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robbyrobinson · 3 years

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GODS AWAKEN: CHAPTER 27

The mad emperor dashed at Camila at lightning speed faster than her eyes could perceive. Huge gashes were torn into Camila’s clothes from the razor-sharp teeth of Belos’s suckers. Camila desperately tugged at her attire to withdraw more parchment paper.

“You have gotten heinously slow throughout the years haven’t you, daughter?” Belos snickered.

Ignoring him, the middle-aged mother successfully discards a glyph from her shirt and slams it on Belos’ hideous face. He was propelled further away. Camila, with the parchment still in her hand, held it out defiantly. On the paper was a sketch of waves representing wind.

“Wind spell,” she stated in a matter-of-fact way.

Belos chuckled. “But your mind is as sharp as ever.”

Belos lifted himself off the ground with his abdominal tentacles and reclaimed his staff. He raised it skyward summoning a rumbling quake underneath the ground of the coliseum. The force underneath shifted its motion and erupted out of the ground sending dust and rocks in the air. The beast possessed a huge gaping maw fixated into a permanent scream and beady yellow eyes. It lunged towards the mother in relentless speed.

Camila grabbed another parchment from the spot between her chest and slammed it on the ground to activate it. She hadn’t foreseen any possible method of getting out of the way of the rampaging worm and even if she did, its frame was too colossal. The worm dipped down claiming the mother with its mouth and taking out a large chunk of the ground.

“How unfortunate,” Belos noted.

As he looked at the worm again, he was taken aback. Red flames flickered out of the sides of the worm’s body and burned it from the inside out. Belos flicked his finger uprooting roots from the ground to restrain his daughter. Brown, hickory roots wrapped around her waist and limbs slamming her with savage force. Belos waltzed towards her holding his hands out again. This time, the illusion of an axe was levitating above his head.

With swift motion, Belos clutched the axe and brought it down.

Camila breaks the root wrapped around her waist and rolled over. A swishing sound droned out and before Camila knew it, a small segment of her front hair was sliced away falling to the ground before her. Camila sighed in relief.

The brown-haired girl grimaced and pulled her wrists together breaking the roots between her hands. She ducked again when Belos brought the axe back down.

“Hold still, miscreant, it will only last a second.”

Camila rolled over thrashing her leg out. Her foot hit the handle of the axe and sent it sky high. The axe materialized before the two.

Another parchment paper rolled out this time Camila hit it with her foot. A wall of ice grew from the ground slicing off Belos’s tentacles.

“Gah!”

The Emperor’s weird alien blood dripped from the stumps of the tentacles and corroded the soil. “Not bad; a minor scrape nonetheless.”

New fleshy tentacles sprung from the stumps hissing and writhing towards the human woman. They opened their blood red maws showing off their razor teeth gnashing and clicking like needles. They shot at Camila again this time managing to make a hit on her.

Camila was knocked to the ground again. The papers were scattered all over. The middle-aged mother reached out her hand to grab one, but Belos’s staff stamped down on her exposed palm.

“Ugh!”

Belos laughed to himself again. Like before, his ribs scraped against each other as he laughed and wheezed. Gunk fell out of his mouth as his hold over his staff began to falter. “End of the line.”

Back at the laboratory, Luz and the gang finished up on their stockpiling of glyphs. Luz made a dash down the stairs to marvel at her work. “Do you think that should be enough?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s blow this joint,” Eda noted.

Luz looked around the laboratory again seeing all the boxes containing the enchanted armor. She grimaced still sensing the screaming emanating from the armors’ metal shells.

“Are you okay, kid?” Eda asked.

“Belos had created those suits out of the broken souls of witches; if we’re really doing this, I feel we should give some peace to the poor things.”

Eda scratched her chin. She sighed deeply. “Eh, fine.”

Eda entered her house casually throwing aside any of the unconscious bodies of the guards. There was a crashing sound and a few mini explosions, but the Owl Lady returned holding a few flasks.

“Edalyn, what are those?” Lilith asked concerned “and what is that purple substance inside of it?”

“The seeds of some poppy plant that I got from the swamp; just grind em up and light a match and voila...a magic bomb.”

She passed the flasks – about six in total – and also gave them a stick to grind the seeds into a powdery substance.

“Make sure to completely grind them otherwise the explosion fails.”

They pressed down hard on the seeds and scraped the smaller pieces counterclockwise until they were soft as feathers. “Typically takes about ten seconds to completely pulverize them.”

After the task was over, they poured the powder in a long trail leading towards the entrance. “Oh, so this is like gunpowder,” Luz said.

“Yes, Luz, it’s like ‘gunpowder’.”

Luz took one last look at the laboratory to soak in the knowledge of what she was about to do.

“You still want to do this, Luz?” King asked.

Luz nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Luz took a parchment paper containing the fire glyph placing it on top of the trail of powder. Gently pressing it, a small flame started and completely consumed the paper. As the flame grew larger it quickened its pace eating away at the powder. The trail of powder would ultimately come to an end once it connected with the crates containing the statues. Another trail led towards the portal machine and quickly ignited a large fire.

“We should leave now.”

Luz and the team met up with Amity and her siblings and dashed further down the halls. Large walls of fire licked at the powder seeking more to consume and destroy. The flames rose higher and higher now reaching the stairs.

Belos now had his hand wrapped tightly on Camila’s hair. Tugging it, he lifted his fist. Lightning flickered from his fingers. “It is a shame that you have driven me to this point.”

Camila scowled at him. “Enough with this talk. Do your worst.”

“With pleasure.”

Before he could strike Camila with the full brunt of his electricity, he was caught off guard by a sudden tremor.

“What in the-?”

A cloud of smoke spewed from his palace blasting chunks of debris skyward. The ground shook again at the further destruction. The explosion sent a wavelength leveling half of the palace and bringing the final nail in the coffin towards his laboratory.

Belos dropped to his knees. “This can’t be...how?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Camila beginning to collect herself. He made a grab for his staff, but Camila batted it away.

“This cannot be how this all ends.”

Belos stood up and growled showing his large, inhuman teeth that were sharpened and crooked. His tentacles flailed around in disbelief. “My plan has failed.”

“What plan?” Camila asked “you already failed to execute me like you wanted.”

Belos turned and grit his teeth together. “That was only a small sample of my revenge.”

Camila raised an eyebrow.

“I had served the Isles for fifty years all for one purpose: when my master escaped from his prison, I asked him to destroy your world. But I saw that if I were to have summoned the Outer Gods to the Isles...”

“What that you’d become one?” Camila interrupted.

This elicited a shrill chuckle from the Emperor. “Close, but no cigar: when the gods would arrive from the portal, I would steal their powers and become all-powerful.”

“But what of your master’s plans?”

“I don’t care one lick about Nyarlathotep’s whole goal of destroying the Isles and recreating it in his image. It should be ME and me alone who could bend and mold the Isles to my liking. Once I became a god of my own design, I would turn on my master and kill him.”

“Oh, you mean with this?”

An irregular, bizarrely angled instrument sliced into Emperor Belos’s chest and ripped through his wicked heart. Belos coughed up purple pus which dripped down his chest. Belos wheezed in agony and turned around with bulging eyes. He saw the Black Pharaoh standing behind him holding the other half of the instrument in his hands.

“L-Lord...” Belos coughed again. His lungs were filling with his own blood.

“If you really wanted to kill me, you shouldn’t have shouted your plan out loud.”

“B-But...how...?”

“Don’t act like I did not know your true allegiances. You planned this for a long time ever since I noted that you had your own agency.”

Belos wabbled to his knees. His life was painfully draining out and flooding the ground.

“After all, I switched out the Shining Trapezohedron with a decoy after all.”

Nyarlathotep crossed his arms and looked down at his servant. Belos slipped off the instrument and laid sprawled on the ground. He covered his chest with his hand to placate the internal bleeding. “Please, master, give me another chance.”

“Oh, so now you’re being a loyal servant?” Nyarlathotep said rolling his eyes.

A dark mass descended from the Crawling Chaos’ body and became two dimensional as it slithered on the ground. Belos’s shadow grew larger from the waning sun and seemingly was trying to flee from the mass of Nyarlathotep’s shadow.

The shadow produced long, spindly fingers and grabbed onto Belos’s leg. Emperor Belos’s physical body was tossed on the ground and dragged alongside his shadow’s leg. Belos was pulled closer towards Nyarlathotep’s body.

“No, master please! If you do this, I will lose my personality. The very fabric of my being will cease to be.”

Belos clutched his tentacle appendages on the opposite sides of his body and jammed them tightly in the ground. “I’m sorry...please, please have mercy!”

Nyarlathotep’s shadow was that of a fisherman’s rod. It nudged the shadow’s leg a few times and loosened its grip. About two seconds later, enough time for Belos to relax, Nyarlathotep’s shadow tugged again, tighter this time and pulled Belos further.

“Have mercy!!”

Belos disappeared underneath Nyarlathotep’s garment. And it was then that the Emperor’s rule over the Boiling Isles came to an end for whatever made Belos himself was stripped away from him making him become nothing more but a memory. Camila shivered unsure of what to do or say.

Nyarlathotep smiled wickedly. “Let the game begin.”

#owl house #the owl house #emperor belos #belos #camila noceda #cthulhu mythos #nyarlathotep

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fallinnflower · 3 years

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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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shipmistress9 · 4 years

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FTLOAP: Chapter 48,5: Interlude 6: Traitors

For The Love Of A Princess Masterpost

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

Taglist: @drchee5e @hey-its-laura-again @thepixiedustfactory (If you want me to add you to this list, just let me know. ^^)

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If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

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AN: As promised, here’s an interlude, and a slightly quicker update, too. It’s a tough one but also one I’ve been waiting for for a long time now. It will shed some light onto a character… that’s been simultaneously over- and under-estimated so far. And I’m incredibly curious for how you’re all going to react.

Also, this chapter comes entirely unbetaed. I’m sorry if there are more mistakes than usual. ^^“

***Shoutouts***

Again, thank you all for your lovely comments! They mean the world to me, especially now where the fandom seems to shrink with every week and the responses overall become fewer and fewer. To everyone who still comments, you are my heroes! ^^

. o O o .

With his eyes on the immaculately-kept garden outside, Thuggory stood at the large window in his study, with a disdainful look on his face. “So, tell me,” he sneered in his usual bored tone and without turning around. “Did anything worth mentioning happen today?”

Behind him, the servant nervously shuffled from one foot to the other. “No, your Grace. It was just the same as yesterday. The fighting grounds were filled with men practising their skills, but aside from one slight injury and a few cuts, nothing happened.”

“Idiots, all of them…” Thuggory huffed under his breath. For two days now, all these stupid men were preparing for the King’s ridiculous Dragon Hunt. As if that was anything but a complete waste of time. “Who got injured?” Maybe he was lucky. Maybe it had hit the right man again.

“Erm…” The servant took a moment to think. “Nobody important, I think. It was a man named Gregor, the firstborn son of the Baron of Greenbridge. But it was just a shallow flesh wound on his shoulder, nothing fatal.”

Grunting, Thuggory nodded. For a moment, he’d hoped that Eret had conveniently taken himself out of the game after all. But of course, he wasn’t that lucky. Besides, he surely would have heard about that already.

“So what did the ducal heirs do?”

“Sir Snotloud is still indisposed. Rumours have it that he won’t participate in the Hunt at all.” Thuggory nodded for his servant to speak on. The Westhill boy wasn’t of much interest to him anyway. “The Sirs Dagur and Eret were again practising in the fighting grounds, but just like yesterday, they were going at it lightly. It is assumed that they will only participate in the Hunt for show and all their training now is just so Sir Eret can regain his strength after the attack. Some even jokingly commented that his squire was working out harder than his master.”

Thuggory snorted but didn’t comment. Of course, the highborn heirs wouldn’t get their hands dirty and crawl through the forest for this pointless Hunt. Why would they? They had no use for a measly county somewhere far off their hometown. The same was true for Thuggory, of course, but in opposition to them, he at least had the decency to not even pretend that he would take part in this Hunt.

Although, they probably had no choice in the matter, he mused, grimacing. They held no power of their own, after all, always had to do what their fathers wanted. They had to participate in the King’s charade, if only to give it more significance.

Besides, if the latest rumours were true then the two Sirs were going to use this time away from the public eye in other ways anyway. Just thinking about that brought an angry sneer to Thuggory’s face. If that horse-loving fool really preferred men over women, then he deserved her even less.

Not that Eret should have any right to her in the first place…

“Was the Princess there, too?” he asked through gritted teeth. He already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

“Yes, your Grace. She arrived shortly before noon, joined the ducal heirs for lunch, and then stayed for a couple of hours to watch her betro– uhm… I mean, her soon-to-be betroth–”

Growling angrily, Thuggory whirled around, interrupting the man.

“She’s mine!”

With one furious motion, he wiped a sideboard nearby clear off everything, a carafe of wine and some glasses lading on the ground. They shattered with loud clangour, shards scattering everywhere and wine seeping into the carpet.

The servant winced but didn’t move. “Y-your Grace?”

But Thuggory didn’t reply. He just stared at his fist, anger making it tremble. Astrid was supposed to be his, always had been! Thuggory had known that since the day she was born, drummed into his head by his otherwise useless father. Sure, rumours had it that the King had made arrangements for her to marry one of the ducal heirs. But the grand dukedoms already were close allies of the crown, where was the point in handing the crown’s most valuable possession over to one of them? No, the only logical, only sensible, only possible option was to give her to him, to a powerful rival to buy his support.

Oh, yes, Astrid had been his since her very first breath. But she and everyone else refused to acknowledge that. All she’d ever done was mock him, during their youth and now as well. But, oh, she would learn her place! As soon as she was his wife and he could finally teach her some manners, she would never forget it again.

Thuggory took a deep breath to calm down again, just as the door opened and another servant poked their head in. They hesitated, probably taking in the mess on the ground, but were smart enough not to comment.

“Your Grace? Your… erm… your guest arrived. Where should I lead her?”

He smirked. Now, wasn’t that perfect timing? “Send her into the garden,” he ordered. “And clean the floor again in the meantime.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, instead turned on the spot and walked outside. It was an unusually warm night for this time of year; maybe he would just stay here after his guest was gone. Although, it surely would rain later that night, judging by the clouds and humidity.

“Good evening, my Lord,” came a pleasant and familiar voice from the darkness behind him.

One side of his mouth tipped up into a lazy smirk. “Come here.”

The woman obeyed, came closer and bowed deeply before him. She was an Ástir, the same one he asked for every time. She was not from the main Temple that Fyrir Mala supervised but from one of the smaller district temples at the edge of the city. It was a temple that was specialised in a certain… taste. Thuggory wasn’t allowed to hurt her for real and if she put a stop to his actions, he had to abide immediately. Sometimes, like today, he loathed these rules, but he had to stick to them nonetheless. For now…

The Ástir not coming from the main temple also meant that she didn’t officially play a specific role. But she knew what he expected of her and had prepared herself according to his usual requests. She had some braids woven into her blond hair, and with her slim frame and grey-blue eyes, she was sufficient enough. His imagination could fill in the rest.

“Undress for me,” he ordered, and watched transfixed as she slowly slid off her elegant blue dress. He never looked at her face; that would have ruined the illusion. Instead, his eyes clung to every bit of bare skin she revealed, her shoulders, her breasts, her shapely backside, and he wondered whether Astrid’s curves would be equally appealing once she was his.

What followed was the same fantasy he always acted out when he summoned this Ástir. He made her kneel between his legs and worship his cock until it was hard and leaking. Then he grabbed her head and pushed her down. Tonight, he particularly enjoyed making her choke. The way her body seized, the lovely sounds she made, and the sporadic tears his actions inadvertently drew from her eyes – it all helped to curb and calm his anger. He wanted to come across her face, but that would only remind him that she wasn’t really Astrid. Instead, he made her swallow him down, her face hidden against his abdomen. After that, it was his turn to give her some attention. He made her get down on all four and slap her backside until it was glowing and his hand stung. Then he knelt behind her, fucked into her with his fist in her hair to keep her in place, and pumped her full of his seed, groaning in satisfaction.

Oh, he couldn’t wait until he could do this to Astrid.

Until she was his!

The woman’s legs were wobbly when she got up and got dressed again. He liked to watch her as he enjoyed a fresh drink, liked to see his come slide down her legs and soil that pretty dress.

“Aren’t you tired of this game yet?”

The Ástir threw a curious look at the newcomer, but upon Thuggory’s gesture, she quickly left the two noblemen alone.

“Jake,” Thuggory greeted the other man with an unnerved sigh. “Can’t you wait until after my entertainment is over?”

Lord Jake of Blackshire laughed and lounged down into another chair on Thuggory’s ample terrasse. “Why? Isn’t it always the same anyway? Although, I understand your frustration. It doesn’t seem like your plan is working. Your precious princess is about to marry Sir Eret,” he sneered, “and after that first failed attempt, they won’t risk him getting killed again.”

“I know,” Thuggory growled. “But he promised I would get her as my bride if I fulfil my end of the bargain. And I have! The riots are spreading over the entire kingdom. Soon, the King will be too busy with an open civil war to care about any other threats.”

Jake snorted, audibly rolling his eyes. “Oh, the mysterious man in the shadows. Seriously, who is he that he can make such promises?”

“That’s none of your concern. You can’t betray information you don’t have; the less you know the better. All you need to know is your part.”

Jake leaned forward, his brows furrowed. “And I did my part,” he hissed. “Your old man is gone and you took his place.”

“And you got your promotion, didn’t you? Captain?”

Jake growled. “That was only half of the bargain. What about my father?”

Thuggory waved him off. “All in good time. And don’t you forget your place, son of a baron.”

He could hear how Jake gritted his teeth and swallowed his pride. “You’re right, Milord. Please forgive my impertinence.”

Nodding, Thuggory accepted the apology. Jake was one of his most loyal supporters, maybe even someone he would call a friend. He just had to make sure the man didn’t forget his place from time to time.

“Anyway. He said he would take over the Kingdom when the time is right. And that I can have her then.” He snorted. “Not that she’ll be of any political worth then anymore, that stuck-up bitch! She should be betrothed to me now! Seriously, what are they even thinking up there in the castle? It’s so obvious, their downfall will be their own fault!”

His hand tightened around his drink, the glass nearly breaking again. How could the King reject his marriage proposal for Astrid? As Duke of Meathead, he was one of the most powerful men in the entire Kingdom, with his Dukedom of not small influence and so close to the capitol. The King couldn’t afford to not have him as his ally! Oh yes, all the riots and problems in the Kingdom were the King’s own fault. If only he’d agreed to give his daughter’s hand to him, then the peace could have been maintained.

Oh, but she would pay for her father’s mistakes! With the Ástir, he was bound by law to abide by these boring rules. But once it was Astrid as his wife in his bed? Then nothing would keep him from using her like he longed to. Oh, he couldn’t wait to make her scream.

“If only that loser had managed to kill Eret during the tournament,” he grumbled, downing the rest of his drink. “Then they might come to their senses after all.”

Jake chuckled. “Were you able to find out why he tried that attempt by now? Do you know who instructed him or whether his family got an unexpected payment? Or did he really just do that on his own?”

“I don’t know.” Thuggory shook his head. “Him doing that just on his own makes little sense, but I wasn’t able to find any connections, no-one who could have ordered him to try that attempt. Were you more successful in finding out anything about that rumour about Eret and Dagur?”

Jake leaned back in his seat and grimaced. “No, I wasn’t. I couldn’t find out who started it; in fact, it seems like it started at more than one place at once. Some leads point toward the servants’ market, others to a tavern that’s popular with soldiers, and some even hint that they started at some tea party one of the higher noble ladies held. So, whoever really is behind it, they are good. And as for whether the rumour is true… Well, there’s no proof, obviously. But either way, the princess doesn’t seem to care whether her future husband prefers playing the flute over the violin.” He accompanied his words by outlining a distinct curvy form into the air.

Thuggory snorted. “Too bad. But then she wouldn’t even have a clue about what it means. It was a long shot anyway.”

“I could try to get proof,” Jake offered. “Officially, Eret and Dagur are participating in the Hunt, but that’s just a front, obviously. What would they need that county for? So, if these rumours are true, then they will spend the days in some inn and fuck each other senseless. And if some of my men accidentally storm the room when they hear screaming…” He grinned menacingly.

Thuggory laughed, once. He knew why he kept Jake around. But then he shook his head. “Tempting. But he ordered me to keep my hands off the ducal heirs. He must have plans for them, though he wouldn’t tell me what they are.”

Jake snickered. “So his high and mighty Grace, the Duke of Meathead, doesn’t know everything, either?”

“Oh, shut up,” Thuggory muttered. “I might not know everything – for the same reasons that I won’t tell you more too – but I still know enough. I know that this summer is going to see a lot of changes and that for the next Midwinter Nights, the Gods will witness another kind of sacrifice .”

“Let me guess. Will it be a more… royal sacrifice? Oh, I’d love to see the Prince bleed out. He overlooked me a few too many time and–”

“Quiet!”

Thuggory’s voice was sharp, silencing Jake in an instant. He held up a hand to keep him from asking any questions, as his eyes focused on a bit of shrubbery in his garden. It had moved just now, and he could swear that there’d been a noise, too. Something of a gasp.

He gave Jake a sign who nodded and they both stood up.

“Yes, it really was a shame how you’ve been ignored for all this time,” Thuggory lamented. He walked around and rummaged about with a new drink, covering up any noises Jake might make. “And all that just because you misbehaved a few times here and there. It really wasn’t your fault that this tavern got destroyed now, was it?”

It happened with a swiftness and accuracy Thuggory couldn’t help but silently salute. Within only seconds, Jake had reached into the shrubbery and dragged out the cretin who’d dared to spy on them. “Ha! Got him!”

“Very good,” Thuggory sneered as he came closer. “The Prince was indeed a fool to disregard your talents.”

Jake grinned.

“But now, who do we have here…” Thuggory let his eyes roam over the young man. In the dim light of the night, he wasn’t able to see much, only an untidy mob of dark hair, clothes too simple for a nobleman, and a face that seemed vaguely familiar. “I know you, don’t I?”

The man pressed his lips together and glared at him in a useless attempt to look threatening, despite the knife at his throat. It was almost cute. No, this was no man; calling him a boy was more fitting.

“You certainly have,” Jake snorted. “He’s a squire of one of our beloved ducal heirs.”

A dark grin spread over Thuggory’s face. “Oh right. Now, what are you doing in my private garden? You wouldn’t be here to spy on me, would you?”

The boy was trembling now. Though Thuggory couldn’t blame him; Jake was pressing his knife against the skin at his throat now so he wouldn’t get any ideas and yell for help. Everyone with at least a little bit of sense would be scared.

“I-I heard what you said about Prince Daniel,” he squeaked, terror in his thin voice. “But you won’t get away with that! Not now that I know about what you’re up to! I’ll go straight to the King and…”

Thuggory gave a bored sigh and nodded at Jake who hurled the boy around back into the shrubbery. A moment later, the gurgling sound of a cut throat could be heard, then a body slumping to the ground.

“I know it’s too late now,” Jake commented casually as he wiped off his blade in the grass. The coming rain would wash away all traces of blood. “But I thought you were supposed to keep your hands away from the ducal heirs.”

“The heirs, yes. Nobody ever said anything about their squires.”

Jake snorted but otherwise didn’t seem to be concerned in the slightest. “So, what shall we do with him?” he instead asked, nodding at the shrubbery.

“Just get rid of the body, I don’t have any use for it. Although…” Thuggory paused, then stepped to where the dead boy lay. He kneeled down and after a quick inspection took a heavy ring off the boy’s finger, a decorated knife from his belt, and a handful of coins from his pocket. The fact that he’d had these things in the first place revealed his simple clothes to only be a charade. “Make sure the body won’t get found right away, but also don’t make it too complicated. Let it look like someone was running out of time.”

Jake nodded, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “I know just what to do. And what’s this for?” He gestured at the boy’s belongings in Thuggory’s hand.

“Oh, this.” Now, it was Thuggory’s turn to smile cruelly. “I’ll use these things to cause a little chaos. I might not be allowed to harm Eret directly, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun.“

. o O o .

AN: So…Thuggory really is an asshole! Abusive, violent, deluded, and just Evil.

But! He didn’t plan the attack on Eret and neither did he spread the rumour about Eret and Dagur. In fact… he’s not that much of an evil mastermind at all…

So… where does that leave us?

…

On a side note. Many of you guessed that Daniel would die in this chapter or that it would be revealed that he’d died some while ago already. And I just want to say… I don’t consider Daniel to be a minor character at all.

And last but not least: There’s a phrase I used in this interlude that I’m very fond of… but that sadly isn’t my own creation. It’s the part about "him preferring to play the flute over the violin.” I can’t say for sure where it comes from, but I know that I read it in the “Die Legende von Askir” series by Richard Schwarz.

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

Next chapter

#FTLOAP #For The Love Of A Princess #Hiccstrid #fanfiction #httyd #Hiccstrid Medieval AU #medieval au #royalty au #hiccstrid royal au #Minor Character Death #tw: abuse mentioned

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cant-blink · 5 years

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Ghidorah’s Egg, Ch. 2: Impossible

Summary: After a day of destruction, Ghidorah’s ready to settle in for the night when Ichi makes a terrible discovery.

The radius of destruction around their nest was growing quite well.

Spreading their vast wings, Ghidorah leapt up into the air, the winds generated from their take-off bringing up a cloud of debris and embers. They don’t even glance back at the burning ruins of the forest as they made their way back to the volcano.

Their neurons come alive with a wave of activity, San eagerly recapping his excitement over the day. All three of their mouths were full of insects and other alien creatures they managed to catch during the tail-end of their rampage, a small meal for their slave. He was healing well, but was still bound to the volcano. He would practice short and limping flights every now and again, but was still unable to fly the long distance needed to join them on their mission.

It’s fine. They actually came to enjoy their nest, their throne. They didn’t mind staying there for a few more weeks. Not like the world was going anywhere, and the other titans out there were picking up the slack destroying their own homes against their will. Quite satisfying, really.

Their volcano comes into view after a few hours of flight and Ichi circled above, swooping in for the landing. Their slave looked up at them as their wings flared and they touched down. He smiled, ignoring the slight sizzle of the rain striking his body.

“Hey.” he said as a greeting.

Ghidorah doesn’t even let out a grunt as Ichi lowered his head to drop the mass of aliens from his mouth upon the ground. He felt a warm beak bump against his snout, and he allowed it for a moment before pulling away. Ni added to the pile, the bird respectfully letting him go untouched and nuzzling San as he topped off the small mound of death. It was a routine they’ve gotten used to, and hopefully won’t have to carry out for much longer.

As the slave picked through his meal, eating one morsel at a time like it was a delicacy, Ghidorah moved to their usual resting spot and settled down for the night.

Everything was quiet and peaceful, as Ni and San cleaned their respective wings and Ichi tended their main body. The middle head was diligent, cleaning off the ashes and soot that covered their chest and abdomen. He moved lower and lower down their body towards their tails, when his nose picked up some odd scent that wasn’t there the previous night. Very faint, but he’s sworn he’s smelled it before. For the life of him, he couldn’t put a finger on it. But it spurred some kind of impulse within him and he inhaled more deeply.

He followed the scent, searching for the source, the instinct growing more intense each time. His nose was led to a small region between their legs. This is where the scent was coming from. He’s detected this scent before, somewhere in his life millions of years ago. He searched his mind for a moment and after much sorting through, memories came up of them chasing off another adult Ghidorah without a struggle, without any courtship involved. Because the other hydra had this scent emanating from them. A scent that told them that mating would be futile because the dragon they chased off was already-

This only confirmed the lingering instinct, and he felt his heart skip a beat. It was impossible, but unmistakable…

They were pregnant.

It took a long few moments where he stayed with his nose hovering inches above their scales, eyes wide. How could this even be? They haven’t mated with another Ghidorah for hundreds of millions of years and even then, they were the victor of the courtship! They were the ones that gave the seed, not received it. How-

His mind flashed to the mating with their slave.

No, that couldn’t be possible either! They were completely different species from completely different worlds! Even if they weren’t, that too was a courtship won, and they were the male in that coupling! His eyes dart to the bird, obliviously enjoying his dinner, and he wonders: what kind of earth trick was this? Did the males get pregnant on this world? HOW?! That made absolutely NO sense and flew in the face of everything he thought he knew about the topic! Admittedly, it wasn’t much, but he knew the basics! He replayed their mating in his mind over and over, looking for any sign that could explain this. He… He had nothing.

This shouldn’t be possible!

His eyes glanced towards his siblings, both of them distracted and oblivious to his discovery as they groomed their respective wings. But it would only be a matter of time before the scent gets powerful enough for them too to notice. What was he going to do?

His eyes focus on the right head. He was the one to object against mating with the slave in the first place, and if he learns what that mating resulted in, then…

Ni will never forgive him for this. Everything will go to shit again, this happy harmony between them will be long forgotten. His second-in-command was always volatile and stubborn and difficult to reason with in some cases. This would, without a doubt, be one of those cases! How will Ichi even begin to break the news in a way that causes the least amount of damage?

Okay, calm down. He had to keep a level head. There’ll be time before their pregnancy becomes obvious, and he can use that time to plan out a way to convey the news to his brothers. He didn’t know how yet, but he prided himself on his intelligence and communication skills. He’ll come up with something. Until then, just keep calm and composed. Continue with their nightly routine as usual, act like nothing’s wrong. He was lagging a bit behind, but not something out of the ordinary, especially given how much filth accumulated on their scales.

He didn’t like the idea of hiding anything from his siblings, but this was necessary and temporary.

Either way, Ni is not going to be pleased.

Finishing up the grooming of the body, Ichi turned to groom Ni’s face. The right head winced slightly, but took the grooming without so much as a growl. One of the many changes in his behavior, one that Ichi wasn’t sure how to feel about. He knew his brother still did not like the grooming, so he tried to get it over with quickly.

After he finished, he turned to San, finding him with the slave. He was taking food directly from his mouth as he ate. The bird seemed happy to share, letting San take the insect from his beak before getting another. However, no sooner did he do that than San tried to take it again. The youngest could easily snatch up the aliens from the pile, but he wanted to steal his snacks. More fun that way, especially when the slave put a clawed hand over his muzzle to try to push him away. He smirked with a growl, taking the hand in his jaws. Funny little slave, thinking he could deter his thievery.

However, his play was interrupted when he felt a firm nudge upon his neck. Oh, his turn already? His thievery has been deterred! The youngest turns away from the slave and eagerly moves towards Ichi, purring happily as he always does when groomed. And his delight only gets better when Ichi purred for him when it was San’s turn to groom him.

Just as he finished his task and began turning back to the slave-

“Brother San,” Ichi said firmly. “Let the slave eat. Sleep, now.”

“M’kay!” San chirped with a beam, nuzzling up against his sibling. “Good night, Brother Ichi.” He felt a snout bump in return and laid himself down over their left tail.

With his two siblings settling down for sleep, Ichi turned his eyes to the horizon. His mind returned to the anxiety spurred by his discovery, working out when it would be the best time to bring the subject up. Should he do so inconspicuously first, in casual conversation? Test the waters out a bit and have some lead-up before he drops it on them? Sounds like stalling to him, but-

His thoughts are interrupted as he felt a warmth against their side and he made a brief glance over to see their slave settling himself next to them. He felt his beak nibbling their scales in a groom, and he was content to ignore the bird when he suddenly spoke up.

“You alright? You feel tense.”

Of course the bird was going to notice and speak up about it. He exhales softly through his nose before responding curtly. “It is fine.” Should he tell the bird about their pregnancy? After all, he was the... sire of their offspring. He had to keep in a growl at that thought. A slave, the father of their progeny. Ni was right, it was disgusting and he knew he had nobody to blame but himself. And it was best to avoid dragging their slave into this mess as well. He needed to mind his own damn business, anyway.

As if that’ll stop him...

“You’re such a stubborn prick, you know that?” the bird continued in a joking manner, but Ichi nonetheless casts a glare in his direction. Warning him to watch his tongue when speaking to him. The bird closed his beak, watching him for a moment before continuing in a softer voice. “With what we’ve been through, you should know by now that I’m always here to talk. Unless you wanna pull a Ni and just shut everyone out.”

This bird wanted him to take the bait, but he was not biting. His sharp eyes don’t falter from the slave as he spoke. “I will discuss any issues with my brothers when the time is right. It is none of your concern, slave.”

The bird kept his gaze for a long moment before sighing. “If you say so. The offer is on the table though, so y’know, whenever you’re ready...”

Silence between them, Ichi turning his gaze back to the horizon. The bird leaned against him, resuming his grooms. His uninjured wing lifted over them, and his claws were trailing over the scales of their back, applying some pressure in a massage. Oh. Pampering, something Ichi can appreciate when anxiety gets the best of him.

One of the uses the bird still had, in fact, and why he was still allowed to live despite his injuries.

Letting out a quiet breath from his nose, Ichi carefully shifting the body to relax completely, enjoying the warmth and attention. It really did feel nice, and at least for the night, he can let himself forget...

#ghidorah #king ghidorah #rodorah #rodan #godzilla #king of the monsters #ichi #ni #san #kevin

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scrumptiousalpacadeer · 4 years

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Paul Thomas Anderson’s THE MASTER and what it may teach us about mind-control vs freedom Post-Covid

So last night I watched The Master. It was a most pleasing way to spend a Saturday evening; alone, with two cats draped on the sofa and windowsill respectively, and it rounded off a pretty pedestrian Saturday mostly spent mowing and raking the lawn and scattering grass seed whilst *Boo finished reading Jacqueline Wilson’s Rose Rivers whilst occasionally appearing at the back door to yell; ‘mama, you’re driving me nuts with your gardening!’ Somehow I’d been looking forward to scattering my grass seed all week - the promise of moist new green growth on our dusty brown patches. Thing is - and there is a lesson in here somewhere - the grass seed box said it covered 10m square - I guess I got a bit carried away and basically I ran out after one corner. So one corner of my lawn will look like Eden, and the rest will continue to look like some deserted Sicilian scrubland... That’s life, baby, I guess.

So anyway, The Master....dear God. There are many ways I could go with this...Firstly undiluted, scope, wonder, singular sensitivity, impossible mastery, extreme importance and sheer exalting, agonising beauty of Paul Thomas Anderson’s films is the subject of another post. (I’m still on a high from the explosive visceral experience of watching Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood and that was, what, 5 years ago? 10 years ago?) Then The Master came out in 2012 and P.T.A. raised his game even more.

I could, and will another time, talk about the astonishing gift Joaquin Phoenix afforded the world with his embodiment of his character, Freddie Quell. (I say ‘embodiment’; ‘performance’ always strikes me as an incorrect way of describing an actors full immersion in an imagined character’s inner life.) To my mind, Freddie is one of the most affecting, heart-breaking, occasionally funny and downright truthful portrayals of a ‘broken’ man; an exiled, psychologically damaged, wild and lonely spirit who roams the world, desperate for love and acceptance, clearly one of the great ‘un-belonging’ of the post-war world in America. In one the open scenes he simulates fucking an over-sized figure of woman carved in sand on a hot beach, for the amusement of his army pals. In the final scene of the film, after his long long incredible journey , we see him caressing this sand woman again, resting his next to a large sandy breast. Oh poor dear Freddy Quell; my tears ran with him last night; knowing myself in this second viewing of the film, to be so like him. Perhaps one day I will be able to shake Joaquin Phoenix’s hand and say ‘thankyou so much for Freddie.....’ I often feel like that with actors work that resonates through the bones.

I could also talk about how Philip Seymour Hoffman was possibly the greatest screen actor of his time, and how crazy it was that the world didn’t seem to mourn his tragic early death. Was it perhaps because he died of an accidental heroine overdose? - and this, well, didn’t sit very well with Hollywood. His embodiment here of Lancaster Dodd, charismatic leader of philosophical cult movement The Cause, is breath-taking. But then all his performances were breath-taking. I had a dream about him once (whole other post entitled CELEBRITY DREAMS coming your way); we were kind of friends even though I knew he was dead and his face kept appearing on billboards all over London. If, when; I meet him in the spirit world, I’d like to shake his hand and thank him for Lancaster Dodd and Brandt in The Big Lebowski, and Truman Capote, and also for providing me with one of the most pivotal theatre experiences of my life. August 2001, Edinburgh Festival, I witnessed his production of Jesus Hopped The A Train at The Gilded Balloon; this was running gold theatre. Within half a second of the play ending the entire full house erupted to it’s feet like we’d all been tasered from the floor. Thank you Philip...you gave me faith then that theatre is important; that art comes from dark places and revives...

I could talk about the astonishing crashing score composed by Radiohead’s guitarist Jonny Greenwood.

I could also talk about Amy Adam’s terrifying portrayal of Lancaster’s icy wife Peggy and her utterly brilliant final put-down to Freddie: “you either do this for a billion years, or not at all...” (she’s referencing Freddie’s abandonment of the cult she’s set up with her husband, but this line, I feel, could apply to motherhood...….)

* * * * * * * * * *

It usually takes me two viewings for a films deeper meaning to seep in, and last night I was struck by what I see as the heart of the film. The core of the film is relationship between Freddie Quell and Lancaster Dodd; it’s an uncompromising study of male vulnerability and the cosmic search for ‘a father figure’... On a bigger scale, its about how those in positions of assumed power and influence ( Dodd) rely on the adoration and worship of those whom society deem ‘worthless’ (Quell). It’s about the fragility and corruption of a society whereby a man promises freedom and empowerment to his followers (Dodd devises a system of ‘processing’ whereby he takes initiates back to past traumas through a curious mixture of interrogation and hypnosis and ‘cures’ them; he posits that his vision can cure leukaemia and will bring about world peace) and how those ‘disadvantaged’, the great ‘unloved’ can be absorbed into such an attractive lifestyle. In one painful scene, Freddie is taken to a party at a mansion, filled with monied people and luxurious things. Freddie is dressed smartly for the occasion; but is sweating with nerves and orders a scotch at the earliest opportunity, before hiding away in a side room and stealing an ornament. It took me back to my own exile, when, at the age of 17 I landed at Brentwood Boys School in Essex, and cut off from my parents, shattered from my sister’s suicide and a lifetime of confusion, I nonetheless attended many a glorious party; a perfect size 10 and top of the class, I knew how to say all the right things. But, like Freddie, I knew I didn’t and wouldn’t ever fit it. Like him, I would often sneak off to the side rooms, get off my head drunk to hide my shame and hopeless, and cause some fight..

In the end, despite himself, Freddie starts to see through Lancaster’s bullshit and returns to his life on the road. Though The Cause had given him a home, suits and ties, friendship, respect and a certain ‘standing’ that he could only have dreamed of, as he confesses to Peggy at the end, before returning to his own brand of personal lonely freedom; ‘it’s just not how I look’.

* * * * * * *

“Don’t you know, They’re talking about a revolution it sounds like a whisper Don’t you know you’d better run run run run run run run run.....” Tracey Chapman

Talkin’ About A Revolution

What I find heartening and deeply exciting about these early post-Covid times, as the first chinks of sunlight pour in through windows that have separated us from friends, lovers, fellow man for so long, is that people are choosing freedom. In small ways, perhaps, but I get the overall sense that for many people, fear has had its day. As my dear friend said over tea the other day; ‘people are thinking fuck this, fuck it, we wanna fuck’....well, exactly.

It was this dear friend I met up with in her wood a few weeks ago; we hugged each other day, and it was such a joyous relief to see her I told her that if I got the virus and killed me, oh fuck it, it would be worth it, just to sit next to her by a river on a sunny day...

I’ve had two other conversations lately to support my little theory; a particularly cheerful friend of mine turned up with her daughter unannounced on my doorstep couple of weeks back - they had a bag of clothes; would Boo like them? Initially we did the ‘2 m’ thing, paying homage to THE RULES as dictated by the blessed government of this land; I hovered on the threshold of my kitchen - she stood outside by the flower-pots. Then I broke the rules; ‘look, do you wanna come in?’ - That was it. The ice was broken - and she stood, blond, beaming and glorious with her big sunglasses on, in my little kitchen - along with her daughter and mine, and I could literally have feasted forever on the sheer joyous fleshiness of having three other living homo sapiens near me. That sunny day in early June, two women in a small village in Sussex chose freedom. ‘I’ve just had enough of all this virus stuff’ she said ‘I’m even dreaming about it! I’ve just had enough’.

Then last week a friend came over with her three glorious girl children and told me how her youngest, a endlessly sweet six yr old, had ‘hidden behind a tree with her friend so that they could have a hug’. Lets think about that for a moment; six years olds hiding behind trees to have a hug. Its pretty damn sad. And weird. This friend had been on full on paranoid lockdown due to one of the children’s potential serious health issues - but she’d reached breaking point. ‘I’ve had enough’ she said. And that day her girls and my daughter raced up and down the stairs and around the garden in glorious flagrance of any state prescribed social distancing rules.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In the end, Freddie breaks free from his master’s and The Cause’s control and continues - we assume - his lonely drift around the world. In their final agonising meeting, Lancaster reveals the smashed ungenerous ego of a despot thwarted by his adoring lover: ‘if I meet you in a future life I will show you no mercy, you will be my sworn enemy’. Freddie, emaciated, tearful and ever desperate to belong, asks Lancaster to reveal to him how and where they’d met in a previous life... He knows it’s bullshit, in the way I knew my father was incapable of loving me, but when you’ve got a Krakatoa sized hole in your heart, you just can’t stop hoping somehow...pledging allegiance to a resplendent asshole is somehow better than our greatest fear; the abyss of loneliness and isolation. Lets face it; freedom is pretty terrifying after such a long stretch of captivity.

That’s the thing in these Covid times; we always have a choice. We have a choice now, whether to be continue to be afraid or whether to choose freedom. Whether to cut loose and go racing into the desert on a motorbike back to his first love, like Freddie does, following his own destiny, not succumbing to control forces that on the surface entice him into a richer more glamorous life.

And I’m not talking about being an complete idiot and denying there’s a serious virus still on the loose, or hugging scared people in the street to prove a point, and I’m not denying that many people are extremely vulnerable - I’m talking about something entirely different; that deep inner decision that calls in all of us - whether to choose the uncharted waters of freedom, or rest in an all-too familiar fear zone.

To conclude, my dear friend Matilda sent me this book ‘Big Magic - Creative Living By Fear’ by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love (I’ve just watched the film its rather good I think...) Anyway, there’s this great chapter called Fear Is Boring which rang through me, growing up as I did drenched in the anxiety of a Munchausen Syndrome-by-proxy mother (WHOLE other post...) - but here’s what she says about the time, age fifteen, she ‘wised up’ to fear and chose another way:

“I noticed that my fear never changed, never delighted, never offered a surprise twist or an unexpected ending. My fear was a song with only one note - only one word, actually - and that word was “STOP!”

Dear reader, I’m shitting myself with the best of them, but I’ve had enough of fear. I’m not stopping. I’m going. What do you say?..... xxxx

Big love from Christine

#paul thomas anderson #joaquin phoenix #philip seymour hoffman #elizabeth gilbert #fear #freedom #post covid freedom #exile #post traumatic growth #jonny greenwood #cult #male ego #filmmkrs #film art #grass seed #social distancing #social isolation #amy adams #american films

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years

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Alastor and Astrology

Alastor potential birth chart

January 24th 1896, New Orleans(Jan 24 1986 is the birth date of voice actor Edward Bosco.) Alastor died in 1933 getting shot in the head and on the wiki, it said he was in his 30’s when he died. 1933 minus 1896 equals 37. I figured that the dark hour of 3:00 am would be fitting for him.

Sun in Aquarius

Friendly and sociable, you may have a wide circle of acquaintances. Friends are very important to you. Intellectually oriented, you are happiest with friends that share common ideas and interests. Strangely, you find it more difficult to cultivate a truly satisfying intimate relationship. This aloofness exists because feelings are rarely expressed outwardly, and you usually seem distant. You resist anything or anyone threatening your independence.

Alastor is shown being sociable to Charlie, Angel, Husk, etc. He’d be happy with Charlie, Mimzy, Rosie, who share his love of singing and dancing. With a constant smile on his face, Alastor tries to never express what true feelings he may have at the moment. Anyone threatening his independence like the overlords or perhaps his father would likely not live very long.

Moon in Taurus

A Taurus Moon emphasizes the material side of life, and emotions are centered on the comforts and possessions in life. You tend to be a collector and an accumulator of the things that, in your view, make up the "good life." With the Moon in Taurus, you want the best that life has to offer, and you find it difficult to settle for less. The emotions are earthy and practical, highly attracted to material possessions and the satisfactions that come from material comforts. Sense impressions are very strong, the sense of touch and taste is highly developed, and you probably have a pleasant speaking and singing voice. At least you are fond of music, art, dancing and all things that make life more pleasurable. You innate good taste probably extends to decorating the home and having a great sense for interior design.

Mercury in Aquarius

In Aquarius, Mercury produces a mind that is original, detached, and abstract. Ideas come to you as bursts of insights. Your mind is hyper-active and going constantly. Thoughts are rarely organized, rather arriving in flashes and fragments which are often the seeds of invention and progress. The thought pattern is scientific and dispassionate.Your ideas may sometimes be considered very progressive and some may be well ahead of their time. Your unique approach will prompt some to label you as being a little crazy or at least eccentric. You like to do things that are unusual or avant garde just to shake up the establishment and create controversy. You have no respect for tradition and little concern for the lessons of the past. You are a pure progressive. You love to rebel against the system in supporting causes and ideas that are controversial and revolutionary.You are very intuitive, and accordingly, an excellent judge of character. Being very fair-minded, you judge people by what they seem to know or what they do, rather than who they are or what position they occupy. You believe strongly in equality and fair play. A humanitarian, you support ideas and programs that assist those less fortunate than yourself, and you support the concepts of total social reform.You're witty and open to a wide range of ideas, but at times, you become mentally fixed in your opinions and very stubborn. You are talkative and social, but you often come off as rather aloof and cerebral. It may be hard for you to find common ground in many social circles. Nonetheless, you are very verbal and enjoy expressing you views to anyone who will listen. Writing and speaking both come easily for you.

Theory: in his human life, Alastor resisted the racist standards/discriminations, being part Creole and having a mother who wasn’t white. He most likely killed off anyone who had bullied him. It is possible that Alastor will redeem himself by working with Charlie and the other protagonists to stand up against the Archangels, overlords, and/or Lucifer. They who claim that “demons deserve to die” or the overlords who wish to brainwash the populace in Hell would face Alastor’s wrath. The name Alastor means “spirit of vengeance/tormentor,” after a figure who wanted justice for familial issues. It could be good or bad (tormenting innocent people or tormenting evil people, both of which Alastor would relish in.)The speaking/writing aspect could translate into him speaking in his radio broadcasts. The Aquarius symbol can represent water, electricity, or in his case, radio waves. Venus in Sagittarius

You are humorous, sociable and even a flirt. Outgoing and personable, you are very friendly and sometimes not too serious. There is a strong love of personal freedom in your nature that makes it a little hard for you to settle down to a restrictive sort of relationship. You feel more comfortable in a relationship when things go slowly, and your partner doesn't get too serious too fast. In fact, you would probably like it better if the relationship stayed casual, and pressures of serious love never emerged. Threats to your freedom make you very nervous. Deer need their freedom and Alastor is no exception. Throughout the show, we see him socializing and casually flirting with Charlie, Husk, and Vaggie with dramatic gestures, invasive physical touch and in Charlie’s case, dancing. He likely did the same thing with his companions as a human. His humorous side comes into play with his dad jokes and clown-like demeanor. Mars in Capricorn

You are hard-working, very determined. Since much of your energy is focused on your career, you have a tendency to become something of a workaholic. There is a drive to satisfy professional ambitions. This is likely to manifest with innate managerial skills and good old-fashioned common sense. You have strong material urges, but even stronger is the need to get status and recognition. To attain these ends, you use your energy in very practical and profitable ways. You have little use for laziness or a lack of ambition. Alastor is ambitious when it comes to getting what he wants, whether through charm or brutal force. He was likely a workaholic at his job as a radio host. In Hell, he conquered many parts of Hell, killing those who stood in his way “seemingly overnight.” His goal is to take over all of Hell and broadcast his victory, via overthrowing the king of Hell most likely. Not only does he enjoy the finer things in life and the afterlife, he also enjoys the recognition that comes with it, both admiration and fear from others.

Jupiter in Leo

Jupiter is in Leo in your chart. This placement of Jupiter suggests optimism, self confidence and generosity. You have much physical energy and a strong constitution. You have a dramatic flair in showing off your status and prosperity; you're big on grandeur in all forms. Your dignified demeanor inspires confidence and produces excellent leadership qualities. You expect appreciation and admiration in return for your benevolence, and you may seem a little offended if you don't always get it.

Being one of the most flamboyant characters in the show, Alastor lives for drama and showing off. Broadcasting his killings and conquests, both as a human and demon gives him great joy and affirms his powerful position. He appears dignified in nearly any situation, not fazed by Sir. Pentious’ attack nor when Charlie refuses to make a deal with him. With Jupiter in Leo, one could say that “theater is his religion/worldview.”“The world is a stage, and the stage is world of entertainment.” Saturn in Scorpio

Saturn in Scorpio adds much purpose and impatience to your nature. You demand much of yourself and of others. You approach responsibilities with an intensity of purpose that overwhelms people who won't carry their share of the load. You have terrific willpower and much energy. With your determination, it's hard to remain calm and reflective. Secretive and unforgiving, you resent it deeply when you are treated unfairly. Despite your strong drive for success, your approach is usually subtle and calculating.

Scorpio represents the supernatural, Saturn represents misery and death. With so much dark energy running through Alastor, it’s no surprise that he became known as the infamous Radio Demon. Alastor doesn’t like to be treated unfairly, both as a human and demon, and those who do would quickly meet their end. He does have a subtle approach to his plans, observing Charlie’s family portrait with great interest, summoning voodoo symbols when Charlie isn’t looking, watching Charlie sing on TV with fascination.He is demanding on Niffty, Husk, and Vaggie. He bribes Husk into greeting the guests and working at the stand with booze, summons Niffty to clean the hotel, and telling Vaggie to smile. “One never plans a murder out loud.” Uranus in Scorpio

Many of your peers born during the years when Uranus was in Scorpio are apt to bring about massive and often disruptive changes. The seeds of revolution and instability may take root from within this group. Uranus in Scorpio tend to be rebels. Their determination and strong will keep them heads above anyone else. But it may not be obvious at first. Uranus in Scorpio is more of a dark horse that you don’t see coming until the last second. That’s when they pounce.Disruptive changes included the 1929 stock market crash, the Great Depression, war, Alastor’s murders and his death by a bullet through his head.

Neptune in Gemini

Neptune in Gemini are in awe of the world and want to learn as much about it as possible. They are sociable and great communicators. But they and also be drawn into fantasy and illusion. They can also be taken advantage of if they’re not careful. Theory: this might explain Alastor creating illusions using his magic, as well as music, song, and dance, as Neptune rules the arts. Wanting to learn about the world could have been his desire as a child. He may have been taken advantage of in his human life, thus deciding to take advantage of others to make himself feel more secure.

Pluto in Gemini

People during the Gilded Age between 1882 and 1914 were often optimistic, fashionable, sociable and arrogant (describing Alastor and how he was brought up by society).Things in the world seemed to be improving, getting people positive to the extreme. However, things were getting bad and there were cracks in the worldview. The rich and the poor, duality is associated with Gemini. Constantly immersing themselves in deeper and more intense experiences than ever before, they reshape their thinking patterns continuously, ever evolving, ever becoming better. Love and affection are also very beneficial to their state, as it points to them they are appreciated and that it’s worth it to have a bright outlook for the future.

What could Alastor’s ascendant be?

Leo, Gemini, Capricorn, or Sagittarius Sun in Aquarius, Moon in Taurus The combination of your Sun and Moon signs produces a personality that people find easy to like and admire. This is not so much for what you do as it is for what you don't do. You’re never petty or small, and your appeal is to those in the higher as well as the lower rungs of society. You don't pester people with your worries and anxieties, but when others come to you, you drop everything to listen to their problems. You're interested in people, and like to be around them as an observer, but somehow maintaining a distance and not getting too involved individually. You rate people not on their position or rank, but simply on whether they interest you or not. You have a certain self-sufficiency about you, and you never feel that you have to put on airs to impress anyone. You have all it takes to be executive, except the desire that would be required. You seem to be devoid of any domineering or missionary spirit, willing to "live and let live." This combination blends the originality and independence of Aquarius, with the determination and powerful will of Taurus. These two fixed signs together give a will that is so strong that it may become obstinate and intransigent. Happiness can depend on assuring peacefulness and harmony in environment or home life, and in respect to human relationships.

Sun opposed Jupiter

The opposition of the Sun and Jupiter suggests an over-expanded ego. Jupiter deals with judgment, and with this aspect, the drive for significance is subject to being overemphasized. There is often a tendency toward extravagance and pretension. You can have too much optimism, and promise more than you can deliver. There is a continuous need to control urges to enter grandiose schemes and avoid ostentatious manners. The strength of this aspect lies in your ability to apply much charm to gain the approval of those you deal with in your daily affairs. There is often much talent and creativity associated with this aspect.

Sun trine Pluto

The Sun in your chart is trine Pluto giving you a highly evolved power of concentration and will. You have a way of mobilizing your talents to reach your goals. You have many leadership abilities, but you may not be so interested in leadership. You focus instead on your personal agenda. You often display an attitude of righteous indignation toward those who bend the truth and take advantage of others. You are an extremely perceptive person. There is much investigative skill associated with this aspect, and your insight in human motivations can serve you well in fields of behavior sciences. You may not always agree with people, but you understand them very well. Moon opposed Uranus

The Moon and Uranus form an opposition in your chart. This opposition suggests a conflict in your life regarding emotional matters. The Moon denotes emotions and Uranus produces unstable situations. Thus, you may be called on to deal with unpredictable emotions that may appear as nervous tension. It may require conscious effort on your part to maintain a responsible role in your domestic affairs.

Moon opposed Saturn

The opposition between the Moon and Saturn suggests a negative mental attitude and often a restriction of the spontaneous flow of ideas. Intellectual responses are somewhat slowed. Even if you are very bright, the inability to express self in other than a prosaic manner often hides real mental abilities. Thus, you are more contemplative than conversational, but nonetheless a good listener. Venus conjunct Mars

The conjunction between Venus and Mars shows a strong desire nature needing expression. You are the aggressor in relationships with the opposite sex, and you are ever eager and aggressive in making social contacts, as well. Artistic endeavors may be an active outlet for your hyperactive nature.

Moon square Mercury

The square formed between the Moon and Mercury suggests conflict between your mind and your emotions. You have difficulties making reasonable judgments because your feelings get in the way. Irrational decisions place you at odds with people sometimes, and you have the feeling that you're being treated unfairly when this may not be the case. You dwell on trivial personal matters and may have a real sense of insecurity.

Mercury square Uranus

Mercury in a square aspect with Uranus speeds the perceptions, and quickens the intuitions. At times you can be erratic in your drive to be independent. Your speech can become sarcastic and brusque, and mental energies can be wasted in temperament. You love a battle of wits and will take the other side of just about any argument just for the fun of it.

Mercury trine Neptune

The aspect between Mercury and Neptune suggests you're a practical idealist with an intuitive mind. Because your intuition is so highly developed, you understand what motivates others in their relationships with you. You have an artistic imagination and the skill to express it well. You can visualize objects or processes in your mind, much as though you were looking at a finished product. In this regard, your mind is very inspirational. You communicate effectively, and with a flair for dramatic delivery.

Mercury square Saturn The square between Mercury and Saturn suggests mental restraint and strong ties to traditional ways of thinking. Mental processes are on the pessimistic side. You worry too much, often about unimportant details. You have much concern about succeeding or failing to succeed. Your education may have been rigidly disciplined and conforming to traditional doctrine. There is a tendency because of this, to uphold the established order and resist change. Numerology

A = 1

L = 3

A = 1

S = 1

T = 2

O = 6

R = 9

1 + 3 + 1 + 1 + 2 + 6 + 9 =23

2 + 3 = 55 Destiny number

http://astrology-numerology.com/num-birthname.html

The number 5 Destiny suggests that the direction of growth in your lifetime will be toward becoming a harbinger of change, freedom, and progressive thought and action. The number 5 Destiny potentially endows you with the wonderful characteristic of multi-talents and versatility. You must develop in ways allowing you to do so many things well. The tone of the number 5 is the constructive use of freedom, and in your drive to attain this freedom, you must be the master of adaptability and change.As you mature, you must become good at presenting ideas and knowing how to approach people to get what you want. Naturally, this will give you an edge in any sort of selling game and spells easy success when it comes to working with people in most jobs. Whatever you do, you have the capacity to be clever, analytical, and a very quick thinker.You must learn to accept changes as they come along and avoid clinging to the outdated. Avoid rebellion, and focus on enlightenment and progression thinking that will benefit mankind. You life is broadened by gaining an understanding and an appreciation of all kinds of people.The Destiny 5 will be welcome in many varied professional environments. The public sector is a natural for you because you must administer to all peoples. The media, advertising, promotion, publicity, all types of selling, and entertainment are all potential fields that may interest you. Settling on a single career may not be in the cards for you, as you are in a continuous state of flux brought by constantly changing interests. Alastor: Jan 24 1896 Charlie: July 3 before 1830s Husk: age 60-75Died in 1970s1970-75 = 1895VA birthdate Dec 10 Dec 10 1895 Niffty: age 22Died in 1950s1950-22 = 1928 March 22 1928 Vaggie/Vagatha: died in 20142014 – 22 = 1992Voice actor birthdate May 10May 10 1992 Angel Dust/Anthony: died in his 30s 1947Voice actor birth date June 17 19951947 – 30 = 1917 June 17 1917

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel theory #alastor

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touchmycoat · 5 years

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book reflections: Confessions by Minato Kanae

Confessions

The heart of this book deals with revenge. It's a familiar theme: when a heinous crime has been committed, are criminal justice procedures ever enough? To what degree is revenge, personally exacted, justified?

Confessions complicates this question by throwing the spikes of tension between children and adults.

Children are such a fascinating subject of study—not to go too far into it, but “childhood” is very much a socially constructed phenomenon (my formative understanding of this is Kathryn Bond Stockton's The Queer Child, which narrates a history of adults-depicting-children, and the values and anxieties that reveals). Confessions asks the question, “what happens when children commit heinous crimes?”

The book begins with a monologue by middle school teacher Moriguchi on the last day of the semester. What first seems like philosophical rambling lays out a multi-layered social phenomenon.

Layer one: social inclination to believe that children are always the victim, never the perpetrator. This is outlined in the story about the teacher who was called out by a female middle school student seemingly in need of help one night, then accused of sexual assault. The student later confessed it was because she wanted revenge—the teacher had scolded her for chatting during class. The teacher was forced to reveal, under these circumstances, that she's trans, and that she had no designs on the student in question (which is certainly a narrative choice to think further about—the quickness of the anecdote and the inherent logic it's meant to convey, that simply by proving herself a woman, the teacher convinced her coworkers that she's exonerated of all suspicion. At least trans identity isn't being inherently linked with deviance?). The teacher was still fired, and the school instituted a new policy that should students ever call teachers for help after school, only male teachers can go to male students, female teachers to female students, etc.

(The narrative, in its determination to gesture to the incapability of institutions to fulfill human needs, uses this as the ignition point for Naoki's unhappiness with Moriguchi.)

Layer two: children receive public anonymity in the court of law, meaning punishment is dealt in secret, and presumably, they can return to society afterwards carrying none of their criminal history. This is outlined in the “Lunacy” case, where a young girl kills her own family with cyanide, after conducting a series of experiments on what poison was most effective. The case got plenty of sensationalist press coverage, but where is the girl now, Moriguchi asks. Has she gotten her punishment? Was justice ever exacted?

Layer three: sensationalist press coverages without embedded moral value only teach children the outliers. At worst, it teaches children that this is the way to get attention (which is precisely what Shuya and Mizuki took from the Lunacy case). Moral outrage loses ground to morbid fascination, becoming worse than an empty gesture; like the teacher who replaces Moriguchi, posturing as some beacon of moral justice is merely for self-satisfaction.

Maybe, more accurately, the book wants to know, “how do you punish a child?” Some, like Moriguchi's not-husband, like Moriguchi insinuates the juvenile criminal justice system to be, answer, “you don't.” Children are products of their environment, so the ones who should be punished are the teachers (as posited by the “Lunacy” case and the chemistry teacher who got all the public blame for giving the child access to cyanide). Alternatively, children are still learning and growing. Moriguchi's not-husband was quite the problem child himself, but he turned things around and became the most truly moral figure of this entire book. He believes in the capacity for change in children.

But Moriguchi doesn't care much about that. Shuya and Naoki plotted to and killed her four-year-old daughter. She wants revenge.

What makes her fascinating as the central figure of this book is her clarity of mind. She isn't someone who's lost herself to vengeance; she systematically identifies the flaws (or what she thinks of as flaws) in the juvenile criminal justice system and then chooses her own revenge. On one hand we have the empathetic response to a mother losing her child, and the willingness to let a fictional character play out, for emotional catharsis, something we might not necessarily endorse in real life. On the other hand we have the unease of her turning this calculatedness toward children: Boy A and Boy B, middle school students.

(Cue comparative cinema studies of the 2010 Confessions film and 2007's Boy A. Oh, apparently Boy A is based off of a novel as well?)

Oh, and then she does take her revenge. She says she's laced Boy A and Boy B's milk cartons with HIV-infected blood.

And now, in what is the true brilliance of the book, Confessions starts to give us other perspectives. We get Mizuki the perfect student, who is first victimized by the hoard of angry classmates (and it's such a consistent literary and real life theme I guess, the cruelty of a mass of children). We get a peak into her questionability in a somewhat tender moment though: why does she just have a poison-testing kit lying around? In this section, we also get a protagonistic portrayal of Shuya; it's not that we doubt Moriguchi's version of the psychopathic-child-inventor Shuya, but now he's the martyr (as per the title of the section). He quietly suffers the bullying of the class, tells Mizuki his negative blood test, and becomes “genuinely” happy at Mizuki's compliments, saying all he's ever wanted was that acknowledgement.

Mizuki also bares her teeth against the new teacher, accusing him of being the cause of Naoki's mother's murder. At this point, it was almost narratively heroic, after we've suffered the annoyance (through her perspective) of the self-important teacher. But afterwards, in Shuya's section, we hear her confess to wanting to poison that teacher for “ruining Naoki's life.” She's killed by Shuya before we hear more, but might that have played out? How much do we fear the mental criminality of children?

We also get Naoki's sister and mother's perspective. We get a doting mother insistent on the innocence of her child, making excuse after excuse for Naoki, even when Naoki's fully confessed to throwing Moriguchi's daughter into the pool. How much responsibility does a parent have toward her child? Does she hold ultimate faith in him, stand staunchly at his side in support of him? Does she do right by the society (and in theory by her kid) by turning in her own child? We were meant to be annoyed by her cruel insistence to blame everyone but her son, but we see in Naoki's section right after that his sanity relied so much on this idea that his mother unconditionally loves him. He believes that, once he's gone to jail for his crimes, he can do his time, reform and return to society as long as his mother is there to love and support him.

Of course, that's when his mother decides to kill both him and herself—a murder-suicide for her failure as a mother.

(It really does haunt me, thinking about Naoki and his stymied possibilities. He killed Moriguchi's daughter in a moment of callous spite, motivated by a desire for revenge against Shuya's dismissal of his overtures of friendship. He lived in such a tortured state for a long time, a child grappling with the terror of impending death by himself, terrified of infecting those who love him. His instincts, when he emerged into the real world again, was to weaponize his “infected” blood. Yet he ended up on such a hopeful incline—mother's love with save me. All this happens as his mother spirals downwards, coming to terms with her own child's monstrosity. The book seeds Naoki's redemption, but takes the sprout away before we can see whether or not it carries infection.)

Finally, we get Shuya's story. I fully bought into it, as I was expected to. The book gestures multiple times at his ability to pen a convincing narrative of innocence. Or at least, a narrative of the anti-hero. He walks us through his absolute love for his mother, the engineering genius. She gave up her career for him, but then turned that dissatisfaction into abuse. Abuse turned back to gestures of love when she was found out, divorced, and forced to move away, and Shuya held deeply on to his faith that he will be reunited with her again. The desire of a child for his mother's love motivated the murder of Moriguchi's daughter, the planting of a bomb at the school festival. It ended up killing Mizuki as well.

Moriguchi bookends this tale, tying up loose threads. Yes she absolutely put the blood in their milk, but it was her not-husband that swapped out the infected cartons. Yes, she wanted to destroy Shuya and Naoki's lives; it won't bring her joy and it won't bring her daughter back, but nonetheless she wants her vengeance on the two boys. The possibility that she was only scaring Naoki and Shuya, that she threatened to but never did anything actually immoral, is completely swept away. She tells Shuya she visited his mother and told her all of his crimes. Baiting Shuya with what his mother said, she instead tells him that the bomb he planted had been deconstructed at the school and reconstructed in his mother's lab instead. Making the bomb and detonating it had both been Shuya's choice.

Shuya had killed her daughter. Now she's killed his mother.

(But did she? I have no doubt she did, but this book doesn't deal in absolutes.)

So—what are we left with? A psychopathic child inventor-slash-murderer motivated by a desire for maternal love? A girl who admired another murderous young murderess and wanted a turn of her own with poisons, murdered before she could prove herself either way? A cruel and reactionary accomplice who came to the conclusion that he had done something wrong but that he could repent? A mother who refused her son's criminality until the very last moment, and believed they were both beyond salvation? Another mother who took justice into her own hands by ruining the lives of two young boys who killed her daughter in cold blood?

...Is there such a thing as cold blood in this novel? Every “cold” act was done with passionate motive: Shuya wanted to prove himself to his mother, Naoki wanted to prove himself better than Shuya, Moriguchi wanted to give her daughter proper vengeance. HIV is the symbol here of criminality, first given, then saved from, then weaponized by both boys. There's so much, with the blood! Naoki coming to terms with the infection he didn't have made it possible for him to confess the truth, to start himself on the path toward salvation (even if it only lasted a few pages). Shuya embracing the infection right away because if he were dying his mother would surely come back; losing that possibility of death led to him befriending, then of course in the end murdering Mizuki.

Shuya plotted the murder of Moriguchi's daughter, but wasn't actually responsible for the cause of death. Naoki was the accomplice, but at the last moment, made the choice to actually extinguish her daughter's life. This murky twist of motion and motive (Kathryn Bond Stockton!) would prevent them from getting the full punishment of homicide in a juvenile criminal justice court, as Moriguchi explained. Now, because of the blood, they've both committed an inarguable murder with their own hands. Naoki loses his mother and his entire world order that revolved around her unconditional love for him. Shuya's murderous inventions are never allowed to succeed, and he never gets to “prove” his genius, until it was used to kill his own mother, the one person he wanted acknowledge from and to live with. The punishments are incredibly cruel—but are they justified?

#kanae minato #confessions #confessions (2010)#this is really an insane book lmfao #i loved every construction of it and could probably #spend a lot more time constructing an academic essay bout it #comparisons of it to gone girl are fucking right #the same complicated treatment of women and criminality #but this one is a lot more haunting tbh cause it deals with children #in such a full and complicatedly emotional way #spoilers

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alexanderlightweight · 5 years

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Dancing in the Dark

Flufftober Prompt/Day 1: Dancing

The air was bitingly cold, sharp and fresh and the sky so clear that even here, in the middle of the night they needed no light other than the stars and moon.

The valley stretched for what seemed like forever and ever until it reaches the distant edge of the forest. Their own private and protected world and Alec hummed to himself as his fingers intertwined with Magnus’. Magic coating and protecting their skin so that they could hold hands without fear of the cold.

“It’s beautiful,” he said softly. It felt as though it would be almost sacrilegious, to speak too loudly and break the peaceful and ethereal mood around them. The moonlight cast a glow to the snow covered ground and it reminded him of Magnus’ magic.

Calm and blue and endless.

“It is,” Magnus replied and something in his voice made Alec look towards him, catching glowing amber eyes watching him adoringly. He stepped forward, pressing close and Magnus’ free hand reached up to pet and tangle with the tufts of hair sticking out from his hat. “This place is near timeless, Alexander. As are you now. The years will touch you both but because of magic, it will never show on the outside.”

Magnus retreated, just for a moment and Alec felt himself ache in response to his husband’s sudden melancholy.

A single blue orb formed in his husband's palm and then Magnus touched it to the ground. What had once been a naturally glowing valley turned iridescent as it lit up with magic and power.

“Just like this place, the years will gather inside you, Alexander. As untouched and unchanged as this valley looks, even from hundreds of years ago, if you know where to look you can find the magical residue of the centuries that have passed. There are still scars and wounds and at times even loneliness. This place has witnessed war and birth and love and heartbreak, just like you will. As beautiful as it is, as you are, it still has to bear witness to the horrors of the world and weather the continual upheaval of time.”

“Magnus,” Alec said softly and he brought their joint hands to his lips and placed a soft kiss to his husband’s knuckles. “Forty years and I’ve never regretted joining you in immortality. Sometimes I’ll wonder what would be different, how things would have changed or if losing people would hurt less. But there’s no guarantee for any of it except that as an immortal I get to be here. The most important part of my life will always be to be by your side.”

It didn’t surprise him or fill him with insecurities as it once had, for Magnus to bring up what he sometimes considered as Alec’s sacrifice. Alec knew that even though Magnus was happy that they were immortal together, his husband also had deeply seeded insecurities. Fears and worries that he’d tentatively expressed at the beginning of their joint immortality and then hidden and brushed aside when Alec hadn’t changed his mind.

Those thoughts hadn’t surfaced again until the first long fight they’d had -a decade into Alec’s immortality- and Alec had taken a few days after their argument to wander in his thoughts and to plan. It was what he did, in life and in his relationships. He made battle-plans for either an apology or possibly a counter argument, or both depending on the disagreement. Now, years later he couldn’t even remember the reason for their fight, just that of course he’d returned to Magnus and that it had been more quickly than his husband had apparently been expecting.

Once again, after their reconciliation, Magnus had hidden his fears behind a bright smile, teasing kisses and an elaborate dinner. Yet a decade of loving each other and of trusting each other had betrayed him and Alec had known something was still wrong. From the way Magnus held him, stronger than usual, to the fact that his kisses were even more fervent and his control on his magic so frayed that they hadn’t left the loft for the two days his glamour had refused to come back.

Finally, Magnus had admitted his worries and concerns. Things that he had thought might be too selfish to bring up when it was Alec who was leaving his mortality behind. Fears that he wouldn’t be enough, that decades down the road resentment and bitterness would grow, or that beyond that, Alec would grow disenchanted with immortality and their relationship. Things that Magnus didn’t quite believe but that bothered him nonetheless. The horrible and lingering fear that Alec might come to regret committing what could now be centuries to one person, after only a couple decades of life.

Understanding had warred with exasperation. They trusted each other but even trust couldn’t fix the fears and insecurities that rose in their minds and emotions. All of Alec’s love wasn’t enough to heal Magnus’ past hurts or future concerns and it had taken years for Alec to be okay with that. His own insecurities interfering with logic until enough time had passed and he understand that it wasn’t a personal failing, just a normal factor of being alive.

After all, they were all valid concerns.

Even though there were parts of Alec that had wanted to brush Magnus’ worries aside as absurd, he knew anything that caused Magnus’ forehead to crease with worry and his sleep to be unsettled was more than worth addressing. Every little fear that haunted his husband was worth defending against and alleviating. Just as Magnus had always been patient and encouraging through his troubles with him, Alec was the same in return. Consoling his husband and reminding him that they would work through whatever problems immortality brought, just as they had worked through all the other issues of their relationship.

After all, they’d found their way through the centuries between their ages. Survived the wars that they’d both fought in, even when on opposite sides. They had overcome hatred and bigotry and withstood and worked through the turmoils of a new and complex relationship, one filled with sacrifices and enough love to withstand Edom. Time was nothing compared to that but an opportunity. A chance to make more memories and overcome future trials and let their love grow even more.

“Dance with me?” Alec asked and he pressed close to Magnus, grinning with soft, loving humor as he felt Magnus respond and place a hand to the small of his back.

“Well,” his husband said softly, a sniffle hidden behind his smile, “at least there’s one thing to be said for immorality.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“That after nearly half a century I’ve finally taught you how to dance outside of my dreams.” Magnus said and Alec’s outraged denial was cut off as Magnus twirled him in his arms and then dipped him low, laughter in his un-glamoured eyes and the sorrow that had followed them on their midnight adventure dispersing into the air.

The snow beneath their feet never gave out, molding to their soles as they danced under the moon and stars.

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twitchesandstitches · 4 years

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some crossthicc harley and ivy thoughts

i’ve gotten some poison ivy related asks aND, i’ve been watching the new Harley Quinn show and you better believe i love it. so, some thoughts on IVy and Harley in this AU:

Harley herself has been suggested in some currently unfinished WIPs to be an elf, possibly a wood elf. However, switching bodies is fairly simple for the powerful characters in this AU so she could just as easily be a hyena-mutant, a tiefling, a cute vorcha-asari hybrid, or anything like that. Generally, she will have some hyena based mods, such as sharp teeth and a stripey mane running down her back that she ties with cute decorations; when she powers up, these mutate into more extreme forms, such as massive bone-crushing teeth.

Harley’s powers are literally cartoon physics personified; her body is incredibly adaptable and elastic, and she can transform herself in ways similar to old school cartoons. She can blow air into her thumb and pump up her arm into a massive bludgeon, she can slam into objects and bounce off like she was made of rubber. She can actually treat her body like its made out of rubber, bouncing off objects and deflecting attacks, and stretch incredibly far! This power is very extensive, and effectively Harley can freely warp herself and reality around her in cartoony, chaotic ways... but only if its done in a funny way. she basically weaponizes cartoon physics and the world around her. She can have even more explicitly cartoony traits if desired; sometimes she produces not milk, but an ink-like substance. (Regardless it has a potent kick but is helpful for dealing with mental problems. If you don’t mind some weird hallucinations!)

Harley’s personality draws on some of the more aggressive and independent interpretations of her; she’s EXTREMELY chaotic and impulsive, and has a fairly vicious ego at times. She is extremely loyal, for good and ill (as her victimization by the Joker will show), and she has a real mean streak once she feels she has a reason to turn on someone. She is, nonetheless, a brilliant psychologist with deep insight into those around her, and she freely exploits this in her role as the team handler of the Task Force X cell she is a part of. It’s also pretty clear that her mindset is... weird. its not so much that she’s putting on a role, but that her mind now consists of a few extreme elements who take charge and direct her based on what her best need is.

Poison Ivy’s species is also deliberately ambigious; its assumed that she was most likely an asari, but she’s a chaotic blend of various species now, and regardless of her current body, she is always partially plant based and clearly some kind of plant being. She can be a flourana, for sure, but its often hybridized with something else; this doesn’t appear to be a conscious choice on her part, either, but a consequence of her abilities.

Ivy’s powers, as per canon, allow her to control plants, speed up their growth and direct them in various ways; turning trees into living plant constructs, turning ordinary plants into gigantic and monstrous versions of themselves, or growing vines to use as tentacles against her foes. this applies even to the plant matter of her own body. She also has a few unique abilities particular to this version of her; she naturally produces a potent poison from her body, causing her plump lips to produce a toxin that has as many nasty or benign traits as she wants, and her massive breasts produce a potent sap that is useful in industrial processes, is incredibly nutritious, and is a sort of universal fertilizer. it also is very mutagenic, and tends to cause plant transformations.

most importantly, ivy’s powers work on a planetary scale; she can alter the plant life of entire planets, introducing mutations to entire ecosystems and species at once. In theory, she could destroy worlds with ease, erasing all animal life. In practice, this has benign aspects; she can terraform planets VERY easily using plants as a vector, can uplift plants into intelligent beings, and her extremely fertile body can also create life and Energon within herself, so she can populate worlds entirely on her own. She’s thus almost permanently gravid, and one of her roles is recreating extinct species.

Ivy draws largely from her recent portrayals; in spite of her seductress image, she’s actually a fairly sarcastic, down-to-earth practical person who tends to find the weaponizing of sexuality as a regrettable asset she’d rather not deal with. (if she genuinely does her sexy seductress thing, its a sign she really likes you, she’s just got a weird way of expressing it.) she is first and foremost a scientist, and is fascinated by new discoveries. she tends to refer to the Task Force’s labors as the Work, and she loves Harley deeply, and started because of her.

Ivy is rarely seen actively on the Task Force’s squads because despite her immense power, she’s more comfortable doing the groundwork; she is a researcher and a world-maker, but she’s not adverse to being mission control, or from directly fighting if she HAS to.

If absolutely necessary, Ivy can transform into a monster form that some suggest is divine in nature; this turns her into a massive plant monster girl that closely resembles her mutant plant form in Batman Vs the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; a towering beast with venus flytrap limbs, a lower body resembling roots and vines. Her upper body is farily humanoid, but extremely thick and hyper curvy, with red vines billowing out into combat forms, and organic missile launchers swelling up from her arms and shoulders to spit seeds at foes; with her powers, these seeds can function as explosives, sprout into constricting traps, grow into carnivore plants that swalllow enemies whole, or deploy her toxins in a gas form.

monster ivy has elements of venus flytraps, pitcher plants, mangrove trees, and other such plant life hybridized into her current body’s design; she tends to adopt this form full time when off the clock, and is usually so massive she comprises her own ecosystem. Even other giants are lost upon her massive lengths; she comprises an island-continent unto herself in the realm of the Task Force!

#queued #crossthicc au #twitchy!dc #twitchy!harley quinn #twitchy!poison ivy

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flipperbrain · 6 years

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The Deckhand and the Dagger

CHAPTER 13: THE KRAKEN

Summary: An evil kraken has attacked our deckhand, the fight and its aftermath threaten to tear the lovers apart.

[Ao3]

Hook tightens his choking grip and slowly backs out of the icy water, his arm is shaking with cold and effort to lift the huge animal and asphyxiate it simultaneously; his eyes remain locked on Jones every second searching for signs of life. The deckhand’s head lolls from side to side, his arms and legs hang listlessly like a doll as the creatures tentacles coil and cinch around his waist and jerk him about, using his body like a shield to protect its grotesque shape from a frontal attack.

Hook is furious and roars again at the gigantic kraken, ‘Let him go or I swear by all the Gods, I will tear you limb from limb!’ The beast squeals in pain, its free tentacles flail in the air slapping at Jones’ face and torso as Hook looks on in horror, ’stop it, STOP!!’ He screams and clenches his fist.

The demon begins emitting a garbled noise that sounds something like language, and suddenly Hook can hear it speak in his mind; its voice a grating screech that causes him to grimace and screw up his face with loathing.

‘Your desire to DEsTROY me will FAIL this day Dark One, as will your fecKLESS mission,’ it wails evilly.

‘Why are you here in this place!! Jones has caused you no harm, release him and take me instead,’ Hook shouts, ‘I vow that I will not fight you!’

‘I do not WANT you! I am driven by the darKNESS as are you my VENGEFUL friend, and I would have you BRoKEN and ruined and cripPLED by loss; the seeds of MADNESS sown once again. I will not murder your LOVER outright, but I will TAKE him from you nonetheless,’ it cackles insanely then rotates to expose the maw at its center.

A massive black beak protrudes from its slick cylindrical siphon, it opens its jaws and bites down on the deckhand’s shoulder slicing deeply through the muscle and bone. Ink spews out in a cloud of black, soaking Jones’ body, then the monster rears back and flings him like a bullet toward Hook.

He has no other option than to release the fiend and use his sorcery to stop the deckhand’s flight, capturing him in a stream of magic he lowers him gently to the sand. The kraken’s maniacal laughter rings in Hook’s head along with its final words before it disappears in a swirling vortex of pitch, ‘The darkness CANNOT be defeated.’

Hook runs to kneel beside his love, and without thinking he touches him and is instantly paralyzed by the squid ink that coats his unmoving form. His companion still breathes, but he is frozen in place and forced to look on helplessly at Jones’ wan face and blue lips, and watch as the blood pours out from the ragged gash at his shoulder onto the beach. He strains at his bonds to no avail, he is unable to give aid until the effects of the ink wear off… and he has never hated himself and his dark countenance more than in this moment. He is to blame for this. Tears stream down his face, ’Hold on my sweet, I beg you do not leave me,’ he pleads.

Useless and disgusted by his earlier behavior he sobs like a child over his best friend. He is stricken by the thought that his harsh words might be the last Jones will ever hear, his pathetic apology notwithstanding. What a worthless excuse for a man he is. This simple brave human who lays unconscious before him has the strength of legions, yet he with all of his magical prowess and feigned command of his own will, whines and cries incapable of controlling himself. He struggles to move his arms and when he cannot he bellows at the sky like a cornered animal.

——————

It is so dim, his vision is clouded by mist. ‘My love I am lost, where are you?’ Jones whimpers, ‘I cannot see you, please will you not help me?’ He stands with difficulty and struggles to gain his balance then blindly takes tentative steps forward; the ground is oddly soft and uneven beneath his feet, he stumbles but catches himself and reaches out with his hand to feel his way through the blackness. He is weak and cold to the bone.

Something brushes his face, like strands of hair or threads of a spiderweb and he claws at it to swipe it away, the excruciating pain in his shoulder blossoms into an unbearable agony that takes his breath away. A burning sensation spreads across his chest and down his arm, his fingertips are on fire, this must be more than just a wound he thinks.

He lurches on but without warning his feet will no longer obey him, the world tilts sideways and he falls to his hands and knees, so ill and disoriented he begins to gag and retch, vomiting water and bile onto the undulating damp surface; its texture feels strangely like skin but it is too dark to see. He crawls not knowing where he seeks to go, only wishing to escape this frightening place… but the pain is too acute. He keels over onto his side and curls into a ball, what little light that remains closes to a pin point and is extinguished.

——————

Hook finally breaks free of the ink’s prison and curses loudly in frustration but acts quickly, waving his hand to strip Jones of his clothing and clean the black smudges from his skin. He closes his eyes and a healing beam emanates from his palm; his hand passes back and forth over the wound on Jones’ shoulder for some length of time, but it will not close, and he does not wake.

He shakes his head at this failure but continues along the deckhand’s body, focusing on his ribs and mid-section; red circular marks left behind by the beast’s suckers clamped around him like a vise stripe his ice cold skin. Hook works until he has healed what he can and gathers his love into his arms, transporting them both back to the house with a flick of his wrist. He ignites a raging fire in the bedroom hearth and places the deckhand tenderly onto to bed then covers him with warm blankets. Jones is feverish and mumbling his name, Hook takes his hand and he cries out in pain, groaning at his touch.

What devilry is this that his magic cannot cure? He inspects the edges of Jones’ injury, though the bleeding has slowed, his torn flesh is splayed open and tinged with green. Thin trails branch out from the bite like a network of tributaries carrying the evil toxin through his skin, and he has no means or knowledge of how to cure it. Jones moans softly, his color is pallid but his heartbeat and breathing appear to be steady for the time being. Hook bends to kiss him and brush a lock of hair aside on his forehead, his mind whirling through possible solutions.

What lasting damage would this venomous bite do? He has never heard of such a thing and he thought he had heard every yarn. He supposes those caught in the clutches of such a demon have not survived to tell their tale, after centuries at sea he would surely have known such a story. He conjures clean bandages and a bowl of warm water then carefully cleans the wound with a soft cloth, Jones twists and strains under his ministrations but it cannot be helped. ’I am sorry for causing you further distress my love, I will find a way to fix you.’ He says quietly.

Hook gently wraps the deckhand’s shoulder, winding the cloth around his chest and under his arm to secure it, the wound must be covered and kept dry until he can find a cure. He prays he can eventually repair his ravaged limb, he will lose much use of it if he cannot. His blood boils looking at Jones handsome face distorted by pain, he would scorch the world and lay waste to all who cross his path if he allowed himself to unleash his wrath at this insult… but Jones would not want it, and he will not give in to his baser instincts.

——————

He hears a knock at the front door and scowls then transports himself to answer it, he is irritated by the interruption, but relieved to see Garrett standing on the stone slab outside with a letter in his hand. ‘A message for you Captain, a rider delivered it while you were out this morning’ he says, his eyes widen at Hook’s disheveled appearance. He is still wet from his dive into the lake, patches of sand cling to his coat and covers his breeches. The kohl he uses to rim his eyes is streaked down his cheeks, his hair hangs in lank strands on his forehead. Hook absently rakes his trembling fingers through his dark mane and takes the letter from him.

’Sir, are you quite alright?’ the caretaker asks uncertainly.

Hook’s head snaps up at the question, he is overwhelmed by the events of the day and it did not occur to him to ask the caretaker for help and he is grateful for his inquiry and concern. ’J-Jones has been injured…’ he stutters, ‘poisoned by a kraken’s bite and I cannot heal him! He needs help… a doctor perhaps and an apothecary. Can you fetch them immediately? Money is no object Garrett, and time is of the essence…’ Hook begs, his words tumbling out rapidly. He is shaking now and beside himself with anxiety.

‘A kraken?!? By the Gods, how in the world… in the lake??’ he asks with disbelief but he can see tears well up in Hook’s eyes and thinks better of more queries or lingering for answers, he accepts the word of his employer no matter how improbable it seems. The Captain has never been false and certainly not crazy in all of the years he has known him, and he will not question his wits now. He reaches out to pat Hook’s arm, ‘Of course Sir, I will head into town forthwith.’

‘Please hurry, Garrett, he is in a bad way,’ Hook pleads.

Garrett nods and rushes off to saddle his mare and gallop toward the village. He has never seen the Captain so distraught, it is quite clear the situation is extremely urgent. Jones is the kindest of men, and they do appear to be very happy together… the Captain’s temperament is wholly changed by his company.

——————

Jones opens his eyes and blinks several times, wondering if he has lost his sight; He can see nothing but black. The air seems thick, cold yet humid and it is difficult to breathe. He recalls being pulled from Hook’s arms and submerged beneath the freezing waters of the lake, his body bumping along through the shallows then into the deep. It happened so suddenly, only a fleeting memory of his lover and the terror on his face remains in his mind’s eye, then shocking cold and a suffocating grip. He lifts his head, the side of his face is wet and sticky with slime, or blood, or both, and he feels dizzy. So dizzy.

The pain flares anew and he winces, clenching his jaw against it. What is this place and where is Hook?! He calls out to him again, ‘Hook!’ He says weakly, ‘My love, please answer me…’ but he does not respond and Jones is dreadfully afraid of the reason; he is dead and this is hell. An eternity of unending pain and darkness is his punishment for all of his ill deeds… but what deeds exactly? He cannot put his finger on any past action so wicked that he would be damned for the doing of them.

His mind is bombarded by images of his childhood and the sound of William’s laughter. He can see his sweet freckled face shimmering before him, and the memory of his own hand clutching pale fingers for the last time before his friend was taken away to lie on his deathbed… ‘My dearest darling, do not despair. I will see you again,’ he promised and smiled a tiny smile, but it was an oath that he could not keep.

Perchance the other schoolboy’s slurs were correct and they were an aberration. Their closeness unnatural and deserving of ridicule; and the beginning of a greater crime, the physical and emotional love he shares with Hook. Now everyone and everything that he has ever cared for has been ripped away, and he is condemned to exist here alone forever.

He closes his eyes again and tries to shut out the visions that plague him.

‘No!’ He states firmly into the dark, their love is good and beautiful and strong… and by the Gods he is worthy of it. It is only fear and this sickness he feels that causes him to think such thoughts, the darkness manipulates and tries to trick and confuse, and he must steel himself against it!! If Hook is still alive, he will be searching for him of this he is certain. And if he is not, well, he cannot conceive of that possibility just now. He will wait for him until his last breath.

——————

Hook hears Jones’ weak cry and snaps his fingers, appearing at his bedside in and instant. ‘I am here my sweet, can you hear me?’ The poison has spread further, his arm and chest are nearly covered with green vein-like branches and now they have crawled up his neck and begun to creep across his face. Hook applies his healing magic again, hoping beyond hope that it will do some good, but his attempts are in vain, there is no reversal that he can observe.

He has little confidence that any doctor can cure this if he cannot, but he will allow them to try. A witch or a wizard is needed. And a powerful one. He transports himself to the library and begins to peruse various titles, there are several books on poisons, potions and elixirs and a large volume that discusses spells and sorcery. His collection does not include many topics that do not deal with the real world, at least as he once saw it, and unfortunately he has not had the need to add such information in the years since the darkness invaded him.

He gathers the selections and is set to return and sit at the desk to search for an answer, when he sees the hilt of the dagger jutting out from between two books of poetry. He shakes his head at Jones hiding place but leaves it be and adds Shelley to his stack, then whisks himself back to the bedroom. ‘Where is Garrett?!’ He sighs heavily, impatient for this latest traumatic chapter to end and his love to return to wellness, Jones has been sorely abused in their time together.

The caretaker’s name sparks a recollection, the letter he delivered is damp and crumpled in the pocket of his coat thrown over the chair. He stands to retrieve it and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he is shocked by his unkempt visage and it is no wonder Garrett was taken aback.

With a gesture he dons a dry blouse and breeches then reaches for the decanter on the desk, splashing a tall draught of brandy into a crystal tumbler on the adjacent tray. He takes a long pull from it welcoming the burn of the liquid as he swallows, then breaks the seal on the envelope and skims its contents. It is a reply from the Admiral of the fleet, Jones has been fully discharged from service. The words on the page are grudging to be sure but the Admiral did not mistake his threats and did as he requested. Signed and sealed by the man himself. Choking back tears, he turns to Jones and whispers, ‘You are free, my sweet.’

——————

Hook sits lost in his study but tense and alert to Jones’ every movement. The gentle rap on the doorframe and the sound of Garrett’s voice startles him from his research, ‘Captain? The doctor and his assistant are here along with the Apothecary,’ he says then bows slightly and takes his leave. ’Thank you Garrett,’ hook calls after him.

A tall man in his elder years introduces himself as Dr. Martin Fleming, his nurse and oldest daughter Anne trails behind with Mr. Flores the pharmacist.

Hook shakes the hands of each but wastes no time explaining the harrowing events that took place earlier that day. His tale is greeted by huffs of skepticism and he struggles to keep his temper in check.

‘You do know who I am do you not?’ He says sharply, ‘you would be wise to heed my words, my mood could be quite unpredictable this day. Now go about your work and I would warn you to be thorough and use every method at your disposal to cure him.’ He says finally before moving toward Jones’ still form.

He lovingly pets his hair and presses the back of his hand against his cheek, ‘My sweet, these kind people are here to help you,’ he says softly then shoots a piercing glance at the group who now huddle together at the foot of the bed. ‘I will be nearby if you need me,’ he assures him then snaps his fingers to stoke the fire. ‘I will leave you now to examine him but I am only a whisper away,’ he looks pointedly at the frightened trio whilst gathering the books on the desk, then disappears in a cloud of red smoke.

——————

Hook pours himself another brandy and takes a sip, he knew a physician was a fruitless endeavor, they do not believe him and clearly have no earthly understanding of this poison. He tosses back the alcohol and looks at the empty crystal tumbler in his hand. The glints of light sparkling on its surface remind him of the night before, lying together naked and sated, the flames dancing in his lover’s eyes. How he wishes he could turn back time and return to that happy moment. ‘Damn that beast to hell!’ he shouts and throws the glass in anger and frustration, smashing it in the fire.

Sophia appears from the kitchen, unnerved by his exclamation and the sound of breaking glass, ‘¡Dios mío!’ she gasps, standing with her arms akimbo. Hook slumps onto the sofa and glances at her, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with sorrow… and her heart breaks for him. Garrett had haltingly explained the dubious circumstances behind Jones’ illness before he left, ’The master of the house is quite tense and worried, perhaps a hearty stew for this evening’s meal?’ he suggested before exiting.

She is not so quick to dismiss Hook’s account as the others have been. She has witnessed much in her life, some incredible feats in the past few days alone performed by the man suffering near the fireplace, she was a true believer in magic even before taking on this temporary position. Her husband’s life was saved by a witch when no doctor could help him.

She laments that Jones is unwell, she had immediately liked him and his youthful delight for her food; he crept into the kitchen when her back was turned to steal a morsel at every opportunity. She laughed and shooed him away but was not-so-secretly pleased by his antics, he grinned at her and whispered ‘blueberry muffins’ as he scampered out of the reach of her spoon. She can imagine his glee when he saw them this morning, and she would see him smile again.

She considers a moment then walks over to the cart in the corner, pours another brandy and hands it to Hook, then picks up the small broom next to the hearth and begins the sweep up the shards of glass on the floor. ‘Do not bother with that,’ he sighs then waves his hand and the pieces disappear, ‘Help yourself to a drink if you wish it.’

It is not appropriate for a cook to indulge and be so familiar with an employer but she does not care, it was his invitation to partake after all. She prefers whiskey however, and splashes two fingers from a second decanter into a glass for herself. It is smooth as silk on her tongue and must be very expensive indeed. She would help him if she can and decides to offer it if he will listen. She breathes deeply then sits next to Hook on the small couch and begins to relate the story of La hechicera.

Tagging some lovelies, as always if you would like to be tagged or would rather not be tagged in the future please let me know!

@laschatzi @hollyethecurious @cocohook38 @suwya @artistic-writer @ashley-knightingale @ilovemesomekillianjones @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard

#HookxHook #hookxhook ff #dark!hook #deckhand hook #The Deckhand and The Dagger Ch13 #slash #angst #hurt comfort #kraken attack #kj ff

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