Exo-l Secret Santa 2024

Exol Secret Santa

[exols-silver-christmas]

I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who participated this year! It was lovely seeing what everybody created and I'm looking forward to enjoying your creations more thoroughly than the quick reblog my work schedule allowed time for.

I hope all of you have a wonderful holiday season!

With the end of the exchange I'll be closing this blog down until next year, so if you need to reach me for questions or anything, I'll be available on @exol-oasis and @for-exol

Merry Christmas!

[dreamylittlesugarcube]

The Agency (Part 1)

Genre: EXO AU

Characters: Baekhyun x Female Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count:  1400

Summary: Running a top-rated dating agency was difficult enough….. But running a top-rated dating agency for paranormal beings was almost impossible. When a rival approaches you with a life-changing, yet dangerous offer, will you stay safely on the sidelines or jump directly into the fray?

A/N: A very happy holiday to my EXOL Secret Santa, @vampwrrr! I’ve enjoyed our correspondence over the last few months and I’m so glad to have made a new friend here! I was very inspired by our conversations and plan to make this into a short series, so I hope you enjoy Part 1 dedicated to you!

*Also, not my photo. From Baek’s IG.

~*~

“Alright Mr. Weylan, can you tell me a little bit about what type of person you are looking for?”

As he spoke, you surveyed the highly-coiffed man in front of you, noting the sky blue cashmere Brioni suit and the distinct scent of cologne that smelt like it cost $500 a bottle. 

Despite the urge to roll your eyes as the being in front of you listed his requirements–predictable to say the least–you schooled your features. Flashing him your charming ‘service’ smile you gamely assured him you had just what he was looking for. 

After seeing your client off, you sat alone in your office, going through the motions of getting his matches set up. Your mind wandered, something that had been happening quite a lot lately. 

Sigh. 

When did this job get so…so…boring? Your former youthful enthusiasm of years past had been replaced with ennui at best and apathy at worst. 

Was it your clients? Or was it you? 

Lately, your clients seemed so predictable.  Where was the uniqueness? The fire? 

Before a client walked through your door, you were able to guess their type with upwards of 90% accuracy. You broke it down was follows:

Vampires: Delicate, sexy (but virginal), tall. Luminous skin, with a preference for bite play. 

Goblins: Short (because they’re short kings), mischievous, intelligent, and into forging. 

Frankensteins: Compassionate, loving, and kind. Literally couldn't care less about appearance. Good at sewing. 

Incubi/Succubi: Good sex. Period. 

And lastly, werewolves–

Werewolves: Voluptuous, sensual, and sturdy. Typically not as picky about appearance and– 

“Boss, your 8:00 is here,” chirped the phone on your desk.

Strange. Mr. Weylan should have been your last client for the night.

“Elsie?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“We talked about this already, I have a date at–”

“Yes, I know, Boss. But trust me, you’ll want to see this one.”

“For your sake, I’d better. Fine, fine, send them in.”

You’d always known that helping immortals, many of whom didn’t sleep, find romantic fulfillment was going to be a 24-hour job, you just never anticipated tiring of it all. 

Open 24/7 just like a fucking minimart. 

No life. No lover. Forever fucking alone. God, the cliche of it all. 

Turning to look in the mirror behind your desk, you fixed your hair, wistfully thinking it unfortunate that your date-night outfit had gone to waste. 

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck tingled, giving you the distinct impression that you were no longer alone. 

A familiar pair of eyes met yours in the mirror, belonging to the last possible person you’d expected to see. 

Your surprise must have shown on your face, as a sly, knowing grin spread across the asshole–your visitor’s–face. 

“Ah, Mr. Byun, to what do I owe this distinct pleasure? I thought we had concluded our business relationship, per your request.”

Seated on your plush couch was Byun Baekhyun. A man who had made his fortune in tech, owning one of the biggest cybersecurity firms in the world. He was a big deal, everything he touched–businesses, inventions, people– turned to gold. There were rumors that he had ties to the underground, but this was just a rumor. 

 He was a big deal alright and a big pain in your ass. 

“Aww, don’t be salty, Boss. A misunderstanding is all that was,” Baekhyun cajoled, patting the seat next to him on the couch–your couch–as if he owned the place. 

You crossed your arms, taking a seat across from Mr. Byun. “I wouldn’t call you referring to my company as, “the worst t” on national television ‘a misunderstanding’, would you, Mr. Byun?”

Mr. Byun uncrossed his legs, learning forward. “Alright, let’s call it an unfortunate occurrence then. And please, call me Baekhyun.”

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Byun”, you said pointedly, refusing to take the bait.

“Why, yes. In fact, I believe you can. You see, I have a proposition for you.”

A proposition. A proposition?! What kind of proposition could this Grinch possibly have for you? 

It must be business-related. Of course, it had to be. You weren’t naive enough to assume your charming good looks and effervescent personality had been enough to totally reverse this person’s worldview. 

Was he in the market for a lover? You highly doubted that. A quick scan revealed a suit worth a minimum of $30,000, a watch worth double that, and loafers worth more than your monthly car payment. Not to mention, the swarm of media coverage that followed him from place to place showed he never had any trouble finding quality partners. 

You decided to play it cool. “Proceed. I’m listening.”

“I like a woman who’s decisive,” he remarked appreciatively, eyes flickering from your head to your feet. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to hide your annoyance. “Mr. Byun, I have many things–important things–that I could be doing right now.”

“Oh no, so sorry, did I interrupt your plans for a hot date?”

Your stony look accompanied by silence confirmed his theory. 

“Ah, so I did. Oops, my apologies,” he said smugly, not sounding the least bit remorseful. 

“Make your point, Mr. Byun, or please leave. Don’t waste my time.”

Mr. Byun put his hand over his heart, moaning and theatrically clutching his heart. “You wound me, Boss. Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit too serious?” 

“Many times. Has anyone ever told you you’re annoying?”

That stupid, smug smile reappeared on his face. “Annoyance isn’t the usual reaction that I get from women, no.”

“This should be character-building then.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Byun chuckled.

Mr. Byun’s face turned serious and you hoped he’d finally get to the point of his visit here. 

“As you know, I own a company–”

“Byun Solutions. I’m aware.”

“Yes, Byun Solutions is my public-facing company; however, I own another….side hustle, you might call it.”

“A side hustle?” 

You couldn’t imagine why a man like him, a filthy-rich man like him would need a side hustle. You stared at him skeptically, a bid for him to continue. 

“We’re a guild, of sorts, taking on requests and executing them per our clients’ wishes–”

“ –which I’m guessing aren’t all legal,” you guessed.

Mr. Byun’s eyebrows raised. “What gave you that idea?”

“If your activities were legal, this side hustle would be public knowledge. I haven’t heard one peep about it, so I assumed some of your activities might be on the other side of the law.”

“You’re quick, Boss, I’ll give you that. We’ve had a client request come in that requires some outside expertise. Yours, to be exact.”

He paused, not elaborating any further. 

“This is all very interesting, Mr. Byun, but I’m going to need more information than that.”

“Of course, there’s just one teensy, tiny thing first.”

You smacked your hand across your forehead. “For the love of gosh, what?” 

Mr. Byun reached into his briefcase, pulling out a thick, legal-looking document. He flashed you a brilliant smile, one you’re sure had charmed thousands of businessmen and women alike. 

Pushing the stack of papers toward you, he pulled out a Montblanc pen and placed it on top. 

“Just a simple non-disclosure agreement, you understand, I’m sure?”

Something felt off about this whole thing, but you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. Was it the fact that your #1 most-hated enemy was in your office asking you to sign some suspicious document? Yeah, actually it probably was. 

“Come on, Boss. A little adventure wouldn’t hurt, no? Aren’t you tired of the same, old monotony?” 

How the fuck did he know that? Was the man a god-damned mind reader?

You bit your tongue, not wanting to admit to this aggravating man that he was right. Hadn’t you just been thinking that very same thing moments before he walked through your door?

You cleared your throat, picking up the stack of papers to glance through them. 

“Then I’ll need to read this through, thoroughly…you understand, I’m sure.”

Satisfied, Mr. Byun grinned, extending his hand in consent, his body relaxing into your couch, though his eyes remained intent on you. 

When you were satisfied he wasn’t trying to con you into some illegal ponzi scheme or sell your organs on the black market for cash, you signed the paper with a flourish. 

“Now that that’s out of the way, can you tell me what this ‘assignment’ is?”

“Of course”, Baekyhun replied gamely, “I need you to help me kill someone.”

~*~

Stay tuned for Part 2!

[flaredpantsagenda]

A domestic evening with cream-soda-era Exo

Exo-L Secret Santa Gift (@exols-silver-christmas) for @cigaretteparfum! I hope you are having the best comfy holidays! I'm glad we got to chat and hope you have a lovely 2025!

[nonverangel]

@dreamylittlesugarcube Happy Holidays! I was your EXO-L secret santa. I hope you like it! I made it so hopefully you can use them longer than just winter/Christmas. Kyungsoo has such a cozy vibe with his songs, I hope that I got that across with these.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas!

@exols-silver-christmas thank you for doing this once again. I appreciate you!!

[chicken-fifi]

The War | Byun Baekhyun

A/n: Hello @kradnie! ‘Tis I, your Secret Santa! I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure how this turned out as it is my first time, I believe, writing something like it. I do hope that you enjoy it though and it brings you some joy as you read it this holiday season! Once again thank you to @exols-silver-christmas for hosting this event. Truly a joy to be participating for the…what is it second, third year in a row with you? Happy reading my chicken nuggets! And happy holidays too! I hope you enjoy this little fic @kradnie!

WC: 1.5k words

Baekhyun didn’t know how long he’d been staring up at the vast blue sky, nor did he know how long he’d been resting atop of the rolling ocean waves. It could have been hours, days, months…he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure how he’d wound up in the ocean to begin with. He closed his eyes momentarily allowing his senses to be flooded (quite literally) with the sounds that came with the ocean. The rolling waves. The calls of seagulls. The soft crashing of the waves against the rocks of the shore that lay only a few kilometers away.

Crashing…

Crashing…

Crash…

That’s right.

The crash.

He had crashed there. In the ocean. He had crashed there.

The war had brought him to this place. Well, the aftermath of it.

The war…

The war…

His brothers…

Where were his brothers…

“Have you heard the news?” Jongdae asked as he entered the briefing room. His uniform was crips, perfectly pressed in all the right places. “There’s talk of a war.”

Baekhyun looked at him carefully, “We’ve just barely finished the last. We’re still rebuilding.”

Jongdae sighed, “We’re a new government in power. Someone’s bound to test us even if it means hurting innocents in the process. He balled his fists just as Junmyeon and Minseok, the oldest of the nine…well eight of them present… entered the room.

“It won’t come down to that,” Junmyeon interrupted. “We’re hoping a civil conversation will smooth things over…at least temporarily.”

‘When has that ever done anything?’ he thought silently as he sat up, nodding his head in greeting to all of his brothers as they entered the room one by one.

Yixing was missing, but then again he had been for some time…

Chanyeol sat beside him to his right, “And we’re sure it’s not some trap?”

Minseok and Junmyeon looked at one another, Kyungsoo shook his head already knowing the unsaid answer.

They weren’t.

Jongin cleared his throat, “So we’re entertaining a meeting with them while knowing full well it could be a trap to instigate a war?”

“To force our hands?” Sehun added.

Minseok nodded, “It’s just one meeting. I don’t think they’ll be so reckless to immediately make us their enemy.”

Oh, how wrong those words would turn out to be in the long run.

Baekhyun looked at the people going about their daily lives from the window where he stood high above them. His eyes were trained on the civilians, but his ears were focused on picking up the conversations occurring at the table in the center of the room. So far, everything has been going smoothly. Diplomatic matters were approached civilally, trade agreements had ruffled some feathers but nothing that was extremely unexpected or off putting.

Still, there was something almost too easy about the interactions and conversations with the diplomats present. Almost as if they were trying to play off some sort of malicious intent under the guise of prospective trade agreements and military support — something Chanyeol had shut down the second it had been brought up.

“I feel as though we’re not being taken seriously enough,” one of the diplomats said, leaning back in his chair. “These trade proposals don’t exactly benefit us in any way, yet they allow for your…regime… to flourish easily.”

“Your exports with us wouldn’t be heavily taxed,” Junmyeon clarified. “It’d make the sales you make here much more profitable for you.”

The diplomat looked over at a few others before looking back at Junmyeon, “We’ll need some time to think over this offer. Everything else, however, is fine. We’ll send word once we have reached a decision for the trade regulations.”

‘We’ll be taking our leave now’ is what they could’ve said. ‘We won’t agree to any of those terms.’

As they filed out of the room, the silence was deafening. All eight of them were silent for a number of minutes, waiting for any one of them to be the first to speak. Baekhyun’s eyes remained trained on a family of four that was making their way through the plaza laughing as they bought some fruit and began looking at a few plants at a different stand.

“Something was off with them right?” Sehun asked. “I couldn’t have been the only one to pick up on how strange they were acting, and the weirdness of it all.”

“Something’s not right—” Kyungsoo began before trailing off as he looked towards the window. “Do you hear that?”

The six of them, not already looking out the window, moved towards it. Baekhyun was still looking at the family, watching as a shadow covered the land and a singular shot rang out. 

The father fell backwards, taking the plant stand with her. The mother let out a petrified scream that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, grabbing her children’s hands as she moved to run away from the stand only to lurch violently as another shot rang, sending her to the ground as well.

More shots rang, the screams of civilians filled the air as they ran around and around in circles looking for cover —anywhere to hide from the massacre they were being subjected to without any sort of warning or even logical reason.

Everyone but Baekhyun quickly sprung into action, a glow around them as they used their abilities to try and get as many people to safety as they could.

Baekhyun simply stood there, looking at the now orphaned children screaming for their parents to wake up.

The war was brutal.

Far too many dead and not enough resources for those still alive.

It was too soon after their revolution for this to be happening and now they were all paying the price.

“Another squadron just left,” Kyungsoo reported during their briefing. “And another was lost in a battle.”

Junmyeon’s face darkened as he closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip.

None of this was how things were supposed to go. They all knew that. The revolution was supposed to bring a new era to the planet —leave the old wartorn, discriminatory one behind and give everyone a fresh start at life.

Not this.

More war. Death. Illness. Pain. Suffering.

None of this was supposed to be happening.

“What if I-” Baekhyun began, only to be cut off by Junmyeon.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“It would end this war and send a message to other-”

“No. We’ve lost far too many people as it is.”

‘I won’t lose you, too.’

Baekhyun looked at him, holding a standoff before getting up and leaving the room —leaving the entire tent for that matter. Where he was going he didn’t have a clue, but his feet eventually led him to a warehouse currently being used as makeshift housing for orphaned children and displaced individuals. He’d been going there more and more recently as he was barred from taking part in any aspect of the war that was purely strategizing from the tent he’d just left.

He should be on the frontline with his brothers fighting for everything they all swore to uphold and protect. Instead he was there at a camp. Staring at the two children who were the first two people to suffer and live to tell the tale.

“Mister,” the little girl said, recognizing him immediately. “You’re back!”

He nodded curtly, “Have the two of you been well? Eating well?”

She nodded slowly, “Big brother gives me part of his rations when I’m still hungry. He says he’s not hungry but I hear his belly growl at night when we sleep. Don’t tell him I told you that.  I don’t think he wants me to know.”

He swore his heart broke in that moment, at those words.

It didn’t matter what Junmyeon said or ordered. He knew what he had to do for his people.

Even it cost him his life.

‘I lost my power destroying the enemy base,’ he remembered as he stared back up at the sky.

It was all coming back. No one had noticed his absence from the camp, merely assuming he was hiding away in his tent. When they did, it was already too late. He was already on the enemy ship wrecking havoc and destroying every soldier in his way. By the time he made it to the core chamber, there wasn’t anything anyone could’ve done.

Allowing himself to shine brightly, he managed to overheat the core and blew the ship in smithereens. How he’d survived he’d never know or understand. But there he was floating in an ocean.

Alone.

All alone.

“Mister?” he heard a gruff voice ask.

Only then did he notice the shift in the way the waves moved against him. Was that a boat?

“Are you alright? Do you need any assistance?”

Where exactly was he? And how did that man know his mother tongue?

“Hey! Get me a ring! We need to pull him in!”

Baekhyun sat up as a life ring was tossed out to him.

‘What is this contraption?’

“Grab on!”

He did, gripping the strange material tightly and allowing himself to be pulled closer to the boat and eventually onboard. The man was shouting orders, all muffled as he now lay on the deck staring at the same blue sky.

‘I’ll find you again my brothers. I promise I’ll make my way back to you. I hope you can all forgive me for doing what I did for our home.’

[exo-xexo]

Worth the Wait

Author Note: Hello @chicken-fifi I am your secret Santa this year! I hope you like this little story! I put a little spin on it, but I hope you still like it! Happy holidays! @exols-silver-christmas

WC: 3,760

Characters: Do Kyungsoo, Reader, Zhang Yixing (very briefly).

Kyungsoo has been pretty quiet lately; it has you worried. Everything has been going well lately, but something about this feels wrong. You have been coming home later than expected, trying to get everything together for the holidays in and out of the classroom. Kyungsoo has also been coming home later than usual. Right now, as much as you hate it, it’s normal for one of you to be asleep when the other comes home.

Tonight, despite being exhausted, you decided to stay up longer and make dinner for yourself and Kyungsoo. You want a nice dinner with him and go to bed simultaneously, just for one night. The dinner table is, and now you wait for Kyungsoo to get home. The clock behind you is ticking slowly, and the house is so warm. You’d rather go lie down in your room than wait, but you want to pretend to have a normal night with Kyungsoo.

Surely, it would be okay to rest your eyes for a moment, Kyungsoo should be home any minute. When someone nudged your shoulder, you opened your eyes again. Glancing at the clock, you were surprised to see half an hour had gone by. The food in front of you no longer had stream coming off of it, you turned to see Kyungsoo standing beside you with his hand on your shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. I’ll take care of the food.” Kyungsoo held out his hand for you to grab.

“No- I wanted to have dinner together…” You pushed his hand away.

“Okay, we can have dinner. Let me warm it up, okay?” Kyungsoo leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your head.

You said nothing as Kyungsoo took the food, the food that was warm once upon a time, to heat it. Annoyance scratched at your heart as you took in the sight. It’s not fair; you made dinner, and it was steaming before. Why wasn’t he home at the time he usually came home? You planned everything out perfectly, and he’s half an hour late?

“I think you’re right. I need to go lay down.” You stood up slowly, ignoring Kyungsoo as he turned around.

There are too many emotions running through your mind right now to have dinner with your significant other right now. Tomorrow is a new day, a chance to start fresh. It’s not going to bed angry, which is terrible for your health; it’s getting ready to start over tomorrow. That’s how you justify slipping into your bed and turning your back to his side. Falling asleep this time is much harder than when you were resting your eyes.

The following day, after a good night’s rest, you opened your eyes and turned to face him. The smile slipped off of your face when you noticed he was already gone. This is not how you wanted to start over. Taking a deep breath, you look at the clock next to your bed. It’s time to get going for the day, and then you can start over again tomorrow. Getting through today it’s going to be like every other day. You’ve done this so many times; you can do it again.

That’s what you thought, anyway. Once you finally made it out to the living room, you noticed Kyungsoo in the kitchen. Looking at the table, he made breakfast on two plates. Breakfast together is almost as good as dinner together. Kyungsoo smiled at you and gestured for you to sit down.

“I’m sorry I was late last night. There was so much going on.” Kyungsoo sat down across from you.

“It’s okay. I was a little disappointed last night, but things happen. I know that.” You shrugged; you didn’t want to talk about yesterday anymore. It’s in the past, and that’s where it belongs.

“You haven’t told me about your plans for your Classroom Winter Party this year.” Kyungsoo looks up from his food to give you his whole attention.

“It’s been difficult this year. I- Something is different this year.” Despite wanting to meet his gaze, you couldn’t. Being a teacher is amazing; it’s your pride, joy, and life. This year, however, things have changed.

“Do you not want to do it this year?” Kyungsoo asked; you thought about his question for a moment.

“It’s usually your favorite party of the year. Do you need help planning it?”

“No. I’m okay. I just haven’t figured out some of the details yet. I haven’t picked a day. Can you send me your schedule so I can see what you have available? The kids always love seeing you.” You smiled at him, poking at your food a little bit.

“Yeah, I can send it to you. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Kyungsoo watched you carefully for a moment, then continued to eat his own portion of the meal.

“I have to get going soon. I have already packed your lunch away. It’s in the fridge.” Kyungsoo put his plate in the sink and walked around the table to give you a kiss.

“I’m hoping to be home earlier tonight, but I can’t promise anything. If you get home and you’re tired, don’t wait. I’ll understand.” Kyungsoo tells you sternly. You rolled your eyes and continued poking your food around.

Looking at the time, you sighed. It would be best if you got going, too; you don’t want to be late for school. The Winter Party is your favorite one of the year; it’s just nice for the kids to have a little send-off before the second semester. You’re just having a little trouble planning it this year. A lot of the parents seem withdrawn or too tired from their own jobs to participate in your family activities, and the kids (as much as you try to help them) seem anxious rather than excited to learn. Just like the rest of this year, the drive to school became a blur.

Seeing the children getting ready to learn always brings a smile to your face. The children quickly make their way into the classroom and find their desks to sit at. Your classroom helper follows the last child in. Today is the special day of the week that all your kids look forward to. Today, the kids will eat their breakfast and line up to begin their day with music. A lot of the specialty classes have been cut from your curriculum, relying solely on you to find a way to get those classes squished into your day with all the other activities. Music, however, is one you heavily fought for at the board meetings.

“Mrs. Do! We can go to music now?” One of your kids grabbed onto your hand and pulled down as they jumped excitedly. One of the two kids that decided breakfast was not important today as most of it was still on their trays.

“Not yet, we have to wait for our other teacher to come get us and our friends, right?” You gently pulled your hand from the child and motioned to the rest of the class.

“We have to make sure we make good choices and show our friends, right? Breakfast first, then it’ll be time for music.” You helped the child find their seat, she sat down and immediately started to eat a little bit. Your helper motioned you over to her.

“I finished making the invitation for the Family Winter Party, what do you think?” She pulled up the rough draft of the invitation for you to look at. Of course, it looks amazing. Your helper is so artistically talented.

“It looks perfect. While the kids are napping, can you run to the office to make enough copies for them?” You asked. Before your helper could answer, a knock at the door grabbed your attention. The kids, as if reading your mind, jumped up. All excitedly trying to get to the door to see if it was their music teacher.

“Hey, hey! Friends, let’s make a better choice. Who gets to answer the door?” You asked them loudly.

“Mrs. Do answers the door.” The kids repeated, some of them more annoyed than others.

“Good morning, Mrs. Do. I’m here to pick up our friends.” Mr. Kim greeted you warmly.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim. I’ll get them all cleaned up and ready to line up for you.” You smiled at him.

As you turned around, you noticed the children were practically buzzing with energy. You smiled at them and started to sing the clean-up song. As soon as the children heard it start, they carefully moved around each other, trying to get to the various trashcans around the room. They tried, not necessarily succeeding, to avoid tripping over each other to get to their spot in line. Once everyone was settled, as much as they could be, you released them into Mr. Kim’s care.

“Alright, what do we still need for the party? We have the invitations ready to go into their backpacks at the end of the day, do you want to make extra copies to give to the parents directly?” Your helper asked.

“I feel like that might be too much. I don’t want to make anyone feel bad if they can’t come. I also don’t want to force them into coming if they don’t want to. Making enough copies to put in their backpacks will be good enough. Are you still okay to grab those things from the store, the list I sent you? We need to be extremely vigilant for allergens.” You pulled out your laptop and started scrolling through the emails sent to you this morning.

“I know the drill. We don’t have to worry about that. What day do you want to do it?” That question gave you a moment to pause.

“Let’s do it a couple of days before the last day of the semester. That way, it’ll give parents some time to prepare while also not overwhelming the school with another parent activity.” You pulled up an email and started typing out everything that’s in stone to send to your principal, wanting her also to be involved as much as she can.

“Is Kyungsoo coming this year?” Taelin, your helper, asked.

“I don’t know yet. Let’s plan on him coming, that way if he doesn’t, we have extra stuff in case more families come than we plan on. It’s always better to be over-prepared than under when it comes to things like this.

Before you know it, your planning time was cut short as the children came back from their music lesson. Time always seems to fly when you’re trying to plan a family activity. You gave your laptop to Taelin and met the kids at the door.

“Alright, friends, let’s go to our seats and get ready for math.” A few complaints flooded the room as the children settled into their seats. Today, you and Taelin set up little counting stations on each desk and watched as the kids began counting to the best of their abilities.

You couldn’t help feeling anxious as time seemed slowly around you. When their timer rang, signaling the end of math, Taelin brought the kids over for the reading time on the carpet. Like the kids, you couldn’t wait to go home and spend a little time with Kyungsoo, he promised he could take a little time off of work to spend with you this holiday break.

When the kids lay down for their nap, you finally found time to breathe. You pulled out your phone and texted the date you, Taelin, and the principal decided on for the family activity to Kyungsoo. You weren’t expecting an answer. Taelin plopped down beside you, handing over the food she ordered for you. It didn’t taste very good, but you ordered it a couple of hours ago when you realized you left your lunch at home. You’re only getting to eat now when the day is almost over. You still have an hour and a half before the end of the day, so you put on a bright smile after naptime and keep the kids distracted while Taelin sets up the center stations for the end of the day.

By the time you get home, you’re once again exhausted. A familiar state you’ve found yourself way too often. Kyungsoo isn’t home, but you don’t have the energy to wait for him tonight. So, you sit at your dining room table, eat your lunch that you forgot to take with you, and then you head to bed. As you lay your head down for the night, you hope to dream of a night with Kyungsoo, the fireplace, and the snow gently falling outside past the window of your living room.

“Good morning!” Kyungsoo said excitedly, you glare at him suspiciously.

“You’re quite energetic this morning, what gives?” You joked as you pulled your bathrobe around you tighter.

“I know you and Taelin have been planning for the party, so I thought I would go out and get you the things you need most!” Kyungsoo show you all the shopping bags he was hiding behind his back.

“Wow, that’s a lot of stuff… Are you going to come and help decorate?” You asked slyly.

“Of course, how could I expect you two to put it up all by yourselves?” Kyungsoo asked. Your eyes widened, and you turned to face him.

“Really? You’re able to come this year?” You ask carefully.

“Yep! I already told the boys where I needed to be that day. They took it very well. Although they’re worried about how they’ll get through the day without me.” Kyungsoo joked as he placed his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Well, they’ll just have to manage without you. I think you gave me the energy boost I need for this week.” You wrapped your arms around his neck as he gently started to sway, making you sway with him.

“I’ll be there with a special surprise for you.” Kyungsoon teased.

“Or really? What kind of surprise?” You tilted your head, as if he would tell you so easily.

“A fun one,” That’s it. That’s the only answer he gives you as he pulls away from you. He leaves you standing there, in a living room filled with Winter Party decorations, alone. You’d shake that man if you didn’t love him so much.

As soon as you got to school, you told Taelin about everything Kyungsoo grabbed for the two of you.

“That’s pretty much everything on the list!” She said excitedly, mainly because now she doesn’t have to be the one to go to the store now.

“I think everything is going to turn out alright this year.” You leaned against your desk and smiled at Taelin.

The rest of the week went incredibly slowly for you AND your students. All the kids could talk about is the wonderful “birthday” party Mrs. Do and Taelin are throwing for Winter. You have mentioned that it’s not a birthday party for winter, but the kids seem to be ignoring that. Surprisingly, most of the families you sent invitations to have agreed to come for the party. This is the first time, if everything goes well, that you’ll have twenty out of twenty-five families showing up for a family activity.

The night before the big day, you check the party supplies Kyungsoo grabbed from the store, to make sure there was enough for everyone that came.  Of course, everything is perfect. You expect nothing less from Kyungsoo. Despite going to bed alone that night, the smile on your face was blinding. Tomorrow is going to be a perfect day. Or at least that’s what you’re hoping for.

The next day, the day of the party, Taelin did her best to help you with the kids. All of them knew what would happen after school, they were all so excited. You can’t fault them for being excited. A group of five of them had to be stopped from caroling ‘Happy Birthday’ during carpet reading time, two kids have run out of them room and tried to invite various faculty that they found in the hallways, and three additional children refused to eat their lunches. They didn’t want to be full for the party.

The day could not end faster. As soon as all the students left, you and Taelin headed to the gym to set up the party. The lunchroom staff left the tables down that you asked for and the gym teacher left the equipment unlocked, so you can get your activities that are too big for your classroom. While setting up Taelin, you constantly checked your phone. Kyungsoo said he would come to help you set up, but he hasn’t texted you at all today. When you woke up this morning, he was already gone for the day. Despite only having Taelin by your side, the two of you managed to decorate the gym with the beautiful decorations Kyungsoo got for you. All the food was set out, and the drink station was working wonderfully. The family activities were set up around the gym, away from the tables. The only thing you’re missing is Kyungsoo.

Taelin offered to let in the families as you checked your phone again. Still nothing. No calls, no texts, you haven’t missed anything coming in from Kyungsoo. Hearing the quick paced patters on the ground, you put your phone away to greet whichever student is bulldozing their way down the hall. Once several families arrived, you showed them around the different stations with art, sports, music, and of course where the refreshments are. Taelin started the holiday music and the kids dispersed around the room tugging their families with them.

You checked your phone again, but still nothing from Kyungsoo.

The worst part of it is: you can’t be mad at him. His job requires a lot of his attention and energy. Anything could have happened, making it impossible for him to text or call you, let alone come to your holiday party. You put your phone down and followed Taelin to greet more families as they arrived. Because of the music, you couldn’t hear the ping! that came from your phone after you put it away. Twenty minutes into the party, all the families had arrived, and you were listening to the song some of your students made up with the instruments you put out. It was a very interesting version of ‘Happy Birthday, Winter.’ One you’ve never heard before.

“Mrs. Do! Mrs. Do!” One of your students ran up to you and tugged on your arm.

“One second, dear. I’m listening to the song your classmates made together.” You smiled at the girl and turned your attention back to the kids performing for you.

“No! Mrs. Do! Mr. Do is here!” She yelled at you, tugging your arm harshly. All of your students have seen your husband at least once. He likes to pop in sometimes through the year to bring you your lunch, or flowers, or sometimes to say hi. That’s when he has the time to do fun things like that.

“He’s not here dear, I’m sorry he couldn’t make it.” You sighed as you gently stopped her from ripping your arm off.

“Mr. Do!” A chorus of voices yelled out, too many to be a coincidence. You spun around to see Taelin letting Kyungsoo and…. Yixing into the party.

“Silly mommy! That’s Mrs. Do’s boyfriend! Like you and Daddy!” A little boy pulled his parents over to meet the infamous “Mr. Do”.

Kyungsoo is like a magnet for these kids, they always love when he visits. Some of the children then began to sing ‘Happy Birthday, Winter’ to Kyungsoo and Yixing.

“You’re late, boys.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“I know darling, sorry. I brought a helped with me though.” Kyungsoo gestured to Yixing.

“Hi, sorry we made him late. The boys and I thought we could bring something so we could add it to the party. I volunteered to come with and help with the clean up after the party.” Yixing smiled apologetically.

“The boys couldn’t decide what to add, so they bought this big thing-“ Kyungsoo smacked the machine behind Yixing.

“And what does that do?” You asked cautiously. Knowing Baekhyun, Jongdae, and Chanyeol, that machine could do a lot of things. It could be a weird looking candy machine, confetti machine, or anything really. The stars are the limit for those three.

“It’s a fake snow machine. Kyungsoo and I are going to go set it up in the back away from the food, we brought a tarp to put down too.” Yixing smacked the machine too, you don’t like how hard they’re smacking that thing and smiled at you.

“We also brought a Polaroid to take pictures and give to the families before they leave.” Kyungsoo gave the camera to you.

“That’s perfect and such a good idea!” You thought about your praise for a moment, then… “The camera. I’m not sure about the fake snow machine yet. Let’s set it up and see what happens.”

“You got it, Boss.” Yixing winked at you.

“Mom! Did you meet Mrs. Do’s boyfriend yet?!” You heard a child from behind you screech out. Taelin came over and took the camera from your hands, so she could start taking photos for the families.

It took a long time to get here. It felt like forever. Looking around the gym and seeing all the families enjoying their time together… This is why you put energy into their family activity nights. Seeing Kyungsoo and Yixing set up the machine and turning it on, making the Winter Party just a little bit more magical, warmed your heart. The machine turned on and Kyungsoo gathered all the children around the area him and Yixing set up, you watched as “Mr. Do” announced not to eat the fake snow and telling the kids it’s only for the pictures.

You can’t wait to clean everything up and go home. Push Kyungsoo onto the couch so the two of you can snuggle up and watch a cheesy Christmas movie. For now, however, you're content with seeing Mr. Do give the families fake snowballs for their pictures and other props you didn’t know he had on him.

This semester has been very difficult for you, that much is clear.

Yet, standing here now…

It was all worth the wait.

[wolveswithblackpearls]

Bring Me To Life

Genre: Angst, Power Era, MAMA Era, Open Ending

Summary: All is well when Chanyeol returns from his patrol. The red force is probably still licking its wounds from their last confrontation, right? ...right?

Word count: 4 k

Warnings: major character death, revival / coming back from the dead, coming back wrong

A/N: Happy Holidays @exo-xexo! I (admin j aka @breeze-of-sunlight) am your secret santa~

I wish for you to be able to end this year peacefully and find some rest in the coming weeks. Hopefully you'll enjoy this little fic - let me know what you thought of it if you want!

For all those unfamiliar, this fic was posted as a part of the @exols-silver-christmas event 2024. Please check out the gifts from this and the past years if you want to see some beautiful creations by all kinds of EXO-Ls. Happy holidays to you too, santa admin. As usual, thank you so much for hosting!

May you find time for yourself in these last days of the year, dear reader.

"Chanyeol, duck!", is the last thing Chanyeol hears before something hits his shoulder and promptly dissolves into goo all over his neck and back. 

And it had been such a good day until now.

He can hear Kai and Sehun cackling behind him as he tries to shake off the worst of it and pull the more resistant parts of the novaberry from the hair on his nape. "Real mature guys, incredibly funny! You're off duty for five seconds and immediately behave like little shi-"

"Sorry, I tried to warn you, but I guess my timing was off.", Suho tries to placate as he makes his way to Chanyeol opposite of where the still snickering duo stands.

"Apology accepted, but only if you send these two right back on patrol again."

Suho huffs a laugh at that and brushes off a piece of the berry Chanyeol had missed. However, a frown replaces his easy grin and he turns to address the others. "Could you come over here, please? I need to ask you all something without yelling my lungs out".

"Sure", Kai hollers back and reaches out to grab Sehun's neck. The later only has a short second to let out an undignified squawk before they get teleported across the field and materialize next to Suho. 

"Ugh, I hate it when you do that! Could at least warn me beforehand?"

"I could."

"But? You won't?"

"Boys,", interrupts Suho, long suffering of his brother's antics, "could we please focus for one second?"

"One.", echo Kai and Sehun at once but stay silent afterwards. Chanyeol can smell Suho’s hair greying.

"Have any of you noticed anything different or suspicious on you patrols today?", Suho makes a point of staring each man in front of him down until they shake their heads one after the other. "Has anyone heard back from Baekhyun yet?"

Chanyeol feels his face drop. "No, why? Is something wrong? What's going on?"

Sighing heavily, Suho lowers his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. "There might be." When he raises his head back up, he admits " Baekhyun is not yet back from his mission. I talked to the others too, but no one has heard from him since he left this morning. And we can’t reach him via transmitter right now. Quite frankly, I'm worried."

And you're definitely not alone with that. Chanyeol adds mentally. Baekhyun has never been their most serious member. On the contrary, nothing seems to bring him more joy than to aggravate the others. But not coming home from a standard patrol? Not even trying to contact them about any anomalies altering his usual routes? That's simply not a line even he would cross for the sake of a prank. He must just have forgotten.

"Kai,", Suho pulls Chanyeol back from his thoughts, "I want you to teleport to his usual checkpoints. See if you can figure out whether he's been there today."

Kai nods solemnly, the mischief from a few moments ago long forgotten.

"I don't want you to face this alone and walk into a potential trap. Take Kyungsoo with you."

"Wait, hold up!", Chanyeol interrupts, "What do you mean 'Take Kyungsoo with you'? I'm literally right here?"

“Chanyeol, do not take this personally, but Kyungsoo tends to be a lot more levelheaded than you are in these situations”, Suho tries to calm him down. And Chanyeol can see the reasoning in that, but-

"And we literally need you right here, idiot.", Sehun raises his brow at him. "We're already down a guardian who can cast a shield of light over the tree of life. If this happens to be a trap, we don't need our actual firewall gone too."

Feeling his cheeks heat from being scolded by his younger brother, Chanyeol turns away from the group. A petty fine barely had the time to leave his lips when their transmitters light up simultaneously.

"Guys,", Xiumin’s grim voice filters through the devices, "we found him."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

There have been few days Chen has felt so much negativity in their hallowed halls. Or rather, beneath the tree of life. For good reason. While the tree is not all powerful, it at least grants its guardians one thing: quasi-immortality. In the long time they've been guardians, they have never had one of them dying.

That doesn't change the fact that Baekhyun’s cold body lies before them anyway. Looking all the more fragile between the massive roots.

But it simply must be him, from his long fingers to the small freckle over his lip, Chen is certain about it. This is Baekhyun. Xiumin could have dumped an entire frozen ocean's worth of ice over Chen's head and he still couldn't have been more frozen in pace.

Chanyeol, as expected, is not quite as silent about the matter.

"Lay, I know your power is health stuff and all, but how in the world is this supposed to work? He's not missing a finger; he's missing a heartbeat."

"'Health stuff and all'? Watch your tongue, Chanyeol. I know this isn't easy for you, but damn, neither is it for us!", Xiumin hisses back, feline eyes narrowed in agitation.

Lay, with his usual calm collectiveness when faced with a patient to attend, pulls Baekhyun's head into his lap and settles a hand over his brow. "Could you all please stop snapping at each other? This is going to be dancing on the edge of the possible already. If you keep distracting me, it's certainly going to go south."

"Besides,", he raises his head to stare into Chanyeol's eyes calmly, "it's not like we have any different options, do we?"

Chanyeol tsks in lieu of an answer but otherwise drops his arguments and resumes pacing. Chen tries to reach out to offer him tactile comfort but his hand gets pushed away. No one but Baekhyun himself could calm him down, it seems. Chen refocuses on the situation at hand instead. 

With bated breath the guardians watch as Lay closes his eyes and tries what they've thought was impossible up until now. While Chanyeol is right and their powers have their limits, performing this act of revival right below the tree of life is the best chance they're going to get. If Lay manages to tab into the trees power source, then surely, surely...

Lay shifts his hands, running the tips of his fingers down Baekhyun's head from scalp to chin and then settling next to his temples. The rest of them watches, watches and stares as Lay's hands start glowing. And they glow. They glow and glow and glow and begin shaking slightly after minutes (or hours? Who can say.) pass by. Baekhyun's chest still isn't moving. 

Inhaling deeply, Lay tilts his head back in a way easily recognizable to the rest of them. He's trying to tap into the tree's power. Usually, the tree would start winding roots or branches around whoever asked for aid - the energy is easier to transfer that way. Right now, though? The tree does nothing of the like. The branches stop swaying in the gentle breeze, the leaves becoming completely silent. Adding to the eerie atmosphere that has befallen them.

The tension under the tree could be cut with a knife, even Chanyeol has stopped pacing and worriedly glances back and forth between Baekhyun and the tree. Until Lay finally drops his hands, covered in sweat from head to toe, and breathes heavily as though he held his breath the entire time. While he leans down, he whispers something against Baekhyun's face - too quiet for Chen's ears to catch. Lay presses their foreheads together and then slowly wiggles himself out from beneath the body.

Before Chen can react, he hears a gasp next to him and Chanyeol shoots off to kneel down in front of Baekhyun. "No, no way! Baekhyun, can you hear me?" 

In full disbelief Chen also storms forward to sink down next to Baekhyun. He faintly notices how Suho grabs Lay by the shoulders to support their healer after was undoubtedly the most complicated use of his powers to this day.

Baekhyun in the meanwhile has not only opened his eyes but is also currently wiping the tears from Chanyeol's face. "What's going on? Why are you crying Yeollie?"

Which of course only results in Chanyeol sobbing harder.

Chen catches one of Baekyhun's hands between his own. "Baekhyun,", Chen begins when he caught the other's attention, "you've been dead for at least the last hour."

Baekhyun's face falls slowly, as if he had to remember how to do it first.

"What?"

"Don't you... don't you remember anything at all? Xiumin said he found you on his patrol, but-", Chen stammers, squeezing the hand harder as Baekhyun beings staring off into the distance.

"But you had no pulse", Xiumin finishes for him, leaning over his younger brothers’ backs. "Baekhyun, are you sure you can't remember anything else?"

"How about you let him come back to himself first?", Chanyeol's head snaps around and he glares alternatingly at his two members. At least until Baekhyun tries to sit up and lets out a long gasp of agony.

"Where... are we exactly?"

Chen makes a bewildered eye contact with Chanyeol as they try to stabilize Baekhyun between them, "Baek, we're under the tree of life. You're home".

"Huh", Baekhyun breathes and cranes his neck around slowly. His eyes dance up the bark of the tree up into its crown. Even slower, Baekhyun tries to lift one arm and reach out to one of the branches dangling above him.

The branch, however, flees his grasp as if repulsed by him. Chanyeol catches it with a still furrowed brow and brings it close to Baekhyun, who in turn promptly touches it. As if burned the branch jerks back and turns black where Baekhyun has laid his hand. The discoloration spreads along the branch, twitching as though it's in pain. The leaves start rustling in convulsion. Chen has never seen the tree act like that, much less after touching one of them.

Xiumin, quick as always, reacts first and summons a blade of ice to cut off the branch above the growing discoloration. The still twitching appendage falls with a heavy thud. In a radius around it the roots begin twitching and rearranging themselves, not wanting to come in contact at all.

With an open mouth Chen tears his gaze away and studies Baekhyun instead. It's as though the man's face has turned to stone, nothing but apathy to be read there. "Interesting."

And suddenly, as if the past hours hadn't happened, Baekhyun smoothly rolls to his feet and dusts off his pants with an air of disinterest.

"Woah there, take it slow Baek! You really shouldn't strain yourself", Chanyeol rises next to him, although with far less grace and holds out his hands as though scared the other will collapse at any second.

"Oh, don't worry,", Baekhyun's gaze fixes on Chanyeol, "Lay did a pretty sound job there."

Something is off about his smile, but Chen can't pin it down. Has this quiet intensity behind his eyes been there a minute ago? Why does he look at them like a predator stalks his prey?

A soft wheeze pulls Chen's attention to Lay instead. The healer has braced himself on hands and knees, one hand lifting to cover his heart. Although he had managed to slow down his breathing before, it now seems to get worse again. Suho has started quietly murmuring to him again, gently stroking his back to calm him down. Kyungsoo lets himself down next to him, naturally gifted at grounding people and offers him a shoulder to lean on.

Baekhyun, apparently, has also noticed their struggling healer and coos mockingly. "Aw, poor one. Did you overexert yourself trying to save your friend, huh? You tree huggers are even more pitiful than initially estimated."

And this? This is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Despite all his teasing and shenanigans, Baekhyun would never let one of them suffer without offering help - let alone make fun of anyone in need. So. What if Lay hadn't brought back their Baekhyun at all? What if he summoned something entirely else into their friend's body.

"You're not really Baekhyun, are you?", Chen asks in a low voice. He subtly shifts into a more battle-ready pose and summons a small string of lightning to dance around his fingers. The quiet flickering of the electricity suddenly grows a lot louder as Chen feels a wave of power and relief wash through him. It's the most encouraging signal the tree has sent him all day. 

"Who are you?"

Baekhyun's eyes are widening in pure joy at the open challenge, his smile turning even more manic. "Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?"

Before any of them can react, Baekhyun performs a spinning move and summons an orb of unforgivingly blinding light. Chen flinches and covers his eyes, afraid of being blinded even though he was only exposed for a split second. From Chanyeol's pained scream he concludes the others aren't faring any better.

He wills his lightning back down again, knowing far too well how foolish it is to shoot at a target he can't sense in any way.

Kyungsoo, however, does not seem to have such reservations. A rumble goes through the ground as he summons an earthquake. Additional to not being able to see, now Chen can't hold his balance either. While sinking to the ground as carefully as he can manage, he at least hopes Kyungsoo manages to shake Baekhyun off his feet as well.

Instead, he feels the telltale rustle in the air that comes with Kai's teleporting and the light vanishes. Soon after, the world stops shaking and Chen warily blinks open his eyes. But Baekhyun is nowhere in sight. And although Kai is still here, his limbs are entangled with Sehun, the two of them must have fallen into one another when the earthquake caught them all by surprise.

"What? Where is he?", Chanyeol asks while heaving himself off the ground, turning in one direction after the other. Chen would comment on him looking like a helicopter during takeoff if the situation wasn't so dire. “He can't have gotten far in so little time!”

"Guys.", Suho gasps an interjection, "Our tree!"

And sure enough, there is a dark, rotting hole in the tree’s bark. Oozing a dark liquid as if it's bleeding, spreading from where Baekhyun must have made contact. The tree’s branches have drooped as though all life was sucked from them; its roots aren't so much as twitching although some of them are currently squished between two slates of earth in a way that must hurt.

A forlorn no is hushed from Lay's lips. He struggles to push himself upright, but instead just falls back against Kyungsoo's chest. "What have we done?"

"He's gone", Xiumin states grimly. Gaze sweeping over the meadow and through the forest surrounding them. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. If it wasn't for the last hour, one might even say it was peaceful.

Chen picks the pebbles that bore into his skin during the earthquake out of the palms of his hand. "We have to find him immediately. Maybe if we can get that possession or whatever that was out of him, it'll teach us how to reverse the damage."

Kai, who has by now managed to detangle himself from Sehun and pulled the latter to his feet, fetches a holomap from one of his endless pockets and boots it up. With the three-dimensional star map projected in front of him, he walks up to Xiumin. "Show me where you first saw him. Maybe I'll be able to track from where he came - and see if he passes by there again."

Xiumin begins gesturing around the map, trying to point out certain coordinates as precisely and quickly as he can manage. Meanwhile, Chen sees how Sehun rids himself of most things in his pockets and even begins taking off his shoes. Clearly preparing to take flight through the woods for long hours. Searching where the rest of them can't follow him with their larger space shuttles. At least not efficiently.

Chen feels the telltale rustle of teleportation behind his back. The sensation makes him pause for a second. Kai couldn't have teleported earlier, except if he teleported himself into Sehun. Which seems unlikely at best. Yet, Chen is sure he felt the same sensation right now as he did before Baekhyun disappeared. You get familiar with the supernatural surrounding you when you live together, after all.

"Now that we're talking about it, how did Xiumin manage to find Baekhyun? Their routes are nowhere near each other."

Xiumin swivels around: "Are you trying to say this is my fault? That I'm a traitor - or possessed by that whatever-it-is as well?".

"Calm down, Minnie, no one here believes you're an imposter", Suho placates, trying to keep them united even when his own nerves must be lying raw. "What's your point, Dae?"

"I'm just saying, what did Baekhyun even do out there? If he went that far off his actual checkpoints, he must've sought out Xiumin specifically. Do you maybe think that he saw the thing coming and tried to warn you?"

"And when he realized he couldn't he sacrificed himself instead", Suho furrows his brow.

"Just a thought."

"Or,", Sehun pipes up, "did any of you stop and think about whether or not we have the real Baekhyun in general?"

Chen is certain he can hear the grass grow over the silence that descends above them.

"Sehun, what the-?"

"No, hear me out.", Sehun intercepts, "We found a body, that miraculously looked like Baekhyun somewhere he shouldn't have been in the first place. When Lay breathed life back into him, the tree of life did not help at all. Don't you think it would be a little keener to help one of its protectors get back on his feet? The twig that thing touched literally wilted at first touch, there's an enormous hole in the tree - that keeps on growing, by the way."

"And we have no actual means to find out how Baekhyun got where he ended up being", Suho adds on. "Fuck, Sehun, you might be right. This basically reeks of red force, doesn’t it?"

"Did we just bring a red force clone of one of us to life?", Chen asks breathlessly.

"Did said clone manage to escape so that he can now spread the knowledge he gained to his master?", Xiumin comments wryly, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"We're screwed", Chanyeol exhales as he drags his hands down his face slowly. "If the red force knows where the tree of life stands, how long do we have until it starts attacking?"

"And how long", Lay pipes up from where he lays in Kyungsoo's arms, "until we can't trust each other anymore because we can't tell us apart from any clones."

And truth be told, Chen hadn't even considered that. "You think there are more of them? But how? There is no other Lay, no- no, X-Lay, right? How is that X-Baekhyun supposed to bring them to life?"

"No, I don't think X-Baekhyun can do that. But think of it, if the tree can create guardians, it's not too far off to assume the red force can too. And if it's goal with X-Baekhyun was to simply scout the area and find the tree, there's no reason to send all of its subjects and risk potential fallouts."

"And it comes with the added benefit of taking out some of us as well," Kyungsoo murmurs, stroking a comforting hand up and down Lay’s arm.

"I'm not down, I'll be fine in a few minutes."

"Just don't strain yourself. We still need you."

Suho starts massaging his temples. "That would also explain his quick getaway. If there already is a Kai clone, we can stop wondering how he pulled that off."

"So, what now?", Xiumin stares down the hole in the tree darkly. "The force weakened the tree so now it can come back with the big guns and completely claim it? And all we can do is set up wards and hope for the best?"

Chen doesn’t have it in him to respond in any way. He hasn’t felt this foolish and helpless in forever.

"We might not be completely defenseless", Kyungsoo answers quietly instead. "There's something I've read a… while ago. But it's experimental and I might not remember all the details."

Suho sighs heavily. "I can't say I'm thrilled at the thought of more experiments today."

"It's not like we have a lot of other options, though", Kyungsoo counters. Suho nods in agreement and waves his hand to encourage Kyungsoo to keep talking.

"Simply put, we would essentially split the tree in two. Hide each half in a pocket dimension. Each a mirror world of the other. The same skies over different grounds. The same grounds under different skies. That way the red force can't find it based on where it is now.  Over time the tree could grow and heal itself. When it's strong enough, we'll reunite it again. Until then we have to find Baekhyun, the real Baekhyun. And we best get rid of any clones or other units of the red force as quickly as we can. I'd rather not take any chances here."

Sehun raises a brow in disbelief: "Won't we just make ourselves vulnerable if we split up? What if they find one half of the tree, charge in there with full force and completely destroy that half of the tree? This just sounds like we're presenting the tree on a silver platter."

Kyungsoo heaves a heavy sigh, as if the worst still lies ahead of him. "There's another thing. Due to the split of our current dimension, we will create some problems with space-time. Which means we're most likely not going to be able to get in touch the conventional way. I'm not sure if we'll even be able to contact each other at all. But that also means the force will get separated. It won't be able to reconnect to its other units and neither can it switch dimensions at will. Not unless we can too. The only other way for it to do that is to wait out until the two dimensions have aligned and we merge the tree once again."

Chen isn't sure how many more hits he'll be able to take today. He locks eyes with Chanyeol, who looks back at him with similarly forlorn expression. When he lets his gaze drag over the different faces of his friends, his family, he sees the same silent emotions. In the way Sehun picks anxiously at his fingernails, in the way Suho is again pinching the bridge of his nose, in the way Lay stares up at the trees crown with glassy eyes. In the tear he can feel rolling down his own cheek. 

"This is goodbye then?"

"Yes", answers Kyungsoo, voice barely above a whisper. "But only for a while."

Suho turns away from the group, hands already on his transmitter. "I'll page Kai. We should meet at the ritual grounds. You guys should get a headstart, we won't be far behind."

Chanyeol and Sehun relieve Kyungsoo of his Lay-safekeeping-duties, their taller frames better equipped for carrying around a person. Lay keeps on protesting vehemently that he can walk on his own, but his complaints fall on deaf ears. Neither of them is willing to let go of their friend in what could be the last time for millennia.

Suddenly Chen's field of vision is obscured by a face. Xiumin's worried face. "It will be okay", he promises quietly. "We'll be back together in no time, you'll see. And the tree will have blossomed brighter than ever! Won't that be nice?"

"Yeah, sure it will", Chen snivels softly and tries to muster up a smile for Xiumin's sake. He clearly isn't very successful judging how the grief grows stronger on Xiumin's face as well.

"Just never lose yourself, okay?", Xiumin's finger rise to gently swipe away the tears Chen hadn't noticed rolling down his face in streams now. 

"Just be brave. A new world shall open up."

A/N: And that's a wrap! I took some liberties with the whole MAMA intro, but I hope you guys like it anyway :] Please consider leaving me a comment or a reblog, that would make my day! And if anyone's in the mood for it, here's the link to the EXO-K MAMA mv. Take care, everyone!

-admin j

[vampwrrr]

Chernislava

Merry Christmas @ilxiu!

I'm sorry that I haven't been more active with messages, but life has been lifey. Meanwhile, eat, drink, and enjoy a fairy tale Prince Minseok.

Somewhere, I cannot tell you exactly where, but certainly in vast Russia, there lived an exceedingly powerful witch.

While she wasn’t a very nice witch, she wasn’t necessarily a bad witch.  She was merely…

A witch.

This witch lived in the heart of the black woods, in a little cobbled cottage.

Or a high stone tower with no doors.

Or a cold iron keep.

It was hard to say, really, as she never appeared the same to any two people.  No, this witch was a mystery, with both herself and her domain reflecting the hearts of any who beheld her.  

Did she steal starving babes?  Well…yes.  Did she seek to eat the hearts of beautiful young girls?  Yes.  Did she lure away wandering children in the forest?  Yes.  Did she limn great and terrible curses that lasted for centuries, that felled glorious kingdoms…?

Yes.  

She did.

But were there also tales of babes given to childless families?  Yes.  Tales of sickly maidens gifted hearts of pure ruby that would never fail, never falter?  Yes.  Tales of children reunited with those who had mourned them for lost?  Yes.  

Tales, and tales, and tales…

Some of them were even true.

Now, this witch--this young witch, this old witch, this most powerful witch--had an enemy.  A rumpled, crumpled, wizened old man, hair hiding half of his face, bent and twisted both inside as well as out.  

Or was he even a man?

Was he something older?  Something sideways, something underhill, something that couldn’t cross the iron on her doorstep?  Something jealous of the waxing power of a mere Daughter of Eve’s over the ancient waning of his?  

Perhaps.

But this was once upon a time, so we’ll never know.

This little man, this unseemly man who had been called down on her by another, weaker, enemy, tried everything he knew to catch her and climb on her back, wrap his hands around her neck, but was never a match for her, oh no, he could never be a match for her.

But he was older.   Oh, yes, far, far, far older.  And though she was clever, he was cunning.

And patient.

He couldn’t approach her territory, for it always moved whenever she sensed his approach.  He couldn’t send anyone after her, for she always smelled his scent on whomever he touched.  His wet, clinging scent of swamp, and musk, and rotting leaves.  But…he knew how to wait.  And he could plan.

So, he waited, and he watched, until one day, the time came for him to disguise himself as an old man sitting by the banks of a stream, where he was stumbled upon by a poor farmer’s seventh son, as the youth foraged in the woods.  The youth--because he was a good lad--asked why the grandfather stared into the stream so longingly.  

“Because I have lost my ball, child,” said the wicked old thing.  “I have lost my precious porcelain ball, given to me by my father’s father’s father, and I am too old, and too weak to search for it in the current.”

“That’s no trouble,” the lad said, striding into the rushing waters and searching until he found it.  “Is this your ball?”

“Why, yes it is,” the old man said, his voice quavering.

“Well, then, have it back.”  And with that, the youth nimbly tossed it back to the old man.

“Many thanks to you, lad,” said he.  “And for your service, I’ll do you a good turn.  Tell me, boy.  What do you want most in this world?”  With this, he threw off a little of his glamour, just enough to let the boy see that he was not as he had previously appeared.  

The youth froze. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head.  “I’ve heard of your kind. I’ll have none of your faulty promises.”

“Nothing like that, lad,” the old man rasped.  “As done for me, shall I do for you.”

“And why should I believe you?”

The old man thought for a moment.  He thought about his past, and he thought about his future.  He thought about possibilities, and risks.  But then he thought of that maddening grey witch, whose very existence plagued his thoughts, his waking, and his sleeping.  Finally, he smiled, a sharp-toothed, crooked, rueful smile, and held out his hand.  “I’ll give you my name.”

“And that’s the end of it?  I’m no more beholden to you?”

The old thing that looked like a man held up a long, bony finger.  “There is just…one more thing.”

“I knew it, I-”

“A story.”

The youth subsided.  “A what?”

The thing that looked like an old man smiled.  “You merely have to tell the right one a story.”

“What story?  And who is the right one?”  He was almost swayed now.  Seduced by the promise of a prosperous life, come by so easily.

“Seven times seven times seven,” was the rasped answer.  “You’ll know.  When the time is right.  As for what story, bend your ear and listen carefully…”

So the boy took the rumpled man’s name, and with it, a promise.  

And the lad in stature grew, and in prosperity grew, and everything he touched grew.  And when, in the natural way of things, he found a wife, she too grew.  And grew, and grew, and grew, and grew, and grew.  

And grew.

But when the time came for her youngest sapling to take root, he sailed instead, and everything he touched multiplied, and he was raised in stature, and importance, until he was an admiral of his majesty's royal fleet!  

And on one of his many expeditions, he found a treasure, a fruitful treasure that he brought home to his land, and visited between every expedition.  And through a little luck (and no little effort on his part), this treasure multiplied.  Again, and again, and again, and again.

And again.  

And the youth who had saved a porcelain ball from the river for an old man was now an old man himself.  He could no longer farm, no longer walk, could only lie in bed, and look out into the great wide world that he once roamed, and think.  And he thought, and he dreamed, until one day, in his old clabbered brain, something clicked.  And so he called for his seventh son who came to him, and sat by his side.  “My son,” he said, “The time is not long for me to go rest with my fathers.  But before I do, I want you to bend the ear, listen close...”

And he told his son a story.  

And he patted his hand.

And he died.

His son - the seventh son of a seventh son - bereft at the loss of his father, took comfort in his household.  For a time, he stopped sailing the seven seas, staying home to watch over his precious family.  One night, as he lay in the comfort of his wife’s arms, he told her a story, a story that had been told to him years before as his father lay dying.  

That night, they conceived their seventh son.

The man soon returned to sea, leaving his family to get on as best they could in his absence and, longing for her husband, missing his presence, his wife began to tell her youngest son stories.  First of his father's exploits, then of his father’s family, and finally…

A curious story.

And she told it over, and over, embellishing it as he grew, to continue to enthrall and entice him, until, by the time he was a strapping lad, his head had been filled with stories.

Stories of a girl.  

A young girl who lived in the heart of the black woods, in a little cobbled cottage.

Or a high stone tower with no doors.

Or a cold iron keep.

A girl who was as kind as she was beautiful, as generous as she was clever, as pure as she was gentle.  These stories bewitched the young man who, in his heart, began to think of them, not as stories, but as truth.  

And so, one day, when he was full in the flower of his youth, the lad took his due, and struck out to seek his fortune, in the guise of a forest-dwelling girl.

It took many years, and many adventures, but as he was clever, strong, and handsome, his purse, like his courage, never failed.  Until one day…

One day…

Deep in the heart of the black forest, he came across a maiden in a tree.  One look at her sloe-eyed beauty, and he was struck.

Unfortunately, cursed with the ability to see into his heart, into that bright, shining, golden purity, so was she.

And so, they wed, and settled in town, where he became a merchant.  And they loved each other very much.  In fact, they loved each other so much that one day a little seed took root, and began to grow. 

Unbeknownst to her husband, in preparation for her little blossom, the witch used her magic to create a beautiful doll -- made and tied with neither needle nor blade, so as not to poke her child’s fate.  Upon finishing the poppet, in the quiet, and in the dark, she brought its faceless head close to her mouth, and whispered.  

One cold winter’s day, the time had come for the couple’s love to flower.  The man, worried for his young wife, sent for the wisest of the midwives.  Unfortunately, she was met on the way.  Met by something very old, something that had the way of seeming.  

Something crooked. 

Some time later, the young father himself rushed to answer a sharp rap, brushing past servants in his haste. Through the opened door, a piercing wind blew, causing all who felt it to fall into the deepest slumber.  

The old woman slowly mounted the stairs, screams and howls echoing off the dark walls of the stairwell. She stepped into the room.  “Oh, lovey!” she crooned, hurrying over to support the back of the harshly panting mother.  “Don’t you worry now.  I’m here...”

The labour was long, longer than it should have been, but before the cock’s crow, the deed was done, and a beautiful, squalling baby girl was held aloft in softly wrinkled hands.  “Oh, isn’t she a dove,” the old woman said, before fixing her gaze on the failing woman lying on a bed of crimson.  “Dearie, dearie me.  Look at you, half worn out.  Quick, give me her name, and you can rest.”

On a whisper it was given, and then the woman fell back.

“Dearie…dearie me…”  The midwife took a step closer, the old woman’s skin melting off to reveal an unseemly bent and tattered form.  The flesh slithered through the door, and down the stairs.   “You’ve grown complacent, witch.  Once upon a time, you would have known the very moment I stepped foot in the village.”

The woman on the bed sighed.  “Did you kill him?”

The twisted old thing slowly shook his head, sidling closer to the foot of her bed, and wrapping a wizened old hand around one of the posts, leaning against the carved wood in a failed parody of charm.  “No.”

“And the old woman?”  Her voice was weaker now.

He waved a dismissive hand.  “She’ll be fine.  In time.  I’m sure.  Unless some beastie gets to her before her skin does.  

The failing witch could only whisper.  “And…my child…?”

Instead of answering, he just sighed, a dry, rustling sound like leaves in autumn.  “How the mighty have fallen.  Look at you…leaving them…all alone.  And now that I have your daughter’s name…well…you just don’t know what I’ll do…”

The witch’s eyes fixed on the great walnut tree by the back door, and she sighed again.  It was a long, drawn out sigh, sharp as the sound of a sword leaving its scabbard.  

Then she was gone.  

The old man looked down on his fallen foe.  He felt no joy.  Just a queer sense of dissatisfaction.  The babe in his arm cooed, and he looked down at her.  “Now, now,” he singsonged, brushing rumpled fingertips over her throat.  

“None of that.”

***

The merchant awoke with a start.  Standing before him was a man.  Or what looked like a man.  Or what looked like the skin of a man stretched over the bones and muscle of something decidedly more angular, and far more crooked.  In his hands he held a child.

The merchant staggered to his feet, realizing that the too-quiet babe in the crumpled old man’s arms was none other than his own.  He opened his mouth, took a stop forward, but before he could utter a word, the rumpled old thing held up a hand, and with that gesture, the man fell back into a chair as a wave of tiredness washed over him.  “Listen well, son of Adam, for I will only say this once.  Your wife is dead, your child’s name is mine, and with it I cast this curse.  If ever she speaks…she belongs to me.”

The merchant was heartbroken, but despite his grief, he remembered something his wife had taught him long ago.  “Grandfather Likho, you came into my house uninvited, and are therefore bound by the law of hosts to grant a boon. I thereby ask you, is there any way to break this curse?”

Thus identified, the old spirit -- constrained by the invocation of his title, if not his true name -- eyed the merchant in distinct dissatisfaction.  But he was bound.  “It can be broken…” he began slowly, reluctantly, “if a prince of the realm, knowing nothing of the curse, and without prompting, gives her back her name.”

With that, the old thing pushed the babe into her father’s arms, and was gone.  As the servants began to stir, the young man buried his face in his daughter’s blankets, and cried. 

***

“Chernislava!”

You sighed.  Habit had awoken you from the loveliest dream, but at least it had been quiet as you readied for the day.  But now, the lovely pre-dawn silence had been broken by the raucous voice of your eldest stepsister, Duschenka.  Sighing again, you placed a mug of foamy kvass onto a wooden tray already laden with small bowls of porridge, and kutiya, a plate of eggs, pirogi, and cheese, and a little pot of honey.  Lifting the tray, you quickly trotted upstairs to her room.  

Duschenka said nothing as you gently placed the tray on her bedside table, merely waved you away as she reached for the frosty copper tankard without even looking.  

“Chernislava!”

And there goes the other one, you thought, as the voice of your other older stepsister, Anastasia, jangled your already belaboured nerves.  Quickly, you ran down to the kitchen to grab her tray and deliver it before her shrill yelling awoke--

A clear, clarion clang rang throughout the halls.  Closing your eyes, you wearily hung your head.  

Your stepmother.  

Ever cold, she never raised her voice, never called for you like “some common fishwife”, though she allowed her daughters to do so.  No, for her, it was always the bell.  That silver bell.  That eternal, infernal bell.  And while most of the time, the demand on the other end of that bell was simple enough, sometimes, it was simply impossible.  

***

You could no longer remember the name by which your father had called you.  Before he married your stepmother.  Before he was taken by the sea.  

Upon your father’s death, you had been immediately relegated to the attic, allowed to take nothing from your old room, but the simple pillow that had been yours since the cradle.  Apparently, it was ratty enough to satisfy your stepmother that you deserved it.  

Driven almost mad from his death, unable to voice your pain, you had flung the pillow across the attic, and upon impact, the old, threadbare cover had torn, causing the pillow to dissolve into a puff of goose down.  

And something that had thumped rather solidly as it hit the ground.  

Curious, you had looked over to find a little doll with no face.  As you picked it up, from under its skirt had fallen a little piece of rolled cloth.  Unrolling the fabric, you found a note penned in a beautiful hand, and signed with three drops of blood. “My child, take this doll as my blessing. Always keep it with you, and never show it to anybody. If anything bad happens to you, give the doll food and ask her for guidance.”

Soon after your father’s death, your stepmother, jealous of your beauty, began giving you heavy outdoor work to do, so you would grow thin and your face would turn ugly in the wind and the sun.  Despite this, you became more beautiful every day, for each day you gave your doll food and asked for advice, and after eating, she would sigh and say, "If your mother knew of this, it would break her heart!" before helping with the tasks - even bringing herbs to prevent sunburn.  

As the years passed, you grew ever more beautiful, and your stepmother's hatred of you intensified.

***

Cold enveloped your body as you passed into the deep, cloying shadow of your stepmother’s room, standing still by the door, casting your eyes about unseeingly.  

“Chernislava.”  Her voice was like the hollow bong of a graveyard bell.  She enjoyed this, you knew.  The moment of uncertainty, of blindness as you waited for your eyes to adjust to the dark.  “Come closer…Let me look at you, child…”  

Obediently, you walked forward, laying her tray on her bedside table, and standing beside her.  Her round, almost cherubic face, surrounded by two fat braids as golden as summer wheat tilted upward to look at you.  Her eyes were the clear, cold blue of the sky in deepest winter.  “Well,” she murmured.  “Don’t you just grow lovelier every day?”  

It didn’t sound like a compliment.  

“What a pity you’re a mute halfwit.”

You lowered your eyes, seething inwardly.

Languidly, she waved a hand.  “That is all.  You may return to your…duties.”  

You could feel her gaze burning with an icy fire between your shoulder blades as you exited the room.  Heading toward the laundry to begin boiling water for the wash, you wondered what fresh hardship she was devising for you.

You weren’t curious for long.  That night, as darkness fell across the land, your stepmother crept around the house and extinguished all the candles. As the last candle failed, she said in a loud voice, "It's impossible to finish our work in the darkness. Somebody must go to the witch of the wood to ask for a light.”

"I'm not going," said Duschenka, who was stitching lace. "I can see my needle."

"And I'm not going," said Anastasia, who was knitting stockings, "I can see my needle."

Even before her daughter’s pronouncements, you felt your stepmother’s cold eyes trained on your figure, huddled in the leftover warmth of the hearth as you dipped a crust of stale bread into a cup of fresh milk.  “Well, Chernislava,” she said, her voice almost pleasant.  “Since I hear no protests, I suppose it will just have to be you.”

Silent as always, you hung your head, stood, and walked past her to slowly mount the stairs to your attic room. 

Your stepmother’s cold, silken voice floated up the narrow stone stairwell as you continued to climb.“Pack your things…”

What she said next was so low you almost didn’t hear it, but when the meaning of her words registered, you shivered.

“Not like she’ll be coming back…”

In the attic, you looked around, realizing that there was next to nothing to take.  Feeling petty, you opened the side of your pillow, and allowed the goosedown to fly around the room before filling the pillowcase with a threadbare shawl, a pair of ragged gloves, a patched pair of stockings, your thin blanket, and your mother’s note.  That done, fear finally had a chance to set in properly, and you fell down onto the rough, lumpen mattress, holding your head in despair.  Just then, a thought occurred, and, reaching into your pocket, you pulled out the rest of the crust of bread that you had been eating downstairs, fed it to your doll.

The doll sighed.  "If your mother knew of this, it would break her heart, but fear not.  Take the cloth with your mother’s three drops of blood, go to her grave beneath the walnut tree, and cry into the kerchief.  Take whatever falls from the tree, and go wherever you are led.

So you did as you were bade, and from the branches of the tree fell three fat walnuts, one of silver, one of gold, and one of diamond.  You were placing them in your bag when golden light, bright as the spring sun, suddenly warmed your face.  A large oval cut into the night, limned by spinning sparks of shining gold.  Through it you saw, not the dark forest, nor the village you had always known, but what looked like the outside of a beautiful palace.  Taking a deep breath, you placed the doll in the pocket of your apron, and stepped through the hole in the night.

***

Now the tsarstvo in which you had been raised was unlike any other, in that royals of yore had brokered peace between their land and the southern border nation of Goryeo by way of a curious practice, and the way of it was this.  In every generation, the kingdoms exchanged crown princes.  Now, it was not an unusual practice for a nation to exchange royal wards, both as a gesture of goodwill, as well as for use as hostages, should peace be broken.  However, the difference between that practice and this was that the exchanged (ceremonially switched as soon as one of them reached the age of 12) became crown princes of their new kingdoms, to live, grow, marry, beget, and rule where they were planted.   

You, however, having lived on the northern outskirts of the tsarstvo, knew nothing of this.  

Wandering around the outer wall of the palace, looking for the gate, your ears were suddenly assailed by the raucous sound of barking.  Turning, you saw what looked like a pack of bears approaching, and you turned to escape, only to quickly be run over.  

“Bolik!  Buyan!  Chernysh!  Come back here!”  A reedy, querulous voice demanded.  

The beasts ignored it, choosing instead to lick whatever bits of your exposed skin they could find.  

“Sobaka!  Come!” said another voice, this one much smoother, and far more pleasant.  

Almost instantaneously, the dogs - for dogs they were, great, energetic caucasians, already giants though they were still puppies - left you to gambol around the figure of a young, handsome man, dressed in finery the likes of which you had never seen.  

You lingered on the ground, stunned by his beauty.  The blackness of his hair, like a raven’s wing, the smooth gold of his skin, the deep, almost shocking warmth of his large, brown eyes, eyes that curved gracefully upward, reminding you of the Siberian cat your father had given you a few days after you were born.  It stayed by your side, a constant and loyal companion, until your father married your stepmother, who, claiming that the cat “ruined her complexion”, gave him away to a traveling tinker in exchange for a hair ribbon.

“You there - rag girl!  How dare you recline in the presence of your prince!” said the thin man with the reedy voice.  

“Stand down, Sergei,” said the prince.  “Can’t you see the poor thing’s overwhelmed?”  Crouching, he reached out a hand, and helped you to your feet.  “Come now, there’s a good girl.  Are you alright?”

You nodded, with a shy, uncertain curtsey.

“The insolence!  Your prince is speaking to you, girl.  How dare you remain silent?!  Answer his highness, Prince Minseok at once!”

Helplessly you looked from one man to the other before bringing your hand to your throat and shaking your head.

“Eh?” Sergei said.  “The chit must be feebleminded.  Well then, off with you!” he exclaimed, waving a dismissive hand.

“A moment!” said the prince, looking deeply into your eyes, his expression captivated.  “I don’t think that she’s feebleminded at all, are you?” he asked, shaking his head slowly.

You mirrored him, shaking your head, the reflected gesture oddly intimate.

“You cannot speak.”

Relieved, you smiled, nodding vigorously.

The prince returned the smile, his eyes growing momentarily wistful and far away before once more fixing on you.  “You have some business in the palace?”

Thinking for a moment, you mimed various chores.  

“Ah,” said the prince.  “You’ve come for a job?”

Uncertain, but deciding to forge ahead when the doll in your pocket didn’t move, you nodded.  

The prince glanced at his servant.  “Surely, there’s something she can do.”  Though he spoke to his servant, he seemingly couldn’t take his eyes off of you, but looked at you with considerable warmth.

The servant glared down his long nose at you before sniffing affectedly.  “Well, she will do for the kitchen, I suppose; she can sweep up the ashes, and do things of that sort.”  

“Well then, lead her there.  I’ll be fine walking these beasts by myself.”

Sergei bowed before gesturing for you to follow him.  “Come along girl, don’t dawdle.”  After walking around the perimeter of the palace for what felt like ages, the servant led you through an abundant garden to a door that led to the palace kitchens.  He then showed you a little corner under the staircase, where no light of day ever peeped in, and said, “Tomorrow, little rag girl, you must clean the yard, sweep the kitchen, help cook with the meals, and wash the linen. Then you must go to the corn bin and separate seed by seed the mildewed corn from the good corn. And mind that you remove all the black bits. If you don't complete these tasks by nightfall, then I will see to it that you are sent outside the palace to beg in the city streets.”

Unsurprised by his demanding demeanour, having grown up with a stepmother who was as unreasonable as she was capricious, you merely nodded.

“Well now,” he said, looking down at you as if you were a country mouse.  “You may lie and sleep there.’ 

As soon as he left, you took your doll out of your pocket, and gave it a crust of bread.  

After eating, the doll sighed and said, "If your mother knew of this, it would break her heart, but fear not.  Reach into your pocket, eat the supper you find, and go to bed. Everything looks better in the morning."

Obediently, you reached into your pocket and, to your surprise, found a whole roast chicken, which you downed, snickety-snak, and went to bed.

Upon awakening the next morning, you went to the corn bin and found the doll picking out the last black bits. The other tasks were also fulfilled.

The doll said, "All you have to do now is help with the day’s meals, and after that you can rest."

You thanked the doll and went to find the cook. 

That night, the servant Sergei returned to find you.  "Have you done as I directed?" he asked.  Sneering at your nod, he investigated, but found the tasks were all completed.  Returning, he glared down at you, unsatisfied.  "Tomorrow you must do the same tasks and then you must go to the store room and sort out the dirt from the poppy seeds."

With the help of your doll, you managed to finish the tasks, and still have time for a small nap, a luxury hitherto not experienced since the death of your father.

In the evening the old servant returned and checked everything.  Upon seeing that it was all done, he turned to you, this time with an appraising eye.  “Well done,” he admitted, awkwardly, before turning around and leaving without another word.

And that is how you were sent into the kitchen, and made to fetch wood and water, to blow the fire, pluck the poultry, pick the herbs, sift the ashes, and do all the dirty work.

One morning, while you were in the garden picking herbs for that night’s dinner, a shadow fell over your basket, and you looked up to see the prince looking curiously down at you.  He crouched, and, feeling a frisson of surprise to see him so close, you scrambled to your feet, to make a graceful curtsey.

Grinning, he stood.  “Pretty manners for a servant.”

Your face heated.

The prince smiled momentarily, before his expression grew earnest.  “Back in my home country, I had a little sister like you.  She never could speak, from the moment she was born, so I devised a system whereby we could talk with our hands.”  His expression when he looked at you was almost shy.  “I could…teach it to you, if you’d like.”

Without thinking, you reached out to grasp his hand and clasp it ardently, nodding enthusiastically.

Smiling almost shyly, he nodded, looking down.  “Well then…”

***

So time passed, as time does, but to Prince Minseok’s delight, you were an apt and intelligent pupil.  

And, in the way of things, you quickly fell in love.  How could you not?  The prince was handsome, intelligent, kind, playful at times, and though he always exuded nobility, he was polite, considerate of all, often saying, “Manners maketh man.”

Despite the new tenderness of your heart, however, very soon it was said that the prince must marry, and that his betrothed was soon to arrive.  You tried to comfort yourself with the knowledge that, as a servant, at least you would always be able to look upon him, to gaze at his beauty, listen to his words, and remember how sweetly he had always spoken to you.  To have this…this would be enough.

But it was not enough.  It would never be enough, it could never be enough.  

Having a rare moment to yourself, you were spending it lounging in one of the trees when a trumpeting fanfare caught your attention.  Lifting your head, you peered down the winding road to the palace, only for your blood to run cold.  

A carriage approached the palace, and in it - oh curse your far seeing eyes - in it sat one of the last people you wished to ever see.

Your stepsister, Duschenka.  

But, how?  Your family was not a noble one.  Then again, your stepmother was a scheming, conniving woman, and you could certainly believe that, had there been a way to manipulate her daughter’s way to the throne, she would have found it.  Shivering, you pulled your shawl closer about your shoulders.  Even something as loathsome as striking a deal with the witch of the wood…

Now that the carriage was closer, you could see your stepmother riding opposite her daughter, looking as cold and lovely as ever, dressed in aristocratic finery, the only jarring note a black leather glove that covered her left hand.

Shaken at seeing her, you climbed down from the tree and ran to your alcove under the stairs, weeping piteously.  

“Why are you crying?”

Shocked to find yourself not alone, as everyone else had leapt at the chance to run outside and see the prince’s prospective bride, you looked up to see Sergei looking down at you curiously.  Though he had initially been cold and aloof, in the months that you had worked at the palace, he had finally given you a grudging respect, even learning some simple signs so that he could more effectively communicate with you.  

Shaking your head, you huddled further into your nook, turning your head away, and sighing piteously.  

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice a bit gentler.  "If you will not tell me, then write your woes, and place them in the iron oven," he said, and went away. Taking a piece of paper from Cook’s book of receipts, you crept into the large iron oven, and began to weep and to lament, at last opening your heart and writing down what you had suffered at the hands of your wicked stepmother, and evil stepsisters.  

The sounds of returning  servant’s chatter about the next night’s feast preparations caught your attention, and you hurriedly climbed out of the stove, leaving behind your tale to be burned as so much kindling for tonight’s dinner.  

Now, unbeknownst to you, the old servant had stood outside the oven-door listening to your cries, and he crept in behind you, snatching up your tale, and reading it with increasing anger.  Carefully folding the paper, he put it in his pocket, vowing to help you in any way he could. 

That night, in your alcove, you fed your doll a bit of meat, and after she had eaten, she sighed and said, "If your mother knew of this, it would break her heart, but fear not. Tomorrow night, as soon as the feast is well underway, indicate to the cook that you would like to go up a little while and see what is going on.  If necessary take a bit of paper, and write that you will take care and stand behind the door.’”  So the next night, you did as the doll had bade, and the cook said, “Yes, you may go, but be back again in half an hour’s time, to rake out the ashes.” 

So you took your little lamp, and snuck into the deserted laundry room where you washed the soot from your face and hands, so that your beauty shone forth like the sun from behind the clouds. As your doll had instructed, you next opened your pale, shining nutshell, and pulled out a silvery dress that shone like the moon.  The dress fit perfectly and as soon as you were in it, your doll dressed your hair seemingly faster than you could even blink.  Thanking her, you put her in your pocket as she had instructed, for it was her that was to speak for you tonight, lest your silence immediately alert the prince as to your identity.  To protect you from this, she was to sit in your pocket, and speak aloud your thoughts throughout the adventure.

After mounting the stairs, you took a deep breath before entering the ballroom, closing your eyes to gather your courage.  Exhaling slowly, you opened the door, and walked inside.  Everyone made way for you, for nobody knew you, and they thought you could be no less than a king’s daughter, but Prince Minseok came to you as if drawn, held out his hand, and invited you to dance.  When the song was at an end you curtsied, but fled the moment Prince Minseok looked away.  

When he looked round, you were gone, no one knew wither. The guards that stood at the castle gate were called in, but they had seen no one. 

Tripping lightly, you ran back into the laundry room, pulled off your dress, which folded neatly back into the walnut, dirtied your face and hands, and were once more just a little maid. Returning to the kitchen to continue your work, you began to rake the ashes, but the cook said, “Let that alone till the morning, and go to bed.  I need you well rested for tomorrow’s feast.”

So you curled up as small as a mousekin in your little alcove, clutching your memories close, the recollection of the warmth and strength of Prince Minseok’s hand as he lifted yours aloft, as he gently held you by the waist to to spin and whirl you about the dance floor, warming you better than any night’s fire. 

The next night, there was another feast, and you once more asked the cook to let you go and see it as before. “Yes,” said she, “but come again before the soup course, and cook the prince the soup that he likes so much.” 

Running once more to the laundry room, you quickly washed yourself, and from the pale, shining walnut pulled a dress bright as the silvery moon.  

When you entered the ballroom, looking like a king’s daughter, Prince Minseok once more abandoned his betrothed without a single backward glance, his expression alit with joy as he approached, his gaze locked onto your eyes.  When the music began, he once more began to dance with you, but after your first dance, continued to dance with only you for half the night. After a period of time had passed, one of the courtiers approached the prince to ask a question, and you took that opportunity to slip out, so slyly that the prince once more did not see where you had gone.

In the laundry room, you made herself into the poor little maid once more, and went into the kitchen to cook the soup.  As you stirred, you sighed, your heart full of love for the man who had held you close all night.  Thinking of how he had never taken his eyes off of you the entire time you had been in his arms, you were overcome, and wept with joy, the tears from your eyes falling into the soup.  

When it was brought to the prince, he ate, and it pleased him as well as before, so he sent for the cook, who confessed to him that it was you who had prepared it. At that he looked thoughtful, wistful.  

Upon seeing his expression, Duschenka leaned over, dipping her little golden spoon into the prince’s bowl to taste the soup for herself.  As soon as the liquid hit her tongue, she made an awful face.  “Ugh,” said she, “it is bitter!”

Taken aback by her lack of manners, Prince Minseok gently laid down his spoon, and waved his hand for a servant to take away the soup.  In truth, he did not like his betrothed.  Though she was pretty enough, she was loud and brash, opinionated - which should have been good - but her opinions were always backed by nothing more structured than her feelings, which seemed to be as capricious as an ill wind.  She was haughty, petty, vindictive, simple, small-minded, and jealous, and the thought of spending his life with her was truly horrid.

He thought of you, of your sweet face, and open, soft expression.  He had been captivated by the beauty with whom he had danced the past two nights, true, but only because she looked ever so much like you.  He wished…he wished somehow that she could be you.  Your dark eyes, so warm, so inviting, so comforting, and so lovely, staring up at him as he danced with you in his arms.  

At his side, Duschenka held out her goblet for more wine.  Since she had arrived, he had watched her drink far more than she ate, yet she never seemed drunk, just truculent.  

Sighing, he lifted longsuffering eyes to his parents, who returned his gaze with sympathy.  In truth, none of them could figure out how this genuinely unpleasant woman had come to be his betrothed, but every time he thought about it too deeply, his thoughts would begin to wander…

Prince Minseok blinked with a start.  The musicians had begun another song, this one lovely, wistful.  It stirred his soul, and he felt a tear slip unbidding from his eye.  Surreptitiously, he brushed it away, unsure of why he suddenly felt so melancholy.  Catching the eye of the lead musician, he gestured for them to change to something more lively.  

He couldn’t imagine why he had felt so mournful…

***

The next night was the final feast, after which the betrothal was to be officially announced.  You begged your leave of the cook a third time, and her answer was the same as before.  After locking yourself in the laundry room, you chose the gilded walnut, and from it pulled a dress that shone as golden as the morning sun.  

Sweeping into the ballroom, you searched for the prince, and within moments, your eyes locked.  Striding forward, Prince Minseok bowed, and held out his hand, gracefully accepting yours before dancing with you again, only this time throughout the night and into the dawn. When the festivities finally came to an end, he would have held you fast, but you slipped away, springing so quickly through the crowd that he lost sight of you.  

Not everyone lost sight of you, however.

Sergei had been observing you since the first night, watching, considering, and pondering who you could possibly be.  Though Sergei could be a bit high-handed, Sergei was clever, and by the second night, he had been positive that he knew exactly who you were.  Following you, he saw you rush into the laundry room only for the mute kitchen maid to emerge some moments later.  

He wasn’t perfect, but Sergei was a good servant, who loved his master.  He wanted to see him happy, and more importantly, he wanted to see the realm in good hands.  

He wasn’t sure what this…Duschenka had over his masters, but he saw her clear and plain, and if there was anything that he could do to both make his prince happy, as well as thwart this horrid woman in her attempt to graft herself into the royal line - not to mention fulfill his vow to support you - then he was willing to do it.

Rushing to his prince’s side, he whispered low, “Your Highness, do you wish to know the identity of the mysterious girl with whom you have been dancing every night?”

The Prince looked at him in surprise.  “More than anything,” he answered, putting a hand on his servant’s shoulder, and guiding him to a private nook where he could speak freely.  

“Then come with me, and stay silent, lest we alert her to our presence before you are ready.”  With that, he moved forward, cutting silently and easily through the crowd as the prince followed in his wake.  

Opening the secret door that you had taken, he led the prince down the stairs, through the kitchen, and to the laundry room, where you were just emerging, your face once more covered in ashes and soot.  

Before you could react, Sergei had strode forward, and reached into your apron, pulling out the three magical walnuts.  A slip of gold peeked out from the golden shell, and Sergei tugged on it, only for it to spring open, disgorging the shining contents at your feet.

Prince Minseok looked down at the dress, glittering in the banked light of the oven, then back at you, his expression bewildered.  “Chernislava, was it you?  Is it true?  Are you she?  Are you the one who has danced with me, and stolen my heart every night?  But I don’t understand...”  

At that, Sergei pulled out your crumpled piece of paper, handing it to the prince, and bidding him to read.  Horrified, you reached for it, intending to throw it into the fire, but a shifting in your pocket told you to hold your peace.  

Within moments, the prince looked back up at you, his eyes searching.  “Ah… So you have been through all of this.  I am sorry for it.”  His jaw tightened, his expression darkening as he looked off into the distance.  “So this is the kind of woman my betrothed is.  Now, I know all…”  He turned to his servant, the light of determination in his eyes.  “Sergei, we must have another feast tomorrow.  Return to the great hall, and announce that I have declared it.  Then, go to my mother’s dressmakers and have them make a dress for my little one that rival’s the morning dawn.  By this time tomorrow, I will put all to right.”

So Sergei did as his master bid.  Meanwhile you were taken to the noble’s quarters, bathed, scrubbed, pampered, and scented.  The maids who attended to you were warm and friendly, and freely chattered over your lovely skin, your thick, lustrous hair, and great, dark eyes.  

By the time the final feast was underway, and you had entered the great hall, even your step sister did not recognize you, as you were so dazzling in your new finery.  

With a great fanfare, Prince Minseok entered the room, and crossed to his false bride.  Lifting her hand, he called for attention as he plucked a goblet from a waiting servant.  “My bride,” he began smoothly, “everyone here is dazzled by your beauty, but they have yet to know the true depth of your wisdom.  And so, I put a question to you.  Your answer will decide a woman’s fate.”

Inflated by the prince’s words, Duschenka preened under the eyes of the assembly.  “Of course, my prince.  It is as you say.  Please, continue.”

He kissed the back of her hand, but you didn’t miss the cold intensity of his dark eyes as he regarded her.  

Then the prince gave Duschenka a question to answer, as to what such an one deserved, who had deceived her betters in such and such a manner, telling the whole story with enough changes so as not to cause her to recognize the tale, and ending by asking, "Now, what doom does such an one deserve?" 

"No better than this," answered the wicked stepsister, "that a pair of shoes sharp as knives be fashioned, and that she should be made to wear them, and dance at the wedding of the prince, and his true beloved." 

“Very well,” said the prince.  "Thus you have spoken, and thus it shall be done." With that, he motioned for his guards, who dragged away the evil stepsister, shrieking and howling, to the dungeons.”  

Gently pulling you close, Prince Minseok looked deeply into your eyes with an enchanted smile.  “This is my true bride.  My life’s companion.  Masha; my Beloved.”

You gasped at the sound of your true name, even as a sharp, piercing wind blew through the hall.  Wonderingly, you took Prince Minseok’s hand in your own.  Looking up at him with tears in your eyes, you smiled.  “You…have freed me.  ”

Tears sprang to his eyes at the sound of your soft voice, and he bowed his head, held you close.  

And a crooked someone, somewhere, howled so loudly, and stamped so viciously, that he broke his own legs.

But this isn’t his story, and no one cares about him.

[wolveswithblackpearls]

~ EXO-L secret santa 2024 ~

'tis the season, everybody! I hope everybody is having calm and peaceful December days and looking forward to the holidays - however they might look like for you <3

this goes especially to @sakurasangcl, who I had the pleasure to make these very rich-in-Baekhyun edits for! I dipped into his different facades - from cute to sweet to dark to sexy - and let myself be inspired by some of his (and EXO's songs). So, I hope these lockscreens are to your linking (let me know if you need size adjustments in case you want to use them :D)

and, as every year, a huge thank you to the person organizing this event! @exols-silver-christmas - I'm so excited to see the wonderful gifts this year will bring, I hope I'll get around checking all of them out.

until we meet again, hopefully, next year

- admin s (@starchild--27)

[kimjunnoodle]

Happy Holidays to @flaredpantsagenda !! ❄️ ⛄️❄️

I was your secret santa and I hope you like your Rock star au Baekhyun!!

Thanks to @exols-silver-christmas for hosting this event! Really appreciate it!

[ilxiu]

Happy Holidays to @kimjunnoodle !!! ❄️ ⛄️

I was your secret santa this year 🤭 and this webtoon inspired suho is for you! I hope you like it lol

Thanks to @exols-silver-christmas for hosting this event, even though the community is not as active this year, I still enjoyed participating

[kradnie]

EXO-L Secret Santa Gifts for @hellohailu

@exols-silver-christmas

okay sooo here are some drawings :> at first i didnt know what to draw and even scrapped my first one,, but then when i got into the flow i made like 3 (+ a silly doodle). so here they are and the explanations behind each one :3

also i feel like im bad at capturing facial features but it might just be a lack of confidence T-T

so first one is kyungsoo as a knight. you said you liked fantasy and i immediately thought of that kind of medieval setting with knights and wizard. And i thought armour would look cool with this watercolour brush. and i was right >:3

then we have baekhyun from the kokobop era. you said you like warm colours and my mind immediately went to that.

then the last one is chen (love shot, with the stupid bowl cut (affectionate)) as a kind of mosaic i guess? inspired by the colour palletes you gave me. i wasnt sure about how it looked tho so i made two versions

and the bonus doodle which is of chanyeol from the first album because that photo with the caption made me laugh when i was looking through the photobooks for inspiration

okay thats it. hope you have a great december <3

...i just realised i misspelled prankster. oh well.

[hellohailu]

☽ under the moon, we collide ☾

㊐ one : collision ㊊

SUMMARY │Born and raised in a small isolated village, Ajla has never had any reason to question the beliefs and traditions she was raised to follow. Yet, on the most important day of her young life, a chance encounter with a traveler from the outside sparks a strange and haunting vision. Torn between her devotion to her village and finding the answers to her questions, Ajla must now decide the path she wants to walk.

PAIRING │Jongdae 종대 / Original Female Character

RATING │ T [SFW]

GENRE │ Fantasy!AU, Mythology!AU

LENGTH │ 7,089 words

NETWORK │ @exols-silver-christmas

MANY THANKS TO │ my two extraordinary betas, L. and C. I couldn't have done it without you !

AUTHOR'S NOTE │ This story was written for Ju (@breeze-of-sunlight) for the 2024 EXO-L Secret Santa event ! It is cut into three parts ; the remaining two will be posted sometime in the beginning of next year. This is my first story, so likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ! ∼ Hailu

BEFORE YOU READ │ One of my original characters [Luan] has a name that is very similar to the name of an ex EXO member [Luhan]. Please keep in mind that these characters are not the same person ! While Luhan might end up mentioned in the other parts, Luan has a much more central role in the story and is bound to appear quite often.

Click here to listen to the little playlist I made for this story.

Grandmother once told me that this land was not always ours. It seems hard to believe, seeing how well acclimated we are to the mild weather and gentle winds of this place. Our people have lived here for a very long time: I was born and have grown up here, in this little village, as was Grandmother. The stories she tells, about foreign grounds and harder times, she learned from her own grandfather, a stern warrior who came here from the North with a few hundred others to seek shelter in a more welcoming land.

I am not sure what became of the people that were calling this place their home before we did. Grandmother said they were a peaceful kind, with strange customs and even stranger gods. I heard, most of them left, and the remaining ones adopted our traditions and practices. Eventually, our culture was the only one to remain.

A long time has passed since then, and our Holy One has allowed us to prosper and live in peace. Of all the villages my people have established in this region, I live in the smallest. Our numbers hardly reach a hundred souls, and I know that on this day, each and every one of them is going to attend the ceremony. It takes place every three years, in midsummer. On the day of the second full moon of the season, we can finally reap the fruits of our yearly labour. As a sign of devotion to our Holy One, every daughter who is at least twenty springs of age ought to enter adulthood through an entire week of uninterrupted prayer, after which she will finally be considered adult enough to marry and bear children.

“Ouch !” I say, reaching up to massage the part of my head where Mother has pulled my hair a little too hard. I stop right in my tracks when I hear a disapproving sound behind me.

“Don’t be a child, Ajla,” she sighs. I lower my hand, my scalp still throbbing. “Why is your hair always so tangled ?”

In a sudden moment of realisation, she grabs my shoulders and makes me turn around so I can meet her eyes. I instantly lower them to the ground, as I almost always do.

“You untied it for the night, didn’t you ?”

“I just… it was pulled too tight, I couldn’t sleep,” I tentatively try.

“Remember Ajla, the Holy One despises the arrogant and the vain. I should have cut your hair a long time ago,” she lets an exasperated sigh escape her. “We don’t have time now, we still have to help with the preparations for the ceremony and go get your prayer dress for tonight.” She finishes brushing my long messy blond hair in a hurry, and then braids it into a tight updo at the base of my neck. I hold back a wince at the harsh treatment she gives to my head.

“It is good you got a little sleep nonetheless. You’ll need all the energy you can get for the Prayer. Our Holy One will test your strength in a way you have never experienced before. You’ll never be quite the same after you come out of the Sanctuary, Ajla. It was the same for me.”

I listen silently. It is the first time Mother talks about how hard of a trial the Prayer can be. She is a stern woman, hardened by the trials of life, but she likes to talk about the Holy One, and she reveres Him in a way I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to understand. Our whole community, myself included, is very devoted to our divinity, but Mother believes in His power with her whole heart. She says, her faith in the Holy One is what gives her strength.

I know what the Prayer entails, everybody does, but the gap between knowledge and experience can sometimes prove to be dangerous. An entire week of prayer, locked in a small room with only enough food to keep us alive. It is complete isolation, no contact to the outside world allowed. The Prayer is supposed to test our faith and devotion to the Holy One, and no one is allowed to interrupt. Not that there would even be a possibility to interrupt, as the opening of the praying rooms get nailed shut to ensure nothing will distract the participants.

“Get dressed, we’re going to the storehouse first,” Mother says before leaving me alone in the room. I sigh, and walk towards a small hook attached to the wall. The women of our village must always walk around with their body covered to maintain modesty : for that reason, it is common that we wear a flowy upper garment on top of our dresses, that we call “kiva”. Mine is long enough for the sleeves to almost reach my fingertips. As is tradition, it also has a hood so I am able to properly cover my hair. Father mentioned once, that showing my body too much would only bring me dishonour, that what I was hiding was to only be shown inside of my home in the presence of my close family and, when I am wed, of my husband. That this was the Holy One’s will. Sometimes, I wonder if we do the things we do for the Holy One, or for the sake of some old traditions that have existed since long before my birth.

After making sure my kiva is on correctly, its hood held in place with pins in my hair, I join Mother, who is waiting for me at the doorstep. In a few short weeks, summer will yield to autumn ; the days will become shorter and the leaves will turn orange and yellow. Right now though, the heat, if not quite stifling, is still well present. We start walking slowly towards the storehouse, where we keep all our food, and apart from the bustle of the final ceremony preparations, this day feels like any other summer day.

They look different, misplaced in this little village of mine that is not accustomed to receiving visits from foreigners. They are dressed in various colours, some bright and some dark, a stark contrast to the sea of cream and brown coloured clothes that my people commonly wear.

I see a middle-aged woman smile gently at the passersby, showing a few of them the items she is selling. She does not look like me, or any of my people, but I find her utterly beautiful. Her hair is long and dark, draping over her shoulders in messy curls, and she’s wearing a strange embroidered headband. Her long tunic is a deep red colour and decorated at the seams with patterns I have never seen before, leaving part of her shoulders bare, exposing golden, sun kissed skin. It is a couple tones darker than my own, my kiva perpetually keeping it hidden from sun and moon alike. Her eyes all of a sudden find mine, and she smiles at me from where she stands, behind her stall. I look at her curiously, and find myself wanting to smile back.

It is at this moment that I feel Mother’s hand on my back, urging me forward. She takes her place at my other side, positioning herself between the woman and me, blocking my view.

“Do not talk to them, Ajla. I forbid you to even look at them, do you hear me ?” she whispers, her tone serious and authoritative.

“Why so, Mother ? We do not see foreigners very often and–”

“And it is best that way. They are heretics, Ajla. They are not like us.”

I can sense from the tone of her voice that she will not accept any more discussion about the travellers, so I stay quiet and we walk the rest of the way in silence. The storehouse is always a flurry of activity, especially during harvest season. My people mainly thrive thanks to the fruits and vegetables we grow within the walls of the village. While we sometimes eat meat from the small animals we raise, we no longer hunt like our ancestors did. Seeking larger prey would mean stepping a foot in the forest, and the woods are dark and scary, the foliage of the trees thick enough that it is not possible to see the sun from the ground. I have never left the village – Father says, it is best I stay where I belong, in the safety of the walls that have seen me grow – but I heard rumours once, about how the forest and the mountain are places that the Holy One cannot reach.

My thoughts are interrupted by the rumpus of men and women in the storehouse, gossiping loudly as they wash the produce we harvested a few days ago so it can be prepared in the kitchens. Had today been any other day, the presence of foreigners in the village would have surely caused a commotion, but everyone seems to have forgotten them now that the Prayer is approaching.

“Mother ! Ajla ! Over here !” my brother yells, waving his long arms to catch our attention from the very back of the room.

I shouldn’t feel this way, but it breaks my heart just a little to see Mother’s face instantly break out into a bright smile. I have no memories of her ever looking at me with that same affection in her eyes. I had an older brother once, who was Mother’s pride and joy. She was never quite the same after his sudden death at the age of six, brought on by a feat of uncontrollable fever. She cried for years, prayed for days on end, tried everything in her power to give birth to a second son. I can barely remember his face, but I’ll never forget Mother’s tears. In hindsight, I think a part of her died with Adem. Luan was the one that gave her a new breath after three long years of mourning her lost child. And then there is I, Ajla, always stuck in the middle, between Adem’s memory and Luan’s sweet smile, neither truly seen nor completely invisible.

For the next couple of hours, I help with whatever needs to be prepared. It’s hot inside the storehouse, and the effort starts to make me sweat, my kiva keeping my arms and my hair covered not helping with the afternoon heat. Luan’s chatter is a welcome distraction from my thoughts of family, faith and foreigners, even though I still feel nervous about the upcoming ceremony and Prayer. When he asks a question excitedly, I turn and smile at him, answering with as much liveliness as I can muster. He does not seem to pick up on my thoughts and somewhat sour mood, and I thank the Holy One for that. My little brother just turned twenty summers old, and by the time the next ceremony takes place, he’ll be aged enough to be married. Luan has always been adored and doted on by the whole family, including me, and despite his tall stature and long limbs, childlike features still linger on his face, giving him an uncanny resemblance to the older brother that he has never known. For that reason, and to Luan’s dismay, Mother has a hard time letting him out of her sight.

I stop working when I feel the gentle press of a hand on my shoulder. The girl looking at me is dressed in a similar fashion, with a long dress and cream-coloured kiva to match. Under her hood, her hair is some shade of blond, a characteristic shared by many of our people, though her striking grey eyes are a little unusual. She takes my wrist in her hand and smiles warmly. After hours of working here, it seems we are both ready to escape the storehouse mission we’ve been given. We just need to ask for permission first.

“Master, it is getting late and both Ajla and I still need to stop by the tailoress’ shop. I was planning to go now, would you mind if we go together ?” Ema asks, her gaze low. Father is not a bad man, but he is tall and intimidating, and even though Luan is growing up to share most of his traits, I hope he retains the gentleness that has characterised him since he was a baby.

“Rona, didn’t you want to go with our daughter?” Father asks his wife.

“I… I was planning to, but she might as well go now. We have work here still,” she says, and I would be lying if I said I am not a little glad to finally have a chaperone my age.

Luan smiles at my friend. “They will also not be able to see each other again until after the ceremony, so it’s important to enjoy each other’s company now. Right, Ema ?” he smiles at my friend. His back is turned to our parents, and his teasing wink is lost to them. Ema’s cheeks redden, but she nods politely.

Father looks at my brother and accepts without too much of a fight. Other than the fact that Luan has had our parents wrapped around his little finger since his birth, he also has the advantage of being male, which the Holy One has decided would be the stronger and wiser gender. His support is precious, even if we soon will be wed and not part of the same household anymore. Ema and I leave the storehouse, and though the walk to the tailoress’ shop is short, it is filled with excited ramblings from my friend, who seems to be in a vastly different mood than I.

“I can’t wait to prove myself to our Holy One,” she says, and I look at her a bit perplexed.

“Aren’t you scared ? That you are not going to hold up with so little food and rest ?”

“Well, there aren't really any alternatives, are there ? And then we’ll be out, and we’ll finally be able to get married !” She exclaims. “Do you have anyone in mind ?”

It wouldn't matter in the end, the decision is not ours, just like it had not been my parents’ choice to be wed. But I know that Ema is already aware of that fact, and I do not want to crush her spirits. This casual banter feels somewhat good.

“I do not,” I say truthfully. “What about you ?”

“Oh– um, yes, I actually do, you know, have someone in mind,” Ema answers, her face becoming redder by the minute.

I smile to myself. It’s Luan. My friend thinks she's good at hiding her fancy of my little brother, but I am convinced that everybody, including Luan himself, knows about it. I hope the people of my community will take Ema and Luan’s wishes into account when making their decisions. I hope they choose someone good for me, too.

Ema and I were never really close until a few years ago, around the time of the last ceremony. To participate in the Prayer, all girls must be aged of at least twenty springs, but I was born at the very end of the summer, making me half a season too young at the time. Ema was born in the autumn a couple weeks after me, and we both bonded over the knowledge that when our Prayer would come around, we would be the oldest participants.

The shop is small, but peaceful. The business used to be held by a man, until his death a decade ago. His wife has taken over the affairs of the shop since then, handling the business with an iron hand and a heart of gold. Everybody in the village likes Nona, but I like to think she and I have a closer bond. She was Grandmother’s dearest friend, and talking to Nona feels a lot like it used to feel talking to her.

I see the old woman at the back of the room, adjusting a big piece of ivory-coloured cloth. She smiles instantly when we greet her, the curve of her lips accentuating all the wrinkles on her face. Her hair is covered, like mine and Ema’s, but I can see a hint of grey where her hood is a little misplaced on her head.

“Look who’s here ! Aren’t these girls a little late ? Everybody else has collected their dresses already,” Nona says, with a tiny hint of disapproval in her voice. Nonetheless, she heads for the backroom and comes back only a minute later, carrying in her arms two identical outfits.

The shape and looks of the ceremonial outfits never change from one ceremony to another. Year after year, they stay the same simple flowy dress and kiva, and are not decorated with any patterns or symbols. They look very similar to our daily clothes, except for their colour, an almost blinding whiteness, that is meant to represent the participants’ purity, both moral and physical. I have seen this dress on so many girls, yet it’s still hard to realise that in just a few hours, I will be the one wearing it.

“They’re beautiful,” Ema gasps next to me, taking her outfit in her arms with the utmost care, as if it was some fragile thing going to break. This dress has meaning for my people, as the ceremony dates back to long before most of my ancestors were born. It is stunning, and one of the most beautiful pieces of clothing that I will ever wear. Yet, I am not sure how to react, as the weight of what such a garment means slowly but surely crashes on me. Feeling Nona’s gaze on me, I settle for thanking her for her hard work. She gives me a carefully guarded smile.

“You remind me so much of your grandmother,” she says fondly, with a hint of melancholy in her voice. “She was scared too.”

“I– I’m not scared, Nona” I stutter, a little panicked that she would doubt my faith in our Holy One, that I would dare be frightened by the prospect of honouring Him.

“Oh but you are, Ajla. We all are, before we step foot in the Sanctuary. And then we endure ; the hunger, the weariness and the weight of the confessions we make. You’ll learn to endure too. In the Prayer and in life, you’ll endure.”

She slowly grabs my hand and takes something out of her kiva’s pocket to put it in my palm. It's a white handkerchief, embroidered with beautiful pink flowers, a rarity in my community, where clothes are plain and neutral in colours.

“This belonged to your grandmother. She got it from her own mother. She was wearing it on her wrist when she did her Prayer. She wanted you to have it. Her only granddaughter. She wanted you to find your way, for our Holy One to give you strength.”

Even though it is not written in law that the participants to the Prayer must not have any additional garment or accessory, it is not conventional enough that Grandmother thought it would be safe to give me her handkerchief through my parents when my time came. I am not surprised ; for all the love Grandmother had for her culture, her people and her customs, she always found Mother, her daughter-in-law, to be a little too stern.

I thank Nona profusely, and part ways with Ema in front of the shop. We both have to return home now, and we live on opposite sides of the village. I walk slowly, as if getting home later was going to push back the time of the ceremony. With both hands busy holding my dress high in my arms to avoid creating creases, I can only lightly grasp the handkerchief with the tips of my fingers. The sun will set in a couple hours and the heat of the early afternoon is long gone, replaced by steady winds.

I gasp when Grandmother’s handkerchief slips from my fingers, stolen away by a gust of air, and I hurry past surprised passersby, trying to catch up with it as it dances further and further away from me. It seems as if the winds are having fun playing with something I hold so dear to my heart. The delicate piece of cloth swirls around, as light as a feather. Each time I come close to it, the handkerchief starts its crazy escape again, seemingly mocking me.

Eventually, it slips under a table filled with goods on sale, and one of the merchants bends down to pick it up. I stop right in my tracks. Grandmother’s handkerchief is in the hands of one of the foreigners I saw earlier on my way to the storehouse with Mother. I am still a good distance from them, but he’s undoubtedly male. The heretic cradles the cloth in his palms like it's some fragile treasure, and seems to gently brush some dust off of it before raising his head and starts looking around, obviously searching for the owner. Searching for me.

Flustered and still out of breath, I duck behind a nearby wall, a hand on my chest to calm my racing heart. What shall I do now ? Mother said not to talk to them, she even forbade me to get too close. I should let it go, pass them by without sparing a glance in their direction.

On the other hand, I do not wish to let go of the only thing Grandmother has left me. She said it would help me, she said it would bring me strength. Besides, what could happen if I just asked for it ? Surely the stranger will give it back ? I just have to make it quick, so Mother will not see me if she returns from the storehouse earlier than planned. Yes, that is what I should do. What Mother does not know, can not upset her.

I fold my uniform in my arms, forgetting all about not making any creases, and start to make my way over to the stall, with an assurance that is not quite authentic. It is not the first time I see travelers, but it is the first time Mother has explicitly forbidden me to talk to them, her earlier words of distrust engraved in my mind. It is obvious that they do not worship the Holy One ; as otherwise their women would not show their arms and their hair so openly. They could be dangerous, but our numbers outweigh theirs and we are in the heart of the village. The day of the ceremony is the best to trade and sell goods. There is a crowd in the streets, all the shops are open. Nothing can go wrong.

The heretic calmly watches me get closer, his gaze fixed on me. I stop right before the stall, a table filled with various colourful items, the only thing separating us. Up close, I am able to see him better ; he looks about my age, maybe a little older. Unlike Father or Luan, he is not very tall or imposing, only outsizing me by half a head. Like the other foreigners, he is wearing an embroidered headband, the piece partially hidden under loosely curled hair the darkest shade of brown I have ever seen. Though all headbands have similarities in design, patterns and colours differ, making each piece completely unique. He is dressed in a simple blue tunic that is creased and folded all over, and closed at the shoulders by two pins, allowing whoever is looking to see his entire arms.

Busy as I am staring at the man in front of me, I realise a minute too late that he is examining me as well, the shadow of a cheeky smile tugging at the upturned corners of his lips. Not wanting to spend more time than I must in the presence of the stranger, I extend my arm towards him, palm upturned.

“I have lost my handkerchief. I would like to have it back,” I try. He keeps looking at me with the same expression on his face, and I wonder for a moment if we speak the same language. “Please ?” I add tentatively. “Um, it seems like the winds were mocking me, making me run around like that after a stupid cloth,” I explain, conveniently forgetting to mention how dear said stupid cloth is to my heart.

This time, the foreigner’s mouth stretches into a gentle, full-blown smile that reaches his brown eyes, and I wonder for a moment what could be so funny.

When the young man before me starts speaking, he sounds strong and powerful, although not unkind. He has a very light accent I can not quite place. “The winds are mischievous, they love to play. They love to make people dance.”

I still, astounded. I was not prepared for that answer, and I do not know quite how to respond. In the end, I decide to let the conversation run its – hopefully short – course.

“Yes, um, I… guess they do ?” I whisper. “I am not sure I liked this dance very much though.”

“They’re nice enough, once you learn to know them,” he says, smiling brightly as if he did not just talk about the winds as if they were living and breathing. He’s mad. He’s mad, and my handkerchief is still in his hand.

The young man must sense my increasing discomfort, because he lowers his head. Once free from his dark gaze, I slowly exhale a breath I did not realise I was holding. The stranger absently traces the pink flowers embroidered on Grandmother’s handkerchief with his thumb.

“This is very fine and delicate work. The person who made it is very talented. Were you the one who embroidered this cloth ?” he asks.

“I– no, it is very old. It belonged to my grandmother, and to her own ancestors before that,” I finally admit.

“Then it must be very dear to you ?”

“It is,” I simply say.

“Then I’ll give it back. Here,” he says, extending his own arm, the cloth in his hand. 

He has nice hands. They are not very big, and they are more calloused than mine, but he has long and slender fingers. His nails are clean and clipped short. He’s wearing several bracelets, some of them made out of colourful threads knotted together, and some thin circles of golden metal that glint in the late afternoon sunlight. None of my people wear jewellery, or any decorative adornments for that matter. Showcasing one’s beauty is to bask in vanity, and the Holy One does not like vanity.

I frown when I notice tiny markings on the arm he’s extended towards me. Scars ? No, not scars. It’s a tattoo. A tattoo made with white ink and barely visible on his skin despite his tan. Fascinated, I let my eyes run along the length of his arm. The patterns and symbols extend from the back of his hand to the crook of his neck, swirling and intertwining delicately around his wrist and his elbow. I stop staring when I hear the man clear his throat. I close my eyes and chastise myself. I can almost hear Mother and her stern voice at the back of my head. Ogling a man – an impure heretic – like that, you should be ashamed !

“Thank you,” I finally whisper, finding nothing else to say. Our arms are both extended, as if waiting for the other to cave in and get closer first. In the end, eager for this conversation to end, I sigh and take the handkerchief in his hand, my fingers brushing his for the shortest of moments.

Time seems to slow and speed up at the same time, and I feel slightly nauseous. I close my eyes, overwhelmed, as sound surrounds me, making my ears ring painfully. Why is the world so loud all of a sudden ? After the first few seconds, I get used to the noise and notice a voice in the chaos of sounds. Sometimes, it laughs, the laugh of a young girl, so clear and soft, and sometimes, it sings songs I have never heard before. Several other similar voices then join the first one in a chorus of melodies, and I think I can hear them speak to each other. Some are surprised and some are amused, and I hear them whispering faintly about someone they call “the foreigner”.

When I feel like my heart is beating at a normal pace again, I open my eyes to find myself in a place I have never seen before. Where am I ? Why am I here and how did I get there ? I do not know this place. Trees surround me, casting gentle shadows on the water I find myself standing in. Looking around, I see I am in a forest, although I have never ventured out of the village. I do not know how to swim, yet I am waist-deep in the water of a small lake, wet and shivering. I’m cold. The voices are gone now, barring one ; the chuckle of a man coming from behind me. I turn around and raise my head. After a few moments of blur, my eyes finally focus on the silhouette before me.

The heretic stands on a big rock on the shore, dry and dressed in the same tunic I saw earlier, albeit in a different colour. It is only long enough to reach the middle of his thighs, showing off long but muscled legs. He is barefoot, and he is still chuckling – is he laughing at me ?

I should feel outraged, and angry, that he is allowing himself to be so familiar with me – we have only met for the first time today after all – but somehow, the only feeling I can muster is mild annoyance. I give him a dark glare, and I find myself speaking his name with a scolding tone. I can not quite make out what name ; unable to control my lips or hear the words coming out of my own mouth. I feel like an actress in the middle of performing a play that already has a set ending. At the sound of his name, the man stops laughing and apologises. He looks around, glaring and I find myself doing the same. There is nobody but us here.

Then his gaze is back on me and I feel his eyes slowly slide down from my eyes, to my neck, to my chest, and I wonder for a moment what he is looking at. Then I check my reflection in the water.

I am dressed entirely in white, in my ceremonial clothes, wet from head to toe ; the weight of the water has pulled my kiva off from my shoulders, leaving them almost naked. My dress is drenched, and has become transparent under the effect of the water. My lower body is thankfully still under the water line, but my neck, chest and belly are fully visible. I gasp in shock, immediately crossing my arms over my chest so I feel less exposed ; so the man before me is not able to steal glances at my body more than he already has.

My reaction seems to wake him up from a trance, and both his cheeks and mine start turning red. At least he seems to feel ashamed of his staring, of making me uncomfortable. As he starts to open his mouth and apologise, I blink, and the moment I next open my eyes, I am back at the stall, in the middle of my village. The young man is still before me, but he has taken a few steps back, clutching his tattooed hand as if the contact has burned him. His mouth is open in shock, and though I can not see myself, I can guess he is mirroring my own expression.

I clutch my handkerchief in my hand. And then panic sets in.

“I- what just happened ? Was I dreaming wide awake ?” I ask, more to myself than to the stunned foreigner before me. What sort of spell has he bewitched me with ? Was this dream a trick from the evil spirits Mother is so scared of ?

The man raises his hands before himself, obviously trying to defuse the situation but it does nothing to reduce my anxiety. I take a few steps back.

“I– I must go now. There is still much to do,” I say, on the edge of panicking. My eyes can only stare at nothing, unfocused, as I try to register what happened in the dream, and how real everything felt.

“Listen, I didn't mean… I didn't mean to– to show you anything,” he stuttered. “Don't be scared, no please–”

But I’m already running past the passersby and away from him, my dress balled up in my arms and my handkerchief tightly grasped in my fist, as I try to hold back confused tears. My tiny world feels like it has collided with something much, much bigger. Something unknown. Something frightening.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur. 

I see but I am not looking, I hear but I am not listening. I feel like I am wearing someone else's skin.

I keep moving, but it's just habits, as if my movements are controlled by some puppeteer.

Soon my family comes home. They change into their ceremonial clothes, and Mother does my hair again, pulling and twisting the tresses until they are shaped to her liking. My head is throbbing, but I do not feel the pain.

The sun is setting when I finally take my place in the line of maidens who are going to be subjected to the Prayer. I recite the oath that I have learned by heart under Mother’s supervision ; I do not stutter, and the words come out clean and well-spoken, but I feel empty. I am given a bag of provisions, that contains the only things I will be given to eat for the next seven sunrises.

As the crowd celebrates all around us, I feel the weight of someone’s gaze on me. I follow it to find the foreigner staring from a distance, unmoving as the rest of his people pack up their belongings as they prepare to leave. Tomorrow they will be long gone, and I will have forgotten all about what I saw earlier, too engrossed in prayer to care. However, today, my memories of the dream are still too fresh in my mind, and I find my lips softly mouthing the name I spoke in the lake. This time, although the crowd around me is loud and excited in celebration, I can clearly hear what is coming out of my mouth. “Jongdae,” I speak, looking at him. I have never heard of this name. From afar, his eyes seem to widen, but he does not move. We watch each other for a few more moments. He looks sad. I hope this time I am not mirroring his expression.

I am the last one to be led to the Sanctuary. It is near the entry of the village, as it was the first structure that was built here. The Prayer room that has been assigned to me is located in a corner of the building at the very end of a long hallway. I step in, and look around. The wooden walls of my room are thinner than I thought they would be. There is an altar, but no bed, as I am not expected to get much rest. Two giant eyes are painted on the wall, dark and foreboding. They, too, stare at me, intense and intimidating. The space is so small, no matter where I am, I feel seen. Vulnerable. A chill courses through my body when I hear the opening of the room being sealed shut with nails that will only be removed once the Prayer has ended.

First, I do not know what to do. I stand, as if paralysed, in the middle of the room for a long moment. Then I remember Mother, and I remember my oath. I must pray now. I lower the bag of provisions to the ground and kneel on the hard floor in front of the altar. Mother has told me what to say as the opening of a Prayer. We have recited it, again and again.

Forgive me, my Holy One, for my sins. I am here to confess and earn your forgiveness.

Yet, somehow, the words that come out of my mouth are different. More honest.

“Forgive me, my Holy One, for I am not quite sure what to say.” Then I start praying, whispering the words under my breath.

For a moment, I pray for my family. For Father's health, for Mother’s peace of mind, for Luan’s happy spirits to remain and for Adem’s soul to rest in peace.

Then I start praying for my village, and for my community. I pray for peace, for a good harvest and for a mild winter. Talking about winter makes me realise the night has fallen. I shiver and wrap my kiva tighter around me in hope of keeping some warmth.

When time comes to confess my sins, I think back to that moment in the forest ; of the evil spirits that possessed my mind and made me imagine this unholy scene of me almost bare in front of a man. I am ashamed, but I am not sure this vision was my own doing. Do I need to confess if it was not my fault ? In the end, I decide to keep my mouth shut about this event and instead to ask for forgiveness for untying my hair last night.

After that, I realise I have nothing more to say. I try to think, but nothing comes to my mind. As I search for something to pray about, I sit with my back against the wall opposite from the altar. Instead of looking at His eyes, I start looking at my hands. Grandmother’s handkerchief is tied around my wrist, the only touch of colour in my entirely white outfit, and I start thinking of the foreigner.

This dream was not my fault, I am sure of that. Otherwise, why would he have apologised ? The look in his eyes makes me think that he might have known what was going on. Does he know what I have imagined ? Or worse – has he seen the things that I have seen ?

And this place, what was it ? Where was it ? Never would I have dived into water without knowing how deep it was first. Did he push me ? Why would someone do that ?

The more I think about the events of the afternoon, the more I realise my fright is turning to curiosity. Mother said it is not right to be curious, that I must wait for our Holy One to provide the answers. Like a poison, it runs slowly through one’s veins and takes over the mind. It pushes people to do things they would not normally do. Then I realise something else : in this room where I am alone with the Holy One, Mother can not reach. What she does not know, can not upset her.

In between the quiet of prayers, I hear people outside my room, one of which I recognise as the village chief. However, the voices are not coming from inside the Sanctuary ; this building is sacred and not a place for gossip. Instead, the voices come from beyond the wall that is directly to my right, which means they are standing outside the village. The chief is speaking to several people,but I can not make out what they are talking about, nor do I recognise any of the voices he is conversing with ; not until I hear a familiar voice, strong, powerful, and slightly accented, start thanking my leader.

“I would thank you a thousand times if I could, village chief. Our provisions were running low for the rest of our trip and it was urgent we exchanged some of our belongings for food and money. I know you do not welcome strangers often within the walls of your village, and for your generosity I will forever be grateful.”

Jongdae ? He must be leaving the village with his people now.

“You are very welcome,” my leader says, seemingly pleased by the compliments. “Had today been any other day, you would have been quite the sensation. I hope you got what you wanted, for as gracious as I am, I will not be able to let you in the village tomorrow,” he grumbles.

The young foreigner hardly waits a second before replying, probably louder than one should be during a private conversation.

“This is no problem, my community is already grateful for your help. We are going to stay a few more days in the small clearing we saw in the forest, only long enough to allow us to hunt and replenish our provisions.”

They exchange a few more words after that, but I am not focused on their conversation anymore. I simply stare at the painted eyes on the wall.

“What do you think ? What should I do now ?” I wonder out loud, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

Before the dream, I would have listened to Mother and stayed put. I would have prayed about anything and everything, I would have confessed my sins.

But I can not help but feel like something important occurred this afternoon. Who is this man, and who are these people ? Is he working with the evil spirits to plant seeds of doubt in the minds of innocent young women ? And if so, why did he apologise to me ? I have to know what happened, I have to know if he saw the same vision I did, and if so how was it possible ?

Today, my tiny world has collided with something bigger, much bigger than anything I could have ever envisioned. But this time, I am not frightened anymore. I will find this foreigner, and defend myself and my honour. I am in need of answers, and I know there is only one way to get them.

I must leave the village.

[exols-silver-christmas]

HAPPY GIFT EXCHANGE WEEKEND!

I look forward to seeing what everyone's made this year!

[for-exol-deactivated20250213]

For Exo-l

Hello and Welcome!

We are new blog dedicated to creating a more interactive Tumblr Exol community.

We will be hosting various events and challenges as well as keeping an up-to-date directory of active blogs.

In order to help our fandom creators reach more people without the hassle of the hoops and sign-ups traditional networks impose we will be acting as a intermediary: an aggregator blog for fandom works of all kinds. We'll track the orginizational tag #forexols and reblog any new fan created work in the tag or that we get at-ted in. (NSFW posts are done on a case by case basis and must be clearly marked at the top and will be reblogged with #nsfw so people may filter if they wish.)

So give us a follow if your dash is empty of exo or you simply want to meet more exols, we got you covered. Or rather will. We are new after all and this will take a community effort.

Speaking of.... in the meantime, as we get up and running, we have a community Tumblr here if you'd like to join.

We also are compiling an up-to-date directory of active exo blogs and a library masterlist of exo writers. Wanna know more? Find out here! And here!

Interested in our upcoming events? Check out our plans here!

Our ask box is open if you have any questions or suggestions or just wanna gush about exo.

[exols-silver-christmas]

...got it up and running...

[exols-silver-christmas]

So I can't be the only one who's noticed the decline in fanmade exo content here on Tumblr. We've gone from a fandom who's new posts could be measured in hours to a fandom who's posts have days....to weeks....to months....to even years for some specific tags.

We have had 6 solo album comebacks this year, 3 fancon tours, 2 solo concert tours, a myriad of festival concert appearances, youtube videos, magazine shoots, instalives, etc. Yet if you go to the exo tag it's mainly populated by archive blogs. And the nude bots, which....that's a whole other problem on its own. I digress. My point being, the tags, at least from what I've seen (I admit I haven't looked into the shipping tags) are being filled by the same handful of blogs yet given the high amount of source material, no one seems to be doing anything with it beyond archiving it.

Again this could just be because I didn't delve too deep or too far back, but it does have me wondering if part of the reason participation this year was down was simply because there's hardly anyone left.

There's been instances in the past where others have attempted to inject new life into the fandom so to speak, with....varying...level of success. The exo revival project being the first and most successful that comes to mind. I'm wondering what everyone else's thoughts are on the matter and if holding new fandom events might be a way to involve more people year round because I really do want to continue holding this event next year but if things keep going the way they have been there won't be anyone signing up.

Let me know what you think, ideas you might have, reblog this and tag your mutuals to get them involved in the discussion. I have a few ideas that I've pilfered from other fandoms, watch alongs. Fic bingo. Theres valentines exchanges. Fandom sleepovers. Heck I'd set up a Tumblr based scavenger hunt if I thought people would play. Like....we dont have to be monoliths in a placid sea of we don't want to. Fandom can be fun. It should be fun.

[breeze-of-sunlight]

In all honesty? I think the majority of people from the "golden days" have just moved on. Either from Tumblr or from exo or both. And in a tumblr climate where people stopped to reblog things and instead only like them, it's hard to get content to spread further and therefore to get new people into the fandom...

I'm sorry, but I think it will be hard to get people to create content again under these circumstances. No one wants to put hours of their free time into projects that won't get seen by anyone :/

Nevertheless, I'd be interested in an "event" of some kind again. Those were always motivating me to make some form of fan content. Maybe something like weeks dedicated to a motto or prompt could work. So everyone participating could prepare something and in the end we'd have different interpretations to talk about?

But that's just my five cents. Kudos to you for holding up the fandom with this project!

[exols-silver-christmas]

I agree that we've had many people move on and you're right Tumblr culture has changed in regard to reblogs. We're never gonna get back to the way things were before. But like...lemme you ask you this. How many people on here do you talk to? Like have actual conversations with. Whether it be dms or like this in the comments and reblogs. I ask because beyond fandom creation I also noticed a lack of open conversations as well which, leads me to believe part of the issue is we all, myself included, are kinda solitary at this point with each of us having only maybe a few close mutuals that get interacted with the most often. I'm wondering if maybe a few comradery based events would help cement stronger community ties. Maybe we could jumpstart reblog culture that way. It doesn't have to be completely wide spread. It just has to be a matter of getting people involved enough that they want to support thier friends.

And yes I know this isnt going to be easy. Nothing worthwhile is unfortunately. But I do think it can be done. It's just not something I can do alone, I'm not Atlas. People would need to actively be involved.

That being said. The idea of having prompt weeks like they did a couple of years ago during the exo revival project is one of many that I've added to the potential ideas list. If something like that were to happen what would you like see from it?

[breeze-of-sunlight]

Yeah, that's a very valid observation. I'm the first to admit I don't really reach out to people the way I used to. Adulting leaves me with less energy as compared to when I still had the time to properly do so after school. Although I do try to add little bits in the tags when I reblog fandom stuff (more consistently happening via my side-blog instead of this one, though.) As a creator, however, I'm super guilty of rarely answering any comments I get in my tags. It just feels kinda odd to, in a way? 

Like, let's take this for example: (Mel, please take no offense for using you as an example in case you see this! I love you and I'm always super happy to see you in our notes 🖤)

Am I immensely grateful for the reblog and commentary? Yes! I love reading other ppl's thoughts on my stuff. Do I know how to respond to this without making it weird? Not really. If I were to reply smth like "Thank you! 🖤 @/personWhoCommented" it would feel like fishing for interaction / praise, especially when you do it multiple times under one post or group together multiple people in one answer? I'm just unsure and don't want to annoy people via tagging them everytime they leave something nice in the tags. (Was that making any sense? ^^')

Speaking of community ties tho: may I add an observation I made in the Stray Kids community? 

Because over the last two months I noticed how much it can help to have a few blogs that act as "transit points" (as weird as that may sound right about now). They have wide ranges of network blogs, which are dedicated to either singular members or certain member constellations, allowing users to subscribe to a steady feed of content about their bias(es) and also helps creators by spreading their stuff around. And there are also creator blogs, who have their very own specialized tag like @/chanrizard and @/wolfchans. So while they are most prominently gifmakers, they also work like a semi-network, by queueing in stuff that gets tagged via their personal tag and reblogging works that they find independently of it. As a result covering a lot of fanworks. Just a few days ago I watched a fan art that had been online for 9 months double its notes in 24 hours because it was rebloged by one of them and thus presented on a silver plate to people who don't scavenge the tags and instead rely on those blogs.

And I think us exols could also really profit from networks and tagging systems. Just a central point dedicated to purely exo content, where you can scroll through works you might have otherwise missed. Because in my humble opinion: I don't have the energy anymore to scroll through the independent tags on a daily basis and being "summoned" by the creators themselves could really help make it easier to get in touch?  I know we have the exosnet and suhosnet already, and if we got better at using those more consistently, I really think this could help?

Sorry for the rambling, hah ^^' That's just an observation, how do you feel about this?

But to answer your last question: I think we could set the events / promt weeks up similarly like @/cultofdionysusnet. (nsfw warning for that blog but not the post I'll link here): https://www.tumblr.com/cultofdionysusnet/714045057798389760/meet-me-under-the-cherry-tree-spring-event?source=share

They give out a theme and a deadline and then link everything together under a masterpost, so no post is overlooked due to the creator being new / tumblr being weird and not properly displaying the post. Obviously we shouldn't apply the "must be a member" rule, but otherwise I think that could work out nicely, especially if we tied it to a blog that regularly hosts events (maybe convince a network blog to host them, or make a new network dedicated to such events? Similar to your event blog?)

I'm open for discussion and super interested in making this a thing™ I know I was always most motivated when we set up concept projects and themes for ourselves on our kpop blog.

Of course this shouldn't be your bruden to carry alone! I think you're 100% right about people being more likely to hype each other up if they get to bond over their works. 

This is all just a string of incoherent thoughts I have on this. Hoping you get something useful out of this ^^'

[exols-silver-christmas]

Well. The bit about answering tags is something I get, like a lot of times imo tags or comments especially like the example you used they don't leave room for expansion. There really nowhere else to go without, like you said, fishing for further compliments. But this example you've provided is just another symptom of people not really conversing with each other.

And like...yeah our exo fanbase is aging and adulting is brutal and draining and horrible, and starting and maintaining new conversations is frankly daunting, and no one is ever gonna have the time to keep up with every single other person in our fandom on a personal level. This makes it super easy to leave comments like the example or to even just.....consume with out reblogging; which is a reason I've seen given as to why reblog culture is down. People are tired and they don't want to waste more energy. Including myself. I work...so much. Anywhere from 45 to 60 hour weeks depending on the season and it was and still is super easy to fall into the post and ghost habit. The culture on here....was and is severely disheartening as a fan creator. But something I try to remind myself of....is...if we don't change there's not gonna be anything to enjoy anymore.

Like you said, no one wants to invest hours of work into something for it to be basically ignored. And people aren't. With everyone moving on from the website or to other more interactive fandoms....eventually there will be no one. And thats a potential problem.

Not just because we won't have fandom content to enjoy in between source content. But because clearly, the companies? They're paying attention. Not just sm either and I doubt hybe is the only other one keeping an eye on both exos activities and the fandom. The Tumblr portion of exol is most likely part of thier analytics whether we like it or not. If Junmyeon is aware of the website there's no reason to assume it's an isolated knowledge. Granted, we probably aren't a large portion of those numbers when platforms like Instagram and Twitter are more globally oriented, but it's something to consider when we have a hard enough time getting sm to let exo out of thier basement to make an album.

Anyway this is starting to delve into extreme tangential territory. So let me move on.

I see your point about transitional blogs...a lot of time the dash is where people get thier content rather than trolling the tags, especially since the nude bots are prolific right now. However I'm personally leery of relying solely on networks for this purpose. Networks in my experience either start out exclusionary or become exclusionary. Whether that is in terms of content shared, or making people jump through figurative hoops in order to join limited membership spots, it may start off with good intentions but....I'm not sure it's a long term solution if that makes sense. Although I acknowledge, personal feelings aside, it may be a good jumping off place to start getting people more involved.

Maybe even just a...directory of sorts would be helpful do you think? A list of active blogs, whether fandom creators or just people who reblog things. Maybe include what they post or make? That could work to help people find mutuals at least. And it would help alleviate reliance on nothing but networks for post distribution.

One of my main concerns with having singular bias or constellations of members networks is it feels like it would deepen the bias divides even further. Already we have many creator blogs that only create for one or maybe even two of the exos at most.

Though, I have to say I like the second example you gave a lot more, simply cause at its heart....that's just good reblog culture at work.

Now as for the link...I checked it out and it's similar in nature to the fic bingo idea I borrowed from the Harry potter fandom. A set prompt with required elements but the rest open to interpretation. I could easily set something up like this....maybe for a monthly basis versus weekly simply because good fan content does take time. And maybe have a weekly theme for smaller scale works?

If anyone else has thoughts feel free to chime in or send it to someone you think might have something to say, this is open to the floor for ideas and what have you.

[breeze-of-sunlight]

Hey admin, sorry for the delayed response. I took some time to mull over what you said and also read through what others have commented.

I think in and of itself this issue in total is just a snake that bites its own tail. The fandom loses steam, exo is perceived as inacitve itself due to lack of talk in the fandom, new people won't join or old members leave, the fandom loses steam. You're absolutely right: if we won't change anything about this, the fandom won't hold itself afloat mch longer.

I've looked more inside myself and asked myself "what would I, personally need to become more active again?". And honestly, I think it's something other people on here have mentioned in this thread. No one wants to be the first person being vulnerable and put themselves out infront of the fandom ("I don't follow people first", also people seeing but not interacting with (this) post(s) besides liking it/them). But in my personal experience, getting really attached to a fandom usually involves finding someone with a dedicated blog and looking through their stuff and finding cool people from there. Even if I get single digit notes, seeing mutuals express they like what you did is rewarding.

I'm just really stuck as to the how to get there. After all, you can't really "force" people to reach out, that never worked before. But without people wanting to switch from their "passive consumption" to a more interactive experience, I'm afraid it'll be a long and difficult journey. Hmh.

Besides that: I didn't mean to present networks as the be-all, end-all. I'm more than a little peeved myself at how some networks limit down who and what will be put on their blogs. But I truly think a dedicated blog - or, as others have pointed out, a community - could be a good starting point. Without any "apply here and reblog that" requirements to join in. Just something that helps people to see and be seen rather than being drowned out by bots and people who tag wrongfully to simply get more notes in. Like a little conversation starter blog, I guess?

I'm also aware that single member networks won't exactly help us unite this fandom that is already spread far and wide. And yes, the examples of the two stray kids creators I've mentioned are just good tumblr etiquette. Nevertheless, I think there is a real practical appeal of simply having an exo-l tag that creators (especially new and older, returning ones) can use to kind of get eyes on them. Whether that is a tag specifically tied to a single blog or a new general fandom tag (that hopefully isn't flooded with inapropriate entries) being secondary. Then again, that would kind of fall flat if the community feature ends up being implemented. No need for filtering the already existing tags then.

I like your idea of putting up a directory of sort as well - maybe even linked with short individual introduction posts? But at the same time, I'm a little worried about the maintenance cost of it. After all, someone would need to update said directory at a regular interval. If the directory was held on a shared / side-blog, multiple people could be assigned this "chore", so at least it wouldn't fall on one person alone. But as said, I think this would actually really help? I think I very distantly remember that this has been done once before but I neither can remember who posted this nor find the post itself.

Regarding the prompts / events: yes, I think longer intervals between the start and end of an event would absolutely be beneficial. Monthly, or even seasonally oriented, events sound really good. But I also think this is just something that maybe should be decided by a larger group / the target audience. So maybe a poll could help determine how often people would actually manage to partake?

Also: something I just remembered was the exo song tournament blog from ealier this year @/exosongtournament. That final post has 120 reblogs - most of them with commentary. I don't even remember the last time I've seen something like this on fan works. But it also means that there are still people on this platform who still "care enough" about exo themselves, no? Maybe they just also had most of the creators they followed silently leave Tumblr and they would enjoy exo more again if they somehow got onto their dashboards?

Maybe the prompts / the topics of the events could be decided by polls, that way it's easier to kind of create "low effort, low intensity" entry interaction? Even if people won't create somthing themselves, they get to put their vote in and will see something that is according to their interests? (Should their concept win, that is.) Or at least their interest will get piqued?

I'm just rambling again at this point, sorry!

(And also, totally besides point, but huge kudos to you for shouldering this event while working 45+ hours a week. All the love to you!)

Another quick side note: I never knew Junmyeon mentioned he's aware of the tumblr community? In truth, I hadn't even considered that Tumblr might factor into any companies statistics...

Okay, after hastily checking my notes, i think this is everything. As mentioned before I'm willing to help set up any projects. You're not alone in this.

Have a good one!

[exols-silver-christmas]

No apolgies needed.

A snake biting it's own tail.....that's a good way of putting it.

As for this^^ there's been some interest in a more interactive community, as evidenced by those who've commented and replied, so we start there. Sort of a "if you build it they will come" type of deal. We try and spread the word and if it doesn't work at least we tried.

To that end....I..and I'm terrible for just jumping in feet first, but I've already started putting together sort of community focused hub blog to go hand in hand with the Tumblr community I applied for the other day after a couple of people mentioned it.(I have no idea how long they take to be approved which is why I jumpstarted that particular process, but I haven't heard back yet.) I figured there were enough good ideas to be starting with and hey! no time like the present? So uh yes...that's kinda already in motion. Blame the adhd.

So to combine the things people were suggesting: I used your suggestion of a transit blog and event blog combined. A one stop shop for all of exols needs. The blog could track a specific tag and add everything in the tag to the queue...maybe once or twice a week to minimize the amount of work needed. It'd have the directory...which...if it's submission based to be put on it just send a dm or an ask (i also really like the idea you said of blogs having an about me post that could be linked) of ...it shouldnt take too much effort to maintain...adding a few links here and there after the initial rush wouldn't be a big hassle and updating it every six months...would really only involve checking the links and the time stamp on the blogs latest post.

It would have a library masterpost, where we could compile fic or even all fan creation masterlists; again submission based for ease of maintenance and checking the links work once every 6 months or so. The monthly event masterposts could also go in here.

I also thought a resource post would be good. Links to the offical group media accounts and the members personal ones. Maybe some links to make finding thier acting appearances easier, there's a good blog out that that's compiled many of the videos and I have a few google doc links saved for the downloaded lives that got saved. And whatever else a new or old exol might need to find. (Ideas?)

And as for events...I mocked up a calendar....subject to change of course but just something to get an idea of things and a starting point. I figured a poll for things like day and time to run events wouldn't go amiss.

But the events I tentatively have blocked out are

The monthly prompt, drop it on the 1st of the month and have the deadline set for the last day of the month to be included on the months masterlist. (Wondering if there should be a minimum requirement? Or just so long as it includes the prompt?) [This would help generate new content]

Weekly thematic prompts that are at least tangential to the monthly prompt, for those that want to do shorter drabbles or quicker fanart edit pieces. [Another way to get people back into making things]

Book club! People can submit fics they'd like for participants to read, a poll to decide which one and at the end of the month we could discuss them. Could also include shorter works ....we'd just do a couple of them instead of just one. [Would divide into shipping fics and reader insert/oc] [this would get people talking about our writers and thier work maybe even encourage them to comment more]

Art Gallery Night. Similar to book club but fanart and edit focused people wouldnhave the opportunity to share thier favourite pieces and what they enjoyed about them, what draws them to it etc. [Again something to spark discussion between blogs. Still contemplating logistics]

Workshop Wednesdays. This one heavily depends on how the tumblr community function works, but the idea behind it is to metaphorically gather and share about our ongoing fan creation projects, or ask for advice from other creators or share a life hack that you found that works. That sort of thing. [Would hopefully help to motivate people to continue or even pick up creating.]

Exo watch alongs. What it says on the tin, we'd have a poll on what to watch and every one watches it together and talks about it as it goes on. [Another idea to get people talking to each other.]

Holidays and birthdays. Have a valentines day exchange for example or spooky stories at halloween etc. People can share posts about the member whose birthday it is.

Sleepover Saturdays. This is kinda similar to something....I think it was @prettywordsyouleft used to do. Again logistics would depend on how the tumblr community function works, but the memes and tag games and the questionnaires and mad libs etc that @ffff7777 suggested would go here. Just an hour or so of fun once a week. People could submit stuff like uquizzes they found or made and whatever we don't use could go towards the next week's activities.

Potentially? Like....a lot of the exo content I see crossing the dash...when I see it...it's all older posts. I have recently developed a habit of checking the original timestamps on things and if you ever look....we have posts still making the rounds that were originally posted from 2017, and that's just the oldest one I've seen lately.

This isn't a bad idea at all, anything that helps alleviate some of the mental labour is a good thing imo. Another option would be to take submissions for prompts and use those to power the polls.

Yes! It was during one of their concert ments! One of thier live streamed ones...it kinda became a bit if a meme at the time...but he was teasing exols about thier phones and posting to social media and he specifically mentioned posting to Tumblr. So yeah our precious leader knows about us. As for the analytics....it's a real possibility especially when you consider that back when Tumblr was hosting celebrity ama, side note does Tumblr still do those? I haven't seen a notice for one in a while. Anyway, the websites been used in the past as part of movie or music promotions, Dennys had a Tumblr blog as part of thier marketing strategy until like 2019. TikTok might be the most popular social media atm but that doesn't mean companies are gonna disregard all other sources of data. Truthfully it's probably just a matter of percentages.

Anyway. Like I mentioned above...I've got a jump start in organizing things, as for help it'll be a matter of potentially finding a few admins to help run the events themselves, because there's definitely gonna be days id miss simply because of work, and to get people to help spread the word to the active blogs out there. Honestly it might be a good idea to reach out to some of the popular writers and see if they'd be willing help out and promote the idea once the blogs details are polished.

And I don't know if I've said this yet, but thank you, to you and to everyone else who's thrown in ideas. I'm starting to have hope again for our fandom, I know I definitely feel much more enthused being proactive about things. So thank you for the help and input.

[exols-silver-christmas]

So I can't be the only one who's noticed the decline in fanmade exo content here on Tumblr. We've gone from a fandom who's new posts could be measured in hours to a fandom who's posts have days....to weeks....to months....to even years for some specific tags.

We have had 6 solo album comebacks this year, 3 fancon tours, 2 solo concert tours, a myriad of festival concert appearances, youtube videos, magazine shoots, instalives, etc. Yet if you go to the exo tag it's mainly populated by archive blogs. And the nude bots, which....that's a whole other problem on its own. I digress. My point being, the tags, at least from what I've seen (I admit I haven't looked into the shipping tags) are being filled by the same handful of blogs yet given the high amount of source material, no one seems to be doing anything with it beyond archiving it.

Again this could just be because I didn't delve too deep or too far back, but it does have me wondering if part of the reason participation this year was down was simply because there's hardly anyone left.

There's been instances in the past where others have attempted to inject new life into the fandom so to speak, with....varying...level of success. The exo revival project being the first and most successful that comes to mind. I'm wondering what everyone else's thoughts are on the matter and if holding new fandom events might be a way to involve more people year round because I really do want to continue holding this event next year but if things keep going the way they have been there won't be anyone signing up.

Let me know what you think, ideas you might have, reblog this and tag your mutuals to get them involved in the discussion. I have a few ideas that I've pilfered from other fandoms, watch alongs. Fic bingo. Theres valentines exchanges. Fandom sleepovers. Heck I'd set up a Tumblr based scavenger hunt if I thought people would play. Like....we dont have to be monoliths in a placid sea of we don't want to. Fandom can be fun. It should be fun.

[babyueare]

Hii

I agree with the previous comments and I find the ideas appealing.

Personally, I joined Exo tumblr not so long ago, though being an Exo-l for a few years now. At first there was barely anyone I could’ve been mutuals with (I wasn’t even as active as I am now), so I was just scrolling through older posts. I read fanfics, but I didn’t find any events at the time. After a few weeks of being on this site, I started interacting with other blogs, so I met more and more Eris, who I still follow. As for me, I don’t feel the “emptiness” on here, there are a lot of nice people and great content; it’s maybe just that a real community is missing.

Honestly, if there were any, I’d like to participate in fan events (I just found out that there’s this Secret Santa one), but I feel like the majority of fans aren’t really active anymore. And even if they are, I see many of them just liking posts (e.g. art/fic) but not reblogging them; or blogs that only focus on one specific member. Although I’m not a creator (I’ve only written 2 fics and made a few gifs so far), there are many talented people I follow, and I usually reblog their work to support them.

Also, when “Community” became a new tumblr feature, I thought about creating one for Exo-l, but I’m not sure how active it would be/how many people would join… Perhaps it could bring more Eris together, but that’s just my opinion. I don’t think the solution would be to force others to join events, just because the fandom is (hard to say this) dying. The main goal is to have fun, regardless of the number of people. 🫶🏻

In my opinion, those who want to be part of this Exo community will find it eventually, but reblogging helps and will always help a lot, without a doubt.

<3

[exols-silver-christmas]

It's a good thing then there hasn't been talk of forcing anyone to do anything, though if you could direct me to what part of the previous conversations made you have that impression? I'd appreciate the chance to look over it and potentially edit the post or comment.

As for the rest, building a community is kinda becoming the point of all this, getting more people involved in keeping the fandom from dying, because a lot of the great content you mentioned...is older posts that keep circulating. And while there are definitely still people making and posting new things, there seems to be less and less as the years go on.

It's my hope that by encouraging both new content creation and interaction between exols that we can at least establish better community ties and stave off the end.

You mentioned you'd be interested in events, are there any particular types that you'd like to see happen?