spring drank

The Lunar Mark (Xiumin Werewolf!au fic) Chapter 12

Originally posted by 305heaux

Warnings: Violence, blood

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15(M) Ch. 16


You could hear yelling coming from the manor and the edge of the woods as Baekhyun began to run; they had realized you were missing. When you were a child the sound of the guards knowing you were missing because of other wolves saving you probably wouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did now. But Baekhyun’s and Tao’s safety was in jeopardy because of you…because you needed saving. 

At the same time…your heart wanted to get to Minseok. You wanted to see him; you still had that feeling of selfishness. You were the one that turned him away, and yet after all that, now you wanted to see him when you know that him knowing that you going through pain would cause him pain.

The yelling continued behind you but started to fade as Baekhyun picked up speed. Thankfully, a few hours later when you were just about at your limit, what you assumed was the spring came into view.

“I’ll go ahead and get some help, she needs some water,” Tao said, “She’s not going

“Just hurry,” Baekhyun replied after carefully setting you down and shifting. As Tao left he leaned you up against a tall boulder before going a fetching water and bringing it back to you in his cupped hands.

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a-friendly-ghoul  asked:

I'm actually going in two days and I didn't want to be annoying ><.... But I can't get this out of my head. I remember you didn't play far harbor so I'll keep it simple. In a quest you have to drink water from a very radiated source. So what if.. After doing that Nate doesn't actually feel good and he slowly turns into a ghoul?? How would Hancock, and maybe Nick and some other close friends, feel? (I'm so mad you can't be a ghoul ingame)

Hye, I’m also mad you can’t be a ghoul ingame! Which is why I had a great time writing this!! :D Maybe I’ll write some Bonus Content sometime.


Nate didn’t understand what was happening at first. Then he didn’t want to believe it.

It was a month before he noticed anything was wrong, and it started with his knuckles. His skin began to crack and flake, leaving his hands red and tender. Within days it spread to his elbows and knees, and soon it was going up his arms and legs.

Hancock couldn’t take it once the cracking was making its way up Nate’s neck.

“You need to see a Doc. This isn’t normal, this is serious.” He said, clenching his arms with a worry he rarely felt.

“C’mon, It’s a rash or something.” Nate said as he scratched the spreading rough patches on his neck. The skin flaked off, and he winced as he touched the wound left behind. “It’ll get better on its own.”

Hancock leaned against the wall and looked at Nate’s hands, where this “rash” had started. “Well if it’s supposed to get better on its own, why does it still look as fresh as the day it started?” He said. He ran his finger across the red skin on Nate’s hand, making him yelp and pull away.

“I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t want to deal with it.” Nate said, looking embarrassed as he tried to soothe stinging pain on the back of his left hand.

Hancock sighed and tipped his hat back. “Okay, I didn’t want to get scary with you, but I guess I gotta. Ya see, all this,” he motioned up and down Nate’s wounded skin, “happened to me too.”

Nate looked confused. “When?”

“Well, uh… right before I got this way.” He poked a finger into the scarred and pitted skin of his cheek.

At this, Nate’s eyes widened. “How- what- why would I turn ghoul? I didn’t do anything crazy! I’ve just been-”

It hit him. The water. The water from Atom’s Spring. He drank that water without a second thought. Sure, it made him sick for a day or two afterwards, but he thought that was it. Hancock probably felt the same about whatever radioactive cocktail turned him ghoul.

“Oh, god, uh…” Nate ran his fingers through his hair, which he was suddenly very attached to. “…yeah, I should go see Dr. Amari.”


The face she made after she finished her exam made Nate’s heart drop to his stomach. It was a sort of tight lipped smile with sad eyes. The type of face you make when you have to turn someone down on a third date, or say someone else got the job, or-

“You seem to be showing all the typical signs of ghoulification. It was likely brought on by the water in Far Harbor, like you said.” Amari said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I’m very sorry, I know this must be difficult.”

Nate stared at the ground. Hancock held Nate’s head close to his side.

Amari looked up to Hancock. “Would you two like a minute alone?”

“That would be great, thanks.” He said, with a similar tight-lipped, sad-eyed smile.

As soon as she shut the door behind her, Nate’s heads went into his hands. “Jesus Christ, I’m an idiot.” He said, choking on sobs.

Hancock hugged Nate tightly. “No, no you’re not. I wouldn’t have thought that would turn you ghoul either. It’s bad luck. Bad, dumb luck.” He said in a soft voice.

Nate didn’t respond for a while, just crying and holding Hancock close. After a minute or two, he pulled away, wiping his eyes and clearing his throat. “Can I ask you something John?” He said.

“Anything at all.” Hancock replied.

Nate paused, then sighed. “How much does it hurt? The ghoul stuff, I mean.”

Hancock thought for a good long time before answering. “Well, I won’t beat around the bush here. Turning ghoul sucks. It fuckin’ sucks. It hurts like shit inside and out, and it takes for-fuckin-ever. But once it’s done, it’s normal shit. Maybe my knees hurt more than they used to, but it’s also been a few decades since I was in my twenties. It might just be ‘cause I’m old.” He said. “It’s like being a normal human, except you’re ugly and you can’t die by natural causes.”

Nate nodded and let out a shaky sigh. “I can deal with it.” He said, sniffing and wiping his eyes. “I’ve dealt with worse. I’m sure I can handle it.”

He was absolutely not sure if he could handle it.

Doctor Amari came back a minute later and gave Nate a long list of tips for a “successful” ghoulification. Take lots of showers so your skin doesn’t get infected. Try to eat even though you’re not going to be hungry. Don’t strain your voice too much. Wear sunglasses. Don’t run anywhere. A laundry list of dos and don’ts capstoned by an “Of course it will still be terrible, but this will make it easier.” Just hearing about it was so bad, he couldn’t imagine feeling it.

When he and Hancock got home that night, they barely spoke to each other. The next morning the skin on Nate’s face was cracking.


Nick Valentine came to town about three months after Nate had gotten the news. By now he was, as expected, fucking miserable. The cracked skin was gone, leaving him with nothing but the tender new flesh beneath. All he was supposed to do now was wait for it to scar up, which seemed to be taking about a lifetime too long. He still couldn’t move without tearing up.

“You already lost your nose, huh?” Nick said, giving Nate a sad look up and down. Nate was lying as still as he could on the cleanest mattress they could find in the Old State House. He glanced up at Nick from where he was.

“Yeah, that was a couple weeks ago. And my ears kind of just… fell off too.”  He said. He turned his head to show Nick, letting out a small gasp of pain.

Nick had braced himself for the usual ghoul symptoms, but the new voice threw him. It didn’t sound as bad as a lot of ghouls- Hancock, for example- but it sounded completely different. Nate seemed to notice his surprise.

“I’m not supposed to talk much. Amari said it’ll help it sound better.” He said. “But if I don’t talk I could lose my voice all together. So it’s a tightrope walk.”

Nick nodded and went to sit next to the mattress. He noticed the way Nate’s eyes had changed. The whites had gone red and his iris had gone a sort of cloudy-yellow.

“Your vision still good?” Nick asked, looking closer at Nate’s eyes. “I can hardly see your pupils.”

Nate blinked a few times and gave a small shrug. “I can see you fine.”

Nick nodded. “Good. You shouldn’t be worried about going blind, you need to focus on getting better.“ Nick said. "Or well, better is a strong word.”

Nate laughed, then broke into a coughing fit. Nick stayed silent until he finished.

“Sorry,” Nate said, “it’s been happening a lot.”

Nick shook his head “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You know who should be sorry? The goddamn Children of Atom. You deserve a handwritten apology.” He said, an angry look creeping onto his face. He’d admit it: he felt somewhat at fault for what was happening to Nate. If it hadn’t been for him, Nate wouldn’t have gone to Far Harbor, and he wouldn’t have even known about that toxic spring. He wouldn’t be here now, barely able to move and being thankful that his lips hadn’t sloughed off.

“You’re gonna be fine kid, I’m sure.” Nick said. “Once this all heals up, it’ll be different, but you’re gonna make it work for ya. Like Hancock.”

“Maybe.” Nate replied. He glanced out the one window in the room he’d been cooped up in. As usual, he saw a plain brick wall, and no sun.

Nick could see the look on Nate’s face. He seemed restless, yet despondent. Like he wanted nothing more than to run out and take on the world, but he couldn’t find the energy if he tried.

“You feeling down?” Nick asked.

Nate would’ve spit out his drink if he had one. “That’s an understatement. I’d rather be dead.” He said. He chuckled a little, but at the same time, he was almost in tears. “I mean, I  basically already am. I’m like a fucking zombie.”

Nick gave Nate a sorry look, taking a long while to respond. “I could never understand how this feels, so I’ll open with that.” He said. His voice was hushed. “But, uh, I do understand the feeling of being different. Being a part of a group that most people wish didn’t exist. And that’s… that’s scary. It’s really scary”

He reflexively wiped his eyes, even though he hadn’t been able to cry in hundreds of years. “I can tell you this, though- I am always going to be in your corner. And so is Hancock. And all the other ghouls in town. You’re always gonna be less alone than you think, I promise.”

Nate looked up at him, holding back tears so the wouldn’t sting his cheeks. “…Thanks, Nick.“ He said, his voice tense and quiet with effort. "Thank you so much.”

Nick smiled. “Don’t mention it, kid.”

Nate smiled. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d had a good time with another person.

He’d missed it.


By the time a year rolled around, Nate looked like any other old ghoul. His skin had scarred up, his voice had stopped changing. Now people might actually start to believe him off the bat if he said he was pre-war.

There was a sentiment that was tossed around a few times while he was turning. “One day, you’re going to look back on all this, and be grateful.” At the time it made him want to scream. He was sure as shit that he would never be grateful for any of the pain and trauma of becoming a ghoul. And in a sense, he was right. There was nothing worthwhile about being unable to comfortably move for several months. That fucking sucked.

But, he was willing to admit it: being a ghoul wasn’t terrible.

As a human, if things went as nature intended, he would die before Hancock by a longshot. They same went for Nick, and Codsworth, and Curie and all the other ghouls and synths and robots he’d grown close to. Now he didn’t have to worry about that. He didn’t have to lose them.

Of course, there was a steep price to pay. What about Piper? Deacon? MacCready? Preston? There were plenty of humans he loved- and who loved him. Again, if things went as nature intended, they would all pass away long before him.

It was tough. Like everything in this godforsaken modern-day Earth.

And he’d learn to deal with it, and accept it, and even like it a little. It was how he’d always survived.

“How’re ya feeling?” Hancock said one day, getting Nate’s attention with a pat on the back.

Nate wiggled his fingers and furrowed his brow. “My fingers are kind of tight. Is that normal?”

Hancock thought for a moment, wiggled his own fingers, and shrugged. “Probably. I’ve been this way for a while, I must’ve gotten used to it.”

Nate nodded and gave a similar shrug. “Hey, if I can still shoot a gun, I can handle it.” He said.

Hancock smiled and laughed. “Now that’s what I like to hear!” He said

Nate smiled back. Things were almost starting to feel normal.

The rancher pulled into his property with his nephew by his side. He had the next 15 months to turn the boy into a man.

“Look around at this place, boy. It’s where I grow my prize-winning cattle. My bulls placed first in county for the past 6 years, but this time—I guarantee you—one of my Herefords will be wearing that grand champion blanket at the State Fair. And you’ll be there to share my victory. You know the secret to raising strong and healthy bulls? Good corn, pure water, and plenty of exercise.”

That summer, the rancher treated his nephew like he treated his cattle. The kid’s food intake was strictly controlled: he wasn’t allowed to waste any food, nor was he allowed to buy his own. And he could only drink water from the spring that was on the property. The rancher said it was the secret to his health and his healthy cattle. The rancher was also strict about the boy getting his exercise. Not only did he force his nephew to do hours of chores (and always shirtless, “like a real man”), but he made him try out for the football team.

At first the boy resented his uncle, but when the State Fair came along and their bull won Grand Champion, the boy began to admire his uncle’s virtues—his work ethic, his corn-fed vigor, and his singular vision to mold the perfect bull. The boy actually started to envy the rancher’s bulls for all the attention his uncle paid them. So he fully committed his body to his uncle’s commands. He followed his diet, drank the spring water, did his chores, and went to football practice. He didn’t complain when his uncle took him to the cattle’s veterinarian for his physical and immunizations. He didn’t question the supplements the vet gave him. If they were good enough for the bulls, they were good enough for him.

When winter came around, the boy tried out for wrestling, and in the spring, he was a discus thrower. When summer rolled around with another state fair, the boy was excited to see his uncle’s bull win another grand prize. But his uncle told him he had to attend a different show—and with his shirt off. When he found the location, there were other young men—all powerfully-built, corn-fed country boys, and all with their shirts off. He was told to stand still as strangers felt his muscles or made measurements throughout the day, until finally a man presented him with a ribbon around his neck. After pictures were taken, he saw his uncle for the last time, as an older man tied his own rope around his neck, before taking him home. The man was his new master, who milked the boy for his state fair grand champion seed every day.

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THE LION KING Australia: Cast Sings Circle of Life on Flight Home from Brisbane

Abduction of Persephone + other Greek Parallels

I was rereading v14 a while back and I found it interesting how the myth surrounding the Abduction of Persephone was strikingly familiar to some events in v14.

Persephone stood alone in a field of flowers:

When from a crack in the Earth came the God King Hades:

and through a violent abduction, stole her away to the Underworld:


Where she became, as Homer describes her, “the formidable, venerable, majestic princess of the Underworld, who carries into effect the curses of men upon the souls of the dead.” However, this only occurred after having eaten the pomegranate seeds—of her own will—so she could obtain timai (honor), and said Hades to Persephone, “while you [Persephone] are here, you shall rule all that lives and moves and shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods.” 

Translation: “You will have rights with me and power, I will treat you well instead of just the girl who trails behind her mother,” which was unheard of at the time: a man giving a woman power (a Dove giving a half-ghoul a chance at life, power, and sanctuary)

 And so, I decided to delve back into mythology again with the help of the Homeric Hymns (which the above quote is from) and a few other sources (coughWikipediathankyou) and found a huge number of parallels between TG/:re characters and their Greek counterparts, especially between Persephone and Kaneki/Haise

Especially since modern/romanticized Persephone is very inaccurate, and many modern renditions fail to mention that Persephone was one of the most feared goddesses in Greek mythology and was not just the innocent flower maiden who was kidnapped by big bad Hades.

Posting under a cut because scrolling through long posts on your dash can be the biggest pain in the ass  <(*・ω・)>

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Remember the whole I’m trying to maybe write a poem for my professor?

Well here’s an update

My first attempt at a poem was too intense so here’s the 2nd attempt:

“ once upon a time

in a far away land

there lived a professor

who played with her hands

she drank Poland Springs

and she wore red glasses

she ran her fingers through her hair

as she stood in front of classes

captivating was her voice

for it was not like the others

soft like the rain fall

but sharp like the thunder ”

And that’s what I got so far for my second attempt at writing a poem for my professor for her birthday

I wonder what sunshine tastes like

I bet it tastes of pineapples
like the lip gloss she puts on
every single morning
because it reminds her
of the piña coladas
we drank on spring break


Or maybe it tastes
like her long blonde hair
that accidentally ends up
in my mouth when she falls
asleep on my shoulder
during our movie nights


It could taste like
a Starbucks caramel frappucino
with an extra shot of expresso
because I know
her coffee order by heart
and it hasn’t changed in 5 years


But I doubt I will ever know
because as anyone who has ever
loved the sun will tell you
if you get close enough
to taste their light,
you’ll burn

—  I’m in love with a sun goddess || O.L. 

Dark Beira was the mother of all the gods and goddesses in Scotland. She was of great height and very old, and everyone feared her. When roused to anger she was as fierce as the biting north wind and harsh as the tempest-stricken sea. Each winter she reigned as Queen of the Four Red Divisions of the world, and none disputed her sway. But when the sweet spring season drew nigh, her subjects began to rebel against her and to long for the coming of the Summer King, Angus of the White Steed, and Bride, his beautiful queen, who were loved by all, for they were the bringers of plenty and of bright and happy days. It enraged Beira greatly to find her power passing away, and she tried her utmost to prolong the winter season by raising spring storms and sending blighting frost to kill early flowers and keep the grass from growing.
Beira lived for hundreds and hundreds of years. The reason she did not die of old age was because, at the beginning of every spring, she drank the magic waters of the Well of Youth which bubbles up in the Green Island of the West. This was a floating island where summer was the only season, and the trees were always bright with blossom and laden with fruit. It drifted about on the silver tides of the blue Atlantic, and sometimes appeared off the western coasts of Ireland and sometimes close to the Hebrides. Many bold mariners have steered their galleys up and down the ocean, searching for Green Island in vain. On a calm morning they might sail past its shores and yet never know it was near at hand, for oft-times it lay hidden in a twinkling mist. Men have caught glimpses of it from the shore, but while they gazed on its beauties with eyes of wonder, it vanished suddenly from sight by sinking beneath the waves like the setting sun. Beira, however, always knew where to find Green Island when the time came for her to visit it.
The waters of the Well of Youth are most potent when the days begin to grow longer, and most potent of all on the first of the lengthening days of spring. Beira always visited the island on the night before the first lengthening day–that is, on the last night of her reign as Queen of Winter. All alone in the darkness she sat beside the Well of Youth, waiting for the dawn. When the first faint beam of light appeared in the eastern sky, she drank the water as it bubbled fresh from a crevice in the rock. It was necessary that she should drink of this magic water before any bird visited the well and before any dog barked. If a bird drank first, or a dog barked ere she began to drink, dark old Beira would crumble into dust.
As soon as Beira tasted the magic water, in silence and alone, she began to grow young again. She left the island and, returning to Scotland, fell into a magic sleep. When, at length, she awoke, in bright sunshine, she rose up as a beautiful girl with long hair yellow as buds of broom, cheeks red as rowan berries, and blue eyes that sparkled like the summer sea in sunshine. Then she went to and fro through Scotland, clad in a robe of green and crowned with a chaplet of bright flowers of many hues. No fairer goddess was to be found in all the land, save Bride, the peerless Queen of Summer. 
As each month went past, however, Beira aged quickly. She reached full womanhood in midsummer, and when autumn came on her brows wrinkled and her beauty began to fade. When the season of winter returned once again, she became an old and withered hag, and began to reign as the fierce Queen Beira.

Siddhartha and the Thrush: A Parable

Prince Siddhartha had given up his princely palace and entered the forest to join the ascetic holy men of the forest the Semana. He sat motionless in meditation for hours each day and ate only a few bites of rice and drank only spring water. His ears no longer weighted down with earrings of gold he sat in emptiness. His wrists no longer weighted down with gold he chanted the holy “aum”. His ribs shown through the skin which had become yellow and parchment like. Ah, Siddhartha thought, it is holy to be hungry. It is holy to thirst. It is holy to sleep in brambles and to sit all day in meditation. It is holy not to speak or to be spoken to with no home to call one’s own.

One fine spring day as Siddhartha sat in his bramble bed with ash on his face and his once oiled hair covered with soot and dust he saw … a thrush. A beautiful bird. He watched her with interest as she gathered twigs and bits of leaves and carried them to her nest. He could see the nest and it was snug and covered inside with down. He watched her catching insects and she ate only that which she needed to feed herself. He saw her preen her feathers until they shone in the sun. He heard her lovely song as she sang for the sheer joy of it. Her feathers were tinted with saffron yellow and gray. He saw her frolic with her mate and then lay eggs into the nest.

Siddhartha considered the bird and how she did not deny life. He saw that she ate enough to be content. He saw that her home was modest but comfortable. He saw that she was beautiful but without ostentation. He saw that enjoyed company but also solitude. He saw that she savored life without excess but also without self denial. As he contemplated these things he spoke for the first time in many months “O thrush thou art the wisest of birds for yours is the middle way. You do not deny life but cherish it.”

With that Siddhartha stood and bathed. He ate a full bowl of rice and combed his tight curls upon his head. He ceased to be a semana and finding a comfortable seat upon a mossy patch of ground under a great spreading tree … sat.

๑ Samsaran ๑