensington Park has its Peter Pan hidden a ways away. I felt it was almost intentional as I wandered around on my quest. I felt the warmth of the sun on my back and shoulders as I listened to children playing. Friends laid out on the grass, talking and laughing. The sense of being care-free and indulging in idealism was everywhere. Crows cawed to each other from treetops while pigeons crowded around people for seed. A man happily let two squirrels clamour all over him in search for the food he likely gives them frequently. I found myself forgetting the darkness I felt at the hospital just as I found Peter Pan.

He stands atop a tree that is inhabited with families of mice, squirrels, and faeries. The faeries all seem eager to climb up and hear his music that he plays from a long flute that seems to float under his hand. This Peter is younger than the other. He seems more like a happy child somewhere between six and eight years old. His features are fuller and decidedly more human, yet he seems charming enough for the faeries and woodland creatures to flock to his playing. He seems to be in command of his own little world, and he is happy in his idealism.

In our discussions, the two statues were describe as evil, demonic faerie or "Precious Moments," and we had to decide which one better fit the novel. After seeing both statues, I have no answer. Neither one fits but they also both fit. I think back to a class I took as an undergrad in which we were discussing the portrayal of gods and goddesses in literature. It was proposed that the gods could often represent what their worshippers needed at that time. If you needed vengeance, your god(dess) was wrathful. If you needed peace, they could be gentle and merciful. I think it's the same for Peter Pan. Mrs. Darling, and adults for that matter, see Peter as evil. They are able to see him as a child, but they also see his gnashing teeth and cruelty. Other children are charmed by him, drawn in by the magical and promises of adventure. This leads me to the conclusion that both Peter Pan statues represent Peter Pan perfectly. He has a duality to him that cannot be ignored, and neither can his statues.

[helloastro24]

Navratri 2022 is round the corner: Here is your whole guide!

Chaitra Navratri 2022 is celebrated with zeal in India, and it also marks the beginning of the Hindu New Year.

People all across the world observe worship on these days because they are the most potent and auspicious for worship. Little girls' feet are frequently touched.

Hinduism holds Navratri 2022 to be a particularly sacred day.

The Maha Navratri 2022

This Navratri is also known as Shardiya Navratri and Maha Navratri. This year's Navratri will begin on September 26 and will remain through Wednesday, October 5.

Shardiya Navratri begins on Monday this year. This time, Goddess Durga will enter the globe riding an elephant, which will be exceedingly lucky for everyone in a variety of ways.

When?

Monday, September 26th is Ghatasthapana, Monday, October 3rd is Durgashtami, and Tuesday, October 4th is Maha Navami.

Time and Muhrat: Navratri 2022

Ghatasthapana Muhurat is on September 26 from 6:20 AM to 10:19 AM.

Pratipada Tithi falls on September 26 at 3:24 a.m. and September 27 at 3:08 a.m.

This event is observed for nine nights. and such is India's beauty! Every day, devotees honour a different Durga Maa incarnation.

Get face reading by the best astrologers online in India, connect with face reading astrologers at https://helloastro24.com/

Nine forms of Goddess Durga at Navratri.

Day 1: Prapada/Shalaputri

Pratipada worships the deity Shailaputri. Putri denotes a daughter, but Shaila denotes a mountain. Goddess Parvati is also given attention.

On this day, because she is the daughter of the Mountain God.

Day 2: Dwitya/Brahmacharini

Dwitiya's Goddess Brahmacharini is a manifestation of Durga Devi who soothes rage. As a result, on the second day, bhakts honour this Goddess.

Day 3: Tritya/Chandraghanta

On Tritiya, devotees worship Chandraghanta. People think she has third sight and can see evil spirits. It is auspicious to please her with Jasmine blossoms.

Day 4: Kushmanda/Chaturthi

On the fourth day, people worship Goddess Kushmanda. Her name means "cosmic egg," because she offers warmth and life to everyone.

Day 5: it is Skandamata/Panchami.

Panchami, the Goddess Skandamata, is Buddha's monarch (the Mercury planet). She is beloved since she is reported to be tenacious and caring.

Day 6: Katyayini and Shashti

Durga, according to tradition, took the form of Devi Katyayani on the sixth day, Shashti, to defeat the Master of Demons. Women pray for a happy marriage and family life.

Day 7: Saptami and Kalaratri

Saptami is specifically dedicated to the deity Kalaratri. She is said to be terrifying and to have terrified evil spirits from all across the world. She is Lord Shani's ruler and the most dreadful form of Kali Devi (Saturn Planet).

Day 8: Ashtami/Mahabgaur

Mahagauri is worshipped on the eighth day. She only wears white attire and rides a bull on this specific day. On this day, a special celebration for young virgin females called Kanya Puja takes place. This day is referred to as Mahashtami or Maha Durgashtami. To commemorate the occasion, dance, entertainment, and prayers are used.

Day 9: Navami/Siddhidaatri

On Navami, it is necessary to remember Devi Siddhidaatri. She is powerful enough to grant all of your wishes, thus the 9th day is dedicated to her.

10th day: Vijayadashami (Dussehra)

After nine days of devotion, the tenth day is set aside for Vijayadashmi. a day when new beginnings are conceivable in life

Navratri food suggestions

During the Navratras fast, popular foods include Sabudana Vada (also known as Sago Vada), Sabudana Khichadi (also known as Sago Khichadi), Singhare Ka Halwa (also known as Water Chestnut Flour Desserts), Kuttu Ki Poori (also known as Grass Seed Bread or Quinoa Poori), and Singhare Ke Pakore.

Observing all of the ceremonies and rituals linked with the entire 9-day Navratri celebration helps to bring wealth and happiness into the devotees' hearts.

According to Hindu custom, the nine days of Navratri are the most auspicious of the year, and Hindus all throughout the country celebrate with great zeal and devotion. Devotees fast for nine days to gain self-control and to explore the spiritual realm.

Get your free online Janam Kundali online from our best online astrologer at HelloAstro24. It helps you predict the future for yourself by reading the birth chart. https://helloastro24.com/freekundali/

[jawllines]

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

or

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

i.

It was dark. 

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it? 

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was. 

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.) 

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two. 

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles. 

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment. 

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity. 

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy. 

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be. 

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out. 

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her. 

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?” 

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.” 

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder. 

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow,  “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater. 

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking. 

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?” 

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?” 

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.” 

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?” 

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.” 

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?” 

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words. 

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.” 

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.” 

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.” 

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.” 

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke. 

Her response is blunt, “No.” 

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!” 

                                                         .                             .                          .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry. 

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers. 

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold. 

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain. 

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!” 

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

 “You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’ 

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --” 

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.” 

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.” 

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid. 

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it. 

He was just absolutely rotten. 

                                                           .                                  .                           .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten. 

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends. 

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie. 

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good. 

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus. 

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often. 

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior. 

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self. 

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon! 

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep. 

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out. 

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now. 

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited. 

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead. 

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly). 

God, she was so rotten! 

                                               .                                     .                                 .

“Have you felt weird lately?” 

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others). 

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.” 

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way. 

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here. 

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue. 

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour. 

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad). 

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”  

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy. 

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.” 

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?” 

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.” 

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.” 

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?” 

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.” 

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side. 

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio). 

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him. 

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.” 

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.” 

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.” 

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.” 

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.” 

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.” 

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.” 

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.” 

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.” 

   After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door. 

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that. 

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.” 

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.” 

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?” 

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?” 

“No --” 

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?” 

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --” 

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence. 

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.” 

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?” 

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?” 

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?” 

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.” 

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.” 

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use. 

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown. 

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere. 

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it. 

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.” 

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it,  “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.” 

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.” 

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.” 

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.” 

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!” 

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --” 

“Harry --” 

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.” 

                                                                     .                       .                         .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits. 

She’s only curious. 

                                                             .                         .                        . 

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall. 

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner. 

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor.  Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind. 

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out. 

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow. 

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed. 

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank. 

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals. 

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them). 

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice. 

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning. 

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears. 

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done. 

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous. 

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely). 

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who --  before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs). 

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?” 

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.” 

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.” 

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?” 

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code. 

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?” 

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .” 

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing. 

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected. 

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.” 

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?” 

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own.  It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting. 

“I oughta call you Bambi then.” 

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”  

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head. 

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake --  “Harry, shouldn’t we --” 

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest. 

“We shouldn’t just --” 

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut. 

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space. 

But nothing happens. 

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it. 

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time. 

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it. 

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?” 

                                                        .                             .                              .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often. 

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer. 

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in.  If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall. 

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over. 

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!” 

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?” 

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.” 

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

 Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.” 

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly. 

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.” 

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails. 

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands,  “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.” 

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?” 

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.” 

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.” 

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?” 

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.” 

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?” 

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.” 

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though. 

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout? 

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?” 

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen. 

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND 

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...” 

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?” 

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?” 

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on. 

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --” 

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.” 

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers,  “But --” 

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out. 

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep. 

Harry just fell right to sleep. 

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed. 

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. 

 Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch. 

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything. 

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.” 

                                                         .                               .                              .

It had been a while since Harry had worked. 

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong.  He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from. 

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior. 

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it. 

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead. 

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things. 

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure. 

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep. 

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens. 

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.” 

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.” 

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I  have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.” 

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.  

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work. 

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?” 

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.” 

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” 

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.” 

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?” 

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.” 

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him. 

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.” 

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store. 

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?” 

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

 “Where are you?” 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.” 

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.” 

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?” 

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills. 

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?” 

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?” 

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red)  “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?” 

“He loved them, mate,  he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.” 

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.” 

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.” 

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.” 

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.” 

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --” 

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “ 

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?” 

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to. 

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all. 

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.” 

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.” 

“What a coincidence -- so did I.” 

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit. 

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?” 

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.” 

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon. 

“I was doing some research while I was at work --” 

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods. 

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.” 

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.” 

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.” 

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful. 

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.” 

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding. 

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.” 

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought. 

[onp4012]

Romanian monsters and myths

I’ve seen that some of you want to hear more about those monsters and myths, so I am ready to spoil them.

Moroi

As popular as the Strigoi is the Moroi, an evil entity that comes from the spirit of an unbaptized dead child. In most parts of the country, Strigoi’s and Moroi’s are considered separate entities, but in Oltenia they are confused. The Moroi is the dead who have to return from the pit to bring trouble to family and friends. According to folk tales, an unbaptized dead child is sure to turn into a Moroi. Unlike Strigoi’s, where the transformation came almost immediately after death, the Moroi’s waited seven years to rise from the pit. When seven years have passed since his death(because number 7 is considered a magic number), the soul asks to be received in the kingdom of heaven and cries out "Baptism, Baptism!" or according to other sources "Cross, cross!". If anyone hears him then he can save him by giving him baptism: "The son or daughter of God, John or Mary, is baptized in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen!". The ritual is completed by a piece of cloth that is thrown on the grave of the unbaptized baby. If this ritual is not performed, the soul does not find peace and turns into an evil spirit, known as a Moroi. The Moroi haunts the owners of the land where he was buried. It makes the owner's animals and children sick, who eventually have to leave the land to avoid a tragedy. It is a nocturnal creature that manifests itself especially on New Year's Eve. It is said that it can leave its native land by metamorphosing into a dog. If it receives food, the dog-mule does not cause damage and does not scare those who cut it off. Encounters with the Moroi in the middle of the night are usually fatal. The victim either falls in bed for a long time or finds an end until dawn.

Pricolici

Is a werewolf/vampire fusion in the Romanian folklore. Pricolici, similar to Strigoi, are undead souls that have risen from the grave to harm living people. While a Strigoi possesses anthropomorphic qualities similar to the ones it had before death, a pricolici always resembles a wolf. Malicious, violent men are often said to become Pricolici after death, in order to continue harming other humans. Even as recently as modern times, many people living in rural areas of Romania have claimed to have been viciously attacked by abnormally large and fierce wolves. Apparently, these wolves attack silently, unexpectedly and only solitary targets. Victims of such attacks often claim that their aggressor wasn't an ordinary wolf, but a Pricolici who has come back to life to continue wreaking havoc.

Samca

Samca is a female, grotesque, horror and demonic spirit that ruins underage children and pregnant women’s health. She allegedly has long, disheveled hair, crooked fingers that end with sharp nails, fire-spitting mouth and hands made of iron. Legend has it, she’ll turn up at the end of each month in front of a young child or a pregnant woman and either kill the poor soul or leave him/ her crippled for life. According to the myth, the spirit has not one, but nine different names. Samca enjoys torturing women in labor, sometimes killing them. She also either kills their their children, or blesses them with a disease bearing her name. A children suffering from Samca will have seizures, cry all the time, sigh a lot and eventually die. If one writes all of her names inside his house, Samca will not be allowed to enter. She is thought to be the wing of Satan, and she is said to have tried to kill baby Jesus, but was stopped by Michael ( the archangel, not Jackson). She can also change appearance, in order to deceive mortals.

Pâca (Pafa)

Pâca, also known as Pafa, is, according to Romanian mythology, the spirit of tobacco and smoking. Romanians have imagined her as a woman as old at the world itself, ugly and black, having horns on her head and a big, long nose, swollen eyes, tusks and talons, a tail and a pipe in her mouth. Flames and black smoke come out of her throat and she reeks of tobacco. When Pâca came out from the depths of Hell, death spreading smoke came out with her. Then her sons, the demons (dracii), gave birth to a seed which they sowed. The plant sprung from that seed is called buruiana dracului ( the Devil’s weed) or tămâia dracului (the Devil’s incense). As you may have guessed, this plant is what we call tobacco. Then some other demons invented the pipe, for people to worship Pafa by inhaling the smoke made by the plant the devils had sowed in her name. Pâca‘s children also invented snuff tobacco. The funny part is that God, upon seeing what the people were doing, took their tobacco leaves and instead of destroying them (since he’s almighty according to christians, right?), mixed them with basil (so they could smell nicer?) and gave them back to people, teaching them how to use the new product. (Good job, God)

Crasnicul

Crasnicul, or Crâsnicul, is the child born out of a woman’s union with a demon. Apparently, he looks like a cross between a piglet and a normal kid. However, as opposed to the latter, the first thing this demon spawn does after birth is not crying, but running around the house screaming. I bet it sounds similar to Dani Filth’s work with Cradle. Somehow, my intuition tells me their similarities go beyond sound, and we could also link the two aesthetically. In some areas, people thought you should trap the thing in a stove and burn it alive. Other believe that the Crasnic is born after an eleven months gestation period. It is also said that the Crasnic has a hellish desire to bite and kill the people around, immediately after birth. After he’s done with them, he (it?) will try to go back to where he came from. To prevent all this, the midwife will wrap him in a cloth and call the mother’s relatives to bludgeon him to death. Imagine how many malformed children have been bludgeoned to death just because people thought they were the result of the mother’s union with the Devil. Sad. But a great Horror image, nonetheless. ;-; (Ain’t very proud).

Muma Pădurii (Mother Forest)

Is an ugly and mischievous or mad old woman living in the forest (in the heart of the virgin forests, in a hut/cabin or an old tree). She is the opposite of fairies such as a "Fairy" Zână. She is also the protector of the animals and plants, brewing potions and helping injured animals. She cures the forest if it's dying, and she keeps the unwanted trespassers away driving them mad and scaring them to flee. She can be associated with witches (like the witch from the story of "Hansel and Gretel"), but she's a neutral "creature", harming only those who harm the forest. (She’s my favorite “horror one”, I really respect her.)

Iele

Ieles, evil fairies in Romanian mythology are the most mysterious and fascinating creatures that Romanian legends have been talking about for hundreds of years. Sources of inspiration for poets and writers, who turned them into literary characters, the ieles are also the subject of folk studies in which the authors tried to explain both the origin and the meaning of the creatures. Supernatural female creatures appearing in groups on the plains or in the woods, singing and dancing in steamy or undressed clothes, leaving behind signs of circles of fire. It’s said that they are the result of an incestuous relationship between the Sun and the Moon, so they were cursed to send their daughters on earth. This is the portrait of the ieleles, described by folklorists and folk tales over time. Legends about iele, which differ from region to region, say that the creatures appear in groups of three, five or seven. The stories depict the evil fairies in Romanian mythology as very beautiful, dressed in steamy clothes or simply naked. In the story they appear at night, in the fields and in the forests, far from the eyes of the world. Legends also say that the iels burn crazy and cheerful choruses that the eyes of ordinary mortals should not see. Behind them are signs of circles of fire in the burning grass. (In my region, it’s said that they are wives of unfaithful husbands that cheated on them, at which, the woman committed suicide in a river or was simply killed by her husband.)

[quinncupine]

Hiiii quinn! I never realised you did requests but if it would be fine (and also because its my sole goal) could you do a boom boom boi and izubby with having their own cat or dog as a pet??? I'm seriously thinking that boom boom boi would be both a cat and dog person, don't u agree? (Ily lots and don't feel pressured to do this if you have a lot of stuff going on!)

Hi Dorki! I'm finally making my way through my requests and I was really excited to write this one! Okay, hope you like it!

Quinns Masterlist

Wanna request something?

The Boys with Pets

Word Count: 1,750

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo!

Warnings: dogs, cats, cursing

Izuku Midoriya

Now Izuku loves pretty much all animals, but I can totally see him getting a dog. Dogs are loyal and full of energy just like a certain green-haired hero. The perfect duo.

He would probably rescue one from the pound, the one with the biggest, saddest, cutest eyes because how could he not? But someone has to go with him because he'd try to rescue them all if there was no one there to stop him. Once a hero, always a hero I suppose.

I'm thinking for names, he would definitely pick a name that reflects his favorite heroes. Don't be surprised if he names his dog something super cheesy like Mighty or Rocky…

Wait, okay, I've decided, he names his dog Mighty and that is the hill I will die on.

The life of a hero is quite busy so when he goes off on long missions, he drops the dog off at his mom's house. Inko has fallen in love with this sweet pup, so much so that she sometimes begs him to stop by with the dog for a visit. It's the closest thing she's got to grandbabies at the moment, she'll take what she can get :)

Now, this cute pup draws in the attention of just about everyone so he's gotten an influx of attention and a few numbers slipped in his hand during their walks, much to his flustered surprise.

Best wingman ever.

This dog goes on regular runs with Izuku and sometimes even helps him with training. I'm thinking a Collie or an Aussie would just be the perfect fit for him to keep up with his personality and lifestyle. He needs an active dog!

I can see it now, he goes on his daily morning runs with this cute Lil furry training buddy and they race the whole way! A few regulars on the trail know about this and it's become sort of a tradition to cheer the two on as they pass.

 ...

The morning air was crisp with the slight scent of the coming autumn, the perfect morning for a run. Izuku, dressed in his usual training wear, had a steady rhythm going for the last forty minutes, letting out even, controlled breaths. This was the easy part of the run, a warm-up if anything, and he hadn't even broken a sweat yet. The canine jogging by his side was enjoying the dewy morning air as well, tongue happily flopping out the side of her mouth. The shared morning ritual between man and man's best friend: Mighty.

Her tail picked up speed, wagging uncontrollably as they neared the bend where the giant jagged rock towered over the path. It was the place marker to start the race. A three-mile run to the top of the hill located at the center of the park. It was also Mighty's favorite part of the morning.

"Ready girl?" Izuku grinned down at the ecstatic dog who barked in reply.

The instant the two of them passed the big rock, they both broke out in full speed, leaving behind a cloud of dust. Happy barks filled the air as she gained the upper hand. Izuku laughed as the dog turned to look back at him lagging behind her. He always did these races without his quirk to assist him. It was only fair and it helped him work on his natural stamina in case he was ever in a situation where he couldn't use his quirk. Always good to be prepared.

He watched as she bounded up the first steep hill on the trail. There were a few small hills on this route, but this one was the hardest to climb and Mighty had the advantage with her four legs so she always managed to pull ahead first. She stopped at the top and barked him on before quickly disappearing over the crest.

When he reached the top, he stopped for just a second to take in his surroundings. This part of the park was a heavily wooded area with numerous trails that many people used to hike or run. It also served as a great view of the city skyline and he couldn't help but stop and admire the rising sun from between the foggy buildings every time. Then Mighty barked to pull him out of his thoughts.

"It's not over yet!" He called after her and raced down the hill, putting on an extra burst of speed to easily close the distance.

Tail wagging, she nipped playfully at his feet as they sprinted along the path, side by side. There weren't many people out this early so he usually had the trail to himself. The only sounds were the wind in the trees, the leaves crunching under feet and paws, Mighty barking beside him, and his own unrestrained glee as they ran together.

These were the mornings he loved. Just the two of them, away from the stresses that came with pro-hero work. He wouldn't trade being a hero for anything, but sometimes it got to be too much so coming here to clear his mind with a little run was always a cathartic release, only made better by the furry companion by his side.

The short bridge that arched over the creek signaled the last mile. Getting more serious, Izuku pulled ahead of Mighty, not able to hold back the giant grin as he streaked across the bridge, startling a few birds off the railings which Mighty barked at as she came up behind him.

Up ahead was a large open meadow with a small duck pond near the center. A few benches were scattered about the path and he saw the same elderly couple sitting in their usual spot with a bag of rice and seed to feed the plethora of ducks waddling around their feet.

"You got him this time Mighty!" The old man looked up as the two of them zipped down the path towards the couple.

"Show 'em what girls can do!" The woman cracked a smile, waving her hands.

"Morning Mr. and Mrs. Fujino!" Izuku waved as he passed. "Don't count me out yet!"

Mighty barked her greeting and took a detour, herding some ducks closer to the couple then with a quick lick to Mr. Fujino's hand, she sprinted back to catch up to Izuku.

The Fujino's marked the last leg of the race. The only thing left was to climb the top of the largest hill in the park to the old oak tree at the top. That was the finishing line. It was always a gamble as to who finished first every day, but Mighty sure had a competitive spirit.

Izuku pumped his legs as he steadily made his way up to the dirt trail, Mighty just behind him before she suddenly veered left and disappeared into the shrubbery. He was so focused on the tree that slowly came into view just around the curve as he neared the top that he didn't notice.

Just as the path leveled out, almost to the finish line, he glanced back to see no sign of his dog. The tree was a few feet away when a furry mass ambushed him from the side, knocking him clean off his feet. The pro hero landed in the grass with a heavy Oof. Sitting on his chest was Mighty, looking quite proud of herself.

"Cheater!" He laughed, trying his best to hold back the slobbery licks she was determined to give him. "Okay, okay, I'll call it a tie!"

 Katsuki Bakugo

Now Katsuki on the other hand would totally be a cat person. Not that he has anything against dogs, but cats are more his style. They don't need constant attention and are pretty much self-sufficient. Just the way he likes it.

That being said, Katuski would go all out on toys and the latest gizmos to take care of his cat. Has a self-cleaning litter box, a waterfall bowl, an automatic feeder, etc. You get the picture.

Oh, and toys galore. If he has space, this cat is getting a personal jungle gym that lets him walk up to the ceiling. S.P.O.I.L.E.D.

Doesn't like to tell people just how much he actually loves this cat because he's never been one to express emotions, but this cat just gets him to his core. They share the same wavelength and he appreciates that. The cat is the only one he trusts to open up to, so sometimes you might catch him ranting to the poor thing who just stares back with big wide eyes and occasional meows. Yup, totally gets him.

I see him with a super chill cat, like maybe a Ragdoll or a Russian Blue. Something that tolerates his constant screaming and explosions.

This guy is just as bad at names. It'll definitely be something long and dramatic like Lord Cat Explosion Demon God of Furballs. Yep. He doesn't take criticism so most people call him Lord Furballs, much to his disdain.

Katsuki won't ask for attention from the cat, but the little furry feline is a total cuddler and will often find itself curled up in his lap or even on his neck if Katsuki's sitting on the couch. You better believe this guy won't be moving until that cat decides it's time to move. He's been late to meetings with friends because of this cuddly cat.

He's a hero so this cat is definitely being treated right. Katuski is no slacker when it comes to caring for his lil buddy. The vet is on speed dial should anything ever happen.

Did someone say a custom-made collar that matches his hero costume to a tee?

He's never loved anything more.

 ...

"Uh, hey Bakubro, why is your cat glaring at me?" Ejiro asked, staring down at the feline.

"What?" Katsuki didn't even bother to look up from his laptop.

"Your cat. It's giving me the evil eye. I thought it was supposed to be friendly." The red-haired hero frowned, not able to break eye contact with the cat. "I don’t think it likes me."

The small furry creature had lazily curled up in the sunspot next to Katsuki's feet, purring away without a care in the world. It seemed harmless enough, except for the heavy glare it was shooting Ejiro's way.

"Heh," Katsuki finally glanced down and crossed his arms. "He's not glaring. That's just his face."

"Ah," Ejiro nodded, "like father like son."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean!?"

Taglist: @thecindy @peachsenpie @awilddreamerwrites @miriobaby @kiyoobi @dragonsdreamoffire @amive2567 @justscar @kenmaskitten10 @freckledoriya

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

The Appointing of the Twelve Apostles (Mark 3:7-19)

"Then the Pharisees went out and began to plot with the Herodians how they might kill Jesus. Jesus withdrew with His disciples to the lake, and a large crowd from Galilee followed." - Mark 3:6-7

We can hardly realize how wide the influence of Jesus was at this time. The multitude that followed Him, came not only from Galilee - but also from Judea, from beyond the Jordan, and even from the Gentile cities of Tyre and Sidon, and the countries surrounding them. The throng was so great, that Jesus and His disciples withdrew to the sea. He wished to do His work without interruption. Thus we have our Lord's example for sometimes withdrawing from opposition. It was not lack of courage that led Him to do this. He knew that he conspiracy of His enemies would in the end be successful, yet He would not throw His life away. Nothing could be gained by His staying in their midst at this time. There was no testimony to be borne. Besides, His work was not yet finished. When, at last, His work was all done, the plots had all ripened, and He knew that the rulers were about to kill Him - He did not withdraw, nor did He show any fear or lack of bravery.

There are times when duty requires us to flee from danger and thus save our lives for further service. We are certainly never to court danger, nor to be reckless in our courage. On another occasion Jesus said to His disciples, "When they persecute you in this city - flee into the next." Christian prudence is an important element in Christian courage. It often requires a higher courage to avoid danger - than to rush into it; to flee away from angry enemies - than to answer back and incite them to further wrath.

The great report of our Lord's works of mercy and kindness, went out everywhere, and multitudes were drawn to Him. One who does good to others - will always have followers. The world is full of sorrow and suffering, and hearts hunger for sympathy. When one who has a gentle spirit and a hand whose touch gives blessing comes among men - people welcome him. Love always finds its mission. We are apt to criticize the motive in such following. "For the loaves and fish!" we say. But people know a friend when he comes among them; and when one suffers and has been helped - it is no wonder that other like sufferers come with their needs. Jesus loved the people - that was His secret! He loved them - and they knew it. People always know when a man truly and sincerely loves them.

The kindness of Jesus was not discouraged by the ingratitude and enmity of men. Though the evil plots of His enemies drove Him out of the city - they did not stop His doing good. Though some rejected His love - His heart was not closed. Capernaum lost much - when He went out of its gates; but on the throngs which followed Him - the gracious blessings fell. Persecution scatters the seed which it means to destroy. When the first Christians were driven from Jerusalem, it was only to carry the gospel into all the countries round about to which they fled. They "went about, preaching" (Matthew 4:23). Opposition must never silence the lips that carry the words of life. If one rejects and scorns you - take your gospel message to another. You will always find some ready to receive the blessing you have to give. Especially are the people, who have "plagues," who are in any misfortune or distress - ready to press upon him who comes to them with a heart of love and with desire to do them good.

The people pressed up close to Him, that they might touch Him. A touch was enough. All who touched Him - were made whole. Life flowed from Him - to them. Health went from His rich, wholesome life - and expelled their sickness. So a touch is always enough. Anyone who really touches Christ is healed. But we must be sure to touch Him. It is not enough to be in the crowd that gathers around Him. Only those are healed - who touch Him by faith. It is not enough to be in the congregation that worships. One sitting or bowing next to us may receive a great blessing, while we receive none at all. It is because he reaches out his hand of faith and touches Christ; while we, physically as close to Christ as he is - do not put out our hand to touch Him; and therefore, receive no blessing.

We ought, as Christ's disciples, to be so full of life and love - that anyone who touches us, shall get a blessing from us. Just to have their handshake is a blessing. Their mere presence in a sick room gives comfort. It is worth while to be such a person. Do you want to know the secret ? It is LOVE. Love people really, truly, genuinely - and there will flow from you always, to every life that touches yours - an influence of healing.

Jesus stood in the throng and called certain men to come to Him. He singled out the people and called them individually. That is the way He is doing continually - standing and calling men to come to Him. He does not call a crowd - He calls people by name, calls them one by one. Everyone who hears His voice should answer - leave the world's company, step boldly out, cross over the line, and take his place by the side of Jesus!

There are several things to be said about the way these men responded to Christ's call to discipleship.

They responded freely. Although He had chosen them out of a whole nation, and called them, there was no compulsion laid upon them to go with Him. They could have refused if they had chosen; Christ never chooses His disciples by force .

Then, they responded promptly. There was no hesitation. They said nothing about considering the matter for awhile. They did not talk about being unfit or unworthy; they did not tell Him that they were afraid they could not keep their word if they promised to be Christians. They did not say, "Tomorrow we will go." The moment they heard their names called - they answered.

Then, they responded resolutely. Whenever they heard the call - they stepped out with firm tread, and, crossing over the space between the crowd and the Master, they joined themselves to Him. It was not done secretly. They did not wait until they were alone with Him, and then tell Him quietly and timidly that they had made up their minds to accept His invitation. They did not propose to be His disciples - and yet stay among their old friends and keep on at the old business. They immediately separated themselves from the people about them, and went over to Him, putting themselves absolutely into His hands, to be His and do His bidding - so long as they lived.

This is the way these men started in their apostleship - and the way everyone should start whom Jesus calls to be His disciple .

He chose the Twelve - that they might be with Him. That is the first thing always - before preaching or teaching or working for Christ. We must be disciples ourselves, before He will use us to make disciples of others, or to carry His messages and blessings to others. He employs none as His servants - who are not His followers. One reason why we must first be with Him - is that we may be taught by Him. The apostles learned from their Master - the things they themselves afterward taught to others. We cannot do any good work for Christ - until He teaches us how to do it.

He teaches us by His Word, by His Spirit, through the impact of His own life, through our experiences. This is one reason we should study the Bible so carefully, that we may be able to teach others by our example and by our words - only the things Jesus would have us teach them. Another reason why we need to be with Him before we go out to testify for Him - is that we may be actual witnesses for Him. We never can impress the world by giving second - hand information about Christ, by repeating things we have heard others say, or have read in books, about Him. We must be able to tell what we have seen and learned for ourselves, from personal fellowship with Him.

These men were chosen not merely to official office - but for service, "to preach, and to have authority to heal sicknesses." This authority to heal, was given to validate their commission. When Moses went to the people and to Pharaoh as God's messenger, and when they demanded evidence that God had sent him - then he was to work certain miraculous signs in their presence, to prove his claim. So the apostles had power given to them to perform works of wonder - as their credentials.

Besides, those works of mercy which they wrought were examples of what the gospel should do wherever it goes. We say there are no miracles now. Is this true? Are no sick people healed now? Are no evil spirits cast out? Are no blind eyes opened, no deaf ears unstopped, no lame made to walk, no dead raised? If miracles are not produced in the physical realm, they surely are in the spiritual. Eyes are opened to see God and heavenly things. Ears are opened to hear the voice of the Spirit. Fevers of passion are cured. Sicknesses of soul are healed. The evil spirits of greed, lust, and selfishness are cast out. These are the validations of all teaching and preaching. Power is given yet to Christ's ministers and to all His disciples - power to heal the sick and cast out demons!

One of the men chosen was known as Simon - but Jesus gave him a surname of Peter. These two names are suggestive. "Simon" shows the crude fisherman of Galilee, with all his rashness, his ignorance, his imperfection. "Peter" shows the apostle of the Acts and the Epistles; the rock firm and secure; the man of great power, before whose Spirit-filled eloquence, thousands of proud hearts bowed, swayed like the trees of the forest before the tempest; the gentle, tender soul whose words fall like a blessing; the noble martyr witnessing to the death for his Lord. Study the two names together - to see what grace can do for a man.

It is not hard to take roses, lilies, fuchsias, and all the rarest flowers, and with them make forms of exquisite beauty; but to take weeds, dead grasses, dried leaves trampled and torn, and faded flowers - and make lovely things out of such materials, is the most severe test of skill. It would not be hard to take an angel and train him into a glorious messenger; but to take such a man as Simon, or Saul, or as John Newton, or as John Bunyan - and make out of him a holy saint and a mighty apostle - that is the test of power. Yet that is what Christ did, and has been doing ever since. He takes the poorest stuff, despised and worthless, outcast of men oftentimes; and when He has finished His gracious work - we behold a saint whiter than snow.

The sculptor saw an angel in the rough, blackened stone which was rejected and thrown away; and when men beheld the stone again, behold - there was the angel, cut from the block! In one of the English cathedrals is a window, the admiration of all beholders, made by a workman, from the bits of glass thrown away by the master. So heaven is filling with glorified souls, gathered from the despised and rejected of earth. We should never be discouraged by our unworthiness, or our many faults. Christ can take us as we are, and in His hands - our life shall grow into purity and loveliness until He presents us at last before His eternal throne - faultless and perfect. There is only one thing that needs to concern us - we must make sure that we are in Christ's school, that we really put ourselves into His hands.

[fic-ify]

In the Garden

I had one of the worst bouts of insomnia last night. While trying to get my brain to shut down, this idea haunted me for about three hours so I knew I needed to write it. Be warned kiddos, it’s a bit dark and sad. 

Warnings: Implied death, sad demon brothers, cannibalism adjacent (sort of), vague hint of murder

The human loved the garden. Almost from the minute they were brought into the Devildom, they could be found in the garden of the House of Lamentation. It calmed them, whether it was taking a stroll through them, or working in the dirt pulling weeds and caring for the unfamiliar plants. Soon enough the brothers realized that if they couldn't find their human ward, they wouldn't need to look much further than their own backyard. It was endearing really, someone so innocent surrounded by such evil so focused on such a life-giving task.

Lord Diavolo had offered access to his gardens if they ever grew too familiar with their resident foliage. They liked his gardens as well, it gave them inspiration and ideas on how to tend the House of Lamentation's plants. More often than not they would pick Barbatos' brain about how to properly care for the Devildom native flowers and crops. He was more than happy to indulge, even if some were dangerous for the mortal to take on, he was curious to see how they would cope. He even gifted them a set of tools to aid their endeavors.

The human loved the garden, and over time, the brothers loved the human. Lucifer found he didn't have the heart to stop their mud-covered escapades so long as they didn't trek it into the house. Beelzebub and Satan could be found on occasion helping them and cautioning them against the foliage most poisonous to them despite their protective gloves. Leviathan found himself ordering plants and seeds from the human world for them, resulting in the garden being more human world origin than Devildom. Still, the plants thrived under their tender care. Belphegor could be found napping alongside them as they worked and Asmodeus would wander the flora at their side, listening to them talk animatedly about the things they had learned.

Mammon and Lucifer felt their hearts falling even further in love with the human as they watched the human fall in love with what they had created. As well as the brothers themselves. It was a deep sadness that each of them held knowing that one day they would have to leave back to the human realm and leave their hard work behind. It set the human's mind at ease knowing at least they would leave a piece of them behind with the brothers. They would leave their mark in the kindest way they could.

When the human was gone, the seven demons each could find reminders of them in the garden.

Beelzebub could taste them in the apples that had grown and flourished under their nurturing. He could taste their smile and sweetness of their laughter in the juice that ran down his chin to drip into the dirt beneath him. While he had never brought himself to taste it himself, he knew that if he had, their joy would have been reminiscent of the refreshing flavor housed in the red and yellow skins of the fruits. He wished they would have been able to taste it if only to know he was right and that he could see that joy again.

Asmodeus could smell them among the full rose bushes that lined the path back into the gardens. In the heady and rich scents of the flowers and their petals, he found their warmth and comfort. He knew their favorites were the imperfect ones, beautiful with their speckles and spots. Perfect in their imperfection, much like he had grown to recognize the human to be. When he found himself needing their memory he would sit amongst the grass and the roses, losing himself in the scent and imagining he could feel their arms wrapped around him again. It was just enough to make him forget it was something he no longer would have.

The water of the little pond in the center drew Leviathan, bringing him to stare down at the nearly still reflective surface. If he looked hard enough he could see their loving expression looking back at him alongside his own. He could feel their calm, their sense of ease that had always grounded him even in the height of his envy. He longed to touch the liquid, to feel the piece of his human along his skin and scales. But he could never bring himself to disturb the peaceful tension that never seemed to be disturbed no matter the environment around it. Much like his human.

The sound of their voice whispered along the ivies and vines that crept up the back wall of the house. It kept Satan company when he came outside to read, to sit and listen to the memories that the wind shared with him. If he closed his eyes he could hear their excitement over finding a new book or topic to study, or their bittersweet hum over finishing something. The pride of completion that warred with the sadness of it being over. A similar feeling welled up in him every time he visited the garden now, pride to see what his human had sewn into the land, accompanied by a hollow sorrow of them being gone.

Belphegor felt their warmth and peace when he napped in the grass between the berries and the little flowers. Sweet-smelling petals beside the bright bite-sized fruit that carried as much of their personality as the human themselves. When he curled up with his pillow in the soft green blades, he hardly noticed the empty spot at his side that would never be filled again. He could ignore the emptiness around him that echoed in his dreams when he slept.

The human had loved the garden, had poured their heart and soul into it. It had nearly made the brothers jealous, if only for the fact that they could share it with their lover. When he sat on the bench beside the ancient willow, Mammon could feel the love of his human radiate in all they had cared for. When he let himself forget that they were gone, he could focus on how they really were not far at all. The heart of them, everything they were, had stayed. Even if it only manifested in the flora and the fruits they had looked after in their time here. When he let his silent tears fall on the soft dirt beneath his feet, he could nearly believe that the earth was still warm with them.

It was only at night that Lucifer visited the garden anymore, he didn't have the time as much as he would like to. Between the regular documents from Lord Diavolo and the investigation notes he forged, there was simply too much to do during the day. The night brought a certain ethereal quality to the garden, something that could only be truly appreciated when the Devildom moon was at its height and the world was quiet from all except the wind. Even the sound of his stride never seemed to carry past the steps he made. Every night he walked the path, he walked the same pattern, ending before the statue near the back. Their human had never seen it, they had been taken away before it had been made. He liked to think they would have appreciated it. Maybe even have been charmed by its likeness.

Their human had loved the garden, and the brothers had loved them.

It had been this love that could never allow the seven to let the human be taken away. From them, or the garden.

Lucifer always thought he could see their soul still infused in the earth where it had been lain with their tears the day they’d been taken. Even now aiding the growth of their creation. 

[forbidden-sorcery]

The presence of the Wild Adversary in peasant life, as a bringer of hardship to peoples of the past, can be understood as a way of interpreting events that would have spelled disaster for families. Naturally, the Evil One was in charge of these unfortunate events. From German lore, we find certain demons that haunted the grain fields, such as with the Aprilochse, a malevolent spirit that in April infested the fields, and the Erntebock, a demon that steals part of the grain harvest. The Gerstenwolf, meaning Barley Wolf, was a demon that might devour the barley crop. The hay crop could be cursed by the Heukatze or the Heupudel, the Hay Cat and Hay Pup, by destroying the essential crop that would keep animals alive during the harsh winters. The Scandinavian god Loki, whom some compare as the closest equivalent to the Devil of the North, was thought to sow his weeds among the grain seeds. From Jutland, the moss Polytrichum commune was called Loki’s Oats, and wild oats Avena fatua were called Loki’s Hair. From Northumberland, this same wild oat was called Dwarf’s Grass, with the dwarf being a ‘savage brown man of the moors’. It was said that Loki was an enemy of the oat crop, and that he could take on the form of a wolf. Wolves were associated with evil spirits from olden times. When the winds blew through the fields, German peasants would say that the Grass Wolf or the Corn Wolf was abroad; in some parts, folks would leave the last sheaf of rye to the Rye Wolf, as the autumn faded into the cold dark wintertime.

Corinne Boyer - Plants of the Devil

[mysticmachmir]

Judaism: Solstices and Equinoxes

Photo Source

Overview

Judaism runs on a lunar calendar, for example, all our holidays start at sundown. So, this means that the changes of the seasons which are based on a solar calendar do not have as much prominence as the phases of the moon. However, in the Jewish Pre-Talmudic text the Book of Jubilees, we see an alternate Jewish solar calendar. In the end, it was not chosen for what our system is based on - but the Rabbis do talk about the solstices and equinoxes within the Talmud (Berakhot 59b, Shabbat 53a, Eruvin 56a). The word for these four seasons marked by these events is "Tekufot" (tekufah in the singular) which literally means "turn" or "cycle" in Hebrew. According to the sages, each tekufah marks the beginning of a period of 91 days 7½ hours. Tekufot are not necessarily positive events, associated with some negative superstitions. However, there are some different recorded Midrashim that have positive or neutral associations, along with a blessing that can be used to acknowledge them (though this is a minority opinion in the Babylonian Talmud, majority rules this was not necessary). While there is no exact answer, there is some speculation that the four new years within Judaism may be marking the four solar transitions within the year, but some of them are at half-points and not accurately aligned. 

Superstitions

An ancient superstition connected with the tekufot is surrounding water. All water that may be in the house or stored away in vessels in the first hour of the tekufah is thrown away in the belief that the water is then poisoned, and if drunk would cause swelling of the body, sickness, and sometimes death. One of the reasons it is said is because the angels who guard and are the protectors of the year "change shifts" at every solar transition, so water is left unguarded. Another is that Cancer fights with Libra and drops blood into the water. Another reason is that at every tekufah, blood has been shed in our spiritual history. At Tekufat Nissan, the waters in Egypt turned to blood. At Tekufat Tammuz, Moshe smote the rock and caused drops of blood to flow from it. At Tekufat Tishrei the knife which Avraham held to slay Yitzchak dropped blood. Finally, at Tekufat Tevet, Yiftach sacrificed his daughter. It is not only against kashrut laws to ingest blood, but there is a lot of superstition around keeping life and death separated in many of our rituals. To avoid this issue with unused water, one must put a piece of iron within it or put it in an iron vessel. If you are making matzot on Tekufat Nisan, you must use a new iron nail and lower it by a string into the water first. 

There is no traceable origin of this superstition, but in the 10th-century Rabbis asked about these questions and discussed it, meaning it was widespread even then.

Blessing

In Berakhot 59b, the sages say: "One who sees the sun in her tekufah, or the moon in her power, or the stars in their orbits, recites: Blessed is the one who makes Creation' (baruch oseh vereshit)." Abaye argues this should only be done every 29 years when the spring equinox falls so that the sun is in the same place it was on the day of Creation. However, the minority opinion was still written, so you could make the choice to recite it in the astrological events mentioned.

Havdalah ha-Tekufah

This blessing may be recited over a cup of wine or grape juice on the day of the equinox or solstice. This prayer also may be recited along with a blessing over a scent related to the season, for example, flowers for spring, fruit for summer, leaves for fall, and pine boughs for winter. It is based on the following texts:

The Havdalah ceremony dividing Shabbat from the weekday. 

The blessing over equinoxes and solstices found in the Babylonian Talmud (Berakhot 59b).

The traditional evening prayer marking the transition between day and night.

The Torah text in which the Holy One promises Noach that the seasons will continue as long as the earth endures (Bereishit 8:22).

The blessings over the abundance of years found in the daily Amidah prayer (recited in the feminine to honor the Skehinah, the immanent Divine Presence). 

Baruch atah Hashem Elokeinu melekh ha'olam borei peri ha'gafen.

Blessed are You, Hashem, Ruler of the Universe, creator of the fruit of the vine.

Bercuchah at Shekhinah Elokeinu ruach ha'olam, borei isvei (atzei) vesamim. 

Blessed are You, Shekhinah, the Presence who embodies the world, who creates fragrant plants and grasses (or: fragrant trees). 

Baruch atah Hashem Elokeinu melekh ha'olam, oseh vereishit, asher bit'vunah meshaneh itim umachalif et hazemanim. Od kol yemei ha'aretz zera vekatzir vekor vechom vekayitz vechoref veyom velailah lo yishbotu. Bercuhah at Shekhinah, mevarechet hashanim. 

Blessed are you, Hashem, Ruler of the Universe, who makes Creation, whose wisdom changes the times and turns the seasons. As long as the days of the earth endure, planting and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night shall not cease. Blessed are You, Divine Presence, who blesses the years.

Midrashim and Teachings

Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer, a Rabbinic work, tells of the teaching of tekufot to Adam and Chava as part of divine wisdom. Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer (7) also notes the combination of lunar and solar elements in the Jewish calendar. The passage explains that Rabbinic authorities inserted leap months in the calendar "for the sake of the trees, for the sake of the grasses, and for the sake of the tekufot," meaning that the lunar calendar had to be balanced with the cycles of planting and harvest and with the cycles of the solar year. 

Medieval traditions about the tekufot emphasized the eerie qualities of the solstices and equinoxes. The Machzor Vitry indicates the frightening biblical events such as the plague of blood that happened at the four seasonal transitions. 

The Otzar Midrashim (Hashem Behomah, Yasad Aretz 6) mentions a more positive midrash in which giant mythical beings and animals roar on each of the four seasonal dates. These roars compel the demons and wild creatures of the world to restrain themselves so that order prevails and life continues. Thus they encourage all beings to praise the compassion of the Divine. This midrash suggests that the solstices and equinoxes have both frightening and life-preserving qualities. 

Midrash Tanhuma (Korach 10) tells us that the chieftains of Moshe were selected partly because they knew how to calculate and observe the tekufot.

Tekufat Nisan

Tekufat Nisan is the vernal equinox when the Sun enters Aries; this is the beginning of spring, or "eit hazera" (seed-time) when day and night are equal. It is also known as the season of "the triumph of life". 

Jubilees (6:25) records the 1st of Nisan as the day the Divine commanded Noach to build an ark and the day Noach opened the ark and saw dry land.

Seder Olam (11:1), a work from Talmudic times, relates that the new moon of Nissan, the day the Holy Ones gives the calendar to Moshe in preparation for the first celebration of Pesach, is also the spring equinox.

The ancient midrashic collection Peskita Rabbati (15:17), on the other hand, suggests the day of the Exodus was the spring equinox.

In the Machzor Vitry, the spring equinox is the day the first plague, the plague of blood, falls upon Mitzrayim.

In Otzar Midrashim (Hashem Behomah, Yasad Aretz 6), the spring equinox is the day when humans receive protection from demons and evil spirits. On that day, the seraphim "lift up their heads to the heaven, and the fear of them falls upon demons and spirits, and the seraphim shelter humans beneath their wings to hide them from the demons."

The Purim holiday falls near the spring equinox. Its heroine, Esther, reveals herself as a Jew to save her people.

These tales associate the spring equinox with freedom, with divine protection from oppressor or danger, and with life. in spring, the young plants bursting forth from the ground need protection and room to grow, and we ask this blessing for ourselves as well.

Kavanot la-Tekufot: "Arise, my beloved, my fair one, come away, for now the winter is past, the rains are over and gone, the blossoms appear in the land, the time of singing has come, and the song of the dove is in heard in our land." -- Shir haShirim 2:10-12

Tekufat Tammuz

Tekufat Tammuz is the summer solstice when the Sun enters Cancer; this is the summer season, or "et ha-katsir" (harvest-time) when the day is the longest in the year. It is also known as the season of "loss and abundance".

In Jubilees (6:26), the story of Noach's flood, the summer solstice is the day the mouths of the great abyss are closed so that the water ceases pouring onto the earth. 

Jubilees (3:32) also names the summer solstice as the day the Divine exiles Adam and Chava from Gan Eden. This is the day the animals lose their power of speech.

In Seder Olam (11;1), we learn that the day the sun stood still so that Yehoshuah's warriors could win the battle of Gibeon was the summer solstice.

In Genesis Rabbah (6:6), we learn that "on the summer solstice no creation has a shadow."

In the Machzor Vitry, the summer solstice is the day Moshe strikes a rock in anger while seeking water for the people. The Eternal tells Moshe he will never enter Eretz Yisrael as a result of his actions.

In Otzar Midrashim (Hashem Behohmah, Yasad Aretz 6), the summer solstice is the day animals receive protection from their predators. On that day, "the Holy One puts strength in the Behemoth and it becomes strong and raises its head and cries out, and its voice extends through all the settled land, and the wild animals hear and are afraid."

In Jewish tradition, the summer solstice carries with it themes of closure, exile, and loss, yet also the benevolence of nature and the divine. We meditate on grief, yet also on the world's abundance. The summer solstice is a day of paradox: maximum light but also a turn toward darkness.

Kavanot la-Tekufot: "A day is coming that burns like a furnace … I will shine upon you who revere the name of the Infinite a sun of righteousness, with healing in Her wings." -- Malachi 3:19-20

Summer Solstice Rituals: http://telshemesh.org/tammuz/a_jewish_summer_solstice_ritual.html https://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/meditation-tekufat-tammuz https://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/earth-prays

Tekufat Tishrei

Tekufat Tishrei, the autumnal equinox, when the sun enters Libra, and autumn, or "et ha-batsir" (vintage-time), begins, and when the day again equals the night. It is also known as the season of "the link between earth and heaven". 

Jubilees (6:26), in its story of the Flood, records the autumn equinox as the day the floodwaters begin to descend back into the depths so that the earth can be fruitful once again.

On the autumn equinox, Avraham sits up all night to observe the stars, to forecast the rains of the coming season (Jubilees 12:16).

In the Machzor Vitry, the autumn equinox is the day Avraham nearly sacrifices Yitzchak on Mount Moriah, before the Divine stays his hand. Because of his act, Avraham is blessed that his seed will be as the stars in the sky.

According to the Babylonian Talmud (Rosh Hashanah 10b), Sarah, Rakhel, and Channah all conceived on the 1st of Tishrei, a date close to the autumn equinox. 

In Otzar Midrashim (Hashem Behohmah, Yasad Aretz 6), the autumn equinox is the season of the ziz, when birds receive protection from their predators. "On the autumn equinox, the Holy One gives strength to the ziz and it becomes strong, and it lifts is head and flaps its winds and sends forth its voice, so that fear of it falls on the culture and the osprey from one year to the next."

The autumn equinox seems related to the skies, the stars, and the rains. Yet it is also related to fertility and to the renewal of life. In many climates, autumn is a season of harvest and of rain. Perhaps the autumn equinox is the time of reforging the lin between earth and heaven- a link necessary for life to continue.

Kavanot la-Tekufot: "May it be Your will that it be a year of rain and dew, a year of favor, a year of blessing, and a year of abundance … and please do not listen to the prayers of those who pray that there be no rain!" -- Leviticus Rabbah 20:44

Tekufat Tevet

Tekufat Tevet is the winter solstice when the sun enters Capricorn; this is the beginning of winter, or "et ha-ḥoref" (winter-time), when the night is the longest during the year. It is also known as the season for "the search for light".

In Jubilees (7), in the days of Noach, the winter solstice is the day the peaks of the mountains became visible after the floodwaters recede.

In the Babylonian Talmud (Avodah Zarah 8a), Adam and Chava become frightened as the winter solstice approaches, thinking the shortening of the days is a punishment. They fast for eight days. On the winter solstice, when the light grows, they celebrate for eight days. 

In the Machzor Vitry, the winter solstice is the day Yiftach, a chieftain of Yisrael, sacrifices his daughter in fulfillment of a foolish battle vow. She has been bewailing her fate on the hills for two months.

Otzah Midrashim (Hashem Behohmah, Yasad Aretz 6), tells that on the winter solstice, Leviathan protects the creatures of the sea from their predators: "On every winter solstice he lifts his head and makes himself great, and blows in the water, and roils the sea, and makes all the fish in the ocean afraid." Leviathan is a creature known for being G!d's playmate (Babylonian Talmud, Avodah Zarah 3b) and a wise teacher of human beings (Otzar Midrashim Alphabet of Ben Sira 17). His eyes, according to the Talmud, flash in the deep (Bava Batra 74b). 

The winter solstice seems to have to do with sight or the lack thereof. Mountains become visible to Noach, and the patterns of nature become visible to Adam and Chava. Leviathan is associated with inner sight. Yiftach, on the other hand, is blind to his own wrongdoings. On the winter solstice, the sun's light begins to become stronger, and we too consider how to strengthen our vision.

Kavanot la-Tekufot: "We are grateful before You, Eternal One, for You have brought us from darkness to light." -- Midrash Bereshit 68:11

Winter Solstice Rituals: http://telshemesh.org/tevet/winter_solstice_take_2.html http://telshemesh.org/tevet/chanukahsolstice_thoughts_for_2008.html http://telshemesh.org/tevet/chanukat_hatekufahritual_for_chanukah_and_the_winter_solstice_jill_hammer.html https://www.ritualwell.org/blog/burning-away-darkness-winter-solstice-ritual

If you like my writing, feel free to leave me a tip here: https://ko-fi.com/ezrasaville

Sources: The Jewish Book of Days by Rabbi Jill Hammer Jewish Encyclopedia, 1906. http://www.peelapom.com/  http://www.devotaj.com/ http://telshemesh.org/ 

[essays-for-breakfast]

Do You Remember?

Kiane Week Day Five: Affection

Note: So, I had no idea what to do with the prompt for today. That’s when randomness entered my creatively-bankrupt brain. I hope you enjoy my first dive into first person referral POV.

You. Let me hold you close, now that we have nothing to fear. Our war is won, our past conquered, our future brighter than I could have hoped. Let me kiss you, now that you wear my ring and I yours. Let me create a shrine for our love, a forest that will last a thousand years, where the daisy blooms all seasons and the birds carol the song of a Giant and a Fairy.

My people say that the Sacred Tree produces a seed only once every five thousand years. A single bloom with a single kernel from which the strongest and most beautiful tree will sprout. The odds of witnessing such a wonder are slim, few Fairies ever do, and those who hope and search all their life might still return emptyhanded. A pearl in an ocean of sand.

And yet, I found the pearl without looking for her. She pulled me from a river, healed my wounds, and nursed me to health. In every sense of the word, she saved my life.

You.

You are my pearl, my one in five thousand chance, my strong and beautiful rock in an ocean of worries.

Let me reminisce the years we spent side by side, as friends, as comrades, now as husband and wife. Do you remember?

A cave in the sun. Water ran down the stone, cool and fresh, but the walls of your home never felt cold against my back. Because your warmth melted all ice. How often did we play tag in the meadows while the grass whispered with the wind? Do you remember half of it? One day blended into the next, one year mingled with the following, but you were always there, with a smile to brighten my mood and a hand to lift me up. Free of my own memories to chain me, I saw the world through your eyes. So vivid and cheerful. Every face a new friend without a shred of hostility.

Sometimes I want to go back to these days with you. But we have more now than we ever did back then, don’t we? More memories to wallow in, more experience to rely on, more friends to ask for support, advice, or a mindless night indulged in liquor. And a child to share our stories with.

In truth, I don’t want to go back to the cave in the sun. Tears stain the end of this chapter. I now acknowledge why Helbram needed to die, and the sound of the rose tearing through his skin and flesh no longer wakes me in the darkest hour before dawn. But what I did to you will forever haunt me. Please don’t worry, you can’t kiss away the guilt, your words can’t lift the burden. I realize my mistake now. Perhaps one day I will find the strength to remind you how truly sorry I am.

A man can endure torture, he can stomach tremendous loss, he can throw himself into the steel-infested fires of the battlefield time and time again, as long as his mind has a happier place to return to. Nothing lets us hold on and continue to strive forward more than a blissful memory to keep us company.

I robbed you of that.

But I underestimated your strength. You thrived without the warmth of memories, you blossomed, and never once did you betrayal your ideals. Although everyone in your clan told you to find your meaning in battle, you proved that fighting for the sake of fighting is sad and meaningless. Your kindness touched others, allowed them to grow beyond the cage they trapped themselves in. It was this kindness that cradled me during the endless nights in prison, and it is this kindness upon which the merger of our clans and, in a sense, the Seven Deadly Sins are build.

Do you remember how we met again, as comrades?

I had given up hope to see you after all these years, but there you stood, alive and more beautiful than I could have imagined in my most luxurious dreams. You hid your face behind your hair, and you blushed when the Captain introduced you. How many careful, affectionate glances did you throw his way? And I hovered right there beside you, drunk with delight and on the brink of tears.

Yes, I was jealous. How I pulled my hair every single time you snatched the Captain into an embrace. No one deserved you in my mind, least of all an ill-mannered, inconsiderate man of Meliodas’ caliber. My respect for him probably made it worse. I watched him like a hawk, desperate to find a flaw that would prove he wasn’t worthy of your praises. I made a fool out of myself.

Hey, don’t laugh, if he or anyone else came along and played with your feelings like that, I would stare him to the ground and then chase Chastifol after him. What more can I say to convince you of my devotion for you? I’ve never learned the humility to share what I love. We should put this on a list of things you still have to teach me.

But there were good moments with the Sins too, even back then. Our missions brought us closer together and so did the plethora of parties we celebrated afterwards. The alcohol might have clouded my senses then and again, but I still recall the best parts. Your face illuminated by ten thousand candles on ten hundred chandeliers during our mission in Lothien. Your story about the first time you went fishing and pulled a twenty-feet Dragon Trout from the lake. Your laugh when Ban dove headfirst into the barrel with Aberdeen Ale.

Each day I watched you, and each day your beauty grew, until I was convinced a shower of daisies and primroses rained down on me whenever you passed me by.

But this chapter had to come to an end also.

Without you, where was I supposed to go? To an empty cave in the rain? To a forest I hadn’t seen in half a millennium, a ruin of ash and smoke and burnt seeds? Loneliness was my companion and misery my only driving force. Without you, I allowed anger and prejudice to cloud my judgement, I allied with knights I didn’t trust to hunt down a knight I should have learned to trust years ago. Shadows arose unseen to me, and I allowed them to seep into my heart. I became one with the evil my bitterness gardened. And then you returned to my life, side by side with Ban and the Captain, a smile on your face and a greeting for me on your lips.

Yes, without you, I wouldn’t have rejoined the Sins. Not for the princess’ pleas, not for the Captain’s orders, not even for Elaine’s sake. You, Diane, you made me stay. Blessed by your kindness, gifted with your cheer, awarded with the sight of your sleeping form under a firmament of thousands of stars, I followed you into battle.

A battle in Liones, where you gave me hope that perhaps you did remember the cave in the sun.

A battle amidst the labyrinth of Vaizel, where we fought our predecessors and lost our Captain but gained one another.

A battle high up in the marble remains of a Goddess temple, where I remembered all the promises I made to you and learned to fly.

And a battle against the Demon King, the fate of the world on our shoulders, life as we knew it on the brink of collapse, where I at last found the courage to ask you the ultimate question.

Do you remember?

Now, your hand rests in mine, and I will never let go. I know the contours of your palm better than I know my own, all the hills and fissures and your heartbeat pulsating underneath, but I will never get tired of stroking the skin to hear your giggles. The light seeps through a canopy of birch leaves and paints beautiful patterns onto your face. Let me hold you close and listen to your steady breath. Let me hum a soft lullaby to you. Let me be at peace while your head leans against my shoulders and your hair tickles my cheek.

You are my pearl, my one in five thousand chance, my strong and beautiful rock in an ocean of worries.

You are you.

And I love you.

[inhissteps777]

When Satan is persecuting you in any aspect of your life, plead the blood of Jesus Christ for His protection. This doesn’t mean that you’ll never suffer in life, but no harm will befall you that’s contrary God’s purpose in your life.

In the words of Charles Spurgeon, “Christ’s intercessory power with God lies in His precious blood, and your power and mine with God in prayer must lie in that blood too... How can you ever prevail with God unless you plead the blood of Jesus?” Charles Spurgeon also said, “This precious blood is to be used for overcoming, and consequently for holy warfare. We dishonor it if we do not use it to that end.”

Exodus 12:13 The blood shall be a sign for you on the houses where you live; and when I see the blood I will pass over you, and no plague will befall you to destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt.

Isaiah 54:17 no weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and this is their vindication from me,” declares the Lord.

Psalm 23:4-5 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; My cup runs over.

Psalm 91:5 You shall not be afraid of the terror by night, Nor of the arrow that flies by day,

Malachi 3:10–11 Bring the full tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. And thereby put me to the test, says the Lord of hosts, if I will not open the windows of heaven for you and pour down for you a blessing until there is no more need. I will rebuke the devourer for you, so that it will not destroy the fruits of your soil, and your vine in the field shall not fail to bear, says the Lord of hosts.

Matthew 6:25-34 Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature? So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? “Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. Matthew 17:18-21 Jesus rebuked the demon, and it came out of the boy, and he was healed at that moment. Then the disciples came to Jesus in private and asked, “Why couldn’t we drive it out?” He replied, “Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

Matthew 18:19 Again I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven.

Matthew 21:22 And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith.

Mark 10:29–30 Jesus said, “Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions, and in the age to come eternal life.

Mark 11:24 Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.

Mark 16:17-18 And these signs will accompany those who believe: In my name they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.”

Luke 6:38  Give, and it will be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom. For with the same measure that you use, it will be measured back to you.

Luke 10:19 Behold, I give you the authority to trample on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you.

John 14:13 Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.

John 15:7 If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.

John 15:16 You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit, and that your fruit should remain, that whatever you ask the Father in My name He may give you.

John 16:23-24 In that day you will ask nothing of me. Truly, truly, I say to you, whatever you ask of the Father in my name, he will give it to you. Until now you have asked nothing in my name. Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full.

Acts 16:25-26 And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them. And suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken: and immediately all the doors were opened, and every one's bands were loosed.

Romans 8:31 What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?

Romans 8:35-37 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:“For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.

1 Corinthians 5:7 Cleanse out the old leaven that you may be a new lump, as you really are unleavened. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed.

2 Corinthians 9:6,10  6 Remember this–a farmer who plants only a few seeds will get a small crop. But the one who plants generously will get a generous crop. 10 For God is the one who provides seed for the farmer and then bread to eat. In the same way, he will provide and increase your resources and then produce a great harvest of generosity in you.

Philippians 4:6-7 Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:19 And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.

Colossians 1:20 And through him God reconciled everything to himself. He made peace with everything in heaven and on earth by means of Christ’s blood on the cross.

Hebrews 10:19–23 And so, dear brothers and sisters, we can boldly enter heaven’s Most Holy Place because of the blood of Jesus. By his death, Jesus opened a new and life-giving way through the curtain into the Most Holy Place. And since we have a great High Priest who rules over God’s house, let us go right into the presence of God with sincere hearts fully trusting him. For our guilty consciences have been sprinkled with Christ’s blood to make us clean, and our bodies have been washed with pure water. Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise.

Hebrews 13:16 So we say with confidence, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?

1 Peter 1:18-19 For you know that God paid a ransom to save you from the empty life you inherited from your ancestors. And it was not paid with mere gold or silver, which lose their value. It was the precious blood of Christ, the sinless, spotless Lamb of God.

1 Peter 3:12 For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their prayer, but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil.

James 1:5 If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him.

James 1:17 Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

James 4:7 Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

1 Peter 2:24 He personally carried our sins in his body on the cross so that we can be dead to sin and live for what is right. By his wounds you are healed.

1 John 3:22 And whatever we ask we receive from Him, because we keep His commandments and do those things that are pleasing in His sight.

1 John 4:3-4 but every spirit that does not acknowledge Jesus is not from God. This is the spirit of the antichrist, which you have heard is coming and even now is already in the world. You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.

Revelation 12:10-11 Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say: Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of his Messiah. For the accuser of our brothers and sisters, who accuses them before our God day and night, has been hurled down. They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death.

[carmen-riddle]

River Styx: what do u think happens when we die

Hey anon ,

This question made me think. Like think think and then the sudden harsh reality that I am going to die someday and not be a teenager anymore but actually some old grandma hit me hard so thanks for that bruh.

I really don't know what happens. I believe that once the body does the soul goes to a court room where it is presented in front of god and according to the karma in this life the fate is decided. If you have done exceptionally well and good things you go to heaven . Which I believe would be the case for 1% people. You then are able to attain moksha or the freedom from the re birth cycle. If you have done evil deeds then you serve your time in hell . Which would be the case for 20% people give today's crime statistics. Now the people who have done their time in hell get a choice to either become a demon , re birth or heaven I believe that most would choose heaven . Lastly the rebirthers people who neither belong in heaven nor in hell but this doesn't mean they have not don't anything wrong or anything good.

According to Hinduism

Among the collected hymns of the Rigveda (which may date from 1500 BC and probably constitute the earliest known book in the world), there is a “Song of Creation.” “Death was not there,” it states, “nor was there aught immortal.” The world was a total void, except for “one thing, breathless, yet breathed by its own nature.” This is the first recorded insight into the importance of respiration to potential life. To the intellectually inclined Hindu, the eternal, infinite, and all-pervasive principle of Brahman alone is real, and the acquisition of cosmic consciousness allows humans to become one with it. The individual soul (ātman) is merely a particle of this cosmic principle. Think of it this way , a drop propelling out of the ocean its different from the ocean for a while but in the end it is made up from this ocean and returns back to it.

After death At the cremation site, a lighted torch is handed to the eldest son or grandson, who ignites the pyre, near the feet of the dead woman, at the head of the dead man. While the body is burning the soul is thought to seek refuge within the head. The intense heat usually explodes the skull, liberating the soul; when this does not happen spontaneously, the skull is deliberately shattered by blows from a cudgel. Other traditions hold that the soul passes out through the nose, eyes, and mouth. Some believe it is better still if it leaves through the anterior fontanel, an opening in the skull that normally closes during early childhood. Such theorists hold that if the deceased has practiced yoga or intense meditation, this opening will reopen, allowing free passage to the soul. In some parts of India it is believed that the souls of the really wicked depart through the rectum, and in so doing acquire such defilement that endless purification is necessary.

Immediately after death, the soul is not clothed in a physical body but in a vaporous thumb-sized structure (linga ṡarīra). This is immediately seized by two servants of Yama, the god of death, who carry it to their master for a preliminary identity check. Afterward, the soul is promptly returned to the abode of the deceased, where it hovers around the doorstep. It is important that the cremation be completed by the time of the soul’s return, to prevent it from reentering the body. By the 10th day, the near relatives have purged some of the defilement (mṛitaka sutaka) they incurred from the death, and the chief mourner and a priest are ready to carry out the first śrāddha (ritual of respect). This is a step toward the reconstitution of a more substantial physical body (yatana ṡarīra) around the disembodied soul (preta) of the deceased. A tiny trench is dug in a ritually purified piece of land by a river, and the presence of Vishnu is invoked. Ten balls of barley flour mixed with sugar, honey, milk, curds, ghee, and sesame seeds are then placed, one by one, in the soil. As the first ball is offered, the priest says (and the son repeats after him), “May this create a head”; with the second ball, “May this create neck and shoulders”; with the third, “May this create heart and chest”; and so on. The 10th request is for the ball to create the capacity to digest, thereby satisfying the hunger and thirst of the newly created body. Bungled ceremonies can have catastrophic effects. Prayers are offered to Vishnu to help deliver the new entity (now perceived as some 18 inches [46 centimetres] long) into the power of Yama. The balls of barley are picked up from the trench and thrown into the river. Further śrāddhas are performed at prescribed times, varying according to caste; one of these rituals makes the soul an ancestral spirit, or pitṛi. With the completion of these rituals, the soul of the deceased leaves this world for its yearlong and perilous journey to Yama’s kingdom. The family is now formally cleansed. The men shave their heads, and the women wash their hair. The family’s tutelary god (removed by a friend at the time of the death) can be returned to its home. A feast is offered to Brahmans, neighbours, and beggars—even the local cows are given fresh grass. There is a sense of general relief: if the śrāddhas had not been performed, the preta could have become a bhūta (malignant spirit), repeatedly turning up to frighten the living. For the deceased, things would have been worse: the preta would have been left errant. (A similar fate befalls the soul of a person who commits suicide.) The horror of dying unshriven that haunted people in medieval Europe resembles the despair of the devout Hindu at the prospect of having no son to perform the śrāddhas.

The soul, in its substantial envelope, is meanwhile proceeding on its journey, holding onto a cow’s tail to cross the Vaitarani, a horrible river of blood and filth that marks the boundary of Yama’s kingdom. Throughout, it is sustained by further śrāddhas, during which friends on earth seek to provide it with shoes, umbrellas, clothing, and money. These they give to a Brahman, in the hope that the deceased will benefit. During such rituals relatives have to avoid all sewing, which might occlude the pitṛi’s throat, rendering it incapable of ever breathing or drinking again. After a year, the pitṛi in its yatana ṡarīra reaches Yama’s seat of judgment, where it is sentenced to a strictly limited term in heaven (svarga) or hell (naraka) according to its deserts. This completed, it moves into another body (the karaṇa ṡarīra), whose form depends on the individual’s karman. It could be a plant, a cockroach, a canine intestinal parasite, a mouse, or a human being. Unlike Jains, Hindus believe that whatever body the soul eventually moves into, it inhabits as sole tenant, not as a tenement lodger

[trishmilburn]

An Exploration of The Untamed’s Romance and Mystery, Episode 1

Disclaimer: This post and the ones that will follow will be filled with loads of spoilers if you haven’t seen The Untamed, the Chinese drama based on Mo Xiang Tong Xiu’s novel, Mo Dao Zu Shi (The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation).

It’s been almost a month since The Untamed aired its final episode, and I’m still totally obsessed with it. That’s both as a pure fan and as a writer of romance. I’ve been published in romance for eleven years now, and I’m always fascinated by how romance storylines are constructed in various forms – books, movies and TV. To me, The Untamed has a beautiful romance even though, due to the Chinese government’s censorship of homosexual (or BL, i.e. boys love) content, it was presented as a bromance. But you can tell that the writers, directors and lead actors of The Untamed were very well aware of the enormous fan base of the original novel and the donghua (Chinese animation) and did their best to live up to the spirit of the love story even though they couldn’t present it in an explicit or obvious way. But here’s the thing, the constraints did nothing to lessen the beauty of the romance; in fact, in some ways it made it even more impactful and emotional.

So beginning with this post and continuing with more in the future as I complete a re-watch of all 50 episodes, I’m going to explore the development of the romance and what made it so lovely to watch unfold. To a lesser degree, I’ll also be commenting on the development of the mystery and the machinations of the forces working against or using for their own personal advantage our two leads, Wei Ying (aka Wei Wuxian or the Yiling Patriarch) and Lan Zhan (aka Lang Wangji or Hanguang-Jun).

Of note, I’ll be commenting with the knowledge of what’s going to happen throughout the series and having read the novel.

So here we go with Episode 1:

We are thrown right into the middle of the action of a battle scene that happens a good way into the story as we’ll see it presented but that happened in the past. The first thing we hear spoken is some unknown person saying, “Wei Wuxian is dead. This calls for a celebration!” And then we see the raging battle, Wei Ying (Wei Wuxian is his courtesy name) is looking broken and horrified as people battle for a piece of powerful metal known as the Yin Tiger Seal, which Wei Ying created. Then the action is frozen as tears fall from Wei Ying’s eyes and he starts walking backward toward the edge of a cliff. We’ll see in the episodes ahead just why he is so broken at this point, but suffice it to say that almost everyone wants him dead and he’s lost so much that his tears are more than understandable.

But as he begins to fall, we see that there is still one person who very much wants him to stay alive – Lan Zhan, the man who loves him but who has never said those words. The first we see of Lan Zhan is him extending his arm bloody from battle and flying toward the edge of the cliff, grasping Wei Ying’s wrist at the last possible moment. His arm shakes as blood drips off of it, but he’s determined to hold all of Wei Ying’s weight with that one injured arm to keep him from falling to his death. You see the desperation in his eyes, and when Wei Ying looks up at him, you see how surprised and touched he is that this one person still cares whether he lives or dies. The first words we hear Wei Ying say are Lan Zhan’s name, right before he tells Lan Zhan to let him go. Lan Zhan, of course, doesn’t, but then Jiang Cheng, who is basically Wei Ying’s adoptive brother, approaches with the intent of making sure Wei Ying does, indeed, die. As he stabs down at Wei Ying with his sword, he misses but very nearly stabs Lan Zhan in the arm that is already injured. Seeing this, Wei Ying’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t want this person who is dear to him to suffer more injury, especially something that might prevent him from playing the zither or using his sword, the two items that help make him one of the most powerful immortal cultivators among all the cultivation sects. And so Wei Ying wrests his wrist out of Lan Zhan’s grasp and falls to his death, much to Lan Zhan’s horror. As a smug Jiang Cheng walks away, all Lan Zhan can do is stare downward, heartbroken, shocked and in utter despair.

In the next scene, we jump back to the “present” timeline, 16 years later. A storyteller is telling stories to the Lan Clan’s disciples, including Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, about the infamous Yiling Patriarch, which is the name Wei Ying was known by after he startd down the demonic cultivation path. Though he’s been dead for 16 years, this storyteller is planting the seed that he might not be or that he might come back. On first watching, I was confused here, especially when the storyteller looks over his shoulder toward someone who is sitting behind a thin curtain and holding a fan. Now I know that this person is Nie Huisang, who while outwardly putting on a cowardly but loveable face and seeming to know nothing throughout the story, is actually a master manipulator of events, moving people like chess pieces to gain the end result he desires to get revenge for the death of his brother.

It suddenly starts getting darker outside, a person on the street says, “The soul has returned,” and the wind kicks up. A flag flies through the air and lands against a door at Mo Manor, where Wei Ying has returned to the land of the living because of a spell cast by Mo Xuanyu so that the powerful Yiling Patriarch can carry out revenge against all the people who have harmed Mo Xuanyu, who has been branded a lunatic by his family and others because he’s gay. As all of this is being explained, we see a flashback to the moment when Wei Ying was falling off the cliff. It took some discussions with other fans and this re-watch to figure out what was going on here, especially since this is where there’s a significant difference with the book. In the book, Wei Ying comes back in the body of Mo Xuanyu, so he looks like a different person and thus is unrecognizable as Wei Ying by just looking at him. Understandably, the makers of the drama didn’t want to have two actors playing the part of Wei Ying, and so we’re led to believe that the spell Mo Xuanyu cast allowed him to actually swap bodies with Wei Ying just before the moment of Wei Ying’s death. There’s a time travel-y aspect to this spell, and thus this is the reason Wei Ying’s body was never found in the drama. It’s a little mind twisty; just go with it because we get to have the handsome owner of gorgeous smiles Xiao Zhan play Wei Ying in both of his lives.

But wait, you might be thinking, how does that work? How would his family not recognize him? Well, Mo Xuanyu is actually the illegitimate child of the Jin Clan’s leader, and thus he went to the Jins’ Golden Unicorn Tower when he was 13. He was an adult when he got kicked out and returned to Mo Manor. His family has never seen his adult face as he always wears a mask or heavy powder to cover it. This mask will also allow Wei Ying to hide from those who would recognize him and assume he’d done something nefarious to come back to life.

Mo Xuanyu’s voice in Wei Ying’s head tells him what’s up, and Wei Ying notices a series of deep cuts on his arm that are a product of the spell. These wounds will never heal if Wei Ying doesn’t carry out the required revenge.

After an encounter with Mo Xuanyu’s ass of a cousin, Wei Ying steps out of the room that is covered in blood and paper talismans that were used in the spell to bring Wei Ying back. He eventually encounters the young Lan disciples. He marvels at this coincidence and wonders, “Is he here, too?” He being Lan Zhan. When Wei Ying wanders into the room where the Mo family is meeting with the disciples, who are there to get rid of some evil spirits, he’s once again attacked by his cousin. Lan Sizhui helps protect Wei Ying, likely acting on an unknown but instinctual connection since, though he’s forgotten, Wei Ying was an important person to him when he was young.

When Wei Ying sees the disciples using spirit attraction flags, he thinks about how everyone wanted him dead but they still use something that he created. When talking to the Lans, he notices the cloud pattern on Sizhui’s clothing and remembers the first time he saw Lan Zhan, back when they were both teens studying at the Lans’ home in Gusu, the Cloud Recesses.

That night, as the Lan disciples are in position to capture the evil spirits, Sizhui hears Wei Ying playing a tune on what looks like a blade of grass and tells Jingyi the song sounds familiar, like a melody from Gusu. He likely has heard Lan Zhan play the song as he’s mourned the loss of Wei Ying and desperately tried every day of those 16 years to reconnect with some piece of Wei Ying’s soul. It’s obvious Wei Ying is still thinking about Lan Zhan as he plays the song, and when he stops he says Lan Zhan’s name with a look of longing on his face. He is probably thinking about how Lan Zhan’s was the last face he saw before dying, about how Lan Zhan was trying so desperately to save him despite everything that had happened and how the rest of the world viewed him.

It’s important to note that at this point, Wei Ying is likely not in love with Lan Zhan, at least not knowingly. He can be a bit oblivious not only to the feelings of others, particularly Lan Zhan, but also his own. But there is no doubt he harbors a deep affection for the person he considers his dearest friend in the world.

His thoughts of the past are interrupted when Master Mo and his servants drag Wei Ying back to the main room, where Cousin Mo has been possessed and Madam Mo is convinced it’s Wei Ying’s doing. At this point you understand why Mo Xuanyu wanted revenge on his family. They’re awful. Wei Ying and the Lans work together as one member after another of the Mo family gets possessed by a spirit that is, strangely, residing in their left arms. The young Lans decide they need to call Lan Zhan for backup since they’re out of their depth, and of course Wei Ying is against this. After all, he can’t yet run the risk of being recognized, especially by the person who knows him best. While everyone else is dealing with possessed Madam Mo, Wei Ying sees an opportunity to exact some of the revenge he’s been tasked with and smears the circle keeping Master and Cousin Mo contained and tells them to “get to work.” Thus begins a fight between the three Mo family members.

Next we see Lan Zhan at some other location, his zither behind him and holding his sword, Bichen. He sees the signal flare the disciples sent up and off he goes to help. When he arrives and uses his powerful zither to send out a wave of white light to bring the Mo family under control, Wei Ying realizes who made that happen and slips away to hide. When he sees Lan Zhan descend into Mo Manor (like the gorgeous angel he is -- oops, sorry, got carried away with my love for Lan Zhan there), the smile on his face shows how much happiness Lan Zhan has brought him in the past, particularly when he was teasing Lan Zhan.

Sizhui asks Lan Zhan what kind of evil spirit they’re dealing with, but Lan Zhan replies that it’s rather a spiritual consciousness of a spiritual weapon. After he examines a sword, he realizes it has traces of the Yin Tiger Seal, to which Jingyi replies that the Yiling Patriarch must still be alive. Remember, that idea was planted by the storyteller at the command of Nie Huisang, who studied alongside Wei Ying and Lan Zhan at the Cloud Recesses.

Movement at the edge of the manor is Wei Ying making his escape, and Lan Zhan follows but doesn’t catch him. But when Lan Zhan is alone, he looks down the street and wonders, “Wei Ying, was it really you?” You can tell there is hope mixed with dread of what method Wei Ying may have used to come back.

The next scene reveals the storyteller being paid a gold nugget by Nie Huisang, though we still don’t see Huisang’s face, all for three days of stories about the Yiling Patriarch. Unknown to the storyteller, Wei Ying passes behind him with a donkey. Again the nameless man in the street says, “The soul has returned.” And Wei Ying sees that there is only one cut left on his arm. He wonders who it represents. That question and the mystery of the left arm-possessing spirit are what will bring Lan Zhan and Wei Ying back together and lead them on a series of adventures, during which their feelings for each other will grow.