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sneakydraws · 4 years ago

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Well, here it is - a lengthy explanation of each card in my mdzs major arcana deck and what I meant to convey/what i would have changed in retrospect/what alternatives i considered! It’s a bit messy and my typing style is lazy but hopefully it will be an interesting read to some of you :)

And so you don’t say I didn’t warn you - jiang cheng’s section (11 justice) is absurdly long lmao

0 the fool I elaborated on this in the post itself but yeah basically jin ling is kind of representative of all the damage and trauma caused by the past, and there’s a kind of danger there of him falling victim to the same vices as the older characters and repeating the same mistakes and perpetuating the cycle of war and misery (the cycle that we already see with how the jin sect became the new wen sect, and later with how jgy became the new wwx) and he has a lot of room to grow! He grows so much over the course of the novel, comes to realise the complexities of the past and gets a harsh life lesson in how nothing is as black and white as it seems. But ill save talking about his progress for the end, for now whats important is that he has room to grow and also a dog. I don’t really have a justification for the sun, i mostly just thought it looked sick? It made its way to the next card as well, where it makes a bit more sense, but then i realised it was a dumb motif to include 1 the magician I still very much like wwx for the role, and that illustration would have probably had him raising a corpse on his left and pointing threateningly to the sun on his right. I considered including the table as well, with some mdzs relevant items replacing the card suits. Anyway, like i said wwx got a few cards to himself already so i went with the alternative wq design, since i think she fits the card as well. Both she and wwx are highly skilled people, extremely driven once they set their mind to something. The card to me symbolises the creative mind as well as a general drive for action, which fits them both - wwx was famously a prolific inventor, and wq came up with a previously unheard of surgery, after all. This card strays pretty far from the rider-waite deck design, largely because i was still figuring out how i wanted to approach this series, but you can still see the influence. 2 the high priestess I was actually going to skip this card at first because I couldn’t think of a fitting character, but once i considered a qings character post death, it all fit pretty well. She was already a highly intuitive person in life, and in sharing her memories with wwx she is, in a way, relaying a kind of secret knowledge. Anyway she’s one of my fav characters so im glad i got a chance to include her. The coffins could be interpreted to be xxc and sl or xxc and xy 3 the empress Theres other mother figures in mdzs who got to be mothers for a longer time, but jyl definitely embodies the positive aspects of this card the best. She’s nurturing, kind, emotionally supportive, she already mothered wwx and jc quite a bit when she was young. Plus i liked that the rw card had both water and flowers, making an easy lotus connection. In retrospect the stars look kind of out of place and i should have replaced them with something more relevant... Also, i should have had her hold a lotus seed pod instead of a flower, haha 4 the emperor Like i said I considered jc for the role but hoching bullied me into admitting that nmj was better… they’re both more of an inverted emperor than an upright one but then again theres hardly any character in mdzs who would fit upright emperor so. Jgs was also considered but he’s even uglier than nmj so i couldn’t bear to draw him 5 the hierophant It was pointed out to me that lqr would have fit this card better and the truth if that statement haunts me to this day. Unfortunately I have no space in my brain for lqr so lxc got the role instead. My main reason was his role during the wen destruction of gusu lan, when he ran away with the contents of the library - this is why there’s bookshelves behind him. The keys, take, from the rider-waite deck, are meant to represent the gusu pendants that allow you to enter 6 the lovers Im sure many people would have chosen wangxian here but I uhh don’t really care abt wangxian personally? And also their love story is so convoluted that jyl and jzx seem idyllic by comparison lol. Also i didnt really have an idea for who to put in the angel’s place for wangxian… mme jin certainly did not get these two together in the end but undeniably she and mme yu did initially give them a chance to fall for each other so. Thats something i guess. Anyway the trees became their sects’ flowers and the mountain became the burial grounds - an omen of their tragic fate, basically 7 the chariot There might have been other characters who fit this card better but i couldn’t really think of another card for lwj and i thought it would be weird to not include him… anyway i don’t really care for current timeline lwj BUT i do like that he was clearly influenced by wwx to walk his own path in life based on his moral convictions rather than follow his sect’s rules blindly. The chariot is to me a card of self control, self determination and focused action, so it seemed fitting. The composition felt kind of empty without the actual chariot so i padded it out with the guqin, the cloud recess in the bg (it doesn’t look great but i tried to replicate the drama design….) and the bunnies which conveniently fit the colour scheme of the sphinxes in the rider-waite design 8 strength Like i said before, my interpretation of this card is more… morally ambiguous than the quote unquote official meaning, so i thought about manipulative or duplicitous characters more than kind characters whose strength is expressed through gentleness (though i did consider jyl briefly for the latter interpretation). As such, i considered both jgy and nhs, but ended up going with jgy largely because i couldn’t pass up the opportunity to put the nie sect’s beast as the lion. 9 the hermit My thoughts immediately went to bssr lol. It may be an overly literal interpretation but whatever, i like it just fine. And i like that i managed to echo the rider-waite silhouette in the mountain and the tree (and even in bssr herself) 10 wheel of fortune God i love the parallels between these 2… this card to me is about how you cant trust your current situation, good or bad, to last forever, and these 2 embody that perfectly imo. Wwx went from son of a well off servant and a powerful cultivator, to street rat orphan, to adopted son of sect leader jiang, to double orphan, to MIA, to terrifying but admired warrior, to terrifying and despised traitor, to dead, to, at the very end, suddenly respected and trusted again. The dishonesty and cheapness of whatever the public’s current opinion of him is is portrayed beautifully as far as im concerned. And jgy of course claws his way up to power only to instantaneously become public enemy number one, to the point that he’s probably blamed for stuff there’s no reason to believe he had a hand in. Wei wuxian’s silent astonishment at how quickly the cultivation world turns against jgy and towards him again is a delicious moment of thematic resonance. 11 justice I settled on this card for jc after he got booted from the emperor seat but i do think it fits, in a somewhat convoluted way. I turned both the sword and the scales into visual representations of the golden core transfer (can you tell im obsessed with it). According to biddy tarot, the justice card is partly about searching for the truth, and the scene where jc finds out about the transfer is of course a big deal. I was also very influenced by the reversed meaning again - which is about being reluctant or unwilling to face or accept the consequences of your actions. I feel on an intuitive level that this fits jc but I’m not sure how well i can explain it - it’s something about how he’s a little too comfortable scapegoating wwx for things that were also, if much less so, influenced by his actions, and also something about the way he keeps wwx at an arm’s length emotionally but still leans on him and accepts his support when he really needs it, and somewhat hypocritically expects wwx to put the needs of him and the jiang sect before the needs of others. And also something about the core exchange is the consequence and proof of wwx’s deep - terrifyingly deep, even - love and care for him, which is something jc doesn’t seem to let himself acknowledge. Maybe even something about how you could argue that the way all of the jiangs acted around wwx - jfm’s favouritism that left him with the feeling of a debt he needs to repay, mme yus insistence that he be a servant more than a brother to jc, prepared to give his life for jc, and jc’s own unwillingness - or inability, he was a child after all - to clearly acknowledge wwx as an equal to himself, enabling wwx’s self sacrificial and protective tendencies - that all of this was what caused wwx’s complete and unquestioning willingness to do whatever it took to protect jc, and therefore paved the way to the golden core transfer. And i don’t mean this to be scapegoating jc - especially considering how young he was when this all went down, it wouldn’t be fair to expect this level of emotional perceptiveness, awareness and maturity of him - but i think adult jc has to grapple with the fact that the chain of cause and effect was not as simple as wwx fucking everyone’s lives up to be a martyr, and that both jc and his parents had a role in that story as well. I don’t even necessarily think this is something that jc only realised in the current timeline - i think it’s something he felt on some level this whole time, and it probably led to a lot of feelings of guilt - but the suibian reveal definitely puts it in sharp focus, and i think he’s now better equipped to handle this introspection than he was as a recently orphaned, traumatised teenager, lol. ANYWAY the window with the fabric is both a nod to the rider-waite design and a reference to the destruction of lanling - i actually did some basic ass research for this, and it seems that in ancient china fabric would indeed be hanged in a window if the normally used paper was damaged. The design of the window, as well as the very idea to use it to imply the reconstruction of lanling, was taken from this great piece of jc angst by my pal moroll1! Oh yeah also the covered window kind of works as a denial of forgiveness for jc because it’s like a halo but covered up... Also I completely forgot to put a blindfold over his eyes which would be perfectttt because blind justice and the core exchange......... ok moving on 12 the hanged man I always have issues with this card because i cant find a satisfactory summary of what it’s really about. Best i can tell it symbolises a need to hit pause, surrender or let go of something… ive also seen it tied to sacrifice? So mo xuanyu doesn’t fit perfectly, but sacrifice is definitely there in a surface level reading kind of way, and the idea that you have to surrender or let go in order to achieve your goal does fit the whole deal of getting revenge but giving up your life in exchange and not being there to see it 13 death This is probably one of my favourite cards, definitely not because I have huge issues with change or anything…. I see this card as signalling the necessity of change or putting an end to something / leaving something in the past in order to start anew? At first i considered putting past wwx, mxy and current wwx here as a kind of transformation and one cycle flowing into the next... But firstly, I’d already used mxy in the very previous card, so putting him in again would feel like overkill, and secondly, the longer I thought about it the less convinced I was that this would even fit with the card’s meaning? Because coming back from the dead doesn’t like... trigger an internal transformation within wwx or anything? Anyway, fun fact: the design I ended up going with was actually originally intended for judgement! I thought I was being very clever with the whole “figure plays an instrument and the dead rise” parallel, but apparently I’d just completely forgotten that the judgement card had a completely different composition... Truly I was boo boo the fool... But yeah anyway at the end of the day I figured the design would kind of work for death as well, with Wen Ning and the theme of transformation, (since in his case coming back as a fierce corpse does actually mark a certain transformation in behaviour) and Wei Wuxian’s protection of the Wen people essentially signifying an attempt to break the cycle of oppression if that makes any sense? Like, wwx is trying to revolutionise the way the world works a bit, if you catch my drift 14 temperance The centrist card! Again this is probably going off track from the “official” interpretation, but to me this card has a certain “don’t commit fully; do everything in moderation; don’t take either side” flavour to it that i personally find infuriating irl and that i very much assign to lxc. It’s entirely possible that I’m misinterpreting his character because i didn’t really pay him (and the 3zun in general) much mind while reading, but hell, I’m allowed to pick favourites and choose who i want to interpret deeply vs shallowly. Again, i wish id chosen lqr for hierophant because its so annoying for a character i don’t care about to get two cards…. But oh well 15 the devil My alternative idea for this was jgy as the devil and lxc plus nmj as the figures, but since all three had been featured already (multiple times, even!) i figured I’d go with xy instead, especially since he’s among my faves lol. I think the devil signifies something along the lines of unhealthy attachment, obsession or addiction, which isn’t 100% accurate in the case of xxc and a-qing, but if i stretch it a bit to cover toxic relationships in general, and especially manipulation or negative influence, i don’t think it’s half bad. My main struggle here was to choose who amongst the xxc/sl/aq trio to choose for the human figures. 16 the tower Arguably jin zixuans death and the following massacre of nightless city were the final and most direct reason for the siege of burial mounds, and the tiger seal is good shorthand for wwx’s loss of control over his powers, which led to the deaths of jzx and jyl. When reimagining major arcana i like to feature some kind of building in this card (spoilers for a possible future project but in my rose of versailles major arcana set the tower is bastille) and even if it’s not a tower, the image of wwx looming over the gathered crowd from atop a rooftop is so good i couldn’t resist 17 the star Struggled with this one - considered both jin ling and lsz for it, as symbolising a hope for the future, but that was kind of covered by the world so it wouldn’t make sense to include here as well... As usual when I struggle with interpreting a card (as opposed to understanding it but struggling with matching a character to it, like with death or moon) I went to biddy tarot and read all the details about its meaning. What i got was that this card signifies an incoming period of introspection and inner peace following a time of turmoil, as well as a general moving on into a new, better phase of one’s life or finding new meaning and purpose. The figure also suggests someone vulnerable, but possessing a keen sense of intuition as well as a good degree of practicality and common sense. Given all those, I settled for mianmian because IM LOVE HER..... I also kind of see her as a prelude to the “just one person is enough” theme present in tgcf!! And i think her decision to abandon her sect because she saw the toxicity and corruption in it is a very inspiring action - even if it didn’t make a large visible impact, i think the appearance of her and her idyllic family at the very end of the novel - paralleling and mirroring wangxian - implies that at the end of the day, it was a meaningful one 18 the moon Another card i ALWAYS fuxking struggle with - this time less because i can’t grasp its meaning and more because I can never find a character that fits it well. I usually get fixated on the “dreams and subconscious” part, but if i lean more on the “disguise, deceit, anxiety and fear” part, i eventually figured the whole yi city arc wouldn’t be a bad fit. I say the entire arc because it really does encompass all those themes if you include both the past and the present - xue yang’s disguise, his tricks with the villagers, a-qing’s lies and even xxc’s reluctance to talk about his past as well as xue yang pretending to be xxc all fit the disguise and deceit angle, and the general mystery and creepiness of the current timeline yi city work well with the anxiety and fear - the mist, the slow uncovering of the past, even a-qing being revealed to be an ally after scaring the shit out of the protags. I definitely struggled with including all the elements and characters, and even moreso with making them vaguely fit the rider-waite composition, but i think it ended up okay ish. OH and i completely forgot to draw mist swirling around them :( 19 the sun I was considering mianmian’s family for this one, but since I used her for star, I ended up with wwx and his parents instead. Once again I’m reinterpreting the card a bit - normally I think it symbolises incoming times of pure happiness and abundance, as well as a connection with the inner child, but I gave it more of a nostalgic or sentimental twist - wwx looking back at the brief glimpse of his happy childhood. 20 judgement another card that i struggle to interpret a bit... Here i actually used the tgcf tarot zine as a reference! In it judgement is summarised as “rebirth, following duty, absolution” SO i figured that nhs, mxy and wwx all together would fit pretty neatly... wwx achieving (public) absolution through clearing his own name after being reborn, and nhs sort of calling on wwx to expose jgy’s crimes... It’s a bit messy but not bad I think! 21 the world This ties very closely to my read on mdzs as a story - which is that it’s, at the end of the day, largely about cycles, and about how hard it is to break them, but how we gotta keep trying and have hope anyway. Or maybe more precisely, that the people directly involved with and influenced by the trauma of the past might not be able to get over said trauma and that the hope for healing from it will be shouldered by the new generation. Or something like that… Basically what i mean is that jc and wwx and lwj and lxc and nhs and jgy and all these people who were in the thick of the sunshot campaign and the siege are so profoundly affected by it that it genuinely feels by the end of the story like there is little hope for them to ever truly overcome that trauma and build a better future without repeating the same old mistakes - but there is a glimmer of hope in the new generation, specifically in jl and lsz. And it’s a bit paradoxical, because they have also been directly impacted by the past tragedies - lsz having his entire clan wiped out after wwx failed to protect them, jl losing both his parents to wwx’s mistakes - but despite that loss, and despite coming from arguably the two opposing sides of the past conflicts, they are both, in the end, capable of moving past that tragedy, of recognising the complicated nature of those conflicts (jl’s moment of clarity at the end is both heartbreaking and hopeful) and forging friendships between clans in the process. I honestly think that the extra where jl is struggling to assert his authority as sect leader, to treat his subjects well and to cooperate with other sects in a truly amicable way is the single hopeful ending note for the larger themes of the novel - it allows us to imagine that maybe these kids can learn from the mistakes of their elders rather than getting sucked in by resentment at those mistakes, and actually build a brighter future for the cultivation world. And sidenote, this is also why i have a soft spot for jin ling and lan sizhui as a ship... speaking of which their poses were directly referenced from the lovers card ehehe

Looking back, I’d like to add some symbol of jin ling’s trauma so that it mirrors baby wen yuan in the tree stump... maybe his father’s sword?

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #tarot

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gehayi · 4 years ago

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It's possible that Tom Riddle seduced Merope Gaunt & later on she lied to get him to marry her or more likely she had symptoms of a false pregnancy & believed she was pregnant which led her to tell him she's with child. Given the social pressures of the time he left with her & the 2 likely eloped with Merope becoming pregnant later on but when Tom learned of this it lead him to abandon her anyways. What is your view on what really happened between Merope Gaunt & Tom Riddle Senior?

It’s possible, sure, that Merope could have lied about being pregnant or could have read the symptoms of false pregnancy wrong . But...well, I’ve been to school with rich privileged kids, and I find it more believable that Tom Sr. found the silent adoration of the ugly daughter of the local hermit amusing enough to exploit.

I could see him having a bet with his friends about how far he could push this and for how long. I could even see one of his friends dressing up like a minister and Tom going through a mockery of a marriage both to reassure her and to make fun of her. She thinks that it’s strange, of course, but what does she know about how Muggles do things? And meanwhile, Tom Sr. is looking oh-so-serious and he wants this and he wants her and for once in her life, it seems like she has what matters.

Meanwhile, Tom’s friends are stifling their laughter and trying not to meet each other’s eyes for fear that they’ll lose it.

After the fake marriage--who knows how long?--Tom convinces Merope to come with him to London--in April 1926 at the latest. He drives them there, or they take a train. Either way, he arranges the transportation and pays for a hotel room. Maybe he tells her that this is going to be their honeymoon. Maybe he says that they’re going to set up their own house in London. It doesn’t matter to him, as long as the lie works.

Merope isn’t familiar with Muggle cities, Muggle tech of the 1920s, or Muggle money. (She may not even be fully literate; we know that she never went to school and that her father taught her and her brother nothing.) London is an incomprehensible maze to her. And the hotel room is clean and warm and has soft carpets and pictures on the wall. There’s a box that produces music and stories and news. Lights come on with the touch of a button. And she doesn’t have to cook or clean anything. It’s luxury that she’s never dreamt of.

To quote the very wise Ursula Vernon, “Relief feels like happiness, if you don’t know the difference.”

Tom is pleased that she’s so easily satisfied; he doesn’t have to explain to anyone he knows why he’s with this ugly woman. He pays for clothes for her, but he doesn’t take her anywhere. When he’s bored with Merope, he tells her that he has to go out and then parties with his friends. She doesn’t question him. She doesn’t even consider doing so.

In May 1926, there’s a general strike.

Roads all across Britain become impassible. Buses have to barricade their windows. The strikers derail the train the Flying Scotsman in Northumberland. The government declares martial law. It even sends a warship to Newcastle. The world has turned upside down.

Merope hears about all this on the radio; it’s her main form of entertainment. She starts peppering him with questions. Why is the strike happening? Why is everyone so angry?

Tom is shaking and tense and can scarcely think coherently. How can these creatures, these underlings, rebel against the orderly system he’s been part of since birth? And how can this--this daughter of a mere tramp question him?

He yells at her to shut up. He apologizes afterward, and Merope accepts his apology. But the bloom is off the rose now. She knows now that he can be pointlessly cruel, just like her father and brother.

She tries very hard not to know this.

The general strike ends after nine days. Martial law, however, drags on and on. So do transportation problems. And 1.7 million strikers are now out of work. This is not the bright, fun city Tom wanted to visit.

June arrives. By now Merope’s adoration isn’t as intriguing to Tom, and her pregnancy is starting to show as well. Like many men and boys of privileged backgrounds, Tom thinks of pregnancy as something that only happens if the woman wills it. He is sickened and outraged that Merope has gotten pregnant--to trap him, he’s sure--and he chews her out for this.

Merope, though, was painfully isolated while growing up. She knew only her father and brother. Her father warned her repeatedly not to let a Muggle touch her...but he didn’t provide any clarifying details. She had no mother, no sisters, no female friends. She had no education to speak of. Porn was not conveniently available. And she could not read.

So, faced with Tom’s rage, Merope is at sea, for nothing he says is making sense. She doesn’t know how menstruation, conception and pregnancy work. The world hasn’t bothered to tell her.

Also...partying would have eaten into Tom’s money anyway, but the general strike and its disruption of transportation has made goods like food much more expensive. Though Tom doesn’t want to admit it, his funds are running frighteningly low. He needs the good will of his parents to acquire more cash, and quickly He also needs to square matters with the rich, upper-class, utterly suitable young woman he’s actually going to marry while assuring her that the Merope situation is no fault of his.

Arguments begin breaking out daily, then hourly. Tom starts them, taunting Merope’s wall-eyes and ignorance. She despairs when she hears this--after all, mockery and derision are all she’d ever heard from her father and brother. She loves Tom desperately, but he doesn’t love her.

She doesn’t yell, because she’s been trained since childhood not to. Instead, she begs him frantically, frenziedly not to leave her, because he's the one who knows how to handle this incomprehensible city. But her panic repels Tom, who sees it as clingy manipulation. It’s only London, after all. There’s nothing to fear.

So one day he returns home--without telling Merope. She's escorted out of the hotel room shortly after that. He didn’t stiff her with the bill, but not out of kindness. He simply doesn’t want anything, even a bill, tying him to her.

Merope is now alone and adrift in London. No money. No marketable skills. No transportation beyond her own feet--she has no way of paying for buses or cabs, and she may not even know the Underground exists. And no home. It’s August, maybe September of 1926. A rainy August, a mild September. She’s five or six months along. And winter is coming.

It comes in October, with freezing cold for most of the month and a snowstorm on the 28th.

She’s been living rough for a month or two. The clothes she’d worn earlier that year aren’t warm enough for October, and the cold has begun to gnaw at her bones. She's starving, too, and by now she knows that countless Muggles, all more qualified for any job than she is, are also out of work, thanks to May’s general strike.

She doesn’t ask anyone else for help. She should, but Tom was the only Muggle she ever really knew--and he betrayed her. She can’t bring herself to trust another.

And oh, she doesn’t dare go home. Even if she knew where it was and how to get there, her father would beat her to death for polluting the pure line of Gaunt with a Muggle’s get. And her brother Morfin would join in. Happily.

She begs--for food, mostly, though sometimes people give her money. Sometimes, too, they give her advice--to go to a church or a shelter or some government office. Merope nods and smiles and ignores the advice. She’s not going to trust the Muggle government after this past May, and she won’t shelter with dozens of Muggles. That would be suicide.

November 1926 is one of the wettest on record in the UK. Merope falls ill halfway through the month. She’s starting to have trouble breathing, and she’s tired and achy all the time.

December is filled with bitter, Arctic chill.

Merope has little strength left. She’s not getting enough air, somehow, and she’s constantly shaking with heat or cold, she doesn’t know which. Her vision is blurry, and even when she can obtain food, it’s hard to keep it down.

You’re dying, a voice says deep inside, and she knows the voice is right.

One day, she spots a building with lots of people caring for babies and children. She asks meekly, and someone--whoever tossed her a sixpence? another beggar?--tells her it’s an orphanage. Merope doesn’t know what that is, but she knows her baby would be better off inside the building than outside it.

December 31, 1926 is a mild, sunny day. Merope thinks of it as a good omen...until the pains start.

Merope doesn’t know anything about childbirth; she simply feels as if she’s being ripped apart from the inside out. She screams, not even caring if the Muggles hear.

Somehow, somehow, she manages to limp and crawl to the orphanage. She knocks on the door, which is the bravest thing she’s ever done. But her baby can’t survive a winter on the street. Maybe the Muggles will take care of him if they don’t know his mother was a witch.

She doesn’t even notice that she’s thinking of herself in the past tense.

A woman named Mrs. Cole answers the door and bustles her into a spare bedroom. It’s still unbearably cold, so cold that Merope thinks that her bones will shatter from shaking so hard, but there’s light and color and oh, it reminds her of the hotel room before everything went wrong. And Mrs. Cole is speaking to her in a kind, soothing tone and letting Merope grip her arms when the pains are bad. For the first time since Tom, Merope feels valued. Safe.

Her son is born at a minute to midnight, a scrawny scrap of humanity. Small wonder. Merope’s had little enough to eat for months. He has good strong lungs, though, which pleases her in a dim way. The world seems to be fading away, but that’s all right. She just wants to sleep.

She hears Mrs. Cole asking her something. Not her name--she told Mrs. Cole that before. Oh! The baby’s name.

There’s only one name she could give him--the one Muggle name that means anything to her.

“Tom,” she murmurs. “Tom...Riddle...Jun--”

And a soothing darkness claims her.

#mrardin85 #ficlet #merope gaunt #merope/tom sr #harry potter #complete disaster

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fallinnflower · 4 years ago

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the witch & the nine-tailed fox

young k x reader (kumiho!au, historical-fantasy!au, drama)

wc: 8k

tw: mentions of blood and illness

a/n: hi so this took forever but happy halloween! this isn’t a traditionally scary halloween fic but i did a lot of research into the kumiho (fox spirit) and early joseon korea and just really needed/wanted to get this done. i was inspired in part by the sungjin bear spirit fic “thirteen moons” by @prettywordsyouleft !!!

The first day of your twenty-first autumn dawned bitter cold, too cold for the trees and the wild grasses and the inhabitants of your village. You knew, though you tried not to admit it to yourself, that the beginning of the season held bad omens — from the moment you stepped out the threshold of your cottage, you saw the crows perched within the quickly withering trees, and you knew.

Your mentor knew too, maybe before you even had, maybe before anyone else. The greatest healer of the past century, an old woman with more magic flowing through her veins than blood, with more scraps of wisdom than there were silvery hairs on her head. On that first day of autumn, you had woken before her, and you knew something was wrong.

In your village, most people had known from your earliest years that you were born with magic. At any other time, in any other place, this may have been your downfall; had it not been for the benevolence of your mentor to them over the years, the respect you had garnered, you may have been cast into exile. Instead, your parents, uncertain of how best to raise you by the time you had turned thirteen, called upon Eunji the healer, and you had remained by her side ever since.

Eunji was small and lithe, made of little more than her muscles and bones and magic, with a curtain of silvery hair she kept in a traditional braid down her back. She taught you how to anticipate natural disasters and illnesses, imbalances of any kind within the world around you; she taught you what native plants you could eat, which would heal and which would harm; and most importantly, she taught you magic.

It was Eunji who taught you that all of the legends you had heard growing up had some seed of truth within them, no matter how deeply buried. And so it was Eunji who had told you of the kumiho living at the top of the mountain, though she could say no more than that it existed and did indeed possess the pearl of knowledge as in the legends, yeowoo guseul. The village stories of its violence, its lust for human flesh — specifically livers — and slaughtering of its adopted family, still sent chills down your spine. Despite the many fears Eunji had managed to expel from you with her wisdom over the years, the kumiho was still too mysterious for you to shake that nervous feeling.

But when the chill descended too soon on that year, you found yourself feeling a deeper fear, staring into the dying wilderness.

Eunji’s decline occurred abruptly. With the abnormal cold came an internal chill which forced your mentor to remain bedridden. You tried all the methods you knew, all the herbs you could find and all the charms and incantations you could imagine to heal your mentor, but the sickness kept her in its icy grip.

Meanwhile, the villagers in the valley became hungry and sick, unprepared for the unprecedented weather that had befallen your land. Although Eunji had trained you well, she was still the better healer by far, and you knew that without her you had no chance of saving the village — and yet to save the village, you first had to save her.

In your desperation, you read every aged tome you could find in Eunji’s library, looked over everything you had written in your journals for any possible solution you could have overlooked.

And it came to you, both a blessing and a curse, the word striking into your heart equal parts fear and hope: the yeowoo guseul.

According to legend (and Eunji), the kumiho’s power came from its yeowoo guseul, a small but powerful bead-like object which resided inside of the nine-tailed fox. If a human were to kiss a kumiho, one of two things could occur: the kumiho would reclaim the yeowoo guseul, thus taking the human’s energy and their life in the process; or, if the human managed to swallow the marble, they would gain preternatural knowledge from or about anything they laid their eyes upon afterwards.

And it was that knowledge you needed. Things that possibly even Eunji could not know, and that you certainly didn’t — the answers to all your questions about the current state of your home and mentor, and the cure you desperately sought.

So it came to be that only mere days after the beginning of that bitterly cold autumn, you packed a bag and began your trek up the unforgiving mountain, not knowing whether you would ever descend again.

The journey up the slope is lonely. All you have with you is the pack on your back, which contains a small journal, materials to start a fire, a bag of uncooked rice and a small clay pot for you to cook it in. Atop your bag is a thick blanket, rolled tightly and bound with rope to your straps. The more your climb, the less you seem to hear, the woods seeming to swallow up the sound of the animals around you. Your only company are the small animals which occasionally cross your path, but they do no more than glance at you and keep moving. You notice, heart sinking, that they’re all preparing hurriedly for the winter months, many of them without their thick winter coats fully grown to keep them properly warm.

At first, the path is clear. Journeying partially up the mountain isn’t unheard of, especially when it comes to collecting herbs — but it’s well known amongst villagers that this is the kumiho’s mountain, and you shouldn’t stray far beyond the paths, and should end your journey where they come to an end. By the end of your first day, you’ve already trekked far beyond your usual routes, gently creating your own path with the walking stick you had brought. Along the way you pluck up edible leaves to pair with your rice, occasionally even digging up the roots you know you can eat. It isn’t much, but it will have to do — the lighter you traveled, the quicker you could make it up the more precarious parts of the mountain, and the sooner you could (hopefully) return home to Eunji.

But you can’t shake the feeling that something is off. For starters, there are crows all around you, calling out to one another across the dying woods. Although you take no personal issue to crows, such a large murder of them easily classifies as a bad omen, and you find yourself walking faster the more you hear them. The further you get up the mountain, the more uneasy you feel — in fact, as night falls, you’re sure you can feel eyes on you. Once your meager dinner has been cooked and eaten, you tie your bag up into the branches of the trees, but not before fishing out the protective charm Eunji had given you. You loop the drawstring around your wrist, clutching the pouch in your hand as you lie down on your blanket.

As you stare into the dying embers, allowing yourself to feel enveloped by Eunji’s magic, you think for a moment you see a pair of glowing eyes gazing back at you.

You rise, as you have many times over your life, with the sun. For a long moment you remain in the same position you had awoken in, waiting to hear the telltale chirping of birds or other animals scampering through the brush — but there’s nothing. Your ears are met only with silence, not even the sound of wind in the trees, and you can feel the hairs rising on the back of your neck.

As you roll your blanket up and tie it onto your pack once more, you keep Eunji’s charm on your person, taking what little comfort you can from your mentor’s power.

Although the crows seem to have departed you, you still get the sense that you’re not alone. There are no sounds to indicate another living creature is anywhere near you, but you can feel eyes on you at every turn — and yet whenever you look between the trees, you see nothing. The sky above you is abnormally dark, the sun shrouded with thick clouds that seem to promise nothing but coverage. Without the sunlight shining through the canopy you feel almost claustrophobic, as if the trunks of the trees are all leaning in towards you, threatening to swallow you up into their shadows.

You set up camp for the night relatively early, having found a small clearing just before what appears to be a rather steep portion of the mountain. With the sun already beginning to dip towards the horizon and the temperature dropping steadily with it, you feel you have no choice but to leave that hike till the morning. You’ve only just untied your blanket from your pack when the first rumble of thunder arrives. Looking up into the nearby trees you feel your heart sinking — the dying leaves offer little defense from the rain, and there’s no telling whether the storm will pass by tomorrow. You have no way to keep extra wood dry or carry it practically with you for later campfires. Chewing on your lower lip, you stare into the sky, clutching Eunji’s bag as though it will deliver to you the answer you seek—

“Excuse me.”

In an instant you’re on your feet, allowing Eunji’s bag to fall back under the coverage of your sleeves as you brandish the only weapons at your disposal: your fire-starters.

A young man dressed in white stands across the clearing from you, hands raised so that you can see their emptiness. His expression is friendly but guarded, eyes wide as he regards you, and his clothes appear old. Even from a distance you can see that they’ve been repaired many times over, but they look clean, nonetheless, as does his face and hair. It’s the most basic clothing, free of dyes or embroidery; the kind of clothing worn by many of the farmers and peasants in your village.

Except this man is no villager — at least not one you’ve ever seen, and you’ve seen most of them. This man is a stranger who appeared from the trees like a falling mist, and so you maintain your guarded position as you stare him down.

“Who are you?” you ask, and then, after a moment. “What are you doing on this mountain?” He lowers his hands slowly as he replies, and you feel some of the tension slip off your shoulders as he speaks. His voice, despite being unfamiliar to you, has a soothing quality that you can’t quite place. He holds your gaze as he speaks,

“My name is Younghyun. I’m a woodcutter. I live on this mountain.” At that you narrow your eyes. You had heard of solitary woodcutters living in the mountains, but never on this particular one — hardly anyone dared to climb the kumiho’s mountain, much less live on it.

“I know this seems strange,” he says, softly. “But there’s a storm coming, and I would feel awful if I didn’t at least offer you shelter for the night. I would understand if you didn’t want to accept—”

As he speaks another rumble of thunder rolls across the sky, and you suddenly feel the air pressure around you changing. It’s clear to you that you don’t have much time left to make your decision. You look from the darkening sky back at the young man, still clutching the tools for your fire in your hands and feeling the weight of your protective pouch in your sleeve. The charm reminds you of your journey’s purpose, and after a moment of consideration you bow your head,

“I’m in your debt, Younghyun.” He looks surprised by your answer at first, but quickly nods his acknowledgement.

“Then we don’t have much time. Here, give me your bag.” He crosses the clearing and scoops your pack up from the ground as you pull your blanket into your arms. Immediately he starts off back in the direction he had come from, and so you follow him with your hands still tangled within the mass of fabric.

Younghyun moves through the woods gracefully, weaving between the trees and brush. Although you’re certain he could rush ahead, he maintains a pace that he knows you can keep, glancing back at you ever so often to be sure you’re alright.

As you ascend, you can see the species of tree changing. Up where Younghyun appears to live you’re surrounded mostly by evergreen trees, with scatterings of pine needles muffling your footsteps. It’s densely wooded, and the ground beneath you has become firmer, more rock than soil. You realize that although you aren’t quite at the highest peak of the mountain, Younghyun appears to be leading you towards one of the many cliffs surrounding it.

He slows his pace, and through the trees you can see the silhouette of a building. Younghyun’s home is smaller than the hut you and Eunji share, but not very different otherwise. If you look out the door you can see across a rocky outcropping which drops off steeply. You’re sure if you stepped onto its broad expanse, you could look up and see the peak — but the coming storm deters you from doing just that.

“I don’t have much food to offer you, but you can at least sleep somewhere dry tonight,” Younghyun says almost sheepishly as he ushers you into his home. You drop your blankets near the fire and reach for your pack, which he hands over readily.

“I brought some rice and barley with me,” you reply. “I can’t give you much of anything else to show my gratitude, really, unless you’re in need of medicine.” When you don’t receive a reply, you look back up at your host only to find him looking at you almost in a daze. Although his eyes are trained on you, he’s obviously somewhere far away in his mind, drifting, the expression on his face pinched and almost nervous. You stand slowly, cradling your bag of rice in one elbow and reaching for his shoulder with your free hand.

“Younghyun?” He startles, shaking his head as if to clear away the mental fog, and smiles apologetically. It doesn’t reach his eyes, which still seem unsettled, and you frown.

“Sorry. That’s more than enough, thank you. I think I have some things left from my summer foraging, if you’ll excuse me…”

Younghyun brushes past you to go back outside, no doubt to go around to a possible small storehouse or dig up buried goods. Once he’s left, you decide to walk the perimeter of his hut, moving quietly. You don’t yet feel ready to lower your guard, but your inspection yields no real results — Younghyun’s home is nearly empty save for his own blankets and extra clothing which were folded neatly beside the chimney.

Younghyun returns moments later, remaining in the doorway as he excitedly brandishes what he’s found.

“Matsutake?” you inquire, already making your way towards him to inspect the rare mushrooms more closely. You wonder how he managed to find them, difficult as they are to track down, without any sort of help from an animal. As he nods you notice a smudge of dirt across his cheek which distracts you, and you point to your own cheek, unable to keep from smiling as he hurriedly rubs the dirt away.

The two of you make your way outside together, and under the cover of his overhanging roof on the opposite side from the chimney you find an old, soot-covered earthenware pot suspended above the remnants of a fire. Younghyun quickly squats down at its base, starting the fire once again.

“I’ll get the water,” he says, barely glancing at you before circling round to his front door once again and disappearing inside. You carefully take a seat on the ground near the fire, the bag of rice and barley resting in your lap as you warm your hands. The air is much colder up this high, and with the coming rain it seems to seep into your bones even through your clothing, clinging to your skin like a cold sweat. For the first time in days, you allow yourself to relax a bit, feeling warm and, if you’re honest, excited at the prospect of sleeping inside. When you peer past the fire you can see that, despite the rudimentary nature of his house, Younghyun still has an ondol system below the floor. You can already imagine the warmth of it beneath you when you sleep, and it’s a welcome change from the forest floor of the previous night.

Younghyun returns with not only a small, plain earthenware onggi of what you assume is rainwater but also an oil lamp and two small bowls, and you pull the lid off of the agungi for him, already feeling the heat wafting up from within it. He pours the water in and you set the lid aside as you open your bag, pouring two scoops of your rice and barley mixture into the water before Younghyun replaces the lid himself.

For a while the two of you sit in silence, and eventually Younghyun pulls out a small knife and begins cutting up the mushrooms whilst you stare into the fire and listen to the distant rumbles of thunder as the storm creeps ever closer.

Once the food is cooked, both of you fill your plates and Younghyun lights the lantern before leading you inside the hut once again. Almost as soon as you’ve both settled on the old mats he’s laid out for you to sit on you can hear the rain start outside, not heavy but steady and relentless.

Over your shared dinner, neither of you speak much. Younghyun hardly looks up from his food, almost as though he’s forgotten he has a guest, and it gives you much-needed time to truly analyze him. He’s attractive, you’ll admit, but the sharp shape of his eyes makes you nervous. Everybody you’ve ever spoken to has claimed that kumiho are female and lure men in with their appearances, but you feel that you can’t be too careful. In the lowlight offered by the single oil lamp between you he appears even more otherworldly, his features sharp and symmetrical.

It isn’t until he’s finished his food that he finally speaks to you again, though he does so with a contented grin on his face,

“So…”

“Y/N,” you offer, and he smiles.

“Y/N, what brings you this far up the mountain?” Although it’s stated casually, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Something about his asking feels oddly territorial — though you imagine if you were in his shoes you’d also be suspicious — and his smile doesn’t entirely reach his eyes. Even the way he repeats your name makes you feel on edge, though you can’t say for certain why. For a moment you hesitate in answering, taking your time chewing your food, but the rumbling of thunder compels you to say something that will allow you to stay in this shelter.

“I’m looking for a cure for my grandmother,” you say, glancing down into your bowl to pick up another bite. You hope he doesn’t notice you avoiding his gaze, and decide before he can counter you with any more questions to bring up one of your own.

“So, Younghyun,” you start, trying to keep your tone light. While a part of you would love to truly confront him on just how and why he came to be living on this mountain alone as a young man, you don’t want to lose your shelter for the night,

“How long have you lived here?” You glance up at him through your lashes, trying to gauge his reaction as you chew your food. Although he recovers quickly, you still see the momentary slip in his demeanor, his smile fading before he obscures his mouth slightly in thought.

“My parents were woodcutters before me, so I just inherited the business,” he replies, grinning at you and shrugging almost helplessly. “I’ve never known life off the mountain, so I stayed even after they both passed away.”

Immediately you begin wracking your brain — has anyone ever spoken about a family of woodcutters on this mountain? No matter how hard you try, you can’t think of any stories but the kumiho’s associated with this slope. In fact, you can’t recall ever seeing anyone coming down the mountain with wood, despite how long you’ve lived in the valley. You attempt to shake off the sinking feeling in your chest by telling yourself he and his family must sell to another village on the other side of the slope; it doesn’t feel true even as you think it, but the storm outside has only just begun to rage.

“Are you a healer?” Younghyun asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You lift your head, furrowing your brows.

“How did you know?”

“You mentioned medicines earlier, as payment,” he replies casually. “I assumed you weren’t carrying a variety on you, so you must know how to make them.” You relax slightly at his explanation. In truth, you’d almost forgotten you’d offered the medicines, in part because of his strange reaction at the time. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed or remembered such a thing, but more and more he’s proving his receptiveness. You remind yourself to watch your words as you open your mouth to reply.

“You’re right. My grandmother taught me,” you say. “I don’t know as much about healing as she does, which is why I need to find her a cure before it gets too cold...” Younghyun nods, frowning sympathetically as you drop your gaze into your bowl once again. The thought of Eunji lying small and weak, all alone in your little hut near the woods makes your stomach turn. Any appetite you have leaves you, but you find yourself taking another bite anyways, knowing you’ll be of no use to her without food in your belly.

“I can help you, if you’d like,” Younghyun says softly. Before you can reply, he continues, “I know this mountain better than anyone. I don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, but I can show you the best paths to the peak.”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” you say, watching as Younghyun scrapes the last of his food together and eats it with a smile.

“It’s no trouble,” he assures you, “I can’t fell trees for a few days after a storm like this, in any case.” His explanation makes perfect sense to you, and so you find yourself nodding, accepting his help.

“Of course. Then I suppose I’m even further in your debt, Younghyun.” The man across the table from you laughs, and the sound eases your nerves slightly, bringing a smile to your own face.

“Sad as this may sound, you just gave me the best meal I’ve had in a long time. Consider any debts paid.” For a moment, you simply hold one another’s gaze, analyzing each other, until eventually you make the decision to put an end to the strange interaction.

“Well, we should probably get some rest. Long day tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” Younghyun says, nodding. His gaze drifts past you towards the door, and he narrows his eyes. “I think the storm should pass by morning. We can get an early start, if you’d like.”

“Sounds perfect. Thank you again, Younghyun,” you say, bowing your head. The young man only shakes his head, smiling.

“Think nothing of it,” he says. The two of you rise from your seats, and Younghyun moves the lantern between your sets of bedding as you both get settled. Once you’ve both slipped beneath your blankets, Younghyun blows out the lantern, plunging you both into darkness.

“Goodnight,” you say, eyes already slipping close. You can hear Younghyun shift in his bedding across the room from you before replying in a low voice,

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sleep well.”

You open your eyes to near darkness, the light filtering into the room grainy and gray. When you roll onto your side, you don’t see Younghyun where he had fallen asleep the night before, only his blankets in disarray on the floor. An icy cold panic stabs through your chest and you sit up, realizing the moment your hand touches the floor that the warmth you feel isn’t coming from the fire outside — it’s wet, and as you draw your hand up the dark liquid follows like a shadow.

You recognize the smell. Iron, salt — it can’t be anything but blood. Despite the many times you’ve smelled it in your days as a healer, you suddenly feel sick to your stomach as you realize the floor is covered in it. It reflects the pale light and makes you dizzy as you sit up, trying to take deep calming breaths but feeling the moisture in the air clog your throat. The scent of the blood is too heavy, and you know you have to get out before it’s too late. Your blanket slides on the blood beneath your feet and you fall, the blood soaking any cloth it comes into contact with. You squeeze your eyes shut as you peel your cheek off the floor, mouth pressed into a thin line to keep from gagging.

A growl, too low to be human, shakes the floorboards beneath you, and as you lift yourself up onto your hands and knees you can feel the eyes on you once more—

A white fox sits at the door, nine tails swishing in unison. Its fur seems to glow, and in the new light you can see the blood just barely drying on the fur of its face. It opens its mouth and lets out a sound almost like a cruel laugh, its burning eyes pinning you in place as it lowers itself to the floor. You can see the fur bristling as the muscles tense in preparation of lunging, and you suddenly realize the protective charm is no longer on you. With one last shuddering breath, you close your eyes to the sound of the fox’s claws scraping the floor and its inhuman growl—

“Y/N?”

It’s Younghyun’s eyes that meet yours, dark but unmistakably human. Your breath comes in short gasps, and he sits back, eyeing you nervously as you try to calm yourself down. After a moment you manage to sit up, swallowing hard and finding your throat terribly dry. Seemingly noticing this, Younghyun scrambles to his feet, returning to your side with an earthen vessel half-filled with water. You try not to drink too quickly, but the moment the water reaches your throat you find it difficult to keep from gulping all of it down at once. The young man waits patiently for you to finish, sitting beside your bedding and watching you with concern in his sharp eyes. When you set the water down, he finally speaks up,

“Are you alright?” You look at him, clutching your bedding to keep him from seeing the trembling in your hands. As you usually do in times of panic, you focus on the weight of Eunji’s charm still tucked into your sleeve. Looking at Younghyun, you can’t find any reason to doubt his concern for you — either he’s an incredible liar, or you’re too naive, but you choose to trust him anyways.

“Yes,” you sigh, finally, passing a hand through your hair to get it away from your face. “Yes, just a bad dream.” Younghyun nods in sympathetic understanding before rising up from his seat on the floor. He clears his throat before speaking again.

“I’ve cooked up some root vegetables for us with your rice. I hope you don’t mind.” You shake your head, pulling yourself out of your bedding.

“Not at all. Thank you for making breakfast.”

While you roll your blanket back up and replace your outerwear, Younghyun goes, you assume, to put out the fire and bring in your breakfast. The two of you eat in silence, and outside you can hear the birds beginning to chirp as the sun rises over the horizon, casting a golden glow through the open doorway. Younghyun rinses off your bowls and chopsticks before slinging his own small pack across his back and locking up his house.

“The peak is only a day or so’s journey from here. With the ground being so wet it may take us a bit longer,” he explains, leading you through the woods. From time to time he reminds you to watch your step, or holds branches out of the way for you. As you trail behind him you can’t help but notice the lightness of his footfalls, the way he seems to cause almost no damage to any of the brush underfoot. You feel far from graceful as you follow his footsteps, crushing leaves and twigs with nearly every step.

Your only conversation occurs close to midday, when the both of you pause to catch your breath and drink water.

“How far up do you think these ingredients will be?” Younghyun asks, and you bite down on your lip, weighing your options. You cast a glance at Younghyun and let out a sigh, deciding to be honest with him. After all, you feel as though it’s the least you can do after all the help he’s offered you.

“I don’t know,” you say softly. Younghyun crouches down beside you on the ground, knees nearly brushing, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “The truth is, I don’t know what I’m looking for. My whole village is being overrun by an illness, and even my grandmother doesn’t know how to cure it—” you pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to try and still the warble in your voice. You close your eyes to fend off the sudden tears you feel welling up,

“—I'm actually looking for the kumiho.” Both you and Younghyun sit in silence for a moment after your statement. Saying it aloud makes it feel far more real than it had before, and an icy stab of fear pierces your heart.You find yourself continuing in desperation, still fending off tears, “I need the yeowoo guseul, because I don’t have the knowledge to save my people, a-and there’s nothing more I can do until I get it.” Younghyun remains still for a moment, then shifts his weight slightly. You can feel his gaze on you as intensely as ever, but you keep your eyes on the ground, trying to will your emotions away.

“How do you know the kumiho won’t just kill you?” he asks, voice gentle. You bark out a laugh, which sounds almost like a sob.

“I don’t,” you say, finally turning to your companion. “I’m just hoping.” Younghyun’s gaze softens, and he rests a hand on your shoulder as you swipe at your eyes with the ends of your sleeves. Once you’ve pulled yourself together somewhat, he stands up and offers you a hand. You take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Without another word, he continues taking you up to the summit.

It’s early afternoon when the clouds begin to roll in again, although you don’t notice them immediately due to the shade already provided by the pines. It’s Younghyun that stops in his tracks, holding out an arm to signal you to a halt as well. You stand behind him, watching him with a mixture of confusion and nervousness as he signals for you to wait and disappears through the trees towards the edge of a cliff. Your heart pounds, leaping into your throat as you wait for him, and you cross your arms across your chest, subtly clutching the protective charm as you shift your weight from one foot to another. A sudden breeze weaves through the trees and sends shivers down your spine, and when you exhale you can see your breath.

No sooner do you realize that than Younghyun is coming back towards you at a quickened pace, face etched with panic,

“We have to find shelter.” You stare at him, dumbfounded, hardly realizing what he’s said until he’s taken hold of your arm and begun pulling you further into the woods.

“W-what? Younghyun, what’s wrong?” you finally manage to ask, picking up the pace so you’re no longer stumbling behind him in his determined stride.

“Snowstorm,” he says. “I didn’t see any sign of it this morning, but it’s coming fast.” He glances back at you over his shoulder, brows furrowed. “I’m so sorry.” You don’t have time to dwell on his apology as he takes a sharp turn and you struggle to follow him, even as he slows at times to pick up pieces of wood he finds along the way. Eventually, you make it to a small cave, really little more than a rock awning over a patch of ground, and Younghyun drops his small pile of wood.

“Start a fire,” he says. “Hurry.” With that he disappears into the trees once again, leaving you fumbling with your shaking hands. You do, thankfully, manage to start a fire — though you struggle to protect it from the bone-chilling wind that seems to be picking up by the second. You unroll your blanket from your pack and drape it over your shoulders, warming your hands as you watch anxiously for Younghyun’s return.

There are snowflakes in his hair when he emerges from between the trees, and his expression is so filled with fear you can’t help but feel nervous.

“It’s bad,” you say, more a statement than the question you had intended. Younghyun nods grimly, tucking the excess firewood behind you to keep it dry. He pulls his own blanket off his pack and places it atop your own, and you turn to him in confusion.

“Younghyun—”

“I don’t need it,” he interrupts. When you continue to hold his gaze with your confused, concerned expression, he continues, “Trust me. I’ll be fine.” You decide that really, you have no choice but to trust him, and so you nod slowly, inching closer to him in an attempt to share your warmth. The wind howls through the trees, and you can see the storm clouds drawing ever closer to the two of you. Despite the two blankets atop your shoulders, you begin to shiver, and Younghyun takes notice.

“Y/N,” he says, slowly, as if you’re a wild animal he’s afraid to approach. You sit up and meet his serious gaze. “Do you trust me?” You feel your heart skip a beat and accelerate, but you nod nonetheless.

“This storm, it could kill you. But I think I have a solution.” You find yourself more confused and frightened with each word that falls from his lips, but you keep your gaze steady, waiting for him to finish.

“I’m going to change forms. Don’t be afraid,” he implores, and you can see the fear in his eyes as he stares into yours. You breathe in sharply, and all you can manage to say in your panic is,

“You?” He nods slowly, still holding your gaze.

“Just, please,” he says, his expression almost sad. “I want to help you.” You nod, dumbfounded, still shivering as he stands up and walks out from beneath your shelter into the snow.

Although you see it happen, you hardly believe it. There’s a flash of light that disperses quickly into a thick fog, and you close your eyes at the suddenness of it. When you open them again, you’re met with the sight of a brilliant white fox, it’s nine tails moving in unison like a fan behind its head. Its eyes glow a brilliant gold, and despite your fear you manage to speak.

“Younghyun…?” The fox dips its head in response, and you find yourself reaching out towards the animal. Slowly, it advances towards you, taking halting steps as though it’s trying not to startle you. Eventually, the kumiho makes its way back under the cover of the rock, resting its muzzle in your outstretched palm. You let out a laugh of disbelief, and the fox spirit huffs slightly as you reach your hands up to scratch behind its ears.

When you withdraw your hand, Younghyun, the kumiho, makes his way back into the spot he had occupied in a human form only moments before, sitting down beside you and draping his nine tails over your lap and behind you, surrounding you in warmth. The glow of the fire makes his fur shine a pale yellow, and once you’ve adjusted the tails to be more comfortable you begin to pet the kumiho once again, scarcely able to believe it’s real even as you feel the fur beneath your fingers.

Before the storm worsens, you make a portion of rice and barley for yourself and Younghyun, who bows his head towards you once more as if in gratitude. Once the food is eaten and the bowls are set aside, Younghyun curls up as if to sleep. You watch as he indicates with his nose towards his back, and you slowly move around behind him, lying down and holding him as though he were a toy and not a supposedly vicious forest spirit. Watching the snow falling in a thick curtain beyond the fire still burning, you fall asleep to the rhythm of Younghyun’s breathing.

You awake in the morning to birdsong and warmth. When you open your eyes, you find Younghyun’s very human arms around you instead of the nine tails, but the strands of white fur that remain on your blankets and clothing assures you what you saw the previous evening was no dream. Slowly and gently you extricate yourself from Younghyun’s embrace, which was loose in any case, and sit up to look at the damage the storm had left behind.

You’re awestruck by the sheer amount of snow left behind, though the rising sun appears to already be melting some of the ice off of the trees as you can see it dripping. You notice the fire burning feebly and climb over Younghyun’s sleeping form to revive it, dragging some of the wood from the back of the cave. As you get it back to its former roaring, you grab the bowls and your bag of rice and barley once again, preparing breakfast whilst Younghyun continues to sleep.

Your shock over the previous night’s events slowly fades, and you’re surprised to find that you feel no fear in the aftermath. Then again, you suppose that if Younghyun had wanted to devour you, he easily could have the night before — instead, despite any tales you had heard that would contradict it, he had been unbelievably gentle with you. Rather than taking your life, he had saved it.

Now you only had to wonder whether he would willingly give up the yeowoo guseul to you. You cast a glance at his sleeping form and felt a stab of sympathy for him. To even be a kumiho he had to have lived a thousand years, and you couldn’t help but imagine how lonely his existence may have been for a large portion of that time. And considering all the legends about the kumiho you had heard were generations old at best, you imagined the answer to that would be very.

Although you had already been convinced that Younghyun was good, you still couldn’t be sure if he would give up the pearl of knowledge he held within him. From what you understood, if you managed to absorb it, he would become a human and age once more — in essence, he would have to give up his immortality to save your village. Previously you had thought you would have to fight a monster to retrieve the knowledge you sought, but watching Younghyun sleep you found that you couldn’t bring yourself to even consider hurting him. If he said no to giving you the yeowoo guseul, you wouldn’t be willing or able to force him.

You shook your head to clear it of those thoughts, turning your attention back to your meager breakfast. At the very least you had no doubt Younghyun would guide you safely back down the mountain, so you weren’t too concerned about extreme rationing any longer.

He awoke before you finished, sitting up and stretching with a sigh. Neither of you said a word as he sat up beside you, looking out over the snow covered stretch of forest. The two of you eat your breakfast in silence, sitting side by side with your shoulders touching. Once Younghyun has taken his last bite he speaks up,

“You can have it.” You nearly choke on your food, dissolving into coughs. Younghyun gently pats your back as you struggle to recover, eventually gasping out your reaction.

“What?” As you look at Younghyun he appears completely calm, shrugging slightly as he replies.

“There's really no joy in the life I'm living. I made this decision when I was young and foolish, thinking immortality would be fulfilling, but now… now, I just want to live a normal life. So, you can have the yeowoo guseul. You'll do more good with the knowledge than I ever have.” He even smiles at you, and although it appears sincere you can’t help but be absolutely baffled by how casually he drops this information.

“Are you sure?” you ask, and he nods resolutely. The information slowly sinks in, and as it does you can feel your face begin to warm. “So, then…”

“Yes,” he laughs, looking far too amused by your embarrassment. “You’ll have to kiss me.”

“Right…”

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “You trust me, right?” You nod. With that, Younghyun stands up, reaching his hand down for you to take. Just like you had the day before, you accept his help, though this time he doesn’t let go, keeping you close to him.

He hesitates for a moment as though offering you an out, and so you’re the one who finally leans in and presses your lips to his. At first, it feels completely normal, and Younghyun reaches up to cup your jaw with one hand as the other wraps around your waist. He adjusts the angle of the kiss and you feel a shiver run down your spine as his tongue gently parts your lips.

Almost immediately you feel the yeowoo guseul pass between your teeth, small and cold, terribly cold. Suddenly afraid, you press it to the roof of your mouth with your tongue, squeezing your eyes shut tighter as Younghyun's lips part from yours.

"It's alright," he whispers. "You have to swallow it. It's alright."

You think of Eunji, your village, the man before you — and you try. You really, truly do.

But the moment it reaches the back of your throat it suddenly burns like no alcohol ever has, and you begin coughing, doubling over—

With the arm around your waist Younghyun turns you, pressing your back to his chest to keep you upright, and with the other he tilts your head back. He holds your mouth shut, all the while murmuring reassurances in your ear, reminding you of all the reasons you’re doing this. After a long moment you finally manage to swallow the bead, and you feel it burn down your chest, leaving you gasping for air, tears streaming from your tightly shut eyes. Younghyun rights you, turning you to face him, brushing hair away from your now-sweaty forehead.

As you open your eyes, you find nothing but white before you. Your knees give way and you reach out desperately, clawing at Younghyun's shirt even though his hands remain on you,

"My eyes!" you scream, but the trees seem to swallow your voice. "Younghyun, my eyes—!"

"Look up at the sky, Y/N, you'll be fine. Look at the sky." His voice is unwavering, the never ending calm of freshly fallen snow, and as you lift your head up you begin to see ripples within your vision.

The clouds, filled with your village’s first snowfall of the winter, suddenly appear above you.

"It's going to snow again," you say. The trembling in your voice ceases the longer you stare. "Not this week, but the next. It will be as high as my knees, and— and..." As you speak, you seem to blink the clouds away, revealing once more the morning sky you had seen before Younghyun's kiss.

When you look back to Younghyun, you no longer find a young man, but a face carved with wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. With shaking hands you reach up to touch him,

"You're old." He only stares at you, mystified. "You're going to grow old."

He smiles, breathes out a laugh, and as he does your vision restores his youth to him. You let your hands fall to his shoulders. The pure joy on his face has you entranced, and you almost want to kiss him again, overwhelmed and elated.

Then behind him, you see a glimmer. Like a golden thread which seems to weave away into the trees. You peer over his shoulder, past him, and he lowers his voice,

"Do you see what you need?" Your reply is scarcely more than a sigh,

"Yes." Your voice cracks as you break into a wide grin, laughing as you repeat your answer more confidently, “Yes!”

You take Younghyun’s warm hand in yours and set out into the snow, ignoring the cold as you follow the shimmering trail. It leads you to a small clearing nearly devoid of snow, almost a perfect circle amidst the trees within which grows a plant with leaves glowing gold. Once you drop to your knees beside it, however, it ceases glowing, becoming its normal deep green color.

“That’s it?” Younghyun asks excitedly, standing behind you. You nod, at a loss for words, and he comes to kneel beside you. There’s more than one of the plants, and so after gathering yourself you instruct Younghyun to pluck as many of them as he can, meanwhile you begin digging into the half-frozen soil, ignoring the cold and the pain as you try to reach the plant’s roots. Although it’s used to a mountain climate, you have no doubt Eunji will find a way to grow it closer to your home once she’s well again.

Carefully, you cradle the roots of the plant in your cupped hands, mud and dirt caking your palms and stuck beneath the half-moons of your nails. Younghyun returns with his shirt partially hiked up like a pouch, filled with the leaves that you need. He looks at the small plant in your hands in wonder.

“Incredible,” he says. When you glance up you find his gaze on you, and he breaks into a somewhat sheepish grin, clearing his throat.

“We should get you back to your village.”

“What about you?” you ask almost immediately. Younghyun’s expression falls slightly, and he blinks at you.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I could leave the mountain, but I don’t know what I’d do.” Without another thought you find yourself using one of your hands to grasp one of his, holding his gaze earnestly.

“You could come with me.” Younghyun appears almost shell-shocked, and you quickly elaborate on your statement, “Eunji and I could always use extra help, and you’re stronger than either of us. You wouldn’t have to stay forever, of course, but at least until you decide what you want to do…” You trail off uncertainly, withdrawing your hand from his after a moment, feeling embarrassed by the zeal with which you’d made your offer.

Despite that, though, Younghyun’s response is in the affirmative,

“Alright.” You look up in surprise and find Younghyun smiling. “I don’t know what my future holds but… I think I’d like to take that first step with you by my side.” At his response you can’t help but smile back at him.

“I think I’d like that, too.”

And so the two of you pack your belongings and begin the long trek down the mountain, leaving the legend of the kumiho to wither away behind you like the small hut sitting alone and empty amidst the trees, little more than a memory.

#day6 scenarios #young k scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #kpop writing #kpop texts #kpop reactions #My writing

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p-artsypants · 4 years ago

Text

Longest Night (46) Dancing

Ao3 | FF.net

It rained the night of Mayor Bourgeois’ ball. An ill omen if you were to ask Marinette or Adrien. Their first night being reintroduced into proper society, and it rained.

A limo had been sent to the bakery, so that the guests of honor could arrive in style. Alya and Nino had shown up early, also invited because of their hero status, not that any event planners besides Chloe knew.

Gabriel had really outdone himself. Though the designs were based on sketches from Marinette, he had taken them to a whole new level. “So you,” he had said. “It’s perfect, just for you!”

The champagne dress with exposed back and high slit leg hadn’t felt ‘like her’ at all. Of course it was gorgeous, and it was a beautiful dress. The iridescent silk changed colors as she moved, drawing all eyes to her. Maybe in another life, when Ladybug hadn’t been defeated, she’d feel more deserving of the dress.

As it stood, the low back just showed her scars, and made her feel exposed. ‘Wear them like a badge of honor.’ Gabriel had said, ‘you survived, you’re here. You’re stronger than anyone else in that room.’

And yet, as she stood looking herself over in the mirror, she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

Ugly.

The door to the bathroom opened and closed, her husband entering. Gabriel hadn’t spared him from the ‘wear your scars with pride’ treatment either. The white shirt under his suit only buttoned up to his sternum, allowing the scar from his rib surgery to be seen. He was just lucky his skin graft scars were hidden under the deep gray suit.

“You look beautiful,” Adrien said, looking at her with adoration.

“I don’t think so.” She brushed her hair once again. It was still too short to really do anything with, so she had opted to let Alya curl it. With all of her nervous tugging and pulling, the curls were turning into waves, and would soon be flat.

Adrien rested a hand on her bare shoulder, kissing her scarred neck. “I’ve always found you beautiful, Marinette. No amount of dirt or scars could change that.”

“Well, what about everyone else? What will they think?”

“Do you really care what everyone else thinks? Much less a bunch of stuffy, obnoxious politicians?”

“No…I suppose not. I just…if I get criticized at all, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.”

“No one will criticize you. I happen to think the dress is very flattering on you.”

“The scars don’t ruin it?”

“No. If anything, they compliment it.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“I love you, Adrien Agreste. Thank you.” She bounced on her toes and pressed a delicate kiss to his lips.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Sabine’s voice. “Are you both ready? The party starts soon.”

“Better bite the bullet.”

They left the bathroom together, meeting up with the rest of the group downstairs in the bakery. Before leaving the apartment, Adrien grabbed an umbrella, and held it above his wife as she climbed into the limo.

The action felt familiar, as did his smile in doing so.

The ride to Le Grand Paris was pleasant. Alya and Nino gushed over the amenities in the car. “I’ve never ridden in a limo before! I feel so fancy!” Said Alya, as she sprawled out over one of the seats. There was plenty of room to do so.

“Would anyone care for some champagne?” Nino asked, in his fanciest poshest voice.

“You open that bottle, and I’ll tell your mother.” Sabine warned. “It’s not polite to get drunk before arriving at a party.”

“I’m glad you both got to come,” Marinette said, smoothly changing the subject. “This would be really boring without you.”

“Oh, we’re boring?” Tom asked, arms crossed.

“You know what I meant, Papa.” Marinette smiled at him.

Arriving at Le Grand Paris, you would have thought they were arriving at a movie premier. The door to the limousine opened and there was a series of flashes from the paparazzi.

Tom and Sabine went out first, followed by Nino and Alya, and then finally, Adrien and Marinette stepped out under the umbrella.

“Did you design the dress yourself?”

“Did Gabriel design your outfits?”

“Are you wearing someone else?”

Clothing. They were all asking about the clothing. That was something she could handle. Adrien was right. The dress was flashy, and eye catching, and that’s all anyone was going to talk about.

The alternative was not polite for such an occasion.

They were led through the lobby, into the elevator, and upstairs into the ballroom.

Before the elevator doors even opened, she could hear the crowd, a garbled mess of voices and laughter. Her heart rate increased.

Then the doors opened, and they stepped into the room.

All eyes seemed to land on her and Adrien, as guests clapped for their arrival. She wasn’t able to do anything but stand there. Stand there frozen and staring, not even smiling. These guests were here to pay her respect and honor, but by god it was the worst experience of her life.

Over and over, her gaze flitted to face after face in the crowd, barely recognizing them for a second. These were strangers, people she never would have known, except for one tiny little detail.

Some of them, she had murdered.

She had seen their faces only once before, in her memories, last breaths, screams of agony.

And they were clapping for her.

Did they not remember? Or were they pretending? Were they hiding and plotting? Were she and Adrien in danger?

Then Chloe was there, in her bee-themed dress, loud and bright and inviting. “Adrikins! Maripoo! You’re here!”

She never would have said this before, but thank God Chloé was here.

She weaseled between them, hooking an arm through both of theirs. “Come on, I’ll show you to your table!”

It was right in front of the dance floor, which was vacant for now. A small symphonic band played beautiful music, filling the hall with the sort of ambience only seen in Disney movies.

Gabriel and Emilie were already at the table.

“Oh Marinette!” Emilie cooed. “You look absolutely gorgeous! Gabriel insisted on keeping this dress a surprise from me and I have been dying to see it!” She played with the long piece of flowing fabric over Marinette’s shoulder. “I love the purple undertones! It perfectly matches your lipstick!”

“Thank you, Madam Agreste.”

“And look at you!” She immediately went to her son. “My handsome man! Oh! You’re so grown up!” She rested a hand on his cheek. “Before I fell asleep, you were a little shorter than me. Now...now I have to look up at you.”

Adrien looked away from her, a pain in his chest.

“Sorry, I just...got swept up in emotion. That suit fits you like a dream.”

Then she was onto the next target. “Oh Sabine!”

Now that they were in public, Adrien’s voice disappeared again. But Marinette could read his expressions like an open book. “The suit makes you look older. Of course it would stand out.”

He nodded in understanding, letting the resentment go. He had no reason to be angry with his mother. He just constantly had to remind himself until it stuck.

They both took a seat at the table. Obviously, people were schmoozing around and rubbing elbows. But the schmoozers could come over here if they were so inclined.

Next to Marinette sat her parents, and next to Adrien sat Nino and Alya, while Gabriel and Emilie sat on the other side. Chloe sat at the table next to them, just an arm’s length away from Adrien.

So they were surrounded by mostly trustworthy people. The jury was still out on Gabriel, but he had at least shown that his harm was unintentional.

They had to be prepared for the worst if someone in the room decided to go for revenge.

Of course, now that their identities were out in the open and the party planners were somehow educated on kwamis (probably thanks to Chloé) there was a small doll sized table in the middle of their table, fitted with two chairs and settings.

“Oh, that’s cute. Tikki, Plagg, you can join us.”

The Kwamis peeked out of Adrien’s jacket, where they had hunkered down for the night.

“Oh don’t mind if I do!” Sang Plagg, as he took his seat. “I demand cheese cubes!”

Tikki was only a beat behind. “Behave yourself Plagg, this is a very fancy event.”

“And we are the guests of honor,” he said snottily. “While Adrien and Marinette are the brains and bodies, we are the brawn. So we get just as many accolades as them!”

“Selfish.” Tikki drawled.

A waiter appeared at the table. “Dinner is still a ways out, but can I get drinks or hors d'oeuvres for anyone?”

“Your finest cheese cubes, my good man! And keep them coming until I fall out of this chair!”

“Yes, of course Mr. Black Cat.”

Gabriel ordered a white wine for the table, while Marinette just asked for water for her and Adrien.

“It’s alright,” said Sabine. “You can have a glass of wine. It’s a special occasion.”

“I appreciate that, but I need to be alert. Just in case.”

Sabine heaved a little sigh, disappointed, but understanding. “Alright. Just try to have a little fun, okay?”

Marinette looked over the crowd again, subtlety trying to see who was watching her.

Considering this was her first public appearance as Ladybug, there were quite a few.

“Did you need something Miss Dupain-Cheng?” A waiter asked.

“Oh…no, no just—just looking.”

“Alright, don’t hesitate to flag us down if you need something.”

“Thank you.”

He cheerfully filled up her water cup before scurrying off.

Before Marinette could get lost in her scouring, she was interrupted by Gabriel. “Adrien, will you come with me a moment? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Adrien stood from his seat with hesitation. Even now, at an event like this, Gabriel wanted him to rub shoulders with business folk? Maybe not, and so his curiosity propelled him on into following.

“Should I come too?” Marinette asked.

“No no, just…just relax Marinette.”

Ah, so this was one of his business associates. Well, he’d humor his father this once, and see what this was all about.

They crossed the room, coming upon a group of laughing men, all in expensive suits with expensive wine in hand, with expensive watches on their wrists, and fattened with expensive foods.

Adrien immediately felt out of place.

“Adrien, this is M. Mercier. He’s the lawyer handling your case with Salo.”

“Hello there, kiddo.” The man grasped his hand tightly and shook. “Nice to formally meet! Of course, your father and I have been in contact for a long time. Don’t worry, we have everything under control.”

Well. That was good. It wasn't as if he had to testify or re-hash anything he had been through. It was all recorded.

“And this is M. Chevrolet, he works on the Board at Gabriel. One of the primary stockholders.”

“We met when you were just a boy,” he clarified with a tight handshake. “But you were so busy with modeling, there was really no reason for us to chat. But now that that avenue is closed, I’ve been working on finding you a position in the company. One that wouldn’t require too much investment, so you can come home to your wife at night.” He smiled. “And well, since college isn’t in the future either, it might not be exactly lucrative, but you are a stockholder, as Gabriel’s son. Of course, you could always fall back into superheroing, if you think you could.”

Was this man…mocking him?

“Adrien hasn’t ever specified if he was interested in college or not,” Gabriel said calmly. “But I do thank you for looking out for him. He and Marinette have been…apprehensive about the future.”

“Oh of course they have.”

That tone, no matter how well intended, made Adrien bristle. He didn’t have to take this. He didn’t need to be polite.

He tapped his wrist, an indication he needed meds.

“Alright, you can go back.” His father excused, absently.

As Adrien turned to leave, he could hear M. Chevrolet say, “You know, he’s not going to get anywhere not speaking. He’ll be lucky if I can get him in as a janitor.”

He hurried his paces back to the table, gnawing on his lip and trying not to cry.

Before he got half-way there, a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.

He jumped, yanking his wrist free, and stood prepared to fight.

A woman looked at him with shock and horror. “Oh my goodness! Mr. Agreste, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I just wanted to get your attention.”

Adrien relaxed into a stance a normal person would take. He then noticed there was a little girl sitting at the table next to the woman. The girl’s face was badly scarred, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“This is my daughter, Adrianne.” The woman smiled. “She…she was in the same place as you. My ex-boyfriend owed that woman some money…and she took Adrianne as ransom. Because you and Ladybug escaped, the police were able to find her and bring her home. So…I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you Chat Noir.” Said Adrianne. She was so quiet, it was almost lost in the crowd. But he heard it, and that’s all that mattered.

Adrien crouched, getting eye level with the girl, and gently rested a hand on her head, petting her hair in a way that he enjoyed too. The girl smiled up at him, face full of respect and adoration.

He mimicked the action of typing on a phone.

“My phone? Uh, here…” Said the woman.

Adrien put in his contact information, and whispered Adrianne, right in her ear. “If you need anything, just text me. Chat Noir and Ladybug will help.”

Then, Adrianne’s subdued smile doubled, turning bright and warm. It warmed his chest, and gave him hope.

—

Marinette kept on a firm alert. It was hard not to panic, with the discovery she had just made, but the fear twitched her fingers. She needed to find Adrien and get out of here, but she couldn’t give away what knowledge she’d learned.

A man, just a table over, had a gun concealed. She saw it as he reached forward for a glass of water, and she was trying not to stare.

But she did.

A very rational part of her brain told her he was probably a police officer, and it was no big deal. But she had killed police officers during her rage, and their vow to protect and serve didn’t prevent thoughts of revenge.

Once Adrien came back, she’d steer him towards the elevator, and they’d make a break for it. They had appeared. They didn’t owe anyone anything else.

As she cast her glance over the room, she missed her target moving. “Uh, excuse me?” He asked.

Marinette turned, wide eyed and horrified to see the man standing beside her.

He knelt to get on her level. “Sorry, I Uh...I just wanted to check in with you. I saw you looking at my gun. I’m with the police. I’m here because I worked on your case, but I’m also on security.”

Oh, she knew who he was. Now that she had a good look at him, she recognized him from the last time they met.

“I stabbed you. At the Police station...I stabbed you with a lance...I killed you.”

“Yeah, you sure did.” He laughed nervously.

She shut her eyes tightly, swallowing the bile in her throat.

“But,” the man continued. “So did Stoneheart, and Glaciator, and Siren, and Frozer. There were probably a couple others. Being on the force in Paris with Akumas is always a gamble. But, I’m back. Ladybug always brings me back.”

“I’m sorry...”

“I forgive you. I haven’t held it against any other Akuma, so why would it be different for you?”

“I...I just...” there was so much relief, she couldn’t find the words to say. She wanted to apologize for being suspicious of him.

“I’ll be right over there. If anyone tries anything, we’ll handle it. I mean, of course Ladybug and Chat Noir are more than capable of handling anything...the chief just wants you to be able to relax. So, relax. Okay, Miss Ladybug?”

Marinette allowed herself to take a calming breath and smile. “Thank you. I think I will.”

It was only a minute or two before Adrien returned, looking less than happy.

“Is everything alright?”

He didn’t respond to her question, but offered a hand out to her.

She took it, and allowed him to help her out of her seat. He led her to the dance floor, and wrapped his arm around her waist while he held the other in his own.

Then, he began to lead her in time with the music.

“We’re the only ones dancing,” she commented astutely.

“Yes. Everyone knows it’s rude to interrupt a dancing couple.”

“Who’d your father want you to meet?”

“Some rich assholes.”

“Just as I thought.”

Adrien guided her out into a twirl, and the band began to play just a little louder. Just for them.

“There’s a little girl here, Adrianne.” Adrien said. “She was held prisoner like us. You should say hi to her when we get the chance. I gave her my number, in case she needed anything.”

“I’m glad. I would like to meet her.” A quick turn, and her long skirt flailed outwards in a glittering pinwheel. “There’s security guards here with guns, in case anyone tries any funny business. I was told we could relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Adrien assured. “This is the most relaxed I can get nowadays.”

“I feel the same.”

“But I feel better here with you.”

“Because I’m tough and I’ll kick anyone’s ass?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “Exactly.”

The band lulled into something a little slower, to Tchaikovsky’s Valse Sentimentale, so that Adrien could bring her a little closer, chest to chest. The slow pull of the strings allowed them pause, to hold each other without anyone thinking it was anything other than dancing.

“Do your feet hurt?” He whispered.

“No. Are you okay?”

“I’m wonderful, my lady.”

“Good. We never got to have a first dance at our wedding.”

“I suppose we can count this for now.” He hummed. “But I want a real wedding first. One that I’m happy for, and I get to see you in a pretty white dress.”

“This is just practice then,” she amended. “So we can get used to dancing in front of people.”

“I think our battles were a little like dancing, we worked in tandem all the time.”

“When we weren’t getting tangled in my yo-yo.”

“You got better. I secretly think you wanted to be close to me.”

“Subconsciously, way deep inside.”

“Glad I finally got you to admit it.”

“Only to you, love.”

When they finally decided to sit back down, there was some faint applause from the room.

“You guys are the definition of adorable,” Said Alya, as Adrien helped Marinette take her seat.

“Thank you. It’s fun dancing with a twirly skirt.”

“I got it on video, if you want it later.”

“Thanks Al.”

From there, it was smooth conversation. Gabriel didn’t try to introduce anyone else to them, and Marinette actually found herself beginning to relax.

The lights dimmed, and Mayor Bourgeois took the podium.

“Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen, today we are here to pay respect to the heroes of our city, Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

There was a resounding applause from the crowd.

“There is no doubt of your strength and courage. Heroes you were, heroes you will always be. Know that every moment you suffered, we were right there with you, hearts breaking, and voices full of prayers. Hundreds of brave men and women put their lives and families on the line to do what it took to bring you home. Tonight, we want to thank them for their hard work.”

Marinette closed her eyes, a pain in her gut. Now she would come face to face with the numbers. All the people that died trying to save them? Or was she thanking all the people that failed?

By time she came out of her thoughts, there was a woman up at the podium. “…the brave men and women that were assigned to this case, that spent hours analyzing footage and clues to try and get a lead. It was the most exhausting case the bureau has undertaken to date…”

Marinette crossed her arms, but tried not to show her disdain. What was she supposed to say? Thanks for trying?

“Every day, our hearts broke a little more for our heroes…”

She heard Adrien sigh behind her.

Soon, another man took the podium. This time, she did catch a name, Arthur Vanderguard, Minister of Interior. The last time she had seen him, he had been dangling off the edge of a building, Chat’s claws in his neck being the only thing separating him from a nasty fall.

He looked right at them. “Marinette, Adrien, thank you for coming to our little dinner. It hasn’t been that long since you got out, about you’re both looking well. On behalf of the police department, the city of Paris, and France itself, I’m truly sorry for failing you.”

That was not what she was expecting. These bureaucrats had all gotten up and talked about how hard it was for them, but patting themselves on the back for their hard work anyways. For someone, especially the Minister of Interior, to admit they failed?

It was unfathomable.

“We did try hard. But in the end, Hawkmoth had to step up to the plate. That’s humbling. Someone our city has been fighting for years in the one to fix our mess. We were fighting a war on both sides. The war to save the innocent, and the war to protect the ones we love. Your bravery and strength supersedes that of all of Paris. You endured pain we can’t imagine, even with the footage we saw. And when you escaped, you went out and talked some sense into us. Into me. I was afraid of Edward Savauge and Salo. And that fear prevented me from doing my job. But not anymore. Because of your actions, I and everyone once that were being blackmailed by them are free to do our jobs the way we’re supposed to. The way we vowed we would from the beginning. So, Ladybug, Chat Noir, I owe you an apology, and a sincere thank you. Despite everything, all your pain, all the trauma, you still managed to make Paris a better place. You truly are heroes, and I sincerely hope that you’ll continue to watch over us in one way or another. Thank you.”

The apology washed over her like fresh water on a hot day. After what she had done to the officials of the city, she was certain she owed them one instead. She underestimated the effect Lady Lacrima had had.

Mayor Bourgeois was back at the podium. “Of course, there is one more person we’d like to hear from tonight. The foundation of hope in Paris, resilient, brave, and strong. The Lady of the hour, Ladybug!”

Marinette tensed up as the crowd clapped.

“Did you know you were speaking?” Asked Alya.

“No! No, I had no idea! I don’t know what to say! Alya—“

But a strong hand clasped her shoulder as Adrien stood, taking her place.

“Adrien?”

He just kissed her forehead. Then he tugged on Chloe’s pigtail and gestured to her to follow.

“Err, Chat Noir, everyone!” The Mayor corrected, as Adrien made his way to the podium.

He took the mic off the stand and handed it to Chloe.

“What am I supposed to say?” She hissed.

He shook his head, and then went over to the grand piano, silently asking to have a seat.

The pianist scuttled off, giving him the bench. Adrien moved Chloe’s arm so she was holding the mic in front of his mouth.

Then he began to play.

Just a chord at a time. High, low, high, low. Slow, and droning.

Then he began to sing, with a voice soft and full of the grit of silence.

So far from who I was

From who I love

From who I want to be

There were gasps all around the room, shocked to hear him not just speak, but sing.

So far from all our dreams

From all it means

From you here next to me

“Is this the song he was working on?” Whispered Nino.

“I think so…”

So far from seeing home

I stand out here alone

Am I asking for too much?

Watching his face, Adrien had closed his eyes, and furrowed his brows in concentration. He was putting everything into this.

So far from being free

Of the past that's haunting me

The future I just can't touch

His voice broke, not conditioned for singing, and so filled with sincerity.

And if you take my hand

Please pull me from the dark

And show me hope again

He looked up and over to Marinette, holding her gaze, like she was the only person in the room. And to him, she was.

We'll run side-by-side

No secrets left to hide

Sheltered from the pain

The song faded out with the final chord, and he stood. The applause was overwhelming, and he bobbed his head in gratitude. As he made his way back over to the table, Marinette stood to greet him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Thank you for saving me, Kitty.”

“I thought if someone was giving us the opportunity to speak, I ought to make it worthwhile.”

Marinette kissed him then, right on the lips and unashamed of being seen by anyone.

The rest of the meal went smoothly. Marinette and Adrien were allowed to remain at their table, only occasionally being bothered by other guests, but mostly just basking in the fancy atmosphere and good company. Even Gabriel was on good behavior. Though he did occasionally sneak looks at Adrien throughout the meal.

It wasn’t until they got back to the bakery, Gabriel and Emilie included, that things took a turn.

“Adrien, do you mind if I have a word?” Gabriel asked, as the rest headed upstairs.

Emilie and Marinette both hesitated, and stayed just out of sight, eavesdropping.

Adrien had a hunch he knew what was about to happen, and only clenched his fist to hold himself back.

“Your behavior tonight was inappropriate.” Gabriel began.

Adrien’s nostrils flared, but he remained quiet.

“You snubbed two very important people that only wanted to help you. It was not an appropriate time to dance with Marinette, especially since I had other people I wanted you to talk to, and you deeply insulted Mayor Bourgeois with that performance. He put on this dinner for you and Marinette, the least you could have done was thank him for it. Instead, you treated this like one of your high school parties. All eyes were on you, and consequently, all eyes were on me.”

“I’ve heard enough!” Emilie snapped, coming around the corner.

“Now dear—“

“Don’t you ‘now dear’ me!” She sent a perfectly manicured hand into his cheek. “How dare you, Gabe! Is this how you talked to him after I left? Is this normal for you?!”

Adrien rested a hand on her shoulder. “Mom, I’ll take it from here.”

Both Agreste’s snapped their jaws shut at his tone. At his voice.

Marinette peeked around the corner, just visible enough for comfort and support.

“Father, I don’t need your criticisms anymore. I know perfectly well how to behave at an event. I left the conversation with your ‘important men’ because they were patronizing me. I didn’t appreciate it. I left in the most civil way I could, but I’ve been through too much to be treated like that. I’m not stupid, and I’m not weak. I’m just as capable as anyone else. Maybe more so.” He breathed deep, being spurred on by the attentive look on Gabriel’s face. He wasn’t angry, he was just listening. “I wanted to dance with my wife. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. No one else seemed to mind. And, that song I performed I wrote myself, in isolation. Marinette wasn’t prepared to speak, but I knew my song would convey everything that needed to be said.” He nodded once. “There. I explained myself. Are you happy now?”

Gabriel Agreste didn’t smile. Not really. The closest he got was a slight twitch of his lips. And that’s what he did. “Yes. I am.”

Adrien blinked. “You are?”

“Yes. Thank you for explaining to me. I misunderstood your behavior. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

Adrien almost cried then. Both from shock and relief.

“It was a very lovely song, by the way. I think it did get the point across.”

“Th…thank you, Father.”

“You’re welcome.” He squeezed his arm. “Now come along, I believe Sabine is making coffee for us.”

Adrien’s song is ‘So Far’ by Olafur Arnalds.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrinette #ladybug #chat noir #ladynoir #fanfiction #longest night

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airiat · 4 years ago

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The Peasant from Lobinden

i was really inspired to write something that matches the mood of nocturnal forest from the witcher 2 ost. of course, my mind went right to iorveth. also, of course, i had to make this foreboding piece have a little touch of something soft.

if iorveth were to ever fall in love with a human, as unlikely as that is, i imagine it would begin something like this:

You are poor, you are starving, and you are desperate enough to seek the thousand oren reward for a certain Scoia'tael commander’s capture. Against every better judgment, you walk into the Flotsam woods to seek him out. If you’re lucky, you’ll even come out of them alive.

[CW: implied amputation, semi-graphic depiction of injury]

READ ON AO3

Twigs, dry and brittle, crackled like thunder underneath your bare feet. The Flotsam woods, with their ancient, towering trees, were a dark hand that wrapped around your throat and squeezed. Moonlight filtered in through the branches, the smothering canopy of leaves, but it was not enough to light your way beyond the dim flame of your candlestick.

You might have turned back, you should have turned back, but the undying symphony of the nighttime insects cloaked all other sounds that might have warned you of what was coming. Yet, their groaning trill was an omen itself. You should have heeded it. That night, however, you were not one who listened.

Never, ever go beyond the fires at the edge of the woods, you had always been told. Never, not even if your life depends on it.

In fact, your life did depend on it. You were poor, from a large family in Lobinden with a few more mouths than your parents could afford to feed, and you were the middlest child, the one most overlooked, the one who went hungry first. Your parents’, your siblings’ gazes would sweep over you as if you were nothing but air to them. It was this invisibility that you counted on as you stumbled through the woods, the pain of your hunger a string that tugged you forward.

You knew whose territory you were intruding in. You saw his face, cruel and unyielding, on the wanted posters plastered all over town. Iorveth, commander of the Scoia’tael, the rebel elves, terrorist to all mankind. But you also saw the promised reward for his capture or death written on those posters: one-thousand Temerian orens. How much bread that would buy you, how much delicate meat and fine cheese--more than you could ever eat. Never, ever would you go hungry again.

All that coin would be yours. All yours. Not your sister’s, your brothers’, your parents'. All of it for you.

You, with your tattered, dirtied clothes, the shoddy bow that once belonged to your grandfather slung over your back, the handful of arrows you fletched yourself in a cracked leather quiver at your waist. You would be the one to capture the legendary commander.

With every step you took deeper into the woods, you watched as the still shadows shuddered to life. Endrega, nekkers…elves. Any sort of monster could have lain beyond the twisted trail you walked. Your head jerked to the right, eyes catching a bare flicker of movement so unlike the rest. Was that the metallic flash of a sword? The silhouette of pointed ears? The blood-red impression of a scarf that hid horror?

You knew what was coming. You knew and you continued forward, gripping your father’s dagger even tighter, right into your doom.

How could you have seen the trap that waited with its jaws open in the middle of your path? You didn’t know these woods. You never strayed past the fires. You were just a simple peasant from Lobinden.

How could you have stopped yourself from screaming as the cold metal clamped around your ankle? You bit down on your lip in an attempt to silence yourself, tasted the blood of your agony. Like the teeth of the neighbor’s dog sinking down into your skin until it reached bone. You remembered how that felt. This pain turned that bite into a caress.

“Not many dh’oine I’ve seen who would walk willingly into these woods. Especially not ones who know they shouldn’t.”

Were you dreaming? Were you dead? If you were, this was a nightmare, this was hell. His voice spoke to you, cold and colored with amusement at your expense. Iorveth, the only hope of your salvation, stepped out of the shadows and into the weak light of your candle.

The elf was shorter, somehow, than you thought he would be. Thinner, less threatening. Somehow.

He was also more beautiful than you could have ever imagined possible. The candlelight cast hollows on his sharp features, made his single eye glitter like moonlight on the river Pontar, illuminated the leaves and branches inked onto his neck.

The wanted posters hadn’t shown any of those things.

Around the gasps of your pain, you whispered, “Was meant to…capture you.”

Iorveth tilted his head, took in the pathetic state of you, all the equipment you now realized was woefully ill-suited to the task you set out for. “You, a peasant from Lobinden, think you can capture me?”

When he spoke the words, you saw it then for the joke that it was.

“A thousand orens good for…so…much food…”

His brow furrowed, lip twitched. “You did this because you’re hungry?”

You swallowed back bile, nodding.

“I know something of that,” Iorveth muttered, reaching for the knife at his chest and unsheathing it.

Your shoulders unwound, a long breath tumbling past your bloody lips. He would kill you now and that would be the end of it all. The end of this torture, of the hunger scraping its vicious claws inside your stomach, of the march towards utter destitution.

But, instead, he bent down and twisted his knife into the mechanism of the trap. It sprang open, releasing you, and you cried out at the sudden rush of fierce pain. When it gave way to a dull sting, your hands fell to your knees, vision mottled with black spots.

Then, you heard the rustling of fabric and a faint thud as Iorveth tossed a hunk of bread down onto the forest floor in front of you. Scrabbling for it greedily, you sank to the ground, saw stars as you bit into the surprising sweetness of its crust.

This was heaven, wasn’t it? Gracious, blessed Melitele.

“You’ll die here, dh’oine,” spoke a soft voice from somewhere above you. “But no need to die starving.”

As you chewed piece after piece of this glorious bounty, you had some vague notion of the bow being lifted from your back, of footsteps retreating. You didn’t care about either thing. The bread clouded your mind with delusions of survival, held tight and fast.

Though numbness took the place of pain, you were aware of the blood that ran steadily from your ankle. You would lose your foot from this. It was a sure thing. That is, if you could even make it back to Lobinden first. Which…he was right. You would die out here.

That very thought sent you into some strange state of primal urgency, offering a last scrap of fortitude as you reached out and pressed your fingers against your wound. Warm, golden light, dazzling and divine, from the palm of your hand embraced the lacerations.

How…? You were not magic, had never even seen magic before. It did not belong to you, a simple peasant from Lobinden. Yet…

You were now someone much more.

Unable to help yourself any longer, you collapsed to the ground, sucking in shallow, haggard breaths. The smell of burning herbs fanned over you, rough leather gloves picked up your hand, and a dark shape blotted out the moon.

Were those pointed ears you saw? Someone's beautiful zefhar bow rising over their shoulder?

You slipped away before you could find the answer.

#if you saw my other iterations of this no u didn't #iorveth #iorweth #tw2 #the witcher 2 #the witcher #my writing #my posts #tag: iorveth

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mchalowitz · 4 years ago

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the woman is the king, part three

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

i’m very excited to finally share this! definitely the most difficult part to write so far and i hope everyone enjoys it!

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana

part 3: emily

read on ao3

@today-in-fic

———

Two years on, sometimes Scully believes she will be able to survive without her other. A forgotten voice travels from immortal nirvana to her brother’s residential line. She wonders if what she tells herself is true.

1994; the lost year that exists between them. On an evening in March, returning from a field assignment with Mulder, Melissa leaves a message on her answering machine that Scully can still easily recite.

Things are too hard right now, Dana. I’m safe, I’m with friends in California. I’ll call soon. I love you.

Dana would never have been the golden child. No one surpasses a squid, especially not a fed with some shifty assignment. A shifty fed fares better than a filthy sinner. Charlie wears excommunication with unsweetened pride. And Melissa, the silly new ager, well, she could take no more.

No one thrives at the center of a Scully family scandal. Scully tries to create a rational narrative. It is 1994. Melissa is pregnant; she doesn’t want the baby. She knows plenty of people on the west coast. It was believable.

Her beloved sister, Dana, is abducted, and in the four weeks she is missing, Melissa gives birth, and the baby is adopted. Dana resurfaces in a hospital; left practically for dead. Her sister returns to stand vigil at her bedside.

It becomes a question of mindset. Maggie believes Melissa would have told her; Dana disagrees. Subversion of expectations was the ultimate sin for a Scully child as it was a denouncement of the parenting of William and Margaret. She can attest to her mother’s softening on certain expectations since the death of her father. She still disagrees.

No time for sulking, only pushing through. Working the case through Christmas clearly infuriates Bill. He keeps it to hushed whispers and snide remarks out of Tara’s earshot. Scully often wonders how privy Tara is to anything going on in the Scully family.

Her infertility stings when she looks at her sister-in-law. With her cancer now in remission, the other medicals horrors Scully faced start coming back to the surface. It is another slap; the thought that her sister gave away such a sweet little girl while she will never carry a child.

Scully is a mother. She struggles to quantify what Emily is.

Emily, a living and breathing child, with the face of a Scully, is a violation of her body that someone stole from her, and yet must be fiercely protected. Perhaps Emily is the missing piece.

Scully hurriedly fills out the application for temporary custody. It consists of the normal, straightforward questions found on any application, until her hand is hovering over that box. Single or married.

The only thing happening in sunny San Diego is a completely mundane family Christmas, as far as Mulder is aware. Her words froze during her singular phone call. It seems like reaching out now is more of a bombardment than a simple debrief.

Scully is not in a position to presuppose the enigmatic thoughts of Fox Mulder. Yes, it was by his own volition to marry her and she can even believe that Mulder does love her. It is a mutual respect and a fond devotion. It is not spousal love; not a man that loves his wife.

If she checks the box, Mulder would have to be a father figure to Emily, and it is not her place to make that decision for him. Their marriage was playing house because she was destined to die and Emily does not deserve to be a flour-sack baby in their labyrinthian game.

Her pen swipes across the paper. Single.

Mulder starts with M. Mmm. Emily tells him so.

Emily leaves the crayons and paper to go to the bookshelf. Mulder is sitting in the chair by the window and she gives him the book. She points to the yellow bird on the cover.

“What’s his name?”

“I think that’s Big Bird,” Mulder tells her.

Her Daddy only reads her one book at a time, Mulder reads her three. She goes to the bookshelf for more when Dana comes up close to her. “Emily, Mulder and I have to leave now, but we’ll come back tomorrow.”

Emily looks at Mulder, holding the book, and he says, “I bet you can find a good spot to keep it safe.”

She nods and sets the book against the bed, fixing it when it slides down. Dana and Mulder leave. A lady makes her pick up her crayons before dinner.

“I’m tired,” she insists, holding the lady’s hand on the way to eat.

“First dinner, then bed, Emily.”

A duality develops in relation to another atrocity to her body. It is a swift punch to the throat; knocking the breath so deeply out of her lungs. It is also as mundane as adding milk to the shopping list; it is only another thing.

Her brother’s phone line carries mysteries from one location to another. Landline abandoned, traveling well above the speed limit, Mulder drives toward the children’s home.

“I could have handled it,” she asserts simply.

“I know.”

Mulder, with his complexity of a hero, and innate ability to act so hoggish. Scully wonders if he really believes that.

Her blanket at home is pink sparkles and has Barbie on the pillows. Emily doesn’t like her new blanket nearly as much. It’s just plain pink.

The lady from dinner tucks her in. “I met Mr. Potato Head,” Emily informs her.

Emily doesn’t like the other kids in the new place, especially the boy that calls, “That’s not true! Mr. Potato Head isn’t real.”

“Yes, he is!” she argues. She struggles to sit up with the blanket holding her back. “I met him and he looks like this!” She puffs out her cheeks, making the same face.

“That must have been very exciting, Emily,” the lady adds softly, tucking her in again.

The lights turn off. Emily closes her eyes. She feels cold.

In the work Mulder does with Scully, it is often based more on speculation than he would ever like to admit to anyone. It disgusts him to know that if Emily were any other file in his cabinet, it would bring him joy to map out theories and spar with his partner over them. With the empty coffin staring back at them, Mulder can easily assume a thought is something neither of them want to enter their minds ever again. No hypothesizing to be done here.

Following the funeral, the San Diego bureau fares slightly kinder than their city’s court system. Their California contact, while deeply apologetic for the tragedy that has occurred here, informs them the field office won’t be actively pursuing the case. Aside from following up on a few leads pertaining to the deaths of Roberta and Marshall Sim, it will likely be deemed a cold case.

“I’m very sorry, Agent Scully,” the agent says, padding his final blow. Emily’s case will not be investigated either. Both Mulder and Scully understand the algorithm that goes into the decision of pursuing an investigation. If the case fell into the FBI mainstream, Emily’s chronic health issues, use of experimental treatments, and her parents’ full cognizance to the risks wouldn’t stand a chance against the process.

And if there was anything to investigate, it has already been destroyed by powers far outside the reach of some dinky field office anyway. Whatever the reasoning may be, another Scully woman is still failed by the United States government.

Scully wants the first flight out of San Diego back to Washington and he is more than quick to oblige her. While she very clearly loves the new addition to her family, the sting is just as obvious.

Two hours down in the air, three more to go, and they have barely said a word to each other since take-off. Scully’s head is turned toward the window when he reaches for her hand. “Scully,” he speaks, very quietly.

“No,” she responds with a shake of her head, her voice tight.

Another long stretch of silence and Mulder thinks she maybe falls asleep, which would be a welcome cause for silence, because he isn’t convinced she’s slept more than an hour or two in days. He is about to request a blanket when her forehead presses into his shoulder and the contact reveals her body shaking with the exertion of holding everything inside yet again.

It’s his fierce need to protect her always that causes him to envelope her body with his. Her arms wind tightly around his neck. Her attempts to muffle her sobs in his jacket is only partially successful.

A flight attendant taps him on the shoulder and asks him, “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Mulder blatantly lies. “But maybe we could get a glass of water for my wife.”

It's a rare euphoria to speak those words; his wife. Dana Scully is his wife. A mostly unmentioned fact that gives him a childishly nervous feeling in his stomach. While it never retreated in his mind, it appears to be returning to the forefront of hers.

In the winding process of applying for custody, a second application exists. Scully’s final plea to unite her with her own flesh and blood. Another document that states definitively that they are married. Mulder underwent a grilling from the judge; a practical bullying on the semantics of their marriage.

One’s subconscious works powerfully, in his experience, and when he sat in this same position on Scully’s couch six months ago, the answer came to him so clearly. It wasn’t only for her benefit as a life experience that everyone should have the opportunity to have if they so choose; cancer only sped up the timeline of an inevitably. Mulder has never taken a mightier leap with her and she accepted. A singular score for Fox Mulder.

It’s treated as though it never even existed; his presence in that way completely reverted. He wishes he had more of a chance to prove himself worthy. He wishes he was a less of pussy to actually do it. He will, he’s going to. If she is ever willing to forgive him for all of his transgressions.

Mulder carried the knowledge of her ova and of what was likely (and now, very clearly) done with it with a heaviness that rivaled the many other weights he lugs around inside him. Scully’s hope for recovery was dwindling then and it was only another way to hurt her.

It felt criminal to hijack her happiness when she went into remission and her bliss honestly fed his soul. Now, he only piles onto her pain. And if he was any kind of man, if he was someone deserving of someday being a person she would maybe, eventually, love for real, he would have been a lot fucking better.

The flight attendant delivers a glass of water and a box of tissues on a plastic tray. He takes both and offers the glass to Scully. She scoots forward to the edge of her seat, her back straightened, and it reminds him of Bellefleur, and of that young agent in her red robe, and the fear of simple bug bites. It was the moment of cosmiticity bursting into existence between them.

Scully sips water, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. His eyes never leave her for the rest of the flight. He drives her home under the glow of streetlights.

“I can keep you company, if you want,” he offers after insisting he carry her suitcase inside for her. “Might even be able to catch a replay of the Rose Bowl if we’re lucky.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she replies. One hand holds the door and the other is braced on the frame; a universal sign to get lost told through her body language. “I’m going to take a few days. I already let Skinner know.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Goodnight, Scully.”

Once the door is shut, he hears the lock click into place. It pains him to walk away.

Mulder calls Scully in the morning as promised. He calls every morning after. It just rings and rings.

No one is expecting her back in the office until Monday, but by Thursday it becomes increasingly clear that a return to normalcy is what she requires. Scully can only stare at California girls immortalized by ages in threes on her mantel for so long.

She trades in her bathrobe for a beige skirt with matching jacket and she slugs down the last of a cup of coffee while she packs her briefcase. The landline rings in its cradle next to her hand. Her stockinged feet slide against the kitchen tile as she turns to answer.

“Hello?”

An unfamiliar female voice carries cheerily into her ear. “Hi there, this is Amanda over at Liberty Fertility Center. I’m looking for Fox Mulder?”

"This is...” Scully starts, and then she pauses, staring up at the ceiling before answering with a restrained sigh. “This is his wife.”

“I’m following up on a call we received from your husband earlier this week about a sample being stored at our facility and possible ova analysis. He left this as the call back number.”

Scully clicks her tongue against her teeth, nodding slowly. She barely focuses on the conversation and when it ends, she retrieves the phone book, slamming it down on the table in place of her briefcase. She dials the first promising number in the correct category.

Heat overtakes her melancholy. Scully is so, so tired of Mulder blanketing his wrongdoings under the guise of protecting her. It has always, ultimately, been her choice to walk alongside him; it was his choice to marry her. He still fills their partnership, their marriage, with secrets. He still withholds.

She can only imagine what is being done to her ova sitting in some facility. Mulder didn’t even have the decency to tell her any even remained.

Scully arrives at the office on Friday and Mulder is immersed in a sea of paperwork and photographs. It is only eight in the morning and he already has his jacket slung over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up over his forearms.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you until Monday,” he grins with surprised delight.

Mulder follows her with his eyes as she steps up to his desk. She leans down, kissing him soundly on the mouth, and she observes his dreamy stare when they part.

“I need my ova, Mulder,” she states. Scully pulls a business card out of her pocket; the law firm she called the morning before. “And I want a divorce.”

#x files #xf fic #dana scully #fox mulder #emily sim #msr #this is straight up probably the worst time of day to post lol

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theparanormalperiodical · 4 years ago

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The REAL Story Behind The Omen (1976) And The 7 Most Terrifying Omens You Should Definitely Know About

You don't get much irony in horror.

You get buckets of fake blood, you get lashings of sexism with subtle notes of transphobia, and you have dozens of plot holes to get twisted up in. But The Omen (1976) in a very dark, very deathy way, was ironic.

Somehow a film about the rise of the Antichrist - AKA the end of the world - would be accompanied by wild animal attacks, sudden deaths, and even a decapitation. Yep, The Omen was, well, an omen. In fact, this cult classic horror flick is known as one of the most cursed films to date as a result of the story put to the screen and the events that took place behind it.

But the infamous tales surrounding this movie is not the only time an omen has preceded horrific events. In fact, we've been searching for signs of what is to come for millennia. Some of these signs still haunt our darkest nightmares.

You need to look out for them.

Today we will be determining just how accurate the portrayal of The Omen is to the prophecies of the Antichrist, the spooky events that took place behind the camera, and any other signs of death or misfortune you should be wary of.

*crow caws in the distance*

First, let's recap The Omen

The Bible is undoubtedly the best-selling book of all time. And, just like many other chart-topping hits, it’s been turned into a whole host of films. Each has suffered its own onslaught of criticism for its unique take on scripture.

The Omen is one of them.

But The Omen doesn’t follow Jesus’ life story, nor does it CGI various jungle animals onto Noah’s ark. It follows the Antichrist from birth to demise across 3 films (including a made-for-TV Canadian movie which we’ve all agreed to not talk about). It charts the rise of Damien as he develops his paranormal powers and loosely fulfils the prophecies set out for the Devil’s spawn.

Our story starts at his mysterious birth: after a woman has a stillborn child, her husband swaps it for a child whose mother died at birth. When Damien is just 5 years old strange things begin to occur. Animals act strangely around him, various aggressive dogs appear - oh, and Damien’s nanny rudely interrupts his birthday party by throwing herself out of a window with a noose around her neck.

Enter a new nanny who is less Mary Poppins and more Mary Most-definitely-a-satanist-who-wants-to-protect-Damien-and-overthrow-Christ. Things get worse (yes, it’s possible) when everyone around Damien begins to slowly work out that he may or may not be the Antichrist and in turn get killed in assorted horrific - but also mildly hysterical - ways.

It’s the father of Damien (the adoptive one, not the actual Devil) who leads the investigation into his origins. He traces back Damien’s origins back to his dead mother’s grave. Turns out she was a jackal.

Enter the Antichrist expert - he gives Damien’s father the low-down on dealing with demonic children, and explains that the naughty-step is simply not enough. He has to be killed on hallowed ground with a collection of knives I’m pretty sure I saw on Antiques Roadshow. He takes the Daggers of Megiddo and his infant son into a local church, forces him onto the altar and prepares to kill him.

The police shoot him before he can do this.

The following films chase up the rest of Damien’s short but eventful life and include: one sex scene, one King Herod-inspired ‘kill all babies born on this day cause one of ‘em is Jesus’, and even a last minute cameo by Christ himself.

Unlike most horror franchises, however, The Omen is not based on some paranormal investigation or a forgotten urban legend - the story inspiring it is kept very close to the hearts of many around the world. It’s this troubling premise which makes this film one of the most terrifying to date. Question is, just how accurate is The Omen to the actual end of days forecasted by Christians?

How accurate was The Omen to actual prophecies regarding the Antichrist?

Like most things mentioned in The Bible and other religious texts, things are typically vague or lost in translation. This means many concepts and stories have been rewritten and rethought in numerous different ways.

The Omen kinda had to connect the dots.

But there are a few defining features of Damien and his life story which are uncomfortably close to what might just be the apocalypse…

First, the Antichrist is supposed to be born as the opposite of Christ: he is not born of God and a virgin, but of Satan and a ‘whore’. Whilst The Omen appears to be slut-shaming a jackal, we do know Damien is the spawn of Satan. His animal mother (which is referenced later in the franchise when Damien is discovered to have Jackal bone marrow cells) is a reference to Jackals’ biblical presence as tricksters.

The Omen also sticks to the dominant line of thought on Damien’s career path. The Antichrist is mentioned 3 times in the New Testament and follows the end of the world, something we see in the dying moments of the final film: the Book of Revelation and other prophetic texts claim he will rule for 7 years before being defeated by Christ/Angel Gabriel’s army. He will be a tyrant, a trickster, rise to power, and (perhaps) claim he is a messiah.

The Omen is an abridged version of this. Damien is at one point a CEO and then an ambassador to the US before he sees an image of Christ when he gives out his last breath.

But here’s the thing.

Everyone has a different take on how the Antichrist will take his first steps to almighty power before being dethroned by the JC. And everyone has a different take on who it is.

Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, the Pope (I’m pretty sure all of the popes have been accused of being the Antichrist), Prince William… Type in a celebrity name - literally any celebrity name - and the word ‘antichrist’ into Google and there will be “proof” of Kate Hudson using satanic subliminal messaging in How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days. By all accounts The Omen is just another version of how the Antichrist could rise and fall.

The Omen does include a few other suitably-satanic references: the Daggers of Megiddo don’t actually exist according to lore, but are associated with the end of the world. Megiddo is the site of the final battle between the Antichrist and Jesus Christ as mentioned in the Book of Revelation. Its Greek name was even ‘Armageddon’.

We also see throughout the franchise a satanist plot to ensure the Antichrist grows up safely and is ready to do his dark bidding. Modern theorists claim the Antichrist will arrive hand-in-hand with a satanic plot to overturn the Christian faith.

The Omen effectively charts out how the world might end. But for many people working on the film, they were experiencing hell in their own way.

What really happened on the set of The Omen?

An omen is defined as a phenomenon that predicts and hints at the future, or signals a change. The birth and rise of the Antichrist probably fits the definition as it signals the Second Coming of Christ, Judgement Day, and numerous other events anticipated by Christians across the globe. It is an omen for the end of the world.

Hell, it’s the ultimate omen. It doesn’t get more omen-ny than that.

But in some weird omen-ception, The Omen was an omen for the people producing the film. *squints in confusion*

Basics, it is now known as one of the most cursed movie sets ever. And here’s why.

Gregory Peck, the father of Damien, allegedly canceled his seat on a flight that would crash and kill everyone on board. When he did finally get on a plane and flew to England his plane was struck by lightning. The film’s writer experienced the same thing on a separate flight days after Peck’s.

The producers and some actors also nearly attended a restaurant one evening when it was destroyed in an explosion. One of these same producers, Mace Neufeld, also happened to check out early from a hotel in London which was blown up by the IRA shortly after.

The special effects designer witnessed traumatic events mirroring the movie far too closely, too: his wife was decapitated in a car crash, a similar event to one we see in the film. Even an animal trainer used for a scene from which Baboons act wildly and crazed around Damien was killed after being mauled by a tiger.

Yeah.

It’s all very ommeny.

But what are the other omens you should be looking out for?

The 7 omens you should most definitely be watching out for

#1 - Crows

All films or TV shows that feature death or war also feature crows. Their fateful cawing has historically been an omen of misfortune or death and is used for foreshadowing as obvious as the colour black. A single crow is an omen of bad luck - a murder of crows (more than five) is an omen of death or illness for either you or someone you know.

In ancient times birds were common omens and it was the type of bird which signaled different positive and negative changes. Crows in particular were believed to be messengers between the mortal world and the afterlife. Witches were also believed to use crows to cast their death spells.

They have since gained a reputation for being cunning and intelligent creatures, much like the jackal mother of Damien in The Omen.

#2 - Owls

I told you - we are convinced birds bring death.

Much like crows, owls are very deathy. Walking under a tree and hear an owl hoot? You or a family member are gon’ die. One lands on your roof? Death is a-coming.

Owls are even historically believed to herald doom with one Roman Emperor - Antonius - dying after an owl was seen perched above his bedroom door. They are considered wise creatures according to ancient civilisations, as if they know something about the future we do not.

The Welsh, on the other hand, believed they bring fertility. If an owl hoot is heard by a pregnant woman she will have an easy labour.

#3 - Doppelgangers

According to German and Irish folklore, seeing an ‘exact replica’ of you born to different parents is a sign of your death. If your family members or your friends see one, beware of impending danger.

These ‘double-goers’ are considered evil twins in folklore. If you spoke to your doppelganger, they’d try and trick you and plan evil ideas in your mind.

Breton and Cornish folklore claim they are Ankou, servants of death himself who thus personify it.

#4 - Death Knocks Thrice

Let’s set the scene: you’ve just ordered a Nandos and you hear the knock at the door. But instead of a halloumi-topped beanie burger, you open the front door to no one.

Rather than a delicious meal you will soon experience death.

Irish, Scottish, and Native American communities follow this folklore and it is referenced in many different films including The Conjuring. The Perron family hear continuous knocking which comes in threes - the Warrens, however, claim it is a demonic entity or spirit mocking the holy trinity.

#5 - Phantom funerals

Funerals normally come after the omen of death, you know, when the actual ‘death’ part has occurred. But fake funerals led by ghosts are an omen of the death of a loved one. They will take the same place and same route of the actual funeral, however.

If you do see one, however, don’t look into the casket; otherwise, it’ll be your own.

(Dun dun duuuh)

It is believed they are sent by fairies who are infamous for causing mischief. A similar phenomenon, ‘the tolaeth before the coffin’, is when one hears the coffin making process or the funeral take place.

#6 - Solar eclipses

We now have the benefit of science and astrology to tell us that sometimes it gets really dark and really cold in the middle of the day. But way back when, the sun effectively disappearing for a few moments was rather more terrifying.

Ancient civilisations believed it was a warning from pissed off gods that they were going to exact some revenge and send some impending danger or death. Most cultures even believed a folkloric beast or native animal was eating the sun. In fact, that’s why many communities would bang pots or pans together during eclipses to scare away the demon doing it.

They are still considered a mysterious sign something bad is about to go down.

#7 - Black butterflies

We end on an omen I’m probably going to incorporate into my aesthetic for 2021. A black butterfly is considered to be a symbol of misfortune and death in some cultures and a positive sign for others. It could also equate to a less lethal ‘death’ - that is the death of a relationship or a project.

It can thus be considered an omen of renewal or rebirth. And lord knows we all need that for next year.

Have you ever seen an omen?

Let me know in a comment below.

If you liked this post make sure you like, reblog, and then hit follow. I post a new article on the paranormal every Saturday and a new ghost story everyday!

*flies away with the black butterflies*

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1184

survey by xflirtykaosx

Alphabetti Spaghetti (2/3)

F o r e v e r - y o u r s - F

Do you fancy any celebrities? If so, who? KIM TAEHYUUUUUUNGGGGGGGGG

Do you watch any FBI shows? Which ones? No.

Have you ever been to a festival? Which one? I don’t think so.

Do you have a fireplace in your house? Hell no. Just the idea of having a fireplace considering where I live and the general climate we have all year makes me nauseous haha.

Do you have a hot flask? I’m not so sure what you mean but if you’re referring to tumblers like Hydro Flask that keep drinks hot/cold for a really long time then yeah, I have one.

What decade were you four in? 2000s.

Do you like the TV show Friends? I love it. I haven’t watched an episode in a while, but it’s always a go-to for me whenever I feel really really really down.

Do you like the feeling of cat fur? Sure, it’s pleasant. Same with dog fur.

Go girl, go; G

Do you have a back garden? Not really a garden but we do have a sort of backyard; basically some space behind the house.

Do you have a gentle touch? Idk...depends on what I’m holding or touching, I guess? Like I would obviously hold an infant as gently and gingerly as possible, but I wouldn’t pay as much attention if I’m holding something ordinary like my phone.

Do you like girly programmes like Gossip Girl? LOL at girly. Who says Gossip Girl and literally any other show out there has to be for a certain audience?

Do you ever use gloves? Only when I order from Frankie’s since they provide gloves with their meals.

Do you prefer gold or silver? Silver.

Are you a greedy person? What makes you greedy? A little bit, when it comes to food hahaha. I don’t like sharing and I get angry if someone eats a portion I already called dibs on.

Have you ever seen a gypsy? No.

Hold on honey, I'm here. - H

Do you have any bad habits? What? I pick at my nails - either set - when I get tense. I also tend to get a liiiiitle bit reckless with my money, if I do choose to spend. I’m pretty self-disciplined for the most part, but I let that go as soon as I give myself the green light lol. Exhibit A would be me spending a total of nearly P7,000 just this week alone on BTS merch...

Do you know anyone called Helen? I don’t think so. My dad has a cousin named Helena, though.

Have you ever watched a documentary about Hitler? Not directly related to him, but I remember watching Night Will Fall in high school.

Do you put hm in a lot of your survey answers? Not a lot. Occasionally, though.

When was the last time you went to hospital? What was it for? May last year. Blood and urine tests.

Do you like HP (Harry Potter)? Who's your favourite character? I didn’t grow up with it, but it’s not as if I’m a passionate anti. It’s just not my cup of tea, even after trying to read the books.

Do you spell it honey or hunny? I never spell it as hunny unless I’m saying it sarcastically or playfully with friends.

Are you afraid of this Swine Flu Hype? That’s gone now, right? We’re dealing with something else entirely.

In the end we all die broken. - I

Have you ever been to Ibiza? Nopes.

Do you take ice in your soda/fizzy drinks? I don’t really have a preference as I don’t regularly consume fizzy drinks anyway, as long as it’s not lukewarm.

Who do you think is a complete idiot? Anyone supporting the government at this point is a good runner-up.

Do you often wonder what if? Sometimes. But I also find it a waste of time, so I don’t dwell on them.

Have you ever seen an Igloo? I haven’t.

Do you get ill often? No, almost never.

Do you ever imagine you were not human? What did you imagine you were? No, this has never come to mind.

Do you like sexual innuendos? If it’s not too trashy, sure.

What is your IQ? Idk, I’ve never had it checked.

Do people often call you irrational? I’ve never been called this before, at least not to my face.

Do you think the name Isis is pretty? ...Welp, not anymore.

Do you get itchy eyeballs? That never happens. Is that even possible?

Do you know what ix stands for in roman numerals? 9.

Just breathe baby, breathe. - J

Have you ever been in jail? I have a very vague memory of visiting a prison with my parents before, but I no longer remember why I was there.

Do you like JD (Jack Daniels)? Nahhhhhh. Had a tiny sip of it once, found it absolutely nasty.

Do you get jealous easily? Not anymore.

Do you tell a lot of jokes? Yeah. I like making people laugh, so I drop jokes whenever I can whether I’m in a formal or informal setting.

Do you finish school/college in June? When I was in college, my school year ended every May. Before that, the academic calendar ended every March.

Kiss me, kill me, thrill me. - K

Do you know a girl called Karla? Yeah, one of the managers at work is a Karla but I don’t work with her. I also went to grade/high school with a girl named Karla; she was my friend for a while as well, but we grew apart over the years.

Did you watch Kenan and Kel? Nope.

Do you prefer kisses or hugs? Depends on the person, I guess. But in the context of being in a relationship, I do love being kissed.

Do you like Korn? I don’t listen to them.

Do you like watching films with Kung Fu in them? Not in particular.

Lessons learnt the hard way are the best I've ever had. - L

Do you like Lady Gaga? She’s okay. I’m not super crazy about her but I tend to like all the stuff she puts out.

When was the last time you had lemonade? Wow, it’s definitely been a while. Maybe a year or so ago? I don’t get to have it a lot; usually only when it’s offered at hotels or resorts when I go on vacation.

Do you ever lie to save your own skin? Sometimes, but I never let the lie be too big just in case it bites me back in the ass one day.

Do you think llamas are cute? Sure.

Do you use Lol a lot? Yes.

Do you think you are lucky or unlucky? Neither.

Melody in my heartstrings. - M

Do you like Mac and Cheese? Loooooove mac and cheese, especially truffle mac and cheese.

Do you ever eat at McDonald’s? What's your usual? Not very often tbh, but I do like McDonald’s. I don’t eat it frequently enough to have a usual order; I get whatever I feel like having at a given moment. And since we’re here, I’m gonna be plugging the BTS Meal, in stores 5/26! HAHAHA

Do you like Medieval games like 7elda? You mean The Legend of Zelda? I do love that franchise, but I don’t like the medieval genre as a whole; I just happened to grow up with the Zelda series and Nintendo as a whole, so I’ve taken a liking to it.

What's on your mind right now? That it’s Monday again tomorrow. I feel like I’m starting to get burnout :/ I’ve definitely noticed I haven’t been being 100% at work lately...but it could also be because the weather is crappy hot again, which makes it a lot harder to work and keep focused.

Is money in your opinion, the root of all evil? It’s part of it.

Do you like Mr and Mrs the show? I’m not familiar with it.

Do you read murder mystery books? Which ones? No.

Do you find Mystical stuff fascinating? Not really.

Nobody loves me, what a change. - N

Do you know the name of your local shopkeeper? We don’t have those here.

Have you ever been called nerdy? I’m sure I’ve been.

Are you you truly a nice person? I hope that’s what people see and think.

Do you overuse nouns in your sentences? I like using adjectives, for one; but I don’t exactly know how you can overuse nouns hahaha.

Do you know anyone personally who is a nurse? Yes, I have several relatives who are in nursing.

Only you - it always has been. - O

Do you obey authority or deliberately disobey it? Obey for the most part.

Is there anything in your room that is an Octagon? What is it? I don’t think so.

What odor can you smell in the room you're in now? The neutral scent my aircon is blowing out.

Do you get offended easily? I think sensitive would be a more fitting word.

Have you ever been to Ohio? No.

Do you ever say Oi? Sure, but not frequently.

Do you spell it OK or okay? I use both; I don’t have a preference. What I avoid is ‘K,’ though.

Are you older than the number day you were born on? Yes.

Have you ever watched the film the Omen? I haven’t.

Name one thing you always have taken for granted? The basic things, I guess, like breathing.

Have you ever had an operation? On what? Never.

Do you like things in a set order or doesn't it matter? As much as possible I do want things to be organized, yeah. I get restless if I see a very messy spreadsheet or Powerpoint, for instance.

Do you have a habit of overreacting? I was a lot more...theatrical in my reactions before haha. Not so much these days; I’ve toned down a lot.

Do you think Owls are nice? Sure.

Do you know what an Oxymoron is? Yup.

Have you ever tried Oyster? Yessssssss I love them and now you’re making me crave them :(

#survey #surveys

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iris-ymir · 4 years ago

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The Torment of L’zetta - Part 2 : L’zetta Medrawt

The baby was named “L’zetta”, which soon got shortened to Lizzie by L’zily. Any real naming rituals were not held for the girl, as most of the carnival wanted to have very little to do with a peculiar child, which was seen more as a curse, than a blessing. An ill omen of something to come... L’zily did not let the words of others pull her down though, and she loved her little girl, and the peculiar abnormality she carried nonetheless. Lizzie had inherited the deep black hair of her mother, but her eyes were her father’s red pools, even though the left one appeared more with a pinkish hue, like an eye of a corpse. Said eye had been blind from birth. This did anything but cease the talk of a child of a curse.

Even though Lizzie had been small in birth, she grew up at a decent pace, and astonished her parents and the carnies alike, by learning her first words, ‘mama’ and ‘bunny’ when she had only turned seven moons old. From there, Lizzie learned new words at a fast pace, and could soon form simple sentences. It soon came clear, the child was exceptionally smart. Medrawt was not there to see his daughter grow up. He had only held L’zetta once after her birth, and even then, he had quickly placed the girl back into her mother’s arms. This would not normally be anything weird. Young fathers sometimes were afraid to hold a baby, because they were worried of breaking it. But the expression on Medrawt’s face, when he held Lizzie for only some seconds, was not that of concern... but disgust. Years went by, and Medrawt started spending more and more time in the woods... hunting. Yet he hardly ever brought much meat with him. And after L’zetta’s ninth nameday, L’zily found out Medrawt had an affair with a dancer-girl, who had joined the Carnival some time after Medrawt himself. The girl had been just a teenager back then, but during the past years, she had bloomed into a beautiful young woman. At first, L’zily tried to ignore it, but when Medrawt hardly even returned from the woods anymore, she brought the topic to the table with the man. The two had a loud argument, and soon the carnies saw Medrawt rushing out of L’zily’s tent, with the woman on her heels. The right eye of the woman was swollen, and had started to turn reddish blue. “Leave me the fuck alone!! That's not even my god damn child! Look at her! For who did you spread your legs to bring that... thing into world, huh?!”, the man shoved L’zily in the chest, making her fall back onto a bed of fallen leaves. “...W-What are you talking about?! Medrawt! ...Y-Yeah, run back to that girl of yours! That's what you want?! T-That girl is just a child!”, the keeper woman wailed on the ground, while trying to fight herself back to her feet. Behind her, at the doorway to the tent, Lizzie peeked out, eyes filled with tears, as her mother had an argument with a man Lizzie hardly even knew, but who’s name she still carried. “Not any more of a child than you, when I met you! Leave me the fuck alone!”, and with that said, Medrawt walked out of the camp, disappearing into the woods. Rougan, the oldest son of the leader of carnival walked up to L’zily, helping her up. The man gave a quick glance towards little Lizzie, before walking L’zily off to find something cold to hold over the eye. The next morning, ashamed of the affair, which had come to daylight, and the daughter he did not even accept as his own, Medrawt Tia took his own life at the age of 39. His body was later found hanging from a tree, close to the campsite. Under the body, the hunters found the corpse of a young dancer-girl, shot in the back with an arrow.

For the following years, L’zily worked hard to gather money for Lizzie’s studies. It had become clear, the carnival was not the place for the young girl, and L’zily thought about sending the girl to Ul’dah or Gridania, so she could study, as soon as she would come of age. Medrawt’s death had been a hard hit for L’zily’s psyche, and even though she seemed to get over it as time went on... the light in her eyes was gone, and would never return to the former glow of life. When the carnival set a camp, like most of the carnies, L’zily too went to the nearby settlements to earn money. She wanted to take her girl along, but some time after Medrawt’s passing, Lizzie was diagnosed with a weak heart. No one knew if it was something she had from birth, or if it was caused by the stress the young girl had gone through. Lizzie was in no shape for traveling to settlements and back on a daily basis. The tests were made after Lizzy had constantly complained about the pain on her chest, and had ultimately fainted, while eating dinner, after gathering firewood all day. The girl had thrown up onto her plate, and right after fell face first onto it. For the following week, one of other kids had started mimicking her, while others were laughing their asses off. In the end, Lizzy no longer went for dinner with others, and instead ate the leftovers she got from the cook afterwards. The carnival cook did not like the “child of a curse” any more than others, and sometimes threw the food onto the ground for the girl to pick up like a dog. Even though L’zily did her best, balancing between earning money for Lizzie’s studies, and being a mother at home, she could not always be there for her daughter, who was constantly being picked on by the other younglings of the traveling group. Hardly a single day went by without L’zily having to return to her tent, only to find her little daughter bruised, smeared with feces, with a black eye, or torn clothes. After talking to other parents took L’zily nowhere, she finally went to the caravan leader with her problem. The leader... an old, green bearded highlander named Arin, promised he would look after L’zetta, and in the end, the man kept his promise. The bullying ceased almost completely, except for occasional name-calling and pushing. Once, the other kids started throwing rocks at L’zetta when the girl was washing carpets by the stream. One hit her on the temple, drawing blood, and painting the freshly cleaned carpet with red mist. Arin marched in, shouting curses, dragged the boys away by the ear, and made them clean the outhouse for three months. When L’zetta was 14 years old, a long-term lung disease took Arin, and in his place as a leader rose his son, Rougan. This is where L’zetta’s nightmare truly began... < Part 1 : Carnival of Broken Dreams Part 3 : How memories are made... >

#the corpse weaver; Liz Morgue #storytime!#the torment of L'zetta #my writing #tw; suicide

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lovelessmako · 4 years ago

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This is a demon/exophilia love story I've been working on that I thought I'd share here. If people seem to like it then I'll add more.

Chapter One:

Kivet laughed inwardly as blood and adrenaline rolled off his dark form in waves. The thrill of the chase. Watching a child cling to you, begging you to let them go as the light slowly leaves their eyes. This was what he was created for. He was a peacekeeper between the different species. It was his job to keep the status quo in any way possible. If that meant killing children because a fae dared to have a child with a human, then that was what he had to do. Afterall, mutts were incapable of kindness or love. Sure, they could fake it quite convincingly, even Kivert himself would've fallen for it had he not been taught the truth, but it was impossible for them to experience any pleasant emotions. If Kivet enjoyed his job then that was nobody's business but his own. Everyone needed to stick to their own people. Only the Ve, which he was, could leave their lands.

Sometimes people would send messengers to other species in order to broker peace. Kivet hated those. Scared, unarmed, diplomats with enough medals to make you go blind as they reflected the sun. They didn't deserve those. He always made sure nothing arrived and would leave a bloodied medal behind as a warning. He would keep the others, of course. They were rather good quality and he had quite the collection coming along. He had no idea what they stood for but surely he deserved them more than their original owners.

Kivet set to work wiping his claws off on a rag he kept in his pocket. He frowned slightly when he saw that the blood had reached there as well. So much for clean hands. He gave up and settled for sitting with his back against a tree and admiring his work. Even in their last moments, the two criminals had held each other and tried to shield the child. That's commitment, he'll give them that. Maybe they thought it would gain his sympathy. Dumb. It did make him a bit lonely though. If such scum found someone to play along with their ruse, then why was a hero forced to work alone? He wasn't forced per say, but his old partner had fallen for an orphaned mutt's tricks and had to be put down. It was unfortunate, Suvo was pretty good at his job. He had even told Kivet that what they were doing was wrong! Saving lifes is wrong? What an ass! No, he reminded himself, it was that mutt's fault. Suvo had younger siblings and the creature looked similar to one. Meanwhile, Kivet had never been around children except for when he was in school.

He gathered himself and started in to the nearest town. Kivet could use something to eat, and there were always mutts scatted about to kill. It was disturbing how many there were. Why do people insist on disobeying the natural order of things? The strangest part was how many purebreds supported the movement. The town wasn't too far of a walk, and his shadowy wings were still a bit sore from the long flight over, so he didn't mind walking. The land was nice enough, a dirt path with a small lake to the right and wilting forest to his left. There were some huts in groups of 3 or 4 every now and then; It seems the humans were not advanced enough to feel safe living alone yet. It made sense, they were a very fragile species, very easy to injure; even by accident. They also contracted illnesses often and usually died from them. And, even if they managed to be extremely careful, their lifespan was still very short. Most species told tales of these weak creatures and used them as examples of the good alliances between species would do. They were nothing more than figureheads, however. Something that would be cast aside when no longer needed.

Humans were the worst when it came to mutts. They found fae and elves to be attractive for some reason. He could see it from a procreation standpoint; every parent wants their children to be powerful. But what did the others gain? Maybe humans had special bonding rituals that they preformed in order to create children. That could be interesting. Not that it would ever be possible for a Ve, even if it was allowed. He was reminded of that time and time again as humans ran or hid from him. "Nightmare. Demon. Bad omen. Monster," he had heard it all.

This time, however, the humans seemed to be crowding around a figure on the ground. He hissed loudly, causing them to scatter and leave the body. He crouched nearby, not caring about the pool of blackened blood that was leaking from a bashed in skull. This was a Ve. A wing had been torn off along with their hands, likely for grizzly trophies. Something caught his eye behind their ear. Kivet yanked out the sharp object to see a steady, blinking, red light. A tracker. This wasn't a Ve that had gotten out of line and needed to be put down. They were hunted. He growled and glared around at the humans. No, not one of them. They were much too timid; many crying already. Entire towns had been decimated for less serious offenses.

If someone was hunting Ve then Kivet needed to be safe. While Ve normally had a solid form, they could take on a shadowy apperation that couldn't be harmed. Unfortunately they couldn't harm anyone either. An even trade off. It also took effort. Not a lot, but it would surely add up. He weighed his options. He couldn't eat while in that form so he would have to drop it for those moments. But waiting a few days to eat could help. It would be a lot easier if he had a partner that could help by taking turns keeping watch. But they would just be hit instead. Maybe he could trick a troll into protecting him. They're a good 3-4 feet taller than him and bright blue; an easy target. But that would mean putting up with a troll. And he didn't even speak their language. Not worth it.

"Are you alright, sir?" Kivet jumped, how could he have let a human sneak up on him like that?! They continued, ignoring his suprise, "it's a pretty gruesome sight."

"Don't talk to me." He went ignored.

"Did you know them?"

"Why are you still talking to me?!"

"Its still sad, even if you didn't. I know if I saw a human like that I'd likely take my own life from the trauma."

Why didn't this human-? Wait, they probably couldn't understand him. Humans had a spoken language, not psychic. Kivet remembered studying that back in Academy; they had to choose a language and it seemed the easiest.

"Fine," he choked out, voice scratchy and broken from lack of use. The human apparently took that as emotion and placed their hand on his shoulder. He hissed in warning, but it wasn't removed.

"Why don't you come inside? I'm not sure if you can digest the same things as us, but I made some nice potato soup. Its chilly today as well. I already have a fire going inside."

Why was this human being nice to him? They didn't even know his name. Hell, he didn't even know their gender; humans were difficult to ascertain with their lack of horns or spikes. He considered the offer. On one hand, he had come to the village for food, and while he wasn't affected by the weather, seeing such a mutilated corpse sent shivers down his back. He was reminded of what his father told him when he started school, "Don't trust anyone, regardless of species or blood relation."

"Sounds lonely."

He startled, not realizing that he had spoken it aloud. "Its all I've ever known." Lie. He had traveled with Suvo for 3 years before the incident. "Find me another Ve and I'll consider changing my mind," he tried to joke. It probably sounded too serious in his underused voice.

"You'll be pretty hard-pressed to find another." A tall fae with tanned skin and a whimsical voice pranced over to them, feet light and airy. Humans referred to Fae as the opposite of Ve. Kivet hated them. Even more than mutts.

"Oh, don't give me that look, demon. I come with news." Kivet continued to glare. How dare he speak to him! "The Ve were attacked a few weeks ago. Whole towns wiped out. Only a handful of you guys remain and they're hunting you down." Who? He was too confused to ask. Ve were untouchable. Heroes who used their strength for good. Why would someone attack? How could they lose? "The Golems." The Fae seemed to understand the unspoken question. "They asked the Fae to join them but our queen refused. The last time we angered Ve our capital was destroyed. So much unnecessary death."

"Just tell me what happened already!" Kivet was getting fed up with this stupid voice already.

He shrugged, a human expression, "that's all I know. My guess is a full frontal assault. Ve are good at tactics, but you lack- what was the word? Oh yeah-strength." That was a blow and he knew it. The Ve were all about strength. They were the best when it came to 1-on-1 fights. Then other species had to invent blades and spears. Kivet, like most Ve, refused to use them. They were a crutch. He hated to believe what a fucking Fae was telling him, but it added up. Golems were known to be able to track anything; relentless hunters. Now he knows it was all thanks to tiny machines.

"Serves you right! The Ve should've be wiped out centuries ago." The Fae laughed. Stupid, musical laughter. Kivet couldn't take it! He lunged at the taller man, causing them to fall to the ground. They seemed shocked and caught off guard. Kivet spread his wings threateningly and hissed in his face, taking joy in seeing the spots of saliva that splattered that stupid, perfect face. The human seemed to be saying something, but all Kivet saw was red. His instincts tuned out all other distractions and focused on their prey. He tried to let out a threatening laugh, but it only sounded broken with emotion. "Not strong, huh? Then what does that say about you?"

The Fae relaxed suddenly, much to his confusion. "Hear that? The Golems are coming." And they were. Their heavy footfalls could be heard not too far away. Likely near where Kivet had left the mutt and it's parent's bodies. He acted solely on instinct and shot off flying towards the sound of the noise. He had to see it for himself. His wings burned from the effort, not used to going faster than a leisurely pace. He stumbled in the air when one popped. Likely a sprain or dislocation, not broken. He fought through the pain until he heard the voices nearly under him. He landed on a sturdy tree branch and started to leap his way across to get a better view, yet be less visible. He didn't know much of their language, but he could pick out a few words "Troll. Her. Reward." They weren't tracking a Ve afterall! But who was this Troll? Someone important for the Golems to make a special trip. Maybe a criminal? Didn't matter. They could kill her for all he cared. Wasn't his problem.

Wait, then why was that Fae in a human village if not to warn him? The fucker came up with some random story to district him from his job! A Fae in a human village was very clearly against the rules. He inwardly scolded himself for not realizing earlier. Oh, he was going to pay!

Kivet turned to move, forgetting about his hurt wing, and stumbled slightly. The rustling attracted the attention of one of the Golems. He froze as he was stared directly in the eye. Neither made a move for what felt like forever. Another Golem said something to the one watching him who then turned his attention away. This was the perfect opportunity to run! So why couldn't he move? The one who had spotted him said something about a bird before the group continued on their way. Did a Golem just cover for him!? Wait, why would that be shocking? Ve had important jobs and couldn't afford to be distracted by insignificant creatures. Surely that was public knowledge by now.

He should really go after that one Fae, but right now he was just too tired, rules be damned. He doubted he could sleep with all that had happened in the past few hours. It seemed like weeks had passed since he last awoke. He wrapped himself into a snug position and closed his eyes.

#original story #demon oc #tw death #exophilia #monster #monster boyfriend

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our-smooty · 4 years ago

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Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 13

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags: Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

The next day, Aziraphale woke up first. He’d nodded off sometime in the early morning, after finishing his book and being tempted by Crowley’s soft sleeping face. And even though he fell asleep second he woke up first. Crowley was still completely unconscious, his face mashed into the pillow and both hands tucked up under his chin. In the dim lighting and abundant, soft bedding Crowley looked extremely comfortable. Almost like he could keep sleeping for hours, which just wouldn’t do. As much as Aziraphale liked visiting the bookshop, and was relieved that everything was safe and sound, he did want to get back to the cottage and the nursery. The sooner Crowley woke up the sooner they could ward the Mayfair flat, then get back home.

But Aziraphale knew if he just woke Crowley up with a shake or by calling his name he’d be cranky all day. It was always better to let the demon wake up on his own. Except... There was one way he could wake Crowley up that had an excellent chance of putting him in a better mood than if he got to sleep in. The angel grinned to himself, then slowly slid under the covers.

Since it was getting later in the year, Crowley had once again taken to wearing his warmer flannel pyjamas instead of slinky silk or nothing at all. Luckily Aziraphale was well-practised at stealthily undoing the buttons and wiggling the loose trousers down past the demon’s bum. Crowley’s cock was soft, which was good. It meant Aziraphale could take his time, riling Crowley up until he awoke, drowning in pleasure.

His first stop was the demon’s nipples. They were already crinkling up now that they were exposed to the cooler air. Aziraphale tweaked each one between his thumb and forefinger a few times before lowering his head and sucking one into his mouth. Crowley twitched, puffing his chest out into the touch. He wasn’t making any noises yet, so Azirpahale decided he needed to escalate the situation by getting his teeth involved as well as bringing his thigh up between Crowley’s legs to grind against his member. That forced a tiny, mewling noise and another, larger twitch from his lover.

“Are you waking up dear?” Aziraphale asked, his lips brushing against Crowley’s ear. Another little sound as Crowley nuzzled further into Aziraphale’s chest and bucked his hips. “There you are, don’t you want to come for me?”

“'Ziraphale?” Crowley gasped. His cock was drooling now--no matter what form Crowley took he was almost always extremely wet and responsive--and making a mess of Aziraphale’s sleeping trousers. Which Aziraphale couldn’t complain about, as his own member made a damp-patch inside the trousers

“Good morning lovely. Did you sleep well?”

“Nnnngh…”

“I’m terribly sorry I had to wake you, but the sooner we get up the sooner we can ward your flat and get home. I am so looking forward to getting home and back to our little project.” He wasn’t sure if Crowley was listening, but that was alright. He seemed to be enjoying himself, at least, if the rapidly rising moans were anything to go by.

“A-angle--! G-going to c-come!” he whined, squirming back and forth against Aziraphale’s thigh. The movement made the angel moan as it reached his own cock. He was close too, but he needed Crowley to let go first.

“Yes, good boy. Come for me, let me see you--” Crowley’s orgasm seemed to hit him all at once, and he bowed into Azirpahale’s grasp, his entire body trying to get as close as possible. After watching the demon work through his pleasure, Aziraphale thrust hard against his still-trembling thigh then came as well, completely soiling his pyjamas. As soon as they both stopped trembling he miracled away the mess and straighten out Crowley’s clothing.

G’morning,” Crowley mumbled, finally opening his eyes to gaze drowsily up at Aziraphale. “That was… nice.”

“Oh-ho,” Aziraphale gasped dramatically, kissing the blooming indignant look on Crowley’s face. “Don’t get mad, dearest. I only wanted to wake you up in the most enjoyable way possible so we can get a wiggle on.”

“You’re only saying that to needle me,” Crowley groaned, nipping sharply at Aziraphale’s jaw. The angel retaliated by blowing a raspberry against Crowley’s cheek, which made him yelp and try to get away. “Angle!”

“You started it,” Aziraphale giggled. He soothed his demon with a chaste kiss. “How about I go make us tea and some toast. Or are you feeling ill again?”

Crowley settled and took a moment to assess himself. After a few seconds, his face lit up with a relieved smile. “No nausea, I feel… fine.”

“Splendid!” Aziraphale kissed him again, this time on the nose before pulling back and sitting up. “You’ll meet me in the kitchen in 10 minutes?”

“Of course angel. If I don’t fall back asleep.” Despite his teasing Aziraphale know Crowley would be downstairs, dressed and ready for the day, in far less than 10 minutes. Especially if he was feeling better.

“Thank you, love. Don’t push yourself too hard please?” They parted with a final kiss, then proceeded to go about their morning routines. Aziraphale made the tea, and the toast, then sat down and read to the morning paper. He set the comics aside for Crowley. The demon lazed about in bed for a full 5 minutes before finally getting up, snapping himself into appropriate clothing, and sauntering into the kitchen. He picked at the toast and sipped the tea, both of them enjoying the nostalgia of breakfast at the book shop.

After breakfast, Aziraphale took the time to get dressed the human way while Crowley browsed the funnies. When he was finished, they cleaned up together, then locked up, ensuring one final time that the newly extended wards were perfect.

"Ready to go, angel?" Crowley asked as Aziraphale paused at the door to the Bently. The angel looked back at the bookshop once, his eyes lingering on the door where the damage had been, before turning to smile beatifically at him.

"Yes, I'm ready. Do try not to speed too much though, I don't think my nerves can take it today."

Driving up to Crowley’s old flat was stressful, the fear that they would find more vandalism, or something worse laying heavy on Aziraphale’s mind. But when they arrived everything was fine. Crowley’s own wards had either held up, or whatever had happened at the bookshop really had been caused by mischievous humans. They still spent an hour improving the wards as they had at the book shop, just in case. When they were finished, Aziraphale suggested they check on the plants, using the excuse of not having seen them in a long time. Really he wanted to see Crowley with them, knowing that most of the greenery here were the demon’s favourites.

“Hello lovelies,” Aziraphale whispered to the plants while Crowley went to fill up the mister. Every single pot was filled with a perfect specimen, and it was easy to see that Crowley doted on these plants far more than any of the others. In fact, as the demon sauntered back into the atrium, every single leaf and stem seemed to bend towards him, seeking his touch.

"You better not be spoiling them, angel," he growled, brandishing the mister like a weapon. "This lot will take any excuse to slack off."

Crowley didn't seem to notice the way the plants were leaning into him. One particularly brave ivy even swung one of its tendrils out to brush lightly against the demons side. Aziraphale realized the plants might be reacting to Crowley's… condition, with a start.

"Perish the thought dear. Though they do seem rather interested in you right now. Are you sure you haven't been spoiling them yourself?" Crowley glanced down to the ivy now trying to wrap a vibe around his waist and the bleeding heart stretching itself as far as it could go just to brush a few of its blooms against the back of his hand. The resulting blush and stammering practically forced Aziraphale to walk over to Crowley and kiss his cheek.

“What--why are they--?” Crowley was hissing and stuttering up a storm. He went to bat the plants away, but Aziraphale grabbed his hands, pinning them to his chest gently and making him drop the mister.

“You aren’t going to like this, but I think they may know,” he said softly, running his thumbs over the demon’s knuckled soothingly. Crowley was red as a tomato and wiggling in Aziraphale’s grip.

“Ssso that givess them the right to get their dirty frondss all over me?” It seemed like Crowley couldn’t decide between being furious, embarrassed, or moved, which Aziraphale found unreasonably adorable. One of the vines had trailed up Crowley’s side then reached over to curl near the angel’s ear. A gorgeous, purple bloom the likes of which Aziraphale had never seen blossomed from its end.

“They’re only curious dear. Let them get their… look? Plants don’t have eyes, but I assume it’s sort of the same thing…” He trailed off. Crowley wasn’t listening anyway; his eyes were trained on the plants flittering around them. Some of them kept to a respectful, but curious distance while others were brave enough to briefly touch him. After each plant that could reach had the chance to examine Crowley they withdrew, returning to their pots and quieting down. Only when the last one had retreated Aziraphale released him, but not before pressing an apologetic kiss to each wrist.

“Angle…” Crowley grumbled. He had the air of someone trying very hard to seem upset, rather than embarrassed. “You can’t just let them get away with that shit! Next thing you know they’ll be thinking it’s alright to wilt a little when no one's looking!”

“There there, I’m sure they still fear you enough to stay in line, isn’t that right dears?” The plants shuddered in horror (or mock horror, at least), which made the demon relax a little. Shooting them all one last look of disdain, Crowley picked up the plant mister and began dolling out criticism and vitriol, though none of it seemed to land properly. Aziraphale wandered over to a far corner, where some of Crowley’s oldest plants made their home. He liked to visit them when he could, it was almost like meeting with a group of Crowley’s most trusted friends.

“Hello there, you’re all looking hardy as usual,” he whispered, making sure his demon lover couldn’t hear him. “I think he appreciated the welcome, even if he didn’t show it. I’ll make sure to bring the baby here to visit, once they’ve arrived.”

An ancient hydrangea to his right curled it’s leaves slowly, something Aziraphale hoped meant it understood. He wasn’t as well versed in sentient-plant body language as Crowley was. To pass the time he fussed about with their pots, making sure they were adequately turned towards the sun until Crowley made it obvious his task was completed by tossing the mister aside.

“Done filling their heads with your sentimental shite?” Crowley quipped, giving these plants the side-eye as well. “We could go for lunch, somewhere you’ve missed since we’ve been away?”

“You aren’t tired?” Aziraphale made sure his question wasn’t too prying, or too fussy. But he really was worried that the last few days may be taking a toll on Crowley’s energy levels. The demon had barely even put up a fightback when Aziraphale had held him still which was unusual.

“I’m fine. Might actually be, uh, a bit peckish?” Crowley answered, eyes daring around everywhere but Aziraphale. “Can’t be sure, but, I think that’s it? Dunno what I’d want to eat though, so if you have any suggestions…”

“Oh yes, of course.” Aziraphale had an entire mental list of places he’d like to take Crowley for lunch, given the opportunity and the rare event the serpent was hungry. It happened maybe once a decade and getting to check a place of his list was truly exciting. “I have just the place dear, somewhere I think you’ll enjoy. It’s not too far from here if you’d like to walk?”

“Think I could walk a few blocks, yeah.” Crowley took a step forward so he was within grabbing distance, which Aziraphale took advantage of by wrapping an arm around his hips and squeezing gently. “I want to take this one with us, though. S’not doing well, but I think maybe the cottage might have a better place for it.”

The small, only slightly withered, ivy trembled in its pot as Crowley held it out. This wouldn’t be the first time Crowley brought an ailing plant to the cottage, especially since Aziraphale expressed his discomfort with his original disposal techniques. It wasn’t in the worst shape Aziraphale had seen, but Crowley knew best when it came to his plants.

“That space by the kitchen sink?” He’d seen Crowley messing with the plants already on that window sill a few days ago, so he wasn’t surprised they were getting a newcomer.

“Maybe. Needs somewhere with more shade. I’ll just…” he snapped and the plant disappeared, presumably back to the cottage. “There, now we can walk.”

The walk was really only ten minutes. Aziraphale wouldn’t have suggested they make the trek if it had been any longer because Crowley would have most likely still agreed, and then been uncomfortable all night. Something about the slight changes to his body from the baby was playing poorly with his already loose and bendy snake nature, and more often than not Aziraphale spent a good hour each night massaging aches and pains from his lover's spine.

When they got to the restaurant Crowley made a happy noise. Aziraphale had known exactly what Crowley would be craving because every time he was the least bit hungry he always wanted the same thing.

“Is this… a burger place?” Crowley asked gleefully, ducking through the door Aziraphale held for him. The waitress waved at them from a few tables away and motioned for them to grab a seat. There were already menus on the table, and Crowley dove into his immediately, looking over the options with excitement.

“Happy dearest?” Aziraphale asked, watching Crowley coyly from over top his own menu. “I remember how you were just a few years back when you ‘got peckish’, and this place was so close to your flat…”

“How have we never been here before?” Crowley wondered, eyeing the cheeseburger section with something like wonder. “I guess--I know I don’t eat that much, and this isn’t really your thing--”

Aziraphale raised a hand to cut him off before Crowley could send himself into a guilty tizzy. “They have some lovely chips here, and their milkshakes are probably the best in London. Don’t worry about me, love, go ahead and enjoy yourself.”

Crowley hemmed and hawed for a few seconds before the waitress came over and asked to take their order. Then it seemed like his self-control broke as he ordered at least enough food to feed a small human family and their dog. The waitress took it well though and didn’t even flinch when Aziraphale made his order, confirming that yes, the skinny gentleman in the dark sunglasses was about to eat himself to death during her shift.

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley said, eyeing a neighbouring table’s order. “Kind of snuck up on me. Didn’t feel anything until we started with the wards, then boom!” He tossed a few of the salt and pepper packets he’d been fiddling with up in the air, scattering them around the table. “Feel like I could eat a horse.”

Aziraphale could see the waitress coming around the corner behind Crowley, his shake and fries on a platter, with one of Crowley’s meals beside it. “Their service is fast too, clean that up so she can set the plates down, there’s a lad.”

For once Aziraphale got the pleasure of watching Crowley eat. Normally if the serpent was going to partake in a meal he’d nibble on a bit of deli meat, or fresh fruit. Now he was gleefully digging into a greasy, fatty, messy burger while occasionally stopping to shove fries in his face. It was cute, watching Crowley get so excited and act so out of character. He’d already finished his first meal and looking around for the next course before Aziraphale was half-done with his shake.

“I guess this means the morning sickness is gone then?” He got a glare and a minor hiss for his comment.

“Don’t even mention that angel. I don’t want to be revisiting this meal in a few hours. How’s your shake?” They chatted as usual over the meal, the only difference being that Crowley more often than not had his mouth full and could only gesture. Much to the horror of the waitress Crowley finished his meal easily, even ordering a milkshake for himself at the end. The cook in the back even poked his head out to get a look at the monster who could eat enough for three then order dessert.

“Maybe we should have taken the car,” Crowley groaned, patting his belly. It didn’t look much more distended than usual, especially with the baby bump, so he must have been using some sort of demonic wile. He still looked a little drowsy though, the golden slits of his eyes barely visible under his sunglasses even in the cheery fluorescent lighting of the diner.

“Don’t think you can make it? We can stay another night at the bookshop if you want. Or at your flat if the drive back home is too much. I don’t mind.” Aziraphale paid the bill while Crowley hefted himself to his feet and stretched.

“No, no. I can do it. Besides, I sent that ivy back and it needs to be repotted ASAP.” The walk back to the Bently was a little slower and the angel found he couldn’t keep his hands off of Crowley. As they walked he slipped his arm around him, pressing their sides together, only letting go to instead loop an arm around his waist to guide them the last few meters to the curb.

“If you say so. Was there anything else we needed to get while we’re in London?” Aziraphale gave the flat one last angelic once-over--the wards were as strong as they could possibly be--before turning to the Bently. “I guess we weren’t exactly thinking about shopping lists when we left yesterday.”

“No, was a little more concerned with the shop being broken into. And I can’t think of anything right now,” Crowley answered, sliding into the driver's seat and wiggling a bit until he was comfortable. “It's not like we can’t poof back here anytime, you know.”

“I know, I know. Let's go then. We can always stop at a coffee shop on the way, if we need a break.” He got into the car as well and settled in. "You're My Best Friend" began to play on the car radio, the classical CD that had been in there before finally submitting to the Bently’s strange magic. Which was fine really, he’d grown fond of Queen, and even fonder of the way Crowley would mouth along to the words as he drove.

#fbafs #fanfic #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #aziraphale/crowley #crowziraphale #azirapahel #crowley #tw mpreg #good omens #gomens

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fourteenacross · 5 years ago

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end of 2019

I've done this survey every year since like, 2006 and then missed it last year because I was on a social media break. Whoops! My shitty memory makes it fairly important as a way to track the passage of time, so I'm back on the horse this year.

What did you do in 2019 that you’d never done before? I'm sure there's some specific thing, but nothing's coming to me immediately. Oh, I guess I started cross stitching? Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I'm not sure what my resolutions were for last year because I did not write them anywhere because I did not do this meme /o\ Next year: + Set up some kind of writing schedule + Finish my mg novel + Survive moving + Get a new job + Go on more dates

eta: Outside of these sort of concrete, 2do-list type goals, I set some more nebulous personal goals on Twitter: - See my local friends outside of the BFC more often - Do weird, dumb shit - Be nicer to myself - Fix my meds - Bake something fancy(Okay, that last one is kind of 2do-listy.) Did anyone close to you give birth? YES!! @caphairdadbeard had a baby and he's perfect and I love him and it kills me that he's so far away and I only get to see him a few times a year, even more so than it usually kills me having Sarah so far away. Did anyone close to you die? My former roommate's father. I did a lot of family stuff with her over the decade that we lived together and spent a lot of time with her parents and he was super loved and admired by his community. A real shitty loss all around. What countries did you visit? Just the US, but I visited Seattle and Mississippi for the first time! What would you like to have in 2020 that you lacked in 2019? ~*~Financial security~*~ What dates from 2019 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? I'm so terrible with actual dates. May 9 was Max's birthday, so there's that? We did a lovely, successful live show on April 18. OH we went to Rent Live and had our wild weekend in LA on January 26. We watched a lot of wild movie musicals at Grace and Jesse's in July. I saw Blair Witch in the woods. I went down to the city to see Octet and Hadestown. Lisa moved in with me. Moby-Dick happened. Now I'm just listing events and not dates, but there you go. What was your biggest achievement of the year? God, do I even have one? I'm not dead, so that's probably something. Oh, I guess we had a really good WBS month where we were interviewed by Forbes.com, had one of our crossovers with IDEOTV, guest edited TBD, and had our live show. That was a really satisfying few weeks. What was your biggest failure? I'm haunted by this work thing I fucked up, even though everyone has told me it wasn't a big deal. I really crash and burned out for NaNo because SAD hit me way harder and faster this year than it has in the past. Did you suffer illness or injury? Lots of brain stuff, as per usual. A couple minor colds. My FAMILY on the other hand.... What was the best thing you bought? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Tickets to Octet, maybe. It was probably my favorite show of the year. The new chair/loveseat is also very good. Whose behavior merited celebration? Some of my friends. A lot of excellent activists. Sarah's baby (he's very good). Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Like, the whole government? Where did most of your money go? Grown-up type stuff (rent, utilities, groceries), cons, and travel. What did you get really, really, really excited about? LA, Octet, Max, DragonCon, Moby-Dick. Galentine's! What song will always remind you of 2019? Probably music from Octet? I don't like.....listen to the radio. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? Probably about the same? Maybe more stressed out by family stuff going on and money stuff. b) thinner or fatter? Same. Also, I hate this question. 2020 Kaitlyn, delete it plz. c) richer or poorer? About to be poorer. What do you wish you’d done more of? Writing. Sleeping. Going on dates. Hanging out with people. What do you wish you’d done less of? Being depressed. Being stressed. Did you fall in love in 2019? Nope. What was your favorite TV program? If we're talking "currently airing" and not "things I bingewatch that are very old," probably The Good Place--OH I almost forgot Good Omens was this year!!! Also that! And I started watching Schitt's Creek and watched all of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Oh, and I started watching some videos on the Bon Appetit YouTube channel, mostly Gourmet Makes and Making Perfect and Reverse Engineering. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? Mostly just like...........people I don't actually know who are terrible humans. What was the best book you read? Coming soon to a podcast feed near you! What was your greatest musical discovery? Probably Octet? I don't think I listened to a lot of new music this year. OH WAIT, The Highwomen!!! What a good album!!! (Also in doing the theatre section I just remembered Six was this year too!) What did you want and get? Mostly material things--clothes, cons, travel, seeing people, tickets to things, etc. Impeachment. Got that. That was nice. What did you want and not get? Financial security. A new job. Emotional stability. A relationship. More sleep. What was your favorite film of this year? Captain Marvel, although Us, Charlie's Angels, and The Wind were very good too. What was your favorite theatrical event of the year? Probably Octet! The broadway version of Hadestown was kind of disappointing compared to the 2016 NYTW version and Moby-Dick is great fun, but still pretty rough in places. Octet is just.....very good. Oh, or SIX, that was great too! Octet or Six. Oh, and, jesus, this year was a hundred years long, I totally forgot we saw Denee as Eliza this year!! She was very good!! And I got to see Daniel Breaker as Burr again and I fucking love him. What was your favorite podcast of the year? The Empty Bowl, a meditative podcast about cereal. It is so good for zoning out and being calm. TAZ has been killing it with the one-shots and the Amnesty arc, too, and this was the first year I listened to MBMBaM weekly and also I mainlined all of Sawbones after listening to half of it, then not listening to any for six months, then deciding to start from the beginning again. Unwell is a really good show that I recommend, and Mabel. The Magnus Archives killed it with season four, which was tailored to my exact narrative tastes. MFM and Criminal are perpetual faves. American Hysteria was super interesting to go through and Bear Brook and In the Dark both obviously had fucking fantastic years. Oh, and Who the Hell is Hamish? that was fun too. And I’ll stop now.

I.....listen to a lot of podcasts. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 34! On the day, I went out for dinner and drinks with some friends. That weekend, I bought a bunch of children's Captain Marvel birthday supplies and we played Jackbox games and ate cake! What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? Any sort of fix to our current political mess. And/or financial stability. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2019? The "Whimsical" section on eShakti. What kept you sane? Friends! Podcasts! Anti-depressants! Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Brie Larson and Starr Busby are the first that spring to mind. What political issue stirred you the most? It’s hard to pick just one when the whole country is on fire. Who did you miss? Pretty much everyone when they are not right next to me. Sarah Bay, a lot, but I feel weird singling one person out. [This is exactly what I wrote for the last four years, but I’m keeping it because it’s still true.] Who was the best new person you met? Did I meet new people this year? I know I internet-met a couple people, but I'm not sure if I in-person made any new friends? We hung out with this girl Jenn at con a bunch, she was pretty cool! edit: oh my god MAX I met MAX this year because he did not exist last year!!! Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2019: Do not invite folks to sit on a panel unless you know they'll stick to the goddamn topic agreed on in advance. Quote a song that sums up your year: And no one grew into anything new / we just became the worse of what we were

(I think this is the third year in a row that Dave Malloy has been my lyric of the year.)

Anyway, that’s 2019 for me. I can’t say I’m sorry to see it go. The last half, in particular, was super rough. Hell, the last week was super rough--guess how many members of my family have been in the hospital in December! If you guessed “six” you would be correct!! (Everyone is more or less fine.)

But, hey, it also brought me my tiny nephew and two Dave Malloy musicals, so it wasn’t all bad!

I hope 2020 treats you all well, friends!

#stuff about me #2019 #meme

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luckyspike · 5 years ago

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Eleventh Hour Admission - A Good Omens fanfiction

Hey guys remember when I talked about writing a hospital AU

i did it but no one is a doctor they’re all nurses

title refers to literally getting an admission during the eleventh hour of your shift, possibly a fate worse than death

CW: hospitals, medical procedures, automobile accidents, the joint commission

this will never be continued (probably) or posted to AO3, so enjoy it

Ari Fell liked it his job. That wasn’t sarcasm. He really, truly liked his job: he liked helping other people, he liked watching the sickest of the sick get well again and, when he couldn’t do that, he liked being there for them, trying to help them peacefully and painlessly move on. He liked meeting the families of his patients, he liked getting to know his patients when they could talk, and he liked that every day was a new day, something different and unknown and rife with opportunity to learn something new, or to help someone.

He liked his job, but he didn’t like 6am admissions.

Which, he had a feeling, was precisely why his ASCOM phone was going off at 5:55am. The caller ID informed him that it was Gabriel, the charge for tonight. He winced and the other nurse working the east pod with him tonight, Tracy, nodded sympathetically. He picked up the phone, and answered the call.

“Ari!” Yes. Yes, that was Gabriel. By the sound of it, he was in the cafeteria, likely having coffee with the other charges during their morning “bed meeting”. Ari had long since suspected that “bed meeting” was an excuse to get coffee and kvetch for the last hour of their shift, but he’d never really had the opportunity to find out, after he’d refused the offered charge position last year.

“Gabe.” He stared gloomily at the empty room before him. It had been empty all night, after he’d packed the last patient off to IMC to make room for a possible admit. He had known it was too good to be true, known with a sort of icy certainty that a quiet night would never last, and soon enough there would be some kind of admit rolling up. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be an hour before shift change but, well …

Maybe it would be an intubated pneumonia. Sedated, even. That would be nice.

“Got an ED trainwreck coming up. You heard them call that level 1 trauma, yeah?”

His heart dropped into his stomach, which dropped all the way to his Danskos. “Yes.”

“MVA, lady was flying and ran off the road into the orchard. Hit like three of the apple trees, Bee told me. Anyway, she’s a hot mess. I told them they could call report and bring her up any time.”

“I’ll need to stock the room -”

Gabriel ignored him. “I’d love to help get her settled but we’re gonna be in bed meeting until 6:30 and then I have to do the board for day shift, but I’m sure you and Tracy’ll have it in hand. Holler if you need anything!” The line went dead.

“What do you need?” Tracy asked, already half out of the pod, aimed toward the supply room. The supply room, Ari knew, where the housekeeper usually hung around this time of the morning, surreptitiously drinking instant-brew coffee behind the Pyxis.

Ari sighed. “A whole set-up. I don’t have report yet, but it’s a trauma. Probably need suction and the whole nine yards.” The ASCOM chirped again. “That’ll be report.”

“I’ll get some culture bottles and extra red tops as well.” He nodded to her as she vanished around the corner, and picked up the phone. “Ari Fell, ICU 4 East.”

“Ari!” He might have groaned. “It’s AJ!”

“Great. You’re calling report, I assume?”

“Well, yeah, but also I was just thinking I’m off for two days after this, and I don’t have any plans after my shift, was thinking about kegs and eggs at the place across the street. Care to join?”

“Somehow,” Ari said with rather more chill to his tone than usual, “I think I’ll be getting off my shift late.”

AJ laughed. “Oh, yeah. I’m bringing up the hot mess express.”

“Oh, boy.” He half-sighed, half-groaned. “I’m ready.”

“Right, patient’s still a Jane Doe but ID in her purse said Eve Smith, 22 years old, just waiting on family to confirm. Chaplain called her parents but no answer yet. Anyway, adult female, unrestrained driver in car-versus-tree MVA, GCS of 3 at the scene, flown here, went into SVT on the way but we’ve got her on amio now at 0.5mg/hr, pan-scan showed a left-sided pneumo -”

He rattled on, Ari jotting down notes as AJ moved through the systems. At least there was that: report from AJ was, usually, good, although he did like to linger on the gory details a little longer than necessary sometimes. If he was going to get a 6am admit, at least he’d have a good report to hand off to the next shift when he inevitably presented them with this hot disaster.

Tracy was back from the supply room, a suspicious damp spot on her scrub top. The navy blue shade hid the color of the spot, but if Ari had to guess, it would be the color of Svanka instant coffee. “Enough?” she asked, holding up two bags of supplies and a handful of lab tubes. He cupped a hand over the phone.

“Two straight poles and an IV pole,” he whispered. “And an EVD hookup for the monitor.”

“Gotcha.”

“Anyway,” AJ was saying, “she’s got a Foley, so you don’t have to worry about that, and, ah … Hm. Multiple lacerations and abrasions spread out all over, but no pressure wounds or anything otherwise. Right. Anything else you need?”

“Ah …” He looked at the report sheet, the notes about infusions and lines and testing left un-done, and shrugged. “You’re coming up with her, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t crump on the way up. I’ll probably be bagging her when we get there.”

He grimaced. “Wonderful. I’ll have RT ready. Otherwise, uh … no, I think I should be alright. Whenever you’re ready, we’ve got the room stocked.”

“Okay.” A little distantly, as if he’d moved away from the receiver somewhat, he heard AJ call, “Hey, you ready Erica? Time to move!” And then, back into the phone. “See you in ten.”

Ari ended the call, placed a quick SOS to respiratory for a vent delivery, and tossed the ASCOM onto the desk. One last chance to check his other patient - a post-op heart cath they’d sent for access site observation overnight before planned discharge in the morning - and then he headed into the empty room, fussing around with the lines and waiting. The vent was there, already pre-programmed with the settings, blue screen glowing in the dark room as it waited. Tracy returned with the required equipment, and rolled a pole across the room, around the end of the bed, toward Ari.

“Disaster?”

“Complete train wreck.”

She patted his shoulder. “My two are primped and propped and ready for seven. I can help all you like, dear.” She was always nice like that, calling him ‘dear’. He supposed it made sense, given that Tracy was old enough to be his mother, but he had noticed she never used the term for anybody else. He’d never asked her about it, though, mostly because he was sort of afraid that if he pointed it out, she would stop.

“I think we just wait, now.”

“Fresh meat coming?” The gruff voice of the custodian drew their attention to the doorway. “I’m off duty at 6:30, so if you think I’ll be coming in here to clean up whatever mess you and those hideous interns make -”

“I’m sure your relief will have it well in-hand, Mr. S.” Tracy fluttered her eyelashes, and leaned across the bedside table, the front of her V-neck scrub top gaping open just enough to draw the housekeeper’s eyes. “You know, I was thinking of getting breakfast and coffee at The Pantry across the street after shift … been craving their waffles.” It was a statement, but it hung open like a question. Mr. S blushed a little.

“I … I’m a little hungry myself. Could go for a nice thick pat of scrapple.” He cleared his throat. At the far corner of the ICU, Ari heard the elevator - the direct-from-the-ED elevator - ding open, and the distant sound of alarms suffused through the early-morning bustle of the unit.

“Think they might have two seats at the breakfast bar?”

“Maybe.” He smiled a little, and then remembered himself and glowered. “If an educated woman’ll deign to eat with me, that is.”

“Mm, I think I might be able to bring myself to slum it this morning.” She waved a hand. “Here she comes, move over, there’s a love.”

And come she did, in a wail of alarms and machines and, Ari was both relieved and exasperated to see, AJ, who had, as long as Ari had known him, struggled with the concept of ‘reserved’. “Heyo, told you so!” AJ was, as promised, bagging the patient, his arm snaked between various lines and tubes, the critically-ill human attached to them almost so covered as to be invisible. “Ari.”

Ari looked at the lines, horrified, and then to AJ. “What happened?”

“Huh? Oh. She came back from radiology like this. Didn’t have time to untangle everything.”

“Nothing’s even labeled!” He waved his hands at the mess. “You’ve got fluids and pressors and is that blood? What’s going where?”

“Ah. All in the subclavian, I’d imagine.” The redhead added, with scathing sarcasm, “Pretty sure I didn’t hook anything up to the EVD. Got a slide board?”

Tracy had, and she and Ari tucked it under the unconscious young woman as AJ and Erica rolled her to the side. “Hang on, let me check her back while she’s there.” There were abrasions, and lacerations, too many to count or list as part of a specific area, and then, between her shoulder blades, was an apple blossom. He plucked it off. “Really, you couldn’t clean that off?”

“Had bigger fish to fry. You done?” AJ raised an eyebrow at him, visible of the rims of his dark-tinted glasses, and Ari nodded. AJ and Erica let the woman down. “On three -” She was light enough, and with four of them they had her slid into the ICU bed in one smooth motion, still piled with a tangled mess of lines and tubes.

“You really had to bring this mess up,” Ari griped, trying to decide where to start first. His eyes widened. “You left the EVD lying under her pillow!”

“It’s clamped!” AJ replied with an exasperated groan, gratefully flicking on the vent and plugging it into the ET tube.

Erica rolled her eyes. “You done here? I’ve got to get back to the department.”

“Be right behind you,” AJ said, waving the other nurse off. “I’m gonna help whiny here get organized.” He pulled the EVD from under the pillow, carefully threading the buritrol back through the other lines until the tubing lay neatly over the rest of the tangled mess. Carefully, he hung it on the straight pole, leveled it, and opened the clamp. Pink-tinged spinal fluid started to drip out. “Come on, hand me the cable, I’ll even hook it up for you.”

“How charitable,” Ari grumbled, tossing the cable behind the headboard and bouncing it off AJ’s shoulder. “Bastard.”

“Now, boys,” Tracy admonished from the foot of the bed, where she was busying herself with untangling the Foley and the SCDs*. “Let’s not argue.”

[* Are SCDs really that important in a fragile immediately post-trauma patient, you may ask. To which the answer is: only if the Joint Commission is there.]

“Oh, we’re just having a good time.” AJ was tracing the IV tubing containing the fluids down through the sheets. “Alright, so this is going to the peripheral, just untangle this -”

“You know,” Ari said, as he fiddled with the monitor and the arterial line, trying to check for level in spite of the level being, as always, conspicuously absent. “I’m sure you have patients back down in the department. You don’t have to help. I was just giving you a hard time.” He ended up seizing a length of blood pressure cuff tubing and eyeballing the line between the transducer and the phlebostatic axis.

“Well, what if I want to?” He snorted. “My only other patient down there is a kid with a head lac, and he’s on ice until the LET kicks in and we can do staples anyway. Which will be, fortunately, after shift change. He looks like a screamer.” He smirked at Ari, and passed the IV pump with all of the various central line tubing across the bed to him. “Never let it be said I’m not occasionally nice.”

“You’re not.”

“Hey.”

At the foot of the bed, Tracy shook her head, tapping in the vital signs as she did. “Did anyone page the fellow to let them know she’s arrived?”

“Not yet,” they replied, in unison. And then exchanged a look, very briefly, before Ari looked away to busy himself with setting the monitor alarm parameters and AJ became absorbed in scribbling labels for the IV tubing.

“I’ll do it, then.”

It was quiet for a minute while they worked, but after a time, Ari realized the white sheet atop the woman was clear, the lines were meticulously untangled and laid properly, with messily-written but legible labels. It would have done the Joint Commission proud.

“Think she still needed cultures,” AJ muttered, grabbing the bottles off of the counter. “Where do you keep the tourniquets up here?”

“Here.” He set to checking orders, with the black-clad invader from the ED pulled the first set of cultures on the first stick. Ari frowned, impressed. “Nice one.”

“Eh, you get good at ‘em when you have to get a line in anything.”

“Seriously,” Ari said, more quietly now, noting that for the most part, all of the ED orders had been cleaned up, taken care of, and signed off before the patient had arrived, “you can go. Really, I’m grateful, but I can handle it and you don’t have to -”

“I know. But this is really selfish for me.” He tore the tip of the index finger off the fresh pair of gloves he’d donned, the better to palpate a vein in the opposite arm, where the splint would allow. “Don’t wanna eat breakfast alone.”

Ari stared at him for a minute. Blinked. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” AJ replied, tone flippant. “I think it counts as alcoholism if you drink alone too much. Have to keep up the facade of being a normal, healthy, functional adult.” He winked at Ari over the rim of his glasses. “You know how it goes, choir-boy.”

“I -” he glanced into the hallway, where Tracy and Mr. S were chatting. Mr. S had clocked out - was it past 6:30 already? And Tracy had her ASCOM in hand, although by the looks of it she hadn’t yet called. If she waited much longer, the fellow wouldn’t arrive with new orders until after shift change. He could have laughed. What an angel. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You want to get a pitcher?”

Aj laughed, although he was watching intently as the second bottle filled. “You know, I have two days off coming up - what the hell? Let’s do it.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #human au #crowley #aziraphale #hospital au #i did it i did the thing #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much

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