#and them being properly ancient and weird and murderous | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

five-rivers · 3 years

Text

DP/HP twin fic chapter 1

This would be the first chapter of that DP/HP twin fic... I need a name for it before I post it elsewhere... I can’t think of a name... help... @ladylynse I blame you for this entirely. It’s 3k and they haven’t even met yet. What am I doing.

Here’s the thing. Danny had encountered wizards before. And witches. Multiple times.

He was not a fan.

Burning, or other forms of murder, hadn’t ever crossed his mind as a solution to them, even when Freakshow decided to derail his life yet again. Still. There were only so many times you could stumble upon members of a certain group zapping people with bargain-bin neuralyzers and leaving hours’ worth of uncertain memories in their wake before you got sort of fed up.

Memory erasure was great in fiction. Not so much in real life.

Danny got it. He’d erased a couple of memories himself. Well, a lot of memories, depending on how one took the Reality Gauntlet incident. But as far as motivations went, ‘trying not to be dissected by the government’ was a lot different from ‘we can’t be bothered to be discreet about our sporting events and we think it’s funny that our venue managed to attract ghost hunters when these magicless fools have never seen a real ghost in their lives so we’re going to mess with them.’

Yeah. Danny was still annoyed about that. Also, about their reactions to him when he crossed an invisible line that was apparently supposed to repulse ‘no-majs.’

That was before getting into Desiree, one of the few witches to become a proper ghost. According to her, witches and wizards had a different system, and it was rare for magic users to enter the Infinite Realms. Dora’s dragon amulet had also been enchanted prior to her death, although that could have been a ghost’s work, and Dora had never shared where it had come from.

Anyway, the point was that Danny knew about magic as an entity separate from ghost powers and at least a small subset of the living beings that relied upon it.

So, when the woman who dressed like she was living a century ago and smelled of magic walked up to his house, he’d braced himself for a fight. He wasn’t going to let his parents be ‘obliviated’ again. They were oblivious enough as it was!

But. No. She’d come in, no wand in sight (although Danny still wasn’t entirely sure those were necessary) and sat down on the couch, hands primly folded, ignoring all of the… rather questionable features of the Fenton living room.

To add to the weirdness, his parents had been expecting her. They knew her by name. They wanted Danny to be in the room to meet her.

“Edna,” Jack said, with a strained smile. “How have you been?”

“Well enough,” said Edna, her eyes flicking to where Danny stood in the kitchen door, watching. “And this must be young Deneb Alased, correct?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, frowning. There weren’t a whole lot of people who knew his legal name, let alone his middle name. So, who was this? “I am.” He looked at his parents, willing them to clear up whatever this was.

Both of their faces were sour, but they were trying to hide it. Maddie was doing better than Jack.

“This is Edna,” said Maddie. “Why don’t you come and sit down, Danny?” She patted the back of Jack’s favorite recliner.

Danny noticed how Edna’s mouth twitched down at his nickname. His fingers curled, ghost energy buzzing under his skin just barely kept from his eyes. He didn’t like this.

“It’s alright,” said Edna, smiling kindly. “This must be very confusing for you. I would be concerned myself, under these circumstances. What I’m about to tell you may be difficult to process, however.”

“We’d like to start it off, actually,” said Maddie. “When you called this morning—” She broke off, making a face. “We were told this wouldn’t happen.”

“Yes, well,” said Edna. She shrugged. “Purebloods. What can you do? Evidently—Well. You should have your say, first.”

Danny gave Edna another suspicious glance. Maybe all wizards weren’t bad. Maybe Freakshow was an outlier and sports fans just sucked in general.

Yeah, honestly, that tracked. (Cough, Vlad, cough, Dash, cough.)

He sat down. “Okay,” he said. “Way to be ominous. What’s going on?”

“Well, Danno,” said Jack. He laughed nervously.

“You’re adopted,” said Maddie, bluntly.

Danny blinked. “Wait, what?” he said. “Adopted? But I look just like you guys!”

Jack’s nervous chuckles continued. “We are related to your birth parents… not closely, but… Yes.”

“Oh my gosh,” said Danny, feeling several layers of personal identity float away from him. He’d always blamed his weirdness on genetics and family history. Especially the ghost stuff. Then again, his name, which definitely did not match with his parents’ or sister’s, probably should have tipped him off. “You’re serious?”

“I’m afraid so, Danny,” said Jack, kneeling by the chair and patting his knee. “But don’t worry! You’ll always be a Fenton, no matter what!”

Danny nodded, swallowing back emotion. “And Jazz? Is she…?”

“She’s adopted, too. At about the same time as you, in fact,” said Maddie. “So am I and Alicia. It’s a long story.”

“Okay,” said Danny, determined to get that story at some point. “Why is she here, then?”

“I was involved in your adoption,” she explained, “and certain members of your birth family want to get back in contact with you.”

Ancients, that was sure a thing to hit a guy with right after the ‘you’re adopted’ revelation.

Hold up. He was forgetting something. This was a witch. How did that play into this? Because it had to. Witches and wizards, as far as Danny could tell, tended to isolate themselves from the rest of humanity.

He decided he did not like the probable trajectory of this conversation.

“Why?” he asked, because he wasn’t going to say he knew about magic until and unless someone else cracked first.

“Yes,” said Maddie. “Why? Why now? We were under the impression that they would never contact us.”

“Evidently,” said Edna, “Deneb’s birth mother was not properly informed of the decision to put him up for adoption.”

Okay. Yeah. That was a lead-in to his biological parents being magical because he couldn’t think of a single modern western country where that would fly.

“So, what? I was kidnapped at birth or something?” asked Danny.

“Not exactly,” said Edna, wincing. “It was your birth father who filed the paperwork.”

“And she’s only now wondering where Danny is?” asked Maddie, a little shrilly. Her stress from before was now spilling over into anger so sharp Danny could taste it like a knife on his tongue. “Did she somehow manage to forget giving birth?”

“No,” said Edna. “Which brings us to the other matter. One of the other matters. The one who first sent the request for your adoption information was actually your twin brother.”

A third monumental revelation. Wonderful. What next?

“We, of course, contacted his parents, and discovered the irregularity regarding your birth mother’s consent. Hence my presence here today.” She opened her bag and removed a small glass tube, about twice the length of Danny’s palm and the same diameter as a quarter. “There was also the issue regarding how young you were when you were put up for adoption. Generally, our agency deals with the placement of children aged from five to eleven.” She held the tube out to Danny. “Could you hold this, please?”

“Do you really need to do this?” asked Jack.

“Due to all the irregularities involved, yes,” said Edna. “Our organization charter unfortunately requires it. If the mother was not consulted, as is required, the reasoning is that other required things are not as certain.”

“Hold up,” said Danny, hands tightening around the ends of the armrests. “These people—” Who were most probably wizards, and wasn’t that a thing to get his head around, “—they’re not trying to get custody of me again, are they? After giving me away?”

“No,” said Maddie. “We won’t let that happen.”

“We’re not going to give him back to people who were going to abandon him just because—!” Dad broke off. “Uh. Because.”

Smooth.

“You know,” said Danny, deciding to cut off… whatever this was. “Even if this ‘test’ is, like…” He trailed off. “Whatever result you want it to be. I don’t know. I’m still going to find out whatever it is you’re dancing around anyway. Because I’m not going to forget this conversation.”

Silence.

The witch twitched slightly towards where Danny knew her wand was hidden.

Screw it. “And I’m not going to let you erase my memory. You people do get how messed up that is, right?”

Danny was treated to the sound and sight of three jaws dropping open.

“How do you-?” started Maddie.

“You remember when we went to that camp because people thought it was haunted? But you didn’t find anything? Well, they managed to get both of you that time, but not me. And I know you’re one of them, so I’m betting that whatever this is, it has to do with magic.” He paused. “It was some weird magic sporting event, apparently.”

“The-? You went to the Quidditch World Cup?” asked Edna.

“What? No!” protested Maddie. “That was in Britain, wasn’t it? We were just in the next state.” She scowled. “I’m going to write a letter of complaint. Even if we’re living without magic, we’re not no-majs. We’re squibs. They had no right to obliviate us.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “Yeah. You’ve lost me. Squibs?”

No one seemed willing to answer the question.

“If you’d just take this,” said Edna, holding out the tube a little desperately. “It will be much easier to explain all at once.”

Danny looked up at his parents. Jack looked at Maddie. Maddie drummed her fingers on the back of his chair.

“It’ll be fine,” said Maddie, “probably.”

“Fine,” said Danny. He took the tube. Almost at once, it started glowing green.

“Oh,” said Edna, frowning and leaning closer. “It usually isn’t—”

The tube exploded, embedding several small glass shards in Danny’s hands.

“Ow,” said Danny.

“Oh,” said Edna again, evidently not registering the small splinter of glass in her cheek. “Well. Whoever your birth father hired to test your magic as an infant obviously got it wrong. Congratulations, Mr. Fenton. You’re a wizard.”

“My hand is bleeding.”

“Yes,” agreed Edna. “It isn’t supposed to explode, you see.”

Once Danny got cleaned up, which involved a lot of glaring at Edna from Maddie and Jack, they adjourned to the kitchen, which was free of random glass shards.

“The adoption organization I work for,” said Edna, “places squibs—people born to magical parents who do not have magic themselves—with families of squibs. Assuming the child’s birth parents do want to give up their child over something like not having magic.” Her nose wrinkled. “The common wisdom is that it is easier for such children to grow up in an environment that is not explicitly magical. In any case, it is my personal belief that anyone who would give up a child over something like that isn’t going to be the best of parents.”

“Alright,” said Danny, “so… all of us are squibs.”

“Except you, apparently,” said Edna. “It’s hard to tell whether or not someone as young as you were when you were given up will be magical or not. Which is why we usually only deal with older children. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed anything odd happening around yourself? Or unusual abilities?”

Danny stared at her flatly for several long moments. His entire life could be classified as ‘odd,’ and most of it he wasn’t about to share with Edna. Or his parents, as much as he loved them.

But, on the other hand, he now had a great excuse for at least some of his weirdness. His parents wouldn’t think ghost if they could think wizard first.

“Like, define ‘odd,’” said Danny. Despite his earlier encounters with wizards, he had no idea what was normal for them. Other than memory wiping. Which he could not do and wouldn’t have demonstrated anyway.

Okay. If was actually a wizard, and Edna’s doohickey wasn’t just reacting to his ghostliness, he probably could learn how to do the memory thing, but he didn’t know now, so the distinction was meaningless.

(Maybe being a wizard or a squib or whatever was why he wasn’t just. Dead.)

(Yeah, he didn’t want to think about that.)

“Just… Being in one place, and then a different place. Surviving something you shouldn’t have been able to unscathed. Things moving by themselves or changing color or size. Temperature changes. Something you want very badly happening, even if it is impossible or extremely unlikely.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “Yeah.”

“To which one?” asked Jack, concerned. “I haven’t noticed anything like that except what the ghosts do.”

“Um,” said Danny. “This?” He put his hand down on the table, intending to leave an icy handprint. That should be acceptable, right? If temperature changes were normal…

His nerves got the best of him. He knew he was nervous showing even one of his powers around his parents. He overcompensated.

The table was covered with frost.

“Oops?” said Danny.

All the blood had left Edna’s face. Jack and Maddie didn’t look much better.

“Dear lord,” said Edna. “You can do that at will?”

“Yes,” said Danny, holding his hand close to his chest. “More or less.”

“Danny,” said Jack, “why didn’t you tell us?”

“I thought you’d think it was a ghost thing. You kind of shoot first and ask questions later about ghost things.”

“Oh my god,” said Edna. “Never mind that. You can do wandless magic and you’re fourteen?”

“Fifteen,” said Danny, “but, yeah. I guess.”

Evidently, this wasn’t normal.

Also, his comment about shooting first hurt his parents’ feelings. Go figure. Not like they weren’t keeping a massive secret.

“So,” said Danny, once the other discussions had been shelved for the time being, “I have a brother? I think a brother was, at some point, mentioned.”

“Yes,” said Edna. “A twin brother. He wants to meet you. Along with your biological mother.”

“And if I don’t want to?” asked Danny. “If I don’t want to have anything to do with them?”

“I don’t even know,” said Edna. “I can’t believe you slipped under the national detection spell. There’s going to be so much paperwork involved in this. International paperwork.”

“Huh?”

“You were born in Britain,” said Edna, as if this were a minor detail.

Yeah. Like his sense of self needed any further pummeling.

“But it isn’t our fault everything is so messed up,” said Danny. He maybe had some curiosity about his twin brother, but if there was any risk he’d be taken away…

“I understand,” said Edna, “but nothing like this has come up before, as far as we know.” She sighed. “If it makes you feel better, I will use any influence I have in the matter to recommend that you retain custody of Deneb. In the meantime… Do you want to, uh, open communications with any members of your biological family?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny. “Can I think about it?”

Relations in the Malfoy household had been strained ever since Draco’s investigation of his family tree (unrelated to the return of the Dark Lord and how blood purity was now much, much more important) had revealed that his twin brother had not, in fact, died at birth.

And by strained, Draco meant that his parents had taken to living on opposite sides of the manor, interacting only when there were visitors. Visitors such as his father’s Death Eater friends, members of society, and various government officials. All of whom were more alike, and had greater overlap, than even Draco had initially suspected.

This left Draco walking on eggshells between the two of them and wishing for Hogwarts to start again. Anything he did to please one had to be entirely out of sight of the other, or else they began to fight again. Truthfully, Draco was more on his mother’s side, all things considered, but his father was the one with the friends, and Draco couldn’t stay home under his mother’s wings for all his life. Like his dragon namesake, he had to fly.

Which he would most certainly do. Soon. No, he wasn’t hiding from his parents in his room. That would be ridiculous. They knew where his room was. They could find him if they wanted to, and neither of them was anywhere near him. He knew. He’d checked.

This made the inarticulate shriek of rage he overheard from his mother all the more concerning.

It was enough to make him emerge – cautiously! – from his self-imposed exile.

He was curious. And stupid. It got him into enough trouble at school, why not at home?

Also, he really needed to know. For his own safety. Tiptoeing around whatever disaster just happened would be impossible if he didn’t know what it was.

Instead, he tiptoed after his mother.

His mother, who was angry enough that sparks were coming off the end of her tightly gripped wand. Green sparks.

Draco had never actually seen the killing curse in action, but his mother’s face screamed murder all on its own, no magic required, despite the fact that Draco was only catching glimpses of it as she strode towards his father’s half of the house.

This was going to be bad. Terrible. Possibly the kind of event that saw one of his parents in Azkaban and the other in little, tiny pieces all around the smoking room.

Lucius, for his part, looked paralyzed where he stood, and Draco briefly entertained the notion that Narcissa had managed to cast petrificus totalis on him without moving her wand or speaking the words.

Narcissa planted herself firmly in front of Lucius and glared up at him, seething, her breath making sucking noises as it passed through her teeth.

She punched Lucius in the face. The man toppled, clutching his nose. Narcissa kicked him.

It was a good thing that the Malfoys had no neighbors, because what Narcissa screamed next likely could have been heard for at least a mile.

“He wasn’t even a squib, you lying bastard!”

#danny phantom #harry potter #dp/hp twin au #dp/hp crossover #my writting

369 notes · View notes

hatsukeii · 3 years

Text

【Ｙｏｕｒ　ｎｅｗ　ｂｏｙｆｒｉｅｎｄ－　Ｄａｙ　１】

Word count: 6.2k+

【Ｄｅｃｅｍｂｅｒ　２５，　２０２０】

【２：３９　ａｍ】 Nearing the end of the seemingly indestructible health bar of this stupid resurgent cryo regisvene, Changbin lets out an audible growl, tapping furiously, almost murderously at his phone screen. “Cmonnnn you persistent piece of shit, just bite the dust already like the normal one...” His voice trails off as every drip of focus is directed back on his game.

“Which one do you think it is this time Seungmin?” Jisung taunts from the kitchen of the shared apartment, watching the coffee drip into his cup from the ancient coffee machine at a snail’s pace (He had been insisting on having Changbin get a new one for the past three, four months but the latter had been persistent to keep it instead of “wasting money on a new one”). Seungmin yells from inside his room, the sound of keyboard clicking along with the occasional growling and mumbling exposing what he was doing- League of Legends. “You think I would know? I don’t even know the game he’s playing.” “He’s been at it for the past three days Seungmin, it’s obviously the same ice thing he won’t shut up about.” Minho deadpans, tenderly lowering the three cats in his arms onto the couch. “Now my babies, don’t touch the madman next to you, or I’m going to have to do the dishes tonight, kay? He’s our main dishwasher, let’s not try anything funny.” The three cats collectively look up at their owner as he cooes softly at the felines. With the last of his party completely obliterated, Changbin throws his phone across the couch, startling the cats as they jump off hastily, earning a piercing glare from Minho. “We’ll talk about this later, Seo Changbin.” “My god, I give up, I’ll just get Chan hyung to do it for me tomorrow.” What even went through Mihoyo headquarters when they created this boss? Did the development department just decide to throw everything into one giant boss fight?

As he wallows in defeat, his ringtone blares where it sadly lies from being thrown across the couch, the annoying “We just got a letter!” song from Blue’s Clues (He had a feeling that the annoying children’s song would aid in motivating him to actually pick the phone up instead of ignoring people then texting them out of sluggishness) playing on loop the longer he chooses not to answer. “Will you just shut up?” Aggressively snatching his phone, he takes a quick glance at the caller, before picking up. “(Y/n), what do you wan-”

A few audible sniffles can be heard from the other side of the line.

“Changbinnie, he cheated on me.”

Changbin deadpans, not sure he’s hearing things right.

“Hello? Binnie?”

The words hitting him like a truck, he bolts up from where he once sat, hand gripping the phone so hard veins were popping.

“That motherfucker did what?”

His voice rings clear throughout the unit, both Jisung and Minho flinching at the sudden burst of noise. “Jesus Christ keep it down Changbin, the whole apartment complex can hear your annoying voice.” Minho complains, picking up one of his dear cats and stroking its ears. “Soonie ah, that idiot’s yell didn’t hurt your ears did it? Aigoo my baby, it’s okay, it was just stupid horse-faced Changbin, it’s okay my baby boo...” Jisung rolls his eyes, taking a sip from his pitch black coffee. Wincing, he sets the mug down, running to the fridge to get creamer. “Changbin hyung, did you get the wrong creamer again? I told you to get the vanilla one, this one’s dairy free!” Changbin lowers his phone, covering the speaker. “Why the fuck are you even drinking coffee at this hour? Go buy your own fucking creamer if you want it so much then!” “I’m broke hyung! Plus the campus convenience store and the supermarket are closed already, use your pea brain!” “Use milk and sugar Jisung! I’m busy!” Returning to the call, he makes his way into his room, not wanting to have to deal with the two parasites outside. “Tell me everything (Y/n), oh he’s bruising for a cruising playing with your feelings like that-”

A sob passes through the speaker.

“I was just trying to check on him-”

“Scratch that, I’ll be there in twenty, don’t do anything stupid by yourself.”

Shoving the door of his room out of his way, he storms towards the three refrigerators in the kitchen, the other three people in the unit following him in sight (Seungmin heard the commotion and decided to come out of his man cave for once to assess the situation). He pushes Jisung to the side, pulling open the doors to the biggest one. “Soju... soju... soju... there it is.” He untangles the biggest plastic bag he can find from the huge bag on top of the fridge (Minho seems to collect plastic bags at this point, it’s getting annoying) and shoves just about all the bottles of soju he can fit into the flimsy piece of plastic. Moving on to the next fridge, he slams the previous one close, startling Jisung. “Hyung, are you okay?” Changbin ignores him, scrambling to grab the two family sized tubs of ice cream. “Hyung, that’s the last of our ice cream-” Yet again ignoring Jisung’s complaint, he makes his way to the pantry, throwing in the most tooth rottingly sweet candies he can find, a few bags of those honey butter chips and all of Jisung’s cup ramens. In the past couple of minutes, Seungmin had picked up on the situation on hand. He whisper yells at Jisung, making weird gestures to catch his attention. Once his eyes meet Jisungs’s, he frantically jerks his head towards the rooms (It’s like some secret bro code the two have). Jisung picks up on the message, shutting up and shuffling to his room along with Seungmin, before locking their bedroom doors. After his expedition in the kitchen, Changbin goes back to his room, just to grab a duffel bag to put everything in. He takes his switch and the dock, his laptop, and throws his phone into the mix (Both Jisung and Minho agree that Changbin needs to stop abusing his phone, Seungmin doesn’t really care). The only one left in the living room watches as he angrily puts his shoes on, and slams the front door just a little too aggressively as he goes. Hearing the front door close, the two younger boys come out of hiding, finally safe from their scarily furious friend. “My cup noodles... Minho hyung my cup noodles....” “Let’s just wait for him to buy them for us again, leave him alone for now.”

【３：００　ａｍ】 It’s been exactly 21 minutes since you had called Changbin and he is now furiously knocking at your door because 1) You need moral support, clearly, 2) He didn’t bring all the food and risk getting the life nagged out of him when he goes back for nothing, and 3) Your ex boyfriend’s new chick is about to receive a very explicit call from a very angry person. “Oi (Y/n), it’s Changbin, open up.” From inside, you wrap your Armin futon throw blanket around your tired body, before waddling to the front door to your apartment. Gripping the blanket together with one hand, you twist the doorknob with the other and pull. It’s almost like one of those slot machines you would always see in dramas. You pull the lever with all the might you can muster during this trying time and BAM! You hit the jackpot and an angry Changbin comes into sight. He looks scary, almost. His demeanor could probably kill right now if you didn’t know better. “Come in... yeah come on in....” His hand loosens around the duffel bag, dropping it on the floor while he gets his shoes off. You penguin waddle back to where you were sitting on the couch, picking up the crumpled tissues and throwing them out. “Make yourself at home.” You feel a stare burn into your back as you step off the bin pedal. “I’m here, now tell me everything that happened with this asshole.”

“So what I’m getting from this is that Junwoo fucker said he was going out to get groceries, which was a lie at that time but you didn’t know. He took a suspiciously long time so you, being the paranoid ass person you are, went to check on him, only to see him making out with some hussey that wouldn’t stop making moves on him during that dumb lecture you had in the afternoon, correct?” You nod, tears starting to form again for the fourth- no, was it the fifth? About the fifth time in the past minute or so that you spent explaining the situation. “(Y/n), sweetie, I’m gonna need the name of the hussey.” “No, you’re going to do something stupid.” “I wasn’t asking, give it.” You give Changbin a stink eye, acting like you were completely against whatever he has in mind despite actually being curious to see what he has planned (An angry Changbin is a scary Changbin but a rare one also). “It’s Jimin from the dance team.” His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “No, he did NOT!” You nod solemnly, sniffing. "He cheated on you for that slut?” “Binnie! That’s rude!” “Oh please, I don’t like to disrespect women but you know that it’s true.” That shuts you up instantly. He’s not wrong, so far she’s been caught up in the middle of way too many relationships to count. She’s pretty much notorious for sleeping with people’s boyfriends now. Horrid, really, she knows what she’s doing and she enjoys it. Changbin practically rips the zipper off his duffel bag and snatches his poor, abused phone, before scrolling through his contacts to find Jimin (He would delete her contact from his phone if he could, really. He’s tried, but she hit on him so hard on campus as a threat that he kept it just to be safe. Quite honestly though, he doesn’t really care now). “Binnie, no-” He puts the call on speaker, his feet tapping at the floor impatiently. “Bitch, you better pick up before I find you and pick it up for you-”

“Hello?”

His face lights up when he hears Jimin’s voice from the other side of the line. “Oh yeah hi! Here’s your friendly Changbin reminder that your new boyfriend’s an asshole!” You can almost see the sneer that Jimin has on her face. “Uh, and who are you to say that? Twink.” Your mind doesn’t even let you properly process what she said because Changbin’s already retaliating. “Oh, you know, just from his ex partner he was cheating on, but you can state your arguments if you’d like. Also that wasn’t very nice, calling me a twink, considering you hit on me every day on campus.” Changbin’s aura goes borderline murderous when a chuckle sounds from the speaker. “Oh? Them? He could do better anyways.” “Okay listen here you little slut, I’m gonna be honest with you, because no one ever will. Any guy that says they’re in any way interested in you beyond just using you as a fuck toy, is full of bullshi-”

You slam your finger onto the big red button before he can say anything more.

Changbin’s seething with anger, even though he isn’t showing it. You know that because 1) He’s oddly calm in this situation and 2) He just openly called one of the most known people in the college a slut. “Seo Changbin, calm yourself down. Please.” Those were some harsh words he said to Jimin, it was completely out of his usually good natured, well spoken character. He closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, before grabbing a flimsy white plastic bag out from the duffel bag. He shoots his hand to the bottom, grabbing one of the 15 bottles of soju he brought over. He wrenches open the bottle cap, before chugging half the bottle in one sitting. “How much stuff did you bring?” Changbin really is oddly stable considering he had just gotten called a twink and went off at someone through the phone. “About 15 bottles of soju, two tubs of ice cream, a few bags of those honey butter chips, all the cup ramens in the pantry, and a bunch of those Hi-Chews that I know you love because you keep taking them from me and eating them in class.” He grabs another bottle of soju from the plastic bag, as well as a pack of Hi-Chews. “Drink?” You sulk, taking the green bottle from him while he rips open a pack of candies, popping one in his mouth. “Damn, on Christmas day too, what an ass, Junwoo.” You roll your eyes, taking in a mouthful of alcohol from the bottle. “You’re so stupid Binnie, she’s going to ruin your life because of that stupid call.” “Me? Stupid? The only stupid thing here is you managing to stay with Junwoo for an entire year. I knew he was toxic from the start. Besides, what’s Jimin going to do? She’s got nothing on me. I might as well be the only person that hasn’t sent her nudes or something.”

It sounds harsh, almost mean, but you know that he’s not lying. Your ex boyfriend was the most toxic, manipulative person you’ve ever been with yet you stayed with him for over a year, it’s unbelievable, really.

“Can I take a cup ramen?” Changbin doesn’t even spare a glance at you, he’s typing away on his phone (Looks like the nagging has started, one could never expect no complaints after taking all the comfort food from the kitchen). “No, you can’t. I brought all this food because it’s three in the morning and I suddenly want to eat at your house. Of course you can, this is about you, do whatever you want.” You grab one of the cups from the bag, before sluggishly making your way to the kitchen to boil water. Seeing that you left your seat, Changbin empties out the plastic bag, before discarding all the rubbish that you left behind prior to his arrival. Tissues, boxes, chocolate wrappers, everything, he throws them all into the white bag. “That should do.” Ripping open a pack of honey butter chips (Minho needs to chill out about him taking a few packs considering he bulk bought these in boxes. One pack won’t hurt), he takes one, before setting it down and waiting for you to return.

Meanwhile, the remaining three in Changbin’s apartment have just received a reply. “Hey... hey hEY HEY WE GOT A TEXT BACK EVERYONE!” Both Seungmin and Minho gather around Jisung and his phone. “Changbin hyung says he’s not coming back tonight and that he’ll restock the food he took when he’s back, what do we do?” The two young ones look expectantly at Minho, as if he would have any good advice. “I don’t know, should I give him a call-” “Are you mad? He’s going to tear you to shreds hyung, don’t waste your life like that!” Minho sighs in exasperation. “Then we’ll just have to wait for him to be back.” Seungmin and Jisung look to the floor almost guiltily. “He won’t even tell us what happened... how are we supposed to do anything about it?” “You don’t, that’s what you do, you don’t do anything about it until he calms down and tells us about it. Now Seungmin, stop playing your games and Jisung, stop doing solo karaoke and go to sleep.”

【５：５８　ａｍ】 “This is going to be the first and last night you get to be this unhealthy, we’re using healthy coping mechanisms instead of… whatever the fuck this is.” You look at him, a mouthful of ramen hanging from your food vacuum as you slurp it up loudly (For context, you’ve managed to go through four cup ramens, two bags of chips, a pack of Hi-Chews, and an additional three bottles of soju to wash it all down. The two tubs of ice cream remain untouched in the freezer. In other words, you were binge eating, all while being shit faced drunk). The TV blares from in the front of the living room, the Mario Kart theme playing on loop. Your controller sits on the coffee table, completely unattended as you get busy with eating. “Haaaaah? I need the junk food Binnie, it’s all a part of recovery!” Changbin clicks his tongue, before flicking your forehead. “That’s just a shitty excuse to be unhealthy, we don’t stan that.” Frowning, you snatch a few chips with your chopsticks and shove them in your mouth grumpily. “Now, where were we... ah! Yeah! Prepare for another devastating loss Binnie! You shall not come out victorious!” (Cmon, you really think you could beat Changbin in Mario Kart drunk? Hunny, he was losing on purpose.) He lets out a breathy chuckle, before picking you up bridal style, walking to your room, and throwing you onto your bed. “That’s about enough for now, go to sleep. I already know your hangover tomorrow’s going to be absolutely horrible.” You whine, tossing and turning. “But I don’t wanna go to sleeeeeeep... I wanna win again... I wanna playyyyy... gamess....” And with that your voice trails off. “Idiot, you would just pass out halfway.” He closes the door behind him as he leaves your room, but not before gently releasing the console from your warm, clammy hands. Coming to terms with what he has to do next, Changbin massages his neck when he sees the absolute mess of a living room. “Now, where do we start?” All the homework and study cramming is about to come in handy as he starts to clean up all the rubbish left sitting around. He sets his eyes on your pink blanket. It’s 2°C out, his nose is prickly and red as he sneezes, and he still quickly notices an alcoholic smell wafting out from the pink throw blanket. Reaching over to feel it, the fabric is slightly damp under his touch. “Jesus Christ, you for sure spilled soju over this thing. Tag... tag... tag....” his hand roams around the thick blanket, feeling for a laundry tag. He whips his phone out, searching for a laundry care symbol guide (It’s been a while since he’s done laundry properly. Seungmin is in charge of doing everyone’s laundry since he contributes the least). “40°C water at the highest, tumble dry on low.... alright.” He bunches up the blanket, the fabric hanging to the floor from his arms. Trying to get to the laundry room hurriedly, he almost trips over the soft material, stomping on the floor obnoxiously loud to regain his balance (The neighbours are going to seriously hate him for this). He throws it into the washing machine and slams the compartment door shut. Scanning the room for detergent, he deadpans when he sees where it’s located. “Why would you put it that high up in the shelf? You’re not even that tall-” He tries everything, from standing on his tiptoes, to jumping in order to reach it. All those attempts end in vain, and he resorts to his final trick- climbing on top of the washing machine. “Cmon, just a feeeew more millimeters-” The dust from the top of the cabinet along with the temperature causes him to sneeze profusely, almost losing his balance. But with a hook of his fingers, he manages to push the bottle out, before grabbing it and using the bottle to push another bottle of dettol out. He wrenches open the lids, before clumsily pouring out the needed amounts, but not without spilling it on the floor. Cursing, he quickly sets the washing machine for a one hour cycle. He then grabs a random towel from on top of the machine and wipes the floor now. “I guess it’s squeaky clean now, you did good Changbin, you did good. Go me.” With one job done, he makes his way back to the living room. The main area is so messy that Changbin has to form a proper plan on how to clean everything up with the highest efficiency. He grabs the ramen cups, draining out the soup and throwing them out. The chopsticks clank together when they hit the kitchen sink as he turns the tap on. He grabs a sponge, soaking it in water and squeezing detergent onto it, before scrubbing the chopsticks clean. With the dishwashing done, he staggers his way towards the coffee table. He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired that his eyes are about to betray his mind. His arms are numb and the floor is wobbling from beneath his feet. He sneezes a few more times, sniffling. He sighs, wiping his nose and warming it up with the sleeve of his hoodie. If anyone pushes him with a bit of effort, he’ll probably fall over and pass out, but he absolutely refuses to let you wake up to a messy living room. He makes use of the vibrant Mario Kart podium segment still blaring on the TV to keep himself awake while he works on cleaning everything up. Seeing that the sky has progressed from pitch black to a beautiful, yet dreadful shade of aegean blue, he’s pretty sure he won’t be getting any sleep any time soon.

【７：４７　ａｍ】 You cough yourself awake to the burning stench of smoke. The world really said “Lol your life is burning and crumbling down” and took it a little too seriously. Fire, fire, fire, what’s the worst that could happen? Fire needs to give itself a vibe check, can’t it see that you don’t have the energy to deal with it right now? You squeeze your brows together and pull your sheets back over your body. If not for the panicked yelling from outside you would’ve stayed in bed and just waited for whatever fire was burning to reach your room. Hearing Changbin’s chain of swears and curses, you shoot up, more worried for him than for yourself. “CHANGBIN!” You get no reply. You’re horrified, probably both from the hangover working its magic at making you more paranoid and sensitive than you already are, and the possibility that the apartment’s going to burn down. You scramble to the kitchen, choking when you reach the hallway. The amount of smokiness in the living room makes it impossible to see anything clearly. One thing is for sure- there is no fire. What there is though, is a very startled Changbin squatting next to a tray of what looks like charcoal.

“Binnie, what the fuck did you do?”

Poor boy, he looks like a lost puppy, a small pout evident on his face. “I was trying to make you breakfast, but I think I set the oven to the wrong temperature, turns out it doesn’t take that much heat to toast bread.” Pinching your nose, you take a glance at the oven. “Changbin I- why is it set to 250 degrees?” “I just told you, I don’t think toast needs that much heat!” It’s almost funny how bad he fucked up. You would laugh wholeheartedly if not for the borderline deadly amount of smoke wafting around your apartment. “Changbin, I have a toaster.” “I don’t know how to use it though, it’s too digital and it makes weird noises.” You let out an exasperated sigh (You knew getting a digital toaster was eventually going to lead to some problems), taking the tray out from the oven and discarding the two pieces of what used to be toast. “Binnie, do me a favour and go open up the windows.” Hearing his cue to leave the crime scene, he rushes to the other side of the living room, opening everything up. “It’s been 84 years... fresh air, hello....” You let out a sarcastic chuckle, before throwing out the piece of foil on the tray. You scan your surroundings, everything is in place, the apartment is squeaky clean, your futon is on a drying rack outside on the balcony, and that’s when it hits you. “Changbin, if you tell me you didn’t get any sleep cleaning my place up for me, I will knock you out here and now.” You speed walk towards him faster than Karen walks to the manager, before taking in his features. His eyebags are heavier and darker than usual, his face is pale, his hair is a mess, his eyes focus on nothing in silence. “Seo Changbin!” You snap in front of his face, startling him out of his trancelike state. “Huh? I swear I’m okay, don’t even worry.” His voice is hoarse and nasally, and he sneezes a few times after his statement, sniffling and wiping his nose with his sleeve for the second time this day. You don’t even give him time to move away or protest. Your fingers pinch his ear at the speed of light, before pulling him to your room and practically shoving him onto your bed. “Sleep.” Changbin pouts, curling into a ball. “But I don’t need to sleep! I’m perfectly fine-” “No, you’re not, you almost burned my apartment down messing with the oven tired, sleep.” You don’t wait for a response as you slam the lights off and shut the bedroom door.

【２：２３　ｐｍ】It’s been about seven hours since you practically forced Changbin to sleep, the ending of the final episode of Death Parade reminding you of the time that has passed. “He’s still not up?” Mumbling to yourself, you creak the door to your room open, being as silent as possible. “Changbin?” No reply. The covers don’t even budge the slightest bit. You are so taking a photo of his sleeping face for future uses. The second you pull your phone out, it starts ringing, the recording of Jisung’s impression of Changbin’s iconic “Yoooooh” blaring through the speakers like a concert (The two of you snuck into one of his music project recording sessions without him knowing, music major things am I right). You throw yourself out of the room, picking the phone up. “Hello-” “(Y/n)!” Dear God it’s Jisung, loud as ever. “Where’s Changbin hyung?” Of course he didn’t tell them anything. “He’s here, asleep, I forced him to sleep.” “Okay, when he wakes up tell him that he owes us everything he took from the pantry, and that he should come home, thanks!” “Wait-” And that little shit hangs up on you just like that. You place your phone onto the coffee table, before going back to check on Changbin. Scratch the idea of a photo, you’ll just do it next time. You kneel down next to your bed, placing your palm on his forehead. “You idiot, thank God you didn’t cook and get me sick along with you.” Being a medical science major, you never overlook anybody’s wellbeing, especially not your best friend’s. When you feel his burning forehead, you almost slap him in his sleep. He’s in for it when he eventually wakes up. Trying your best, you pull the blanket out from underneath him (He fell asleep pretty much straight after you shoved him onto the bed). He stirs, mumbling softly. “Where... where am I...? Who... am... I...? Who are... you?” You scrunch your face up, finally ripping the blanket from underneath him. Working quickly, you throw it over him, before turning on the heat setting for the aircon in your room. Doesn’t look like he’s going to wake up anytime soon, he looks like a sleeping baby. Motionless and oddly talkative and soft. In the meantime, you might as well go read over the old messages with Junwoo and cry a little more.

【４：５８　ｐｍ】 It’s been another two hours, your eyes are puffy and red from the crying, Changbin still hasn’t woken up yet. You pick up the ramen cup and drag yourself forcefully from the couch to the kitchen, throwing the soup out along with the cup, and reaching up to find the paracetamol and fever relief patches (Which you bought five packs of at a time for a great buy three get two free deal) from the box of first aid and medical essentials. Taking it out of the box, you keep it in your pocket, just in case. You make your way to your room, opening up your cabinet and grabbing your car keys. You shove those into your pocket as well, before peeling off the wrapper of a fever relief patch and sticking that flat on Changbin’s forehead. You throw on a trenchcoat to cover up the fact that you’re wearing a pyjama shirt with tights, get your boots on, and head over to Jisung’s place.

【５：１７　ｐｍ】“Jisung! Let me in!” You rap at their door until your knuckles hurt and a slightly concerned Minho pulls it open, his three cats following their owner and rubbing their cute little cheeks on your leg. “Oh, it’s you. Come on in, Jisung’s not here, what do you need?” “I just need to grab clothes for Changbin, he won’t stop wiping his nose on his sleeve, it’s gross, and he needs a shower.” “Go ahead.” Shooting Minho a quick thanks, you run into Changbin’s room, rummaging through his drawers and cabinets. For someone with a major obsession with hoodies, he sure doesn’t have many. You randomly grab a pair of sweats, along with a tshirt and the thickest hoodie you can find, before you drop the clothes, letting out a funny sound of embarrassment. “Fuck, Minho!”

【５：３９　ｐｍ】It’s warm. It’s really warm, in contrast to how Changbin remembers feeling the last time he was awake. What time even is it? He doesn’t have his phone, and he notices that it’s starting to go dark out, looks about 6pm for the typical Korean winter... and the sound of running water? He kicks the blanket off of him (which he doesn’t remember covering himself with), and is welcomed by an oddly warm room for 2°C weather. Did you manage to throw the blanket over him and turn the heater on at some point when he was asleep? A lump forms at his throat at the thought, a tiny smile threatening to show. The light from the bathroom blinds him temporarily when he opens the bedroom door, and as his eyes adjust to the light, he can see you filling up a bathtub with water. “Oh, you’re awake, just in time.” He’s still dazed from the drowsiness as he staggers a little bit into the bathroom. “I got you a change of clothes, underwear and all, and paracetamol there for your fever.” You’re in your trench coat, the one you wouldn’t shut up about after buying, or so he remembers. “Did you go over to mine to get the clothes?” You let out a breathy chuckle, cupping your cheeks sarcastically. “Oh no! I secretly hide a stash of your clothes and underwear in my house! Get in the bath Binnie, I’ll make dinner outside.” He’s hesitant, but as you close the door behind him he can’t help but be welcomed by the bubbly hot bath in front of him.

【６：００　ｐｍ】“Did you take the paracetamol I left in there?” You chuckle a little at the towel hanging around his neck. “You look like one of those hardcore grandpas in animes.” You stir the tiny stone pot in front of you, making sure not to splash the red soup onto your shirt. “Yeah, I took the pill, thanks.” From the corner of your eye, you can see Changbin heading towards the kitchen. “Uh uh uh, stop right there buddy. You are not going anywhere near the kitchen, nope. I know you want to help, but I’m almost done, so just sit your ass down at the coffee table.” He does as you say like an obedient little puppy, sitting down at the wooden table. Putting on a pair of oven mitts, you carefully carry the scorching hot pot and a plastic mat to the table, setting it down while the liquid continues bubbling. “Now you can go in and help me grab the rice and bowls.”

Changbin once told you that he would never set his eyes on one of your “stupid japanese cartoons” because apparently they're too immature for a 5′6 college student to watch. That’s complete bullshit. He doesn’t even see the kimchi stew drip onto your coffee table because his eyes are glued to Hunter x Hunter which you coaxed him into watching with you. You scoff, mixing the stew into your rice. “Move your spoon Changbin, it’s dripping all over my table.” He snaps out of his trance, hovering his spoon on top of his rice instead. “Poor Ikalgo, all he wanted was to be a squid and have friends....” “Are you going to eat up or not?” You watch as his hand slowly tilts to let the liquid drip into his rice, his eyes not once leaving the tv screen as he mixes it and shoves a spoonful into his mouth. “Ikalgo... you deserve everything. Absolutely everything.” This is a sight, you take your phone out and snap a pic before he notices. “What happened to anime being too immature for you huh?” “Shut up (Y/n).” He retorts, shoving another heaping spoonful of rice into his mouth. “Are you... about to cry?” Changbin continues to stuff his mouth with food, his cheeks puffing up. “Oh my god you’re crying! You’re crying over an anime!” “No I’m not.” He forces himself to mumble out a disagreement with all that food in his mouth, however his watery eyes completely betray him and say otherwise. You stay silent, smirking at him knowingly. “It’s just Ikalgo deserves so much better, if Killua doesn’t become his friend I’m going to stop watching.” He looks so reluctant to admit it that you start laughing, a snort sounding from your nose. “Called it, you’re getting sentimental over a childish fucking anime!” “I’ll kill you if you tell anyone, Seungmin will never let me live this down.” “Thanks for the idea, idiot.”

【１０：４２　ｐｍ】Sentimental hours are open starting from 10:30pm till whenever your body decides to fall asleep. Poor Changbin has been trying to comfort you since then, yet all has been in vain. “Changbinnie, am I really good enough for anyone then? Am I good enough for someone to just stay with me?” No one likes seeing a pretty girl cry, let alone their best friend being said pretty girl. Seeing you cry pulls on his heartstrings. It angers him to the point where all he wants to do is break Junwoo’s face, yet knowing how you wouldn’t like a fight is the only thing stopping him from going along with his desires. “(Y/n), for the last time, you are more than good enough. Please just listen, he was a douchebag all along, you knew that. He didn’t do this because you weren’t good enough for him, he did this because he was selfish and toxic, at least he’s out of your life for good now.” You slump into the mattress further, Changbin staring at you hopelessly. “You can’t keep this up you know, it’s self destructive.” You try your best to move your eyes towards him, but the angle you’re lying in doesn’t allow for that as you feel the strain in the corner of your eye. “For the record I am very much aware of that, thank you.” You feel a hand on the top of your head, stroking your hair softly. “It’s gonna be okay, you’re better off without him and there’s plenty of fish in the sea anyways.” You turn and toss a little bit, shoving your face into and wrapping your arms around his torso while you sulk (If people didn’t know better, they would mistake the two of you for a couple). Your fingers grazing his body sent warm pinpricks up his spine and feathers in his stomach. Changbin’s hand never leaves your head even as you stop sniffling and the room slowly shifts into a comfortable silence. “How is it that you treat me better than how my ex did so for me?” His eyes leave the phone in his other hand to glance at you empathetically. For a moment, he isn’t the witty, sharp tongued Changbin everyone came to know. He hopes you can’t see the almost devastating look on his face as he smiles pitifully, such vulnerability that he will only ever show towards you. “Anyone could treat you better than that guy.” He doesn’t get a verbal reply, but instead receives a string of soft snores slightly muffled by the fabric of his sweater. Satisfied, he has to pry your arms off of him to reach the lights, turning them off. “Binnie, come backkkkkk...” Freezing in his tracks at your words, he sighs, rolling his eyes in slight amusement. He slips himself in bed next to you, getting comfortable with your arms back around his torso. You mumble a few incoherent words, before dosing back to sleep.

Meanwhile in Changbin’s apartment, Jisung feels a sneeze coming. He braces for the impact, before sneezing once, then twice, then the third time. “Oh my god, it’s happening.” Seungmin side eyes him, giving Jisung a weird look. “Not you with your stupid mind bonds or whatever you call it.” “No I swear, it’s real, three sneezes that’s what I told Changbin hyung would happen if he ever did it.”

Now, the two of you have long since passed out amidst the comfort of your bed. However, let me share you a little secret, You, who were the most reluctant to share your sanctuary with someone else, you’re going to wake up from the best sleep you’ve had in months tomorrow morning.

Tags:

@sunshines-and-tatertots @izzyphantomgamer @justachillgirl @trashcanweeb @just-another-bored-writer @poppirocks @majorfangirl37 @kaylacinderella @random-fandomlover @tiger1719 @tiredgr3mlin @itmekisuu @skyeackermans @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @shoutsukii @agentvicinity @sakusasgarbage @kuroo-thought-of-a-better-un @sneezefiction @bokutokoutarou @thirstyvolleyballhoe @iwaixiumi @iwaigroomi @inlwlevi @justachillgirl @emsvegetables @ewfilthymundane

If you want to be added to my taglist please comment or dm me!!

39 notes · View notes

allhailthemightyquattro · 3 years

Text

Laura’s Deckerstar Fic Recs (Part 13)

You can find the complete list (minus rec notes) at my Ao3 Bookmark page.

Disclaimer: These recs have no real ranking and are simply being shared in the order in which I bookmarked them. And just because I say more about some than I do others, does not mean that those fics are “better” or that I like them more.

Decimation by MoanDiary

Rating: Mature Status: Complete Word Count: 58,938 (10 chapters) Author’s Summary: Chloe loses her freedom, Cain loses control, and Lucifer loses his head. When they said all’s fair in love and war, they didn’t account for a Devil with unfinished business and an ancient murderer willing to put everything on the line.

Rec Notes: Another great season 3 finale deviation with Cain as the villain, but this one dives into his backstory a bit, creating a very cleverly named tag, “Caingst”. It’s wonderfully written and has more than enough celestial weirdness to keep things fresh. And don’t forget to check out this extra scene.

hell is heaven (as long as it’s with you) by NotOneLine

Rating: Teen Status: WIP (last update: 10 August 2020) Word Count: 42,158 (7/? chapters) Author’s Summary: When Lucifer returns to Earth, their reunion is everything Chloe dreamed of. There's just one problem. Lucifer left Hell... Hell didn't leave Lucifer.

Rec Notes: I hope you like angst, because this fic has a boatload of it! But it’s so good!

Showtime by Weisse_Rose

Rating: Mature Status: Complete Word Count: 1,070 (1 chapter) Author’s Summary: Oh no! We're gonna get caught where we shouldn't have been sneaking around! Quick, let's make out!

It's a classic for a reason.

Rec Notes: I don’t know what else to tell ya, it is a classic for a reason. Though I should warn people to pay attention to the rating and the tags; Chloe and Lucifer go a bit beyond merely “making out”.

The walls we built by Weisse_Rose

Rating: General Status: Complete Word Count: 540 (1 chapter) Author’s Summary: What if Lucifer hadn't stormed off immediately after seeing Chloe? (Set in 3x20 "The Angel of San Bernardino")

Rec Notes: As much as I loved seeing Lucifer rush over to Cain’s place to kick his ass, this is the scene I would have preferred to see. It properly addresses the extent to which Lucifer's stunt with Candy hurt Chloe and the long-term issues it would have given her, something which is only hinted at in the show. Plus, it ends with Lucifer and Chloe falling asleep on the couch together and Trixie covering them with a blanket, which is adorable.

Chloe Jane Decker; or, The Modern Persephone by violent_ends

Rating: Mature Status: Complete Word Count: 29,164 (10 chapters) Author’s Summary: While researching Hell after Lucifer's departure, Chloe stumbles upon the Greek myth of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld. She convinces herself that it's the solution to all her problems, the key to see Lucifer again. All she has to do is have him grow a pomegranate tree. You know, in Hell.

And while you are here, you shall rule all that lives and moves and shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore. {Homeric Hymn to Demeter}

Rec Notes: A beautifully written fic that is very different than most Chloe-goes-to-Hell fics I’ve read. It is very bittersweet (and just plain angsty in some parts) but it does have a happy ending. As with most of this author’s higher rated fics, it is restricted and can only be read if you are logged on to an Ao3 account.

#Laura's Deckerstar Fic Recs #deckerstar #fan fiction #fic rec #lucifer #lucifer on netflix #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker

22 notes · View notes

flameraven · 2 years

Text

Wheel of Time Episode 3 Liveblog!

Nyneve: certified badass. Again, why are she and Egwene not our main characters??

That wound still seems like it hasn't been properly cleaned out, I don't care what magic herbs you shoved in there.

Roommate: 🎶Some More Portentous Dreams!🎶

This country has SO MANY conveniently endless fields for them to run through, and I definitely have Thoughts about the weird emptiness of the landscape, but that's another post.

I feel like more fantasy songs should be like actual folk songs: fun and filthy and/or full of booze. People in a bar don't want to hear a sad song about ancient history! They want some light entertainment.

I like Mat's pragmatism but it's undercut by him being kind of a terrible person. I'm sympathetic to him wanting to get back to his sisters, but being too lazy to do actual work? Come on.

Unsurprisingly, the evil poisoned troll wound has not healed. Infection!!

Aaand Mat's gonna go steal a thing, like a dumbass.

I actually like this gleeman. I wanna know his story.

Ooooooh, betrayal!! Damn, literally every woman in this show is cooler than our heroes, even the evil ones.

So we learn the name of the previous Dragon: Ishamael. That is... an extremely Hebrew name for a setting without Judaism.

Ah, the classic "we have to break the world to save it" argument.

Thanks, gleeman! I love how every rando they run into is like, fully plugged into the mythology and lore and the protagonists have apparently never heard a single folktale or bit of history in their entire lives. 😂

Ahhhh damn, we gotta get help from the Murder Squad of Aes Sedai. :/

Overall: definitely more engaging than the previous two. I like having the crew split up and getting a little bit more character development. I liked seeing Egwene experiment with her magic. I am kinda iffy on the whole Travelers situation. Apparently they're based on Irish Travelers and not the Romani, but... I dont' really trust Jordan to have written them in any kind of culturally sensitive way. Case in point: mostly white people with dreads is not a great look.

#wot #wot tv spoilers #wot tv #wot liveblog

2 notes · View notes

nyxshadowhawk · 3 years

Text

An Analysis of The Ninth Gate

I finally got around to watching The Ninth Gate after it was recommended on Occultism with a Side of Salt. Seriously, why did it take me so long to watch this film? This is pretty much everything I like! It’s a film from 1999 (incidentally, the same year as Eyes Wide Shut) starring Johnny Depp as an expert on rare books called Dean Corso. It’s based loosely on a novel by Arturo Pérez-Reverte called The Club Dumas, and was directed by Roman Polanski (who’s the man behind Tanz der Vampire, but who is extremely problematic and we do not stan). Corso is employed by a rich book collector named Boris Balkan to authenticate his copy of a grimoire called The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, which may be the coolest title for a grimoire ever. The book is supposedly designed to summon the Devil himself, and was copied from another mysterious book that the Devil was said to have written. Corso compares the grimoire with the two other existing copies to find out which one is the real one, but there are mysterious deaths and other unsettling events around the book, and he has a mysterious girl helping him.

The film is very spooky and has a wonderful Dark Academia aesthetic. What’s most interesting to me about it is, although it isn’t authentically occult, it feels very authentic. The grimoire is clearly modeled after real ones. The engravings in the book also could easily be mistaken for real ones if I didn’t know better. I think that the pentagram on the cover is a little too on-the-nose, especially since pentagrams weren’t associated with Satanism until relatively recently — I think the Sigil of Lucifer would be a better fit, since it’s reasonably well-known (for example, the Mother Superior of the Satanic Nuns in Good Omens wears one instead of a cross) and it comes from a real grimoire. That’s me being very nitpicky, though. Although this film follows some tropes of Hollywood Satanism, its portrayal of that is still more realistic than normal. Real-life occult ritual groups are more like book clubs or potlucks, but the actual ritual part can in fact look something like the one in the film. (Sure, it wouldn’t be in a mansion with cool-ass gargoyles, but this is certainly more realistic than Eyes Wide Shut.)

This film feels authentically occult becuase a lot of real occultism is pouring over old books and analyzing symbolic images. I do a lot of that! Right now, I’m reading a dictionary of alchemical symbolism. I hope to eventually be able to look at all the weird images in alchemical manuscripts and make some sense of them. This film is basically about doing exactly that. I noticed the tarot symbolism in the engravings immediately, and I felt a little like I was trying to decipher them right alongside Corso. It reminded me of solving Nox Arcana puzzles, and that just makes me incredibly happy. The approach this film takes is also realistic — (slight spoilers) it could have gone the classic Hollywood route of summoning Satan to destroy the world and all that, but it doesn’t. Instead, the end goal is more abstract and spiritual, much more in-line with occultists’ actual goals in real life. Just as in alchemy, the goal is not to make gold or live forever, but to experience spiritual transcendence, and this is encoded in alchemists’ notes and artwork.

So, I want to try my hand at deciphering the engravings’ secrets, and test my own knowledge of occult symbolism in the process. Everything that follows involves major spoilers, so I will dispense with the exposition and assume that you have already seen the film.

I’ve seen it argued on YouTube that the engravings represent actual events in the film, and some of them seem to. Bernie is murdered and hung upside down, the collapsing scaffolding is the “danger from above” arrow, Corso is hit in the back of the head in one of the film’s most chilling scenes, and the Girl (who is implied to be Lucifer) ends up… well… “riding” him in front of the burning castle. But come on, that is way too easy. For one thing, the related events don’t seem to occur in any specific sequence, either the engravings’ numbered sequence or Balkan’s rearranged sequence. It would make sense if Corso would have to experience every engraving and “pass through each gate” — that happens a lot in films like this one, where an eerily coincidental series of events plays out just as in the book/prophecy/whatnot. But that doesn’t really happen, or if it does, it’s not obvious enough for the only interpretation of the engravings to be literal. What impresses me the most about The Ninth Gate is that it goes for that more figurative, spiritual dimension. That is really what makes it feel realistically occult.

The real solution to the engravings seems to be spiritual growth or enlightenment, which is the goal of most occultists. Balkan sort of understands this, which is why he disdains Telfer and her coven being edgy and playing dress up instead of really making an effort to understand Lucifer’s secrets. And yet, Balkan also fails, because he is after power, not enlightenment. It seems as though both of them misunderstand Lucifer, believing him to be the kind of Lucifer that you usually see in these movies. (That would fit in well with his name and his role in the Eden story, if you interpret it that way.) If we assume that the Girl is Lucifer, then she is more benevolent an influence than anything else. Hell, Corso doesn’t even suffer any “temptation” consequences from having sex with her. Corso wins in the end because he actually puts in the effort, and the Girl helps guide him toward enlightenment. Maybe Lucifer is a good force in this film’s world. Lucifer’s own versions of the engravings seem to emphasize that s/he is genuinely invested in helping his/her followers towards enlightenment.

When Balkan assembles the engravings in the proper order, this is his interpretation of the riddle:

To travel in silence, by a long and circuitous route, to brave the arrows of misfortune, and fear neither noose nor fire, to play the greatest of all games and win, foregoing no expense, is to mock the vicissitudes of fate and gain at last the key that will unlock the Ninth Gate.

First, I want to say that this riddle reminds me a lot of the Emerald Tablet. It’s similarly cryptic, and I only sort of have it figured out. I love that something like that is real and authentically ancient. Anyway, moving on. I’ll go through the engravings in the order that Balkan puts them in (as opposed to their numbered order), and see if I can make sense of them.

The first engraving shows a knight traveling towards a castle. In the AT version of the engraving, the castle has four towers, while in LCF’s version, it has three. Balkan’s interpretation is “To travel in silence,” while the caption is “Silence is golden.” That immediately reminds me of the common occult maxim, “To Know, to Will, to Dare, to Keep Silent.” I’ve never been much of a fan of keeping silent, which is why I post things like this on the internet, but in general occultists tend to be secretive folk. According to this article, another translation of the caption is “Only one who has battled according to the rules will prevail.” I’m not sure whose rules are being referred to here. Lucifer’s, maybe?

This is one of the only engravings in which there is no obvious tarot symbolism. There are four Knights in tarot, one for each suit — wands, swords, cups, and pentacles — but this knight doesn’t have a symbol of any of the suits or anything that could suggest that. The difference is in the castle towers — three in LCF’s, four in AT’s. In traditional numerology, three is a number symbolizing perfection and creation, as in the Holy Trinity, while four is the number of the solid and material and unlucky. (Source: Richard Cavendish, The Black Arts). Sets of three are especially common in fairy tales and mythology — three siblings, three tasks, three encounters, three magical objects, three questions, three trials or tests, repeating an action three times with the third time being different or conclusive, etc. Lucifer’s castle at the end also has three sets of towers. The most obvious interpretation of this is that your destination will be either material gain (AT) or spiritual advancement (LCF).

In the tarot, the threes represent the completion of the first stage of a venture — the Three of Wands represents a successful enterprise, the Three of Cups represents celebration and fulfillment, and the Three of Pentacles represents recognition for your achievements. All of them have something to do with attainment except for the Three of Swords, which represents loss, heartbreak, betrayal, etc. The fours aren’t bad, representing stability and structure — the Four of Wands is joyful and peaceful, the Four of Swords takes time to rest and recoup, the Four of Cups is bored and listless, and the Four of Pentacles receives material abundance. All of them are a bit more grounded and material, so I think it makes the most sense to interpret the difference in this engraving as being the spiritual three vs. the material four, and leave it at that.

The fourth engraving, which is second in Balkan’s sequence, is of a jester standing at the entrance to a labyrinth. In LCF’s version the labyrinth’s exit is open, while in AT’s it is bricked up. Balkan interprets this as meaning “by long and circuitous route,” while the caption reads “Fate is not the same for all.” that seems fairly straightforward — Balkan and Corso have different fates. Corso is able to find his way out of the Labyrinth, but Balkan’s exit is bricked up. This is because he never properly experienced the journey the way Corso did, he just wanted the payoff and tried to take shortcuts.

The Labyrinth is a very old symbol, and it carries the dual symbolism of a death trap in which there is a Minotaur, and a path to spiritual enlightenment. It can represent the Underworld or the darkness of the subconscious mind, with the Minotaur being your Shadow. Either you are trapped in the Labyrinth and eaten by the monster, or you find your way back out into the light having gained some self-awareness. The jester is probably meant to represent 0 The Fool, who, in the Tarot, is the naive adventurer who sets out on a spiritual journey over the threshold and into the realm of the subconscious and symbolic — i.e. the Labyrinth. As for the dice in the foreground, this seems to reinforce the caption’s point about fate. But dice, like tarot cards, can be used as both a game and a divination tool — it is the assumption of the diviner that random chance is always meaningful. And indeed, the visible faces on each die add up to 6 — 666.

The third engraving depicts a traveler walking towards a bridge. In the clouds above him, there’s a Cupid-like figure with an arrow pointing down at him. Balkan’s interpretation is “to brave the arrows of misfortune,” and the caption is “The lost word keeps the secret.” AT’s version is pictured here; in LCF’s version, there are two arrows, the other one pointing upwards in the quiver.

This traveller looks much more like the traditional Tarot depiction of 0 The Fool than the jester. The Fool is happy-go-lucky and doesn’t notice the danger he might be walking into. TV Tropes describes The Fool trope as referring to a person who, despite having no idea what they’re doing, doesn’t come to any harm because of their luck and innocence. So, the traveler will probably not be hit by the arrow, the same way Corso avoids the collapsing scaffolding. The two arrows in the LCF version seem to reinforce the idea of there being two possible outcomes. The arrow pointing up and the other one pointing down could also reference the famous occult maxim, “As above, so below,” adding another spiritual dimension to it. Balkan’s interpretation of the engraving reminded me a lot of a certain famous soliloquy: “To be or not to be, that is the question: / Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, / Or to take arms against a sea of troubles / And by opposing end them.” In this scene, Hamlet is considering whether or not to take his own life. But when applied to this engraving, these lines seem to once again suggest the two possible outcomes — you can suffer and die, or move on towards your goal.

And then there’s the caption. “The lost word keeps the secret.” Well, it’s pretty obvious what that refers to — the ninth engraving, replaced with a forgery that changes the meaning of the entire thing. The missing engraving contains the secret. But that caption seems completely irrelevant to this engraving, except that the face of the archer doesn’t look remotely like a baby’s, as putti usually do — it looks like an old man’s, specifically, the Ceniza brothers’, who removed and replaced the missing engraving.

The sixth engraving, fourth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man hanging upside-down by his ankle, and an arm with a flaming sword reaching out of a castle tower. Balkan’s interpretation of this is “and fear neither noose nor fire,” which proves he knows fuck all about tarot. No wonder he got the riddle wrong. This one is so blindingly obvious. The man isn’t hanging by his neck, he’s hanging by his foot. He’s the Hanged Man.

XII The Hanged Man is a strange and disturbing card at first glance, but it has become one of my favorites. The Hanged Man is almost never depicted hanging by his neck; he hangs by his foot, and has a serene expression, indicating that he wants to be there. He represents going through a period of tribulation, suffering, surrender, or introspection in order to obtain wisdom, enlightenment, self-awareness, and insight. He goes through a metamorphosis, just like the caterpillar that hangs upside-down in its chrysalis to become a butterfly. He’s a Christlike figure, evidenced by the halo around his head in the Rider-Waite deck, and the fact that he willingly suffers for a higher purpose. He even wears the same colors as Jesus in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper in the Rider-Waite deck, although I’m not sure if that’s on purpose or not.

The caption to the engraving is “I am enriched by death,” which is a million times more meaningful than Balkan’s interpretation. If you’re an occultist, that line is probably self-explanatory. Pretty much everything mystical involves that theme of (symbolically) dying and being resurrected. The alchemical process has three stages — nigredo, which is death, albedo, which is the ascension of the soul, and rubedo, which is returning to life in a “purified” body as a more spiritual being. The Hero’s Journey follows this same pattern — the hero entering the Underworld or the Labyrinth and facing trials that allow them to spiritually ascend and achieve apotheosis (or something close to it). It’s everywhere in books, movies, and video games. It is the initiation ritual. Most occultists figuratively go through it in one way or another. And in tarot, XII The Hanged Man is at the rough midpoint of the Fool’s journey through the Major Arcana, and immediately followed by XIII Death. “I am enriched by death.” You cannot be reborn as a new and better version of yourself without first having died.

The difference between AT’s and LCF’s engravings is that AT’s has the Hanged Man hanging by his right foot, while LCF’s has him hanging by his left foot. I don’t think this changes the meaning of the engraving too much. In Rider-Waite, the Hanged Man hangs by his right foot, but in the Tarot de Marseille, which is older, he hangs by the left foot. The only significance to this that I can see is that the Latin word for “left” is sinistram, and the word “sinister” has its current meaning because left was considered Satanic. Left-handed people were discriminated against for this reason, until as late as the mid-20th century. In occultism, the “Left-Hand Path” is an approach to magic that involves rejecting tradition and dogma and generally being edgy. I think that the right-hand and left-hand paths are a false dichotomy (you use both your hands, don’t you?), but anything Satanic is considered part of the Left-Hand Path. Jung associated left with the unconscious, so we’re back to the Labyrinth.

I don’t have much to say about the flaming sword. It could be foreshadowing Balkan’s death (more on that later), or it could represent the flaming sword of the angel of Eden (i.e. guarding spiritual knowledge).

The seventh engraving, fifth in Balkan’s sequence, is of a king and a peasant playing a chess game. Two dogs are fighting in the background, and the moon can be seen through the window. In AT’s version, the board is black, and in LCF’s, the board is white. Balkan interprets it as “to play the greatest of all games,” and the caption is “The disciple surpasses the master.”

The tarot symbolism that I see here is that of XVIII The Moon, which has dogs baying at it in the Rider-Waite deck. The Moon represents the subconscious, imagination, and dreams, but also nightmares, madness, and illusion. The illusion here is probably still the missing engraving being replaced by the forgery. The themes of the subconscious get reinforced. Underneath the Moon, a black dog and a white dog fight each other, almost seeming to create a yin/yang shape. This brings the dark and the light into balance, the same way the Moon spends equal times dark and bright as it goes through its phases. The game is chess, which is played with black and white pieces, and the board is either black or white. The game seems to be a draw, making the peasant and the king equals, just as the dogs are unable to defeat each other. So, this engraving is all about reconciling dualities.

There’s another layer to this. God is the “King of Kings,” so this could demonstrate a human becoming God’s equal. This is basically the goal of occultism — to become like God, in some form. Left-Hand Path’ers in particular seem to like the idea of becoming gods themselves, or even “surpassing” God. Since the book was created by Lucifer, this could tie in to Lucifer’s desire to become God’s equal that got him cast out of Heaven (but I’m not the biggest fan of that story, so I won’t go any further with that). To the occultist, man is God, just as God can become a man — as above, so below. That’s also a form of reconciling the duality of human and divine.

The caption, “The disciple surpasses the master,” probably refers to this, but it could also refer to Corso surpassing Balkan and succeeding where Balkan failed. Any good teacher wants their students to have learned so well that they surpass them. God (or Lucifer) intends for his disciples to surpass him, but Balkan tries (and fails) to prevent Corso from surpassing him.

The fifth engraving, which is sixth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man counting coins while Death stands behind him with a pitchfork and hourglass. Balkan’s interpretation is “and win, foregoing no expense,” while the caption reads “In vain.” Balkan is an idiot. Exactly like the man in the engraving, he is focused entirely on the money and completely misses the literal shadow of Death standing behind him. How does one overlook the significance of that? There’s a big difference between “I won the game so now I get money” and “in vain”! Of course, this means that Balkan is too focused on material pursuits and misses that he is about to die. In AT’s version, the sand is at the top of the hourglass, while in LCF’s version, it is at the bottom — the man has run out of time. The expression “you can’t take it with you” comes to mind. Money and material goods don’t ultimately matter compared to spiritual growth. “In vain.”

In tarot, XIII Death almost never represents physical death. Instead, it represents change, usually a change for the better. Death is about letting go of old things so that new things can come, stepping through a threshold into another life or state of being. This can be difficult or emotionally painful, but it is necessary and ultimately beneficial. If The Hanged Man is the chrysalis, then Death is the emerging butterfly (the Greek word psyche means both “soul” and “butterfly,” because butterflies represent the souls of the dead). Once again, Death is a required step towards spiritual advancement. And if you refuse to acknowledge this, it isn’t going to go well for you.

The checkerboard floor probably continues to reinforce the theme of duality. As for the pitchfork, maybe the reason Death has a peasant’s pitchfork instead of a scythe is because pitchforks are associated with Satan, or it could be a representation of peasants taking revenge on rich people. Or it could be a reference to American Gothic. I think it’s the first one.

The eighth engraving, which is seventh in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a praying man about to be bludgeoned by a knight with a mace, with the Wheel of Fortune in the background. Balkan’s interpretation is “to mock the vicissitudes of fate” and the caption says “Virtue is defeated.”

The Wheel of Fortune is a medieval motif that shows how fortune is apparently random. Some get to be kings, others are serfs, and your fortunes can turn at any moment. Just when you think everything is great, someone hits you on the back of the head. In tarot, X The Wheel of Fortune means exactly what you would expect it to — a twist of fate, a change of fortune. Whether it’s for better or for worse depends on the context and the cards around it. Life is full of ups and downs, so enjoy what you’ve got while you have it, etc. Sometimes when it shows up, it can mean that you should trust in fate.

But that’s the background. What to make of the foreground? Honestly, this is the most disturbing engraving to me, especially with the accompanying scene where Corso gets hit in the head. By whom? It’s probably Telfer’s lackey, because the knight in the engraving kind of looks like him. And if the caption is “Virtue is defeated,” the praying man hasn’t been defeated yet. The knight is about to hit him, not already standing over his body. It could be an example of “bad things happen to good people” — being virtuous won’t stop you from suffering. Since Corso is the one who gets hit in the back of the head, maybe that indicates that he’s the most virtuous character (which is saying a lot, since he’s not exactly an upstanding person). In LCF’s version of the engraving, the knight has a halo — does that mean that defeating Virtue is a good thing? I guess that would make sense if the artist is Satan? Or does it mean the knight is protecting the praying man? I don’t know. I genuinely am not sure how to interpret this one. What I do know is that Balkan is still an idiot. Nothing about this suggests mocking fate. If anything, this is an example of succumbing to it.

The second engraving, eighth in Balkan’s sequence, shows an old man with a dog, holding two keys in his hand. In AT’s version, the keys are in his right hand, and in LCF’s, they are in his left hand. Balkan’s interpretation is “gain at last the key,” and the caption is “Open that which is closed.”

This is another obvious tarot image. This is clearly The Hermit with his lantern. IX The Hermit represents withdrawing into solitude for contemplation and meditation, to gain spiritual wisdom and awareness. Like the Hanged Man, he indicates a need to be passive in the service of introspection. He’s the archetypical guru on a mountain, and he holds the keys to enlightenment. Keys represent access to information, and the ability to pass between worlds. “Open that which is closed” is pretty obvious — unlock the gates, receive spiritual insight. LCF’s version having the keys be in the left hand just reinforces everything I said about left earlier.

Also, that Hebrew symbol next to him is the one for the number nine. That suggests that the Hermit is right in front of the Ninth Gate. In numerology, nine is a magical number, being three times three. It represents completeness, spiritual achievement, and initiation. So, that’s self-explanatory. In tarot, tens are the ultimate state of completion, so the nines are the penultimate step — the Nine of Wands gives you the strength and willpower to overcome obstacles, the Nine of Cups represents success and contentment, and the Nine of Pentacles represents celebrating an accomplishment. (Once again, the Swords are the outlier, representing fear and despair.) Nines in general are good, the perfection of three multiplied by itself. (The Hermit is also the ninth card of the Major Arcana, if you noticed.)

And finally, we come to the ninth and final engraving (that Roman numeral should read “IX”). This depicts a woman who looks suspiciously like the Girl reading a book, ostensibly The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, and riding a dragon with seven goatlike heads. There is a castle in the background, and the castle is a real place. There are three versions of the engraving — this one, which is signed by AT and has the castle as-is, a forged LCF engraving that shows the castle in flames, and the real one. Balkan’s interpretation is “that will unlock the Ninth Gate,” and the caption is “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.”

The woman is apparently an image of the “Whore of Babylon” from Revelations, who rides a seven-headed dragon. I’m not really sure what she’s supposed to represent, beyond being generally Satanic. Of course, Crowley recasted her as a sex goddess. The seven heads of her dragon are significant — seven is the number of secrets, mysteries, magic, introspection, and searching for inner truth, which have been running themes this whole time. It also signifies creation, completeness, and rest, since God created the world in seven days. In tarot, the sevens present a new challenge after the perfection of the sixes — the Seven of Wands brings new obstacles that require determination to overcome; the Seven of Cups represents imagination, dreams, and illusions, so back to The Moon again (and the illusion of the forgery); the Seven of Swords also represents deception or a con artist (like the Ceniza twins, or maybe Balkan); and the Seven of Pentacles represents a threshold or a new opportunity, and reflecting on one’s achievements. That all aligns scarily well with the situation here.

The critical illusion is that the “LCF” engraving with the burning castle is a forgery. So, Balkan sets himself on fire for no reason other than egomania. This image is similar to XVI The Tower in Tarot. The Tower is one of the scariest cards to get. If Death is a difficult but beneficial change, The Tower is a dramatic turn for the worse, complete destruction and devastation. It is struck by lightning and destroyed, going up in flames. I drew this card shortly before the pandemic hit. That was The Tower — destruction, upheaval, devastation, but with the promise of rebuilding. I also had to deal with a lot of emotional turmoil because of an unrelated thing that happened around the same time, and it shook me to my core. So, obviously the forged engraving leads to Balkan’s destruction.

The true ninth LCF engraving shows the sun shining from behind one of the castle’s towers:

Replacing The Tower with The Sun is a drastic difference. If The Tower is one of the worst cards to get, XIX The Sun is one of the best. The Sun is a good omen in every capacity. It represents everything that these engravings have been working towards — spiritual growth, fulfillment, success, enlightenment, revelation of secrets, good fortune, etc. It fits right in with Lucifer’s status as the Light Bringer, and it is the solution. (The true engraving is also very reminiscent of The Star, which directly follows The Tower, and represents hope and the light at the end of the tunnel. I drew it recently, signifying the end of my emotional turmoil.) The jagged rocks at the bottom of the castle in the other two versions are missing here, and the castle is more accessible, with a visible path. The woman gestures directly to it.

The rest of the scene is much more shadowed in the true version, which fits right in with the caption: “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.” I, in my obsession with Shadow work, interpret this as confronting the dark parts of oneself and bringing them out into the light to become a whole person, and to grow spiritually. This goes back to the Labyrinth, needing to enter the dark Underworld or the realm of the subconscious in order to gain spiritual wisdom and finally achieve enlightenment. Everything in the engravings seems to point back to that — needing a period of introspection, reconciling of duality, obtaining safe passage through the various trials until you see The Sun, which is followed by Judgement (resurrection) and The World (fulfillment). The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows are like the seven gates of the Underworld that Inanna must pass through (and that eight-pointed star is a symbol of Inanna). Corso passes through the Ninth Gate, out of the Kingdom of Shadows and into the light.

Balkan’s interpretation is clearly off. So, let’s rearrange the engravings back into their intended order:

Silence is golden. Open that which is closed. The lost word keeps the secret. Fate is not the same for all. In vain. I am enriched by death. The disciple surpasses the master. Virtue lies defeated. Now I know that from darkness comes Light.

If you, who seek after secrets, wish to unlock the gates to wisdom and enlightenment, be wary of potential dangers and missing pieces. You can either suffer and die, or move towards your goal. You will either find a way out of the Labyrinth or find that your path is blocked. Do not pursue material gains, and miss the shadow of Death hanging over you. Face Death, and you will be enriched by it, gaining spiritual insight that will allow you to surpass your superiors and become God’s equal. After a final challenge, test of virtue or twist of fortune, you will emerge from the darkness and into the light.

Am I reading way too deep into a spooky movie? Maybe, but come on! How could I resist? Do any of you have interpretations of your own?

Sources:

https://slapphappe.wordpress.com/2009/03/22/symbolism-in-the-ninth-gate/#%3A~%3Atext%3DThe%20fire%20at%20the%20Ninth%2Cof%20the%20Kingdom%20of%20Shadows.

https://davidjrodger.wordpress.com/2011/08/24/the-ninth-gate-occult-and-tarot-like-symbolism-in-the-engravings-by-aristide-torchia-and-lucifer-plus-wider-meanings-of-the-movie/

#the ninth gate #the ninth gate film #johnny depp #johnny depp movies #occult #occultism #occult symbolism #tarot #tarot symbolism #occult symbols #movie analysis #spooky #dark academia #dark acadamia aesthetic #occult films #lucifer

11 notes · View notes

crossdressingdeath · 3 years

Note

Really, looking at the list of rules that is available across the different versions, I don’t think the rules are actually that unbearable? The most fall into certain categories:

1) Very typical rules found at any school or workplace typically due to health and safety codes, some just because you shouldn’t do those things working/learning.

2 Things that would be followed because of cultural reasons.

3) Things that would be followed because of legal reasons (not an expert on the ancient Chinese legal system, but no murder or stealing sounds about right).

4) Rules that are different variations of “don’t bully/be a dick”

5) Rules that are different variations of “just be nice/payback any kindness”

6) Rules that are different variations of “if someone does something good, you should be inspired by them”

I don’t know, I just feel like those types of rules aren’t that bad all things considered? Also, the rule is “don’t distract female cultivators” not “don’t interact”, in case anyone is curious.

Yeah, the rules are strict but none of them are more than you’d expect in any learning/working environment. Like... what school doesn’t have rules about sitting properly and not running and so on? And there’s a lot of basic decency stuff like “don’t gossip” which feels like they’ve just codified things that in an ideal world would just be the Done Thing. And like... a curfew and bedtime and not leaving the grounds at night aren’t unreasonable, I think that’s all fairly standard for boarding schools (which the Cloud Recesses is, in a sense). And yeah, I don’t think there’s anything stopping the male and female disciples from interacting beyond them living separately. I think it’s probably like a boys’ dorm/girls’ dorm situation. Basically yeah, the Lan rules that we know all seem... pretty reasonable, if you think about them, and certainly none of them are particularly unusual. The only one that I think is particularly weird is “Do not associate with evil”, if only because of how vague that is (what qualifies as “evil”?), and that was added for CQL, I can only assume so that they could make it so LWJ was being punished for having feelings for WWX instead of for... y’know, treason.

#mdzs #a bit of cql negativity #whoops #anon #asks

16 notes · View notes

slimysnaildaddy · 4 years

Note

Please. We need MC with Tourette's and the brothers/undateables all reacting. Bonus if it's Chaotic!MC.

(For context I told the person asking this to send me this prompt bc I have tourette’s but feel weird abt writing shit on here without being prompted, this isn’t just some random person coming into my askbox like LETS JOKE ABOUT DISABLED PEOPLE i genuinely have TS and told them to do it please don’t flame silver here because he lovely and deserves only good things)

HELL. YES. Get ready for chaos. And I’ll be very careful not to hit the stereotypes, but I am one of the 10% who exhibits coprolalia (the much-lauded swearing symptom of Tourette's, literally meaning “Poop-speak” in Greek) so expect some of that. It should also be noted that I, personally, am completely fine with jokes about tics or laughing when they make for good situational humor, but mocking someone for having tics is a BIG no-no. This does not represent the TS community as a whole and you should always ask the person what level of joking they’re okay with.

I didn’t do all the undateables but this is ridiculous and self-indulgent anyway so no one cares.

Lucifer:

The first time he heard MC tic, it was when he was coming into the HOL after MC had been brought there by Mammon. He heard this puny human shout “SON OF A DONKEY WHORE” at the top of their lungs and automatically assumed they were in the process of being eaten by Beel or something of that nature, so he power walked (though he will deny it later) to their room only to find them casually re-arranging pillows and giving themself an occasional smack to the chest or making a strange yipping sound, perfectly safe.

Once MC explained it to him he simply sighed and came to the conclusion that this is going to be a long, long year.

He does get headaches sometimes, so he’s snapped at MC to keep it down once or twice and gotten chewed out as a result. It really isn’t something you can help, and MC makes that very clear.

Lucifer learned not to say anything of that nature, because somehow MC’s wrath is even worse than Satan’s.

He occasionally finds it hard to tell if MC is having a tic or causing problems intentionally. He wonders if they’re doing that on purpose. He is correct. He wonders if he can stop them. He is incorrect.

After he gets more comfortable with MC and learns the boundaries he will make jokes related to their tics.

“My hovercraft is full of eels!” “Perhaps you should invest in eel-catching equipment.”

If they’re having a bad day where they can’t stop hitting themself or might injure themself because of some of the more unpleasant tics, he will ask them if they need help with something, like a cushion.

Actually cracks up at some of the funnier tics. One time MC got him to spit coffee all over Diavolo with a perfectly timed tic. It was glorious.

Will facepalm if they say/do something particularly inappropriate.

Mammon:

First time he heard (or rather, saw) MC tic it was when he was unlocking the door to the HOL for them for the first time and they made a loud whooping noise and clapped very loudly.

Naturally this startled the shit out of him cause he’s a pissbaby lol. MC didn’t say anything about it cause they were too busy expecting to be murdered by this powerful demon lord who has been just this side of hostile to them ever since meeting them. They didn’t know he’s a pissbaby yet.

After a little while they mentioned “Oh hey i’ve got tourette’s” and here’s how THAT went.

MC: Yeah, I have Tourette’s Syndrome so if I start saying or doing weird stuff-

Mammon: WAIT. Isn’t that the swearing disease. (sighhh)

MC: *deep sigh* only 10% of us have coprolalia-

Mammon, barely remembering ancient Greek: WAIT SO YOU SHIT YOUR PANTS-

Satan tries correcting him but MC cuts him off like “no no, i want him to keep thinking that it’s funny as fuck”

Mc then proceeds to torment Mammon by threatening to shit on his belongings. Keeps him from stealing their wallet.

Literally takes him until he makes a pact with them to get the proper explanation (and to get roasted for making that assumption in the first place)

100% jokes with MC about their tics.

Still gets startled by the more sudden/loud ones and has jumped into Beel’s arms bc of this.

Levi:

First time they did a tic in front of him was when they were trying to figure out how to find Goldie.

“Maybe we should look in the- *starts smacking chest repeatedly* GARGOYLES GARGOYLES ughhh hang on this is gonna take a few minutes to stop GARGOYLES GARGOYLES”

Levi: *white guy blinking gif*

They do not look in the gargoyles.

MC explains it to him and he’s just like “OH I’VE SEEN MOVIES WITH THAT”

MC stares off into the distance like a character from The Office

He ends up being responsible for them having MULTIPLE tics where they imitate anime attack calls or gestures, peppered with occasional magical girl transformation lines.

They say rurin in a cutesy little voice every 5 minutes for a whole week and everyone’s glaring at Levi the whole time.

Thinks some of their tics are REALLY CUTE AND ANIME and is not shy about saying this.

MC: ugh, you know this is a GENUINE DISABILITY, right?

Levi: omg i’m sorry

MC: lol i’m just fucking with you- RURIN~!

Satan:

He noticed MC being a bit twitchy from the moment they arrived, but simply assumed they were nervous and a bit flinchy because of that. Of course, they totally were nervous but also their brain was just like “time to clench all of your muscles at once instead of paying attention to this very important conversation”.

After that he just notices more and more, and honestly he probably reads a lot so it’s likely he already knows about Tourette’s or similar tic disorders, it’s entirely possible that he asks them about it or mentions it casually in conversation.

Is honestly fascinated by their tics and what can trigger them, when they’re more or less frequent, things that cause them to get better or worse, etc etc. MC may have to actually tell him to stop treating them like a case study.

Or, even better, they may just intentionally fuck up his observations.

Knows a thing or two about how it feels to not be able to control yourself when upset. Whenever MC gets a tic attack he’s ready. He looked this up.

Tries not to crack up when they say or do objectively funny shit but sometimes a tic is times just PERFECTLY and he can’t help but snort.

Asmo:

The first time he heard them tic it was a mild disaster.

“Kissy poo~”

“OH YOU WANT ME TO KISS YOU?”

“nonono wait-”

Thinks some of the tics are cute and will absolutely let MC know. Even if they tell him to fuck off lol.

He sees a nasty bruise from one of MC’s more unpleasant tics (eg: chest smacking, slamming their head/arm into something on accident from a flailing tic) and doesn’t just have a cow, he has the entire damn pasture. MC simply CANNOT have such marks on their gorgeous skin! Don’t worry, he’s got creams and makeup for that :^)

Is a little too enthusiastic about offering to help MC relax if they’re having a bad tic day. He suggests massages. Massages are always good.

He’s happy to provide the massages.

Please MC let him give you a massage.

Beel:

First time he saw them tic it was during breakfast and they whistled very loudly right next to him.

His poor ears :( how could you hurt him in this way MC

Once they explained it he was like “Oh. Okay.” and moved on with his life.

He gets the whole “having urges to do shit you shouldn’t do” aka eating something he shouldn’t. He does his best to distract MC if they’re having bad tics.

mc: oh sorry i just need to touch something haha tourette’s is wild right *full on grabs beel’s chest* beel: :?

MC can ask him to restrain them if they’re having a really bad time with stuff and he’s more than strong enough to help lol. UNLIKE MY MOTHER SORRY MOM

Always apologizes if he accidentally triggers a tic.

MC starts climbing on him. Tourette’s compels them. He allows it. Jungly gym beel?

No lie I have a tic that’s just me saying “I eat worms!” in a cutesy voice and- IMAGINE

Belphie:

First time he saw them tic it was while he was still in the attic, they started jerking their head around during a late night visit and he was like what the fuck are you doing-

Thought it was incredibly annoying at first. I don’t blame him honestly. Tourette’s more like Annoying Asshole syndrome am i right (haha that internalized ableism)

Subtly triggered their tics intentionally cause haha stupid human

Once he got out of the attic and made friends with MC properly he was just kind of like “oh that was pretty shit of me wasn’t it”

Honestly doesn’t know how to help so he just ignores it lol.

The one time he tries to help them when they’re having a bad tic day he makes them take a nap with him because clearly if they’re asleep they can’t tic, right?

Surprise! They still can. Enjoy the knee to the stomach, B.

Encourages them to use their powers for evil. Like telling them to spill something on Lucifer and claim it was because of their Tourette’s.

Note: don’t do that, mc only obliges bc this is chaotic mc. TS not a toy etc etc

Barbatos:

Read that MC had tourette’s on their file, but honestly didn’t know what it was. Probably just assumed it was a heart condition or something, so when MC comes over for the retreat him and Dia are not expecting the tics.

The first time they tic in front of him it was at the retreat. He had just served them tea and tourette’s said yeeting time and they chucked the teacup. It hit him in the forehead. Tea all over his face. His hair. His suit. The wall. The floor. Maybe some on Diavolo too. He’s both impressed by their aim and wanting to fucking die.

Mammon is howling with laughter.

MC explains it to him while he’s still dripping with tea and he just smiles in a very strained manner and goes to get changed and wash his hair.

At the retreat when MC and Solomon make human food, he quickly learns that MC should not be around sharp Devildom knives. Or a stove. Or anything dangerous.

Gets weirdly protective over them, especially if they DO end up handling potentially dangerous stuff.

Keeps trying to find better ways to serve them drinks so they don’t break all the fine china, like plastic cups with lids. Stuff still gets spilled everywhere so he tries to get them a travel mug. The handle snaps and the lid leaks. Eventually gets them a sippy cup for toddlers, which works wonders. MC thinks it’s hysterical and makes him put a label on it with their name.

He seriously considers investing in Gyro Bowls as well.

After MC accidentally turned a platter with a soup bowl on it into an impromptu catapult with a poorly aimed table smack, he does just that.

One time they mention having a very strong urge to put their hand over a burning candle and he makes sure no candle is ever near them in the palace.

honestly i have too many ideas for barbatos so he’s getting a whole ass fic.

Diavolo:

The teacup incident was also the first time HE learned the true nature of Tourette’s syndrome. Once the whole deal was explained (and he knew mc wasn’t maliciously throwing things at Barbatos) he thought it was the funniest shit.

Bless his heart honestly.

Tries to not laugh at first bc he thinks it’s probably disrespectful. Meanwhile MC is cackling like a mad scientist bc they dabbed for the 343643th time today and Lucifer looks like he’s about to blow a gasket as a result.

Lowkey I can kind of see him as being one of those “Oh my goodness you are so BRAVE for going through this” meanwhile mc stares off into space like they’re on the office

Is astounded at all the unique challenges humans have to go through meanwhile MC is yeeting cups at barbatos

#tourettes #very specific and unrelatable tbh #actually tourettic #wow is tourettic the adjective?#huh #fitting #nobody asked for this #i'm self insert trash #and bullied someone into sending me this ask #you're welcome #asks

90 notes · View notes

antiloreolympus · 2 years

Text

10 Anti LO Asks

1. I'm not gonna deny that Minthe would be abusive irl, but I think I've figured out why she doesn't feel so to me in LO. Obviously because she's not the only person to slap someone and yet is the only person whose slap isn't played for laughs. But also because of how cheap the drama is in LO ("what's so bad about the slap, people do that all the time in soap operas") and because of the standard for violence being high (Hades carved someone's eye out once and we're pitying him for getting slapped).

2. idk why people say Persephone being nice/kind is bad characterization. That's arguably the only accurate part of LO in terms of myth. the real issue to me is RS and her fans seem to think Persephone has to reject those traits (as well as her nature ways) to instead be a violent, cold hearted capitalist like Hades and co. to be "mature". She was the kind one in the couple! Whats wrong with her staying kind despite all the hardships she's suffered? Why must she become cruel to be taken seriously?

3. homer would hate literally every modern greek myth retelling but LO especially. ya boy adored demeter and would despise what RS did to her story for the sake of a weird DDLG version of a respected couple.

4. That one anon is right, it does seem like RS has lost her passion. No wonder! This story began as a cutesy (well, for some), romance-focused retelling of one myth, and it's clear that that's what RS wants to make, but now she's dug herself deep into those weird convoluted plots that she can't even resolve properly. I'd get sick of writing this too.

5. other anon is right. most of the LO men are boring but ares has no reason being so goddam ugly. why would you do this to him, rachel!!

6. werent most of the ancient greek writers and poets huge misogynists and xenophobes towards any non greeks? they wouldnt just hate LO for what a mockery its made fo their culture and story. theyd hate rachel too for being a non-greek woman. yall cannot claim rachel is better than the poets for "improving" the mythology then claim theyd adore her despite their ancient, regressive ideals. cmon guys, be real here.

7. ok but if rs is seriously lost passion for the project then why wasnt it wrapped up years ago? why not take a month off and work out an ending sooner than later? like if shes seriously so sick of it by now, then why drag everything out and keep adding more plots that will take months/years to get to? other webtoon creators also had popular series like her but ended them when they wanted to & are now making new series. not to be rude, but theres no one to blame for here but herself.

8. you know i would have thought hades using artemis to excuse persephone's actions would have been a perfect chance for persephone to stick up for her and to show for ONCE a female relationship actual meant something in LO, but no, Persephone just sat there and let her supposed "friend" be used to excuse her mass murder. I know people are speculating Artemis will be the next "twist" villain and considering how Persephone is already being shown as not her friend by this point im inclined to agree.

9. im not against the flower nymphs being pink but like ... cant they have different shades of pink at least? like make some dark magenta and some pastel, why do they have to be the EXACT same shade as persephone? how can the comic claim shes the most unique, powerful goddess ever even theres thousands of women who look exactly like her and her powers arent actually that unique?

10. idk to me wouldnt persephone being like 500 makes more sense to why she wants to be independent and free from demeter's house make more sense than a 19 year old? because as it stands persephone just seems like a selfish brat who doesnt care what her mother had to suffer and sacrifice for her, only for everything bad demeter was trying to save her from happening all within two weeks of her being away from home. im not excusing lo demeter's actions but shes the only character who is proven right.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

47 notes · View notes

strikearose · 3 years

Text

Uncovering Passione's Underside (1/1) GIOMIS

What one can learn by listening to what the secretive Passione's staff have to say about their Don... One-shot, GioMis, Post-canon, Humor, G+ You can also read it on ao3 here!

For as long as many Passione members could recall, Agnese Bianchi had always been there, grumbling as she would mop the hall floor and nagging at fellow cleaning employees and ruthless gang members all alike. It didn't matter how long their felonious resumes were, she simply couldn't stand slackers. Years of working within that specific industry had forged her strong character - she was honest, hardworking, and probably a tad too outspoken too about her aversion for mobsters, but she still knew better than to ask silly questions like some other people did.

The housekeeper glared at the man who'd been chatting up the new cleaner (and therefore, preventing her from mopping up the floor as she had explicitly urged her to) for the last half hour. His name was Trado, Trattore, or something that sounded way too much like Tradittore anyway: he was one of the Don's many henchmen. Ever since he had started working there, he had taken that annoying habit of snooping everywhere, making idle chitchat with the household staff during rush hour.

The old maid cleared her throat, grabbed her cleaning cart handles, and pushed it unceremoniously between the pair. "Is that what you call cleaning the reception room? Signore Giovanna wants it sparkling clean: go fix it now or apply for another job already!"

Her harsh tone worked just fine: the young employee, caught red-handed slacking work, gasped in surprise and mumbled a brief apology before leaving in a hurry. The man, however, didn't seem the least concerned about her admonition. He simply smiled and raised his hands in self-defense - and lord if there was a way he could possibly piss her off even more.

Agnese chose to simply disregard his presence and rummaged through her pockets to find the key she needed.

Click.

As it opened, she began to push her cleaning cart over the door sill with some difficulty.

"Need some help?"

Agnese sighed when she realized he was still there. Who the hell was he taking her for?

"I don't. As always, I'm doing just fine on my own."

To her dismay, it seemed that her sharp answer didn't manage to get rid of the gangster. For God's sake, couldn't he just go bother someone else, literally anyone but her? There was nothing Agnese hated more than to have someone watch her every move.

...

Or perhaps slackers.

Slackers who intended on watching her every move.

"So, for how long have you been working there? They say you'll bury us all..."

Agnese rolled her eyes as she finally managed to get her cart through the doorway.

"Long enough to have seen my fair share of slackers come and go..." The cleaning lady truly wished he'd get the memo this time. She had seen it all: louts in suits with fake good manners and scarred faces, but also men that seemed to be way too nice and curious for their own good. To her, that last species was the worst: they were wolves in sheep's clothing.

But of course, Trado (or Trattore or whatever was his name) didn't appreciate the subtlety of her response, and he continued his questioning: "You've been there long enough to have known the former boss, right? The one before Don Giovanna, a real freak apparently... "

Agnese tensed at that: she didn't like where the conversation was heading. She was unfortunately all too familiar with those office gossips. A little over five years ago now, Passione had gone from having no official face, to Giorno Giovanna's gracing every streets' corners. Rumors had it that the young, brilliant, man had brutally murdered the Original Don in the span of a week. Others thought that Giovanna's was his son and that the boss had simply granted himself a well-deserved retirement.

She couldn't care less about what had truly happened: Don Giovanna gave her a monthly salary as well as direct, concrete instructions. And those were the two things that mattered to her. He was good at that, giving clear orders to the people to his service. And it was nicer to serve him than to obey blindly the weird requests she'd receive by mail like before.

"Don't you really have anywhere else to go?", the cleaning lady suddenly turned to the man she had heard approaching but was relieved to see that he had not dared to enter the Don's office. He was looking at her, peering at what she was doing, from the door's threshold. "If you want a piece of advice, stop being so damn noisy."

The gangster laughed and at that, Agnese wished she could just sweep him out of the room.

"Relax! I'm new here, I'm just curious. Don Giovanna's pretty nice, he won't murder us over some harmless chitchat."

The Boss of a criminal organization, a nice man?

It was Agnese's turn to snort.

Yeah, she guessed it was the kind of public image he was adamantly working on And some people seemed to believe it: newspapers were reporting less traffic, a decline in thugs harming citizens' and tourists' safety. The astounding sums of money he was giving to local shelters, hospitals, and public schools were also common knowledge: rumors had it that the city council was even thinking of naming the brand-new biological museum, founded thanks to his many donations, after him.

As a boss, Agnese considered him to be pretty decent - well, as decent as being the Don of a criminal organization could possibly allow him to be considered. After all, he was well-educated enough not to leave clothes and magazines scattered everywhere like the previous boss and some of his most favored underlings did.

But as a man, there was no way she could possibly tell if he was nice. Agnese was just an old, tired cleaning lady: she never pried into the Don's private life even though she guessed there were things that couldn't escape her lack of malicious curiosity. Details such as notes and silly doodles scribbled on his desk, scraps of paper (of extremely dubious content) discarded in the garbage can she needed to empty or sweaters which were at least two sizes too big for him lying on the normally spotless ground of his room...

Sighing, the old maid was about to close the door behind her when she noticed it: the stupid smirk on the gangster's face. The stupid knowing smirk they always had whenever they would bring up the one topic she had no desire to discuss.

How she wished she could just spray him with a window cleaner to wipe it out of his face.

"You know people say 'bout them, right? I'm sure it's complete bullshit but..."

The answer Agnese gave him was the same she would lecture her own underlings with: "One thing I know for sure is that the Underboss always carries his gun on him... And the Don sure doesn't need one to silence people. So just drop it and mind your own business."

With a last sigh, she finally shut the door closed and started her heavy work. However, even though the noisy snoop had left, Agnese felt her mind drift to her first encounter with the Don as she was dusting the ancient bookcase.

It had happened about four years ago, on a late December afternoon - was it because she had arrived too early or because he had stayed in his office later than usual, but the door had been left open so she had loudly pushed her cart inside. The old cleaning lady had instantly understood her mistake - after all, there was little mystery about whom that man was... Who else would dare to enter the big boss's office in his absence?

Golden locks, emerald eyes looking right at her with mild surprise: he obviously had not been expecting her.

"Oh, it's already that time of the day," his chin tilted high and proud, the mafia boss had flatly made that statement.

Not knowing what to say, Agnese had simply nodded and taken a discreet look at the massive clock behind him. 8:17 pm. He was definitely the one behind schedule, not her: she was just on time.

Not that she could say it aloud anyway.

"I didn't know you were still in there, Signore Giovanna," while her head was slightly bowed as a sign of respect, she had not apologized for her intrusion. She had nothing to apologize for: boss or not, he was the one messing with the established schedule. "I'll come back to clean your office later."

Don Giovanna had however soon dismissed her concern with a motion of his hand.

"It's fine, you can start working now. I was about to leave anyway."

The old housemaid nodded and was about to approach the bookcase when she had stopped right on her track, seeing the state of the ancient Victorian carpet. The boss had a rather keen hearing as he almost instantly turned his attention away from his papers to peer at Agnese, understanding what the problem was right away.

The blood hadn't just spattered on the carpet - there were traces of it on the sofa. And on the cushions. As well as on the desk's marble border.

And of course, the Don had to insist on furnishing his office with pristine white furnitures - even the smallest stain could be spotted from miles away.

Well, at least to look at the bright sight, Agnese realized that she wasn't the one who had to take care of the body, to each, his own mess: scrubbing out the carpet was already going to be a real nightmare.

"I apologize for that," the voice of her employer was surprisingly gentle, and it had taken her off guard. "I'll make sure the floor is covered properly next time."

As unbelievable as it might sound, the Don had kept true to his word: she hadn't been able to find a single drop of blood in his office ever since.

And she had even gotten a raise in the following week.

Rumors had it that Don Giovanna was capable of prodigious deeds that a rational mind could not possibly explain: that dazzling smile of his could enchant things and bend them to his will. Some prominent figures from all parts of the world, whose identities shall remain hidden, had apparently come out of his office miraculously cured. But rumors also had it that the reason why his public appearances were becoming more and more scarce was because of a growing sensitivity to daylight.

So Agnese paid very little to no regard to them. Most of the time, like Tradutti had stated, it was indeed complete bullshit.

However, later that night, as she undid her bandages to observe the state of the burn on a forearm (a stupid domestic accident involving a boiling teapot), Agnese was amazed to find her epidermis completely smooth. There was no more blistering or dead skin: her forearm was of a softness that contrasted with the rest of her body:the astronomical amount of tiger balm and aloe vera used could not possibly explain that. So as much of a skeptic as she was, the cleaning lady was forced to admit that it had to be somehow related to her earlier encounter with the Don.

As soon as she had stepped outside his office after tidying it, she had spotted the mafia boss in the hallway. He was accompanied by five or six men dressed in equally expensive suits. Among them was a face quite familiar to her: the city mayor who was making it to the news because of yet another corruption scandal.

The last thing she needed was to get involved in this ugly mess, so the cleaning lady kept her head high and bravely pushed her cart forwards. What she wasn't expecting however was for the Don to stop her.

"Did you injure yourself?"

She had had no choice but to peer down too at her bandage and lie through her teeth: "It's nothing, Signore."

His face showed no emotion, but he took a step towards her and delicately grabbed the injured arm before she could protest. His grip was somehow gentle but tight: there was no way she could escape from it. It was a literal iron fist in a velvet glove.

Agnese could still recall feeling the gazes of the Mayor and his bodyguards on her, they had also stopped walking to stare at her. Her heart rate had momentarily quickened when the Don's hands had brushed over her wound, his emerald eyes never leaving her confused expression. A sharp pain had set her wrist on fire... And then nothing.

She no longer felt a thing - it was as if it had never happened: Don Giovanna had taken a step back and addressed his subordinates, and they all had resumed their walk, any concern about the poor old maid definitely forgotten. The only one who had graced her with something (a strangely amused smile) before leaving was Guido Mista.

The Underboss truly was something. He often reminded Agnese of her own son: way too careless and untidy. His room was a literal nightmare to clean: most of his cashmere sweaters (which he had no problem leaving on the floor for all that mattered) needed to be hand-washed, and he also had the specificity of returning several times a month completely riddled with bullets.

The fact that he was somehow still alive despite his many injuries was as much a real blessing to him that it was a curse for her.

After all, Agnese was the one who had to clean up after him: and there was nothing easier than to track him because with Underboss Mista came blood everywhere.

Everywhere.

From the pavement outside to the sheets of a certain person whose name shall remain unknown.

...

The kitchen timer rang and Agnese was brought back to reality.

She couldn't say for sure if the Don was responsible for this miracle, but she still wished he could have also helped with her rheumatism too.

━━━━━ ༻🌱༺ ━━━━━

Unlike Agnese, Rolfo Giardino was still fairly new at that whole managing-not-to-get-mixed-up-in-mafia-mess-while-working-for-them dilemma. This gardener may have had twenty years of experience, nothing could have possibly prepared him for what was about to come.

The headquarters' gardens themselves were very pleasant - they were spacious and ideally located. Starting from scratch, that is to say from an austere backyard where some pathetic trees were beginning to wither to this authentic example of Giardino all'italiana, adorned with classical sculptures, flowering shrubs, fountains and ornamental parterres, had not been easy at first but Signore Giovanna had agreed to pay the price without thinking twice and the result was worth it.

Now that it was done, now that Rolfo and his team only had to maintain the garden (meaning watering the flowers and cutting the hedges one or two times a week), he guessed the job would be pretty nice if it weren't for all those mobsters who, for some reason he still couldn't gather, enjoyed watching him work. That, as well as those dreadful echoes of gunfire and screams which would shatter from time to time the peaceful atmosphere of the garden.

The rustling of water, the birds' chirping, a loud explosion from within the building... A nice sunny day overall.

Some of his employees were still refusing to work there despite his best attempts to reassure them: for as long as they would stay away from the actual building, it was not like something could happen to them, right? Still, they were places where even Rolfo himself did not like to approach, near the window overlooking what he thought was the Big Boss's office for instance. He had been forced to come close (way too close) to it because of his client's special request to have ivy and white roses gambling along this wall.

He had started working on it on a day when the weather was so mild that the window had apparently been cracked open for once - and the uncanny noises and groans that had escaped through it had scared the gardener to death. He hadn't dared to peer inside to find out what was really happening: the last thing he needed to know was what the Don of Passione's private torture sessions consisted of. Ever since that unfortunate incident, Rolfo had not ventured any closer to the damn white rosebushes. The branches were becoming too long, they were clearly starting to block the path of light, but as long as the Don didn't make any complaint, Rolfo would leave them be.

But on that day, however, the poor gardener saw red as his eyes fell on the figure loitering near that damn window: who was that son of a bitch was stepping on his flower beds!

"Hey you fucking moron: Move! Can't you see you're ruinin' my work?" Rolfo's shout managed to hit the bull's eye. The criminal was startled by it and half a dozen of armed men (probably criminals too) suddenly burst out the building to see what the hell was happening. He sprinted in the direction of the jerk and threw his pair of pruning shears at him. The gardening tool narrowly missed him - it crashed against the window instead (which, thank lord, did not shatter after the impact), but still made him leave. The stern face of Giorno Giovanna soon appeared, his head comically peaking out the building.

The Big Boss frowned when he realized that five of his men were gathered outside, frantically looking for someone, and took a deep breath: "Did one of you just threw a rock at my window?" He sounded confused, and to his credit, that was quite understandable.

Rolfo felt all adrenaline leave him abruptly - he could feel on him the murderous glares of literal murderers, who would have probably murdered him on the spot were it not for the presence of their Big Boss. He had no choice but to come clean: "Uhh, I do believe it was my pruners, Signore. I apologize, I swear they weren't aimed at you. It was for that damn...- uhh, I mean, that employee of yours!"

The Don didn't seem the slightest taken aback by the choice of weapon. He ran a hand through his braided locked and motioned for the others to go.

"You're saying that someone was eavesdropping on me just now?"

Rolfo looked down for a moment before answering: "Uhh, probably? I mean, he was stomping on my rosebushes near your window, that's for sure. They're Blanche Moreau's you know? They took weeks to arrive from France, weeks to finally blossom in Italy's sunlight!"

The mafia boss frowned at that, and Rolfo just knew he understood how valuable these roses were. After all, the Don seemed to be pretty knowledgeable about plants and lots of stuff: rumors had it that they were going to name that new museum after him so...

Signore Giovanna looked behind him and seemed to be addressing someone in the room: "Make sure to find him."

Curiosity overcame his initial reserve: standing on tiptoe, the gardener finally peered at the window to see what was happening inside. The office seemed incredibly spacious and clean: a dark-haired man, behind the desk, was adjusting the position of his cap on his head.

"Kay, I'll climb down the window to catch him faster! The fucker must be hiding somewhere close!," as soon as the man finished speaking, Rolfo couldn't help but react straight away.

"No, you can't do that! You'll ruin the other bushes!"

Both mafiosi looked at him for a moment and the old gardener realized he might have spoken out of turn, but the Don settled the matter for them anyway:

"He's right, I do like these Blanche Moreau's: go around my office Mista. And please, your zipper." That last part had been uttered quietly, but Rolfo had still managed to pick up on it. His devout Catholic mind would probably have been offended by it were it not for the sudden realization which left him quivering.

How on earth was he able to peak so clearly at the window now...?

"That fucking son of a bitch!", at that the mafia boss frowned and looked at him quizzically, but Rolfo couldn't halt the stream of profanities coming out of his mouth. It was too late. "He chopped it off! The whole branch!! It's all gone!"

Rolfo had promised his wife he would never get too close to the mafia, even though those paychecks sure were quite weighty. And yet as he was now, comfortably sitting in a well-made leather seat, a cup of coffee in his hand, he thought that for a first time within the shady building he had tried to avoid entering for so long, things were actually looking pretty normal. A week had passed since the unfortunate roses incident, and he had been surprised to receive after a subsequent sick leave a call from the Don's office. He didn't really have much choice, so he had shown up on time and was now patiently waiting in the lobby.

"Don Giovanna will now receive you."

Rolfo followed without a word the pretty secretary - she too looked way too customarily pretty to be involved in that kind of business. It was only when he passed under the massive arch of the door that he became fully aware of what was happening: the head of the Italian mafia had summoned him here.

As expected, it was the Don's spacious office, the one he had managed to catch a glimpse of through the window free of rose branches. The room appeared to be spotlessly clean - hell, it even smelled like a mixture of disinfectant and fresh lemon. Definitely not what he was expecting it to look like. Oddly enough, the very first thing he noticed was the tarp on the floor: that gaudy blue plastic was seriously clashing with the rest of the pristine white furnishings.

"Good afternoon, Signore Giardino. Is that the man you spotted by my window the other day?," Rolfo met the gaze of the mafia boss who was calmly standing to what soon turned out to be a man in bad shape, feet and fists bound onto the chair.

On the other side of the suspect, nonchalantly propped against the desk, was the gangster who had wanted to hop out the window.

All three of them were looking at the gardener expectantly, and he heard behind him the sound of the door closing. Of course, the pretty secretary couldn't stay.

"I can't say for sure Signore. See, I was so focused on the combat boots trampling my bushes that I didn't pay too much attention to his face..."

He hated the bastard who had wrecked his work, sure, but to rush him to such a tragic fate...

"Cool, then check it out!," the underboss had spoken with a casualness contrasting with the cruelty of the angle in which he twisted the poor man's leg. Rolfo had no choice but to look at the sole of his boot.

...

The fucking bastard.

There were still manure and rose petals stuck to it. And those were no common rose petals - they were large, fluffy and creamy white. They had been violently snatched away from a Blanche Moreau's sepal.

The gardener hardly needed to speak up to convince the mafia boss - the lethal look he was giving the tied-up man was already enough evidence.

Umberto Tradduto's fate had just been sealed.

Rolfo couldn't say what prompted him to look outside, but after that he only overheard bits of the conversation whispered in front of him: what was he was seeing right now was far more chocking anyway:

"I leave it to you for now Mista. I'll dispose of him later."

"Another donation to the museum?"

"Not this time. I think he'll make a fine aphid instead, that way our gardener will be able to settle his score with him."

Rolfo wasn't even pretending to be listening to what was being said anymore. He couldn't believe his eyes. He took a step towards the window and the two mafiosi, deep in their discussion, didn't notice it immediately.

"Keep your evening free, we'll be paying a visit to the mayor tonight. I'm getting tired of the spies he keeps sending here."

"Tonight? Hey, do you know how much it cost me to book the entire restaurant?"

The Don cleared his throat as if suddenly reminded of the other two's presence: "The sooner the better. I'm sure she won't mind. You'll reschedule your date later."

Mista was about to protest, but he fell silent as he realized where the gardener was standing: "Hey man, what the...-"

But Rolfo overstepped his role again to cut him off. His eyes shining with emotion, he turned towards the mighty Giorno Giovanna and addressed him as if he was a true deity.

"How...- How did you...? This is prodigious Signore!"

Behind him, blocking the light from the window, were proudly standing three beautiful unscathed roses branches.

━━━━━ ༻ 🚗 ༺ ━━━━━

Alfredo waked up completely startled as he heard someone bang on his window: dozing off at the wheel was a rookie mistake, he was well aware of that - but still.

"Hey open up!"

The underboss' voice was agitated - something very rare for such an easy-going man, so Alfredo immediately unlocked the doors and got out of the vehicle to assist him. Mista was backing up the big boss, a hand wrapped under his shoulders to help him stand.

The driver shot a panicked look at the small cottage they had just come from: what the hell had just happened in there?

Alfredo glanced at the Don's patent leather shoes - he was dressed as reverently as usual - and then at the underboss' worn-out leather jacket: even though they were clothed as if they were going to very different events, they had asked him to drop them at the same address: the mayor's private country hous. He had followed the itinerary scribbled on the paper an informer had given him a few hours before. It was the driver's special talent: being resourceful. Even without a precise address, he always knew how to bring his customers to the desired place.

His clients never asked him how it worked, and in return, he never made any remark on the state they would return to the car in. Or to question why they seemed so keen to surprise the mayor at such a late hour of the evening.

Alfredo was even willing to give an extra hand if needed, occasionally overstepping his role of a simple driver if the client was likely to be a good tipper.

He opened the passenger door for the mafia boss, but to his great surprise the latter stopped him right there:

"I'm fine. Just open the trunk instead."

Alfredo tensed up but said nothing as he went back to his seat to retrieve his leather gloves.

It was another kind of extra service: helping them to get rid of incriminating clues. Well, it wouldn't be the first body dumped in the back of his precious vehicle, and certainly not the last. As long as they would pay for the subsequential cleanup, he didn't mind.

"How many bottles have you stolen?," The underboss had ushered that question to the boss not discreetly enough, and the driver allowed himself a relieved sigh.

No bodies on the horizon, then?

No scandal of the mayor's disappearance making the headlines on the next day?

Great, he'd be able to go back to bed sooner.

As he passed next to the two mafiosi to open the trunk, Alfredo noticed the two bottles of prestigious champagne that the Don was clutching tightly against his. chest. Oh wow. The underboss, on the other hand, was eyeing Giorno with a bewildered look, as if it had just occurred to him that the mysterious gigantic box he had been forced to carry from the cottage contained more bottles.

"Guido please, go fetch me a last one," the Don was less assertive than usual - you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

Alfredo awkwardly stood next to them in silence as he waited for his next instructions. Charcoal and emerald eyes were engaged in a long, fierce battle of dominance, neither of them breaking contact. Hell, it even seemed to Alfredo at some point that the Don fluttered his lashes - but that could also be exhaustion talking.

Years of working within that specific industry had taught Alfredo how they would inevitably settle that growing tension between them.

Once again, for as long as they would pay for the subsequential seats cleaning, he didn't care. It wouldn't be the first indecent make-out session to happen at the back of his precious vehicle, and probably not the last.

A partition wall was always between Alfredo and his clients. Until now, he had never managed to catch them red-handed, but he had heard of those rumors. And he, better than anyone else certainly, knew for a fact that the Don had never sought to have good company brought to him. He'd always travel to his secondary residence alone while the underboss was the kind of man who preferred to drive there by himself.

Apart from the occasional names slips, he had never witnessed any tender gesture, he had never overheard anything remotely ambiguous. The details that had tipped him off were more subtle, or well usually at least they were. They would simply sit a little too close to one another, with no free seat between them - the pair was never five feet apart so that to speak. But right now, unless he would turn off the parking lights, there was no way Alfredo could pretend he wasn't seeing the Don's right hand slowly lowering far too low along the other's back. It was clearly no longer a question of keeping his balance.

"Fine," the Don let out a dramatic sigh and the driver nearly said hallelujah - now that he had admitted defeat, they would be able to leave at last! "If you won't do it, then fine I'll ask our driver instead."

Holy shit, what the hell was going on that night?

Alfredo quietly took a step back to exit the scene but it was too late - both mafiosi were already looking at him. If they were seriously intending on making him break into the mayor's house, he sure hoped they were ready to give a real good tip.

Fortunately, the underboss shook his head and rolled his eyes (had they just swapped personalities?), before reluctantly talking: "'kay you win I'll go. But then, we're outta here." Mista put the box inside the trunk and headed back to the cottage, leaving the driver in the company of the big boss who didn't seem quite inclined to enter the car yet. So Alfredo had no choice but to stay with him outside, on the chilly night and very awkward silence.

It was only after the third hiccup of the Don that the realization came down to him: he wasn't injured by any means, he was just completely drunk.

"Umm," Alfredo knew he wasn't supposed to question his boss, but the silence between them was becoming seriously uncomfortable. "So were you celebrating something Signore?"

The mafia boss looked at him for a long moment - god, the poor driver sure hoped he hadn't made a mistake, before shrugging: "Not really. I simply like Champagne, especially when I'm not the one paying for it."

Who could have thought that someone who spent so much on luxury clothes could be stingy?

Alfredo decided to politely answer. "Yes, I've heard you own several vineyards in Europe Signore. It's clever, I'm sure you never run out it..."

At that, the mighty Giorno Giovanna ungraciously hiccuped again, and the driver had the decency to pretend not to notice it.

"Mhhh.. You don't get it," had the mafia boss just snorted in contempt? "It's not so much about the Champagne itself as it is about the pure satisfaction of having taken possession of it... The mere contentment in knowing that the stupid mayor will never be able to savor it now that it's mine, you know?"

No, of course, not. There was no way Alfredo could possibly relate to that: it must be one of those crazy rich people whims.

Not that he could say it out loud, of course. The night was getting colder and colder, so he hoped the underboss wouldn't take long to be back.

"Would you like a bottle?," the Don's question took him by surprise so the driver, out of reflex, shook his head.

"Good, or you would have had to convince Mista to go back."

The stingy rich bastard.

Alfredo couldn't believe he was thinking that of him, in any other situation he would never have allowed himself to think that of Giorno Giovanna, but there were at least eight bottles in the trunk, he had seen them. And the Don knew that.

Fortunately, the underboss chose that exact moment to reappear and slam the trunk door shut after charging it with two other bottles.

Discreet much?

But whatever, the Don seemed rather pleased with that and finally agreed to go inside the car - his customers' satisfaction was what mattered the most to Alfredo.

After all, with good service came good tippers.

And that night, in exchange for the obvious promise to keep his mouth shut about what he had witnessed, the underboss sure went overboard with the tip.

━━━━━ ༻ 🧹 ༺ ━━━━━

It was now 8:20 a.m.: even though the day had started way earlier for Agnese, she had had to wait for the mobsters living upstairs to rise and shine, so she could proceed to clean their rooms. It was by far the task she hated the most: grabbing her heavy cleaning cart, she pushed it towards what had to be the cleanest place of them all. The Don's private quarters, starting with his excessively large bathroom: since the fancy tiles there took the longest to dry, she would then continue with his connected bedroom.

However, as soon as she stepped foot inside, Agnese almost fainted at the horrible sight that met her eyes.

Clothes, confetti and popped balloons were scattered everywhere, pieces of glass were covering the soaked floor, and an astronomical amount of what furiously smelled like Champagne had been dumped into the bathtub, splattering the walls and the carpet- hell, it even seemed like some of it was still fizzing inside.

Up until now, she had thought that she had seen it all, that nothing that the most wicked mind was capable of, could possibly surprise her. But that was a whole new level of a mess.

Thankfully, the inscription on a balloon (the survivor, the only one that had not exploded yet) was what prompted her not to hand the culprit her immediate resignation letter.

The Don's birthday would only happen once a year.

And with some sheer luck, she'd be able to negotiate her well-deserved retirement before the next one.

That morning, Guido woke up because of a cuss word that reminded him very much of his native Italian countryside. He had no idea what time it was: Giorno's expensive alarm clock having been inadvertently smashed the night before. He yawned gleefully and stretched out his arms before turning to face the lumpy shape beside him.

The mighty Giorno Giovanna, drool on his chin, was muffled in his blanket, and it didn't seem from the look of it that he'd be getting up any time soon.

He was probably dealing with a hell of a hangover right now - served him right for the astronomical quantity of Champagne in which he had literally bathed and drowned. Giorno would decidedly never learn from his past mistakes. Well, he was very much looking forward to taunting his lover for years about that unfortunate late birthday episode.

There was no way the mafia boss would be able to conduct his meetings of the day - changing the planning wasn't something to worry about even though it would piss the hell out of Fugo for sure. Feeling compassionate about what was awaiting Giorno, he gently patted what he thought was his head (?) and smiled as he heard him grumble in return. How cute.

Guido finally stood up to start his day, he would smuggle him some Ibuproben later but first thing first, his much-awaited morning tinkle. And a long hot shower. Yeah, that way he would perhaps find a ploy to avoid dealing with Giorno's responsibilities instead of him. While he was not hungover, the late night's events had completely drained him of his energy.

Giorno's bathroom truly was something: it was way more spacious and tidier than his own. To him, it was a literal spa: cool extra-powerful water jets, a gigantic glass shower cabin AND a massive marble bathtub, a myriad of bottles of heavenly-smelling shampoo, conditioners, shower gels and body lotions everywhere - hell, there was even a housekeeper politely handing him a towel.

...

Holy shit.

Trying his best to cover his naked glory, Guido Mista could only stutter pitifully:

"Uhh.. Yeah, so about that new raise of yours we were discussin' the other day..."

This would only be the fourth time of the year, so at this point...

#giomis #misgio #misgio fanfic #giomis fanfic #misgio fic #giomis fic #giomis fanfiction #misgio fanfiction #giorno x mista #mista x giorno #one shot #giomis oneshot

15 notes · View notes