FIRST - BORN.

trickery is a wild animal

[ngc-7052]

NA HYEON - JU, JUSTLY NAMED LIGHTBRINGER, THOUGH MOST PROPERLY KNOWN AS THE NAMELESS EIGHT - TAILED NINE - TAILED FOX. #𝙽𝙶𝙲-𝟽𝟶𝟻𝟸. Written by Ivy, in ( most ardent! ) affiliation with @ngc-6853

𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: there are but only a scant few who now possess the knowledge of her true given name, and even fewer who have permission to use it. In some circles, she is known as Lightbringer, a name necessarily assigned to the wild animal in question so as to have something to call it by, though there is no guarantee she will respond to it. Most reliably, she is known simply as ' the fox' or 'the eight - tailed kumiho.'

𝙰𝙶𝙴: she is old, having lived for over a millennium. . . and counting.

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: put plainly, this fox is not to be trifled with; short on patience [ . . . ]

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚂: [ . . . ]

𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿𝚂: there was no one who the fox did love more dearly and completely than her younger and only sister; upon her sister's death, the fox would feel the weight of her love and failure compound with the already existing ghostly grief she carries over the death of her father, mother, beloved step - mother, and the innocent man who had been her betrothed. As of the thirty - first of January of the year 20—, the fox's sense of devotion, ardent duty, and unconditional love has grown, taking deep and immovable root in the life and existence of her niece, Yang Na - Yoon; the older fox is her guardian and most stalwart ally. She is nothing short of being fully invested in her niece's survival, happiness, and growth. The young fox is simply ( ! ) her utter pride. Lastly, her heart and her soul, unquestionably and forever faithfully, belong to a certain wild fox spirit — he, so - called Ki - Nam.

𝙽𝙾𝚆? The fox lives a focused life. Having sworn to obliterate any and all who wish to hunt and harm her and other foxes like herself and her family, the fox has turned the chase on its head, becoming the hunter herself. She spends her days stalking her prey, watching and luring them; ever the trickster, this eight - tailed nine - tailed fox lays her traps, plays her tricks, and captures her prey. As her hunt goes on, the legend of the horrors of the eight - tailed nine - tailed fox grow; men disappear without a trace, bodies found gutted and gored like any other game, while others return a shell of their old selves, haunted. . . haunting. In addition to her hunting, the fox watches diligently over the daughter of her younger sister. . . wishing to nurture and protect the young kumiho. The fox lives a focused life, centred on revenge and love — which, to her, are irrevocably intertwined as life and death.

[jannwrites]

film ask meme : NOSFERATU (2024) directed by ROBERT EGGERS.

a selection of lines from the 2024 film nosferatu. modified for rp purposes.

you are not for the living. you are not for human kind.

do you swear it?

come here. there is nothing to be afraid of.

today is of the utmost importance for us.

it will be a great adventure for you.

why have you killed these beautiful flowers?

i must tell you my dream.

standing before me, all in black, was Death.

the stench of their bodies was horrible.

i had never been so happy as that moment, as i held hands with Death.

never speak these things aloud. never.

i wish you to have all you deserve.

it's worth celebrating your adventure. i envy you.

i fear their past melancholy is returning.

don't let them feed me to the monster!

remember, it's all for us.

you bring trouble with you.

beware his shadow. the shadow covers you in a nightmare.

you are late. the midnight hour is passed.

i fear we yet keep close many superstitions here that may seem backward to someone of your high learning.

they exhumed a corpse.

i might ease your wound.

come by the fire. your face shows you unwell.

why ever did you bring that here?

what can cheer this poor humor, my love?

do you ever feel, at times, as if you were not a person?

we all feel out of sorts, set apart, at times. small or alone.

you are fortunate in your love.

it is a black omen to journey in poor health.

no one. i am no one.

he loves the pretty ones best.

you are lost in his shadow.

remain here. his evil cannot enter this house of God.

soon i will be no more a shadow to you.

your spirit was never enough.

no matter. i miscalculated the stars.

hermes will not render my black sulfur gold this evening.

do not revel what is sacred to dogs.

does evil come from within us or from beyond?

this evil, what it it is, how it has been summoned - unleashed - i know not.

there is a dread storm rising.

your bond shall not survive me.

it is a force more powerful than evil. it is death itself.

i have wrestled with the devil as jacob wrestled the angel in peniel.

if we are to tame darkness, we must first face that it exists.

i told you, you are not of human kind.

i am an appetite. nothing more.

i cannot be sated without you.

remember how once we were?

you have never liked me.

nothing you can say will shake me - for there is a devil in this world, and i have met him.

don't touch me. i am not to be touched.

the grim reaper wields his heavy scythe with every change of wind.

your horror has rent our hearts, but you must hear us.

these nightmares do exist! they exist!

the monster left you to the wolves, and yet you prevailed.

we must know evil to be able to destroy it. we must discover it within ourselves.

i need no salvation.

you will put an end to all of this?

i feel his hold upon me this night.

i am ready. i bid you, come to me.

i relinquished him my soul.

god is beyond our morals.

[ngc-6853]

The memory sat at the edge of her memoir’s dossier, engraved in the walls of remembrance, it bloomed not unlike the scent of apple blossoms            —            a memory of a house, or, rather, a home.     A child’s laughter came to her, and just as that, she was three again, her fingers entwined around what was to become an apple, eager, ever-so-eager, to show the tree’s bloom to her father.     She was laughing, then,  too, though it was not to last.      It became a bit hazy here, the memory but shreds, parts, and pieces.     Not enough to form a full picture.     She did not recall how she found him, remembering only what the dissatisfaction of his tone, his pointed: why are you picking at the trees, Nayoon? Must you be so disobedient? What would your mother think?     This is how the memory ended.     The child never picked at the apple trees after, even deciding she does not like apples at all.

As the room became rich in the scent of apple blossoms, the fox inhaled, inhumed by the recollection, however, she decided that she still could not stand spring or apples, or the scent of apple blossoms.

The memory came and went, and Nova found herself debating if an inquiry about the window to be closed would be perceived as impolite.     In a daughter-like deference, the young fox decided against asking, feeling no particular need to provide an explanation, the ask was, simply, foregone, although not entirely forgotten.

Nova accepted her momentarily predicament. Her hair was brushed. Her hands were dried.     The fox would have been a liar had she said she did not enjoy the care.

It made her wonder: does she see me, or does she see my mother?     Her father did.     Her absence, one way or the other, was the only form of presence Nova was familiar.  Was it to be different now that she was dead? Would she have to re-familiarise herself with a different form of absence altogether? Be it as it was, her mother was dead. Which was easier to come to terms with than the part in which she was the protagonist of mother’s death.     A scream tore at her throat from within, an inaudible I am not her, I am but her killer, stop comparing us, but she swallowed the wail, dryly. 

In lieu,    Nova arched her manicured brow’s at Hyeonju,    “ romantic? ”       her tone betrayed no emotion,     though the glint in the charcoal grey of her eyes that spoke true to her stubbornness,    “ sure hope not, it got her killed in the end, ”       she did.

“ Unless you mean romantic in the literary sense, ”       a small shrug to her shoulders.    “ Speaking of romance, tall, dark and handsome, slight stalker tendencies            —            who is he? ”          

[ngc-7052]

there was no ebb or fluctuating flow to the unspeakable, nameless pain that had become her very innards the moment Haneul's light had gone out for good, forever. no, it burned as readily as a flame consistently fed, shielded from even the gentle sways of the wind. there was nothing that could touch this pain, never mind abate it. the light had gone out of this world and hers, and now there was only this: this burning beyond that of the most voracious fire or the most biting ice; yet as if she herself had been built for this, Hyeonju found she could house this pain just fine. it was hers to hold fast in her heart, mind, and stomach, consuming it rather than allowing it to consume her, taking from it the clarity she needed, the drive she craved, the power that proved that love was never for naught. love was duty,

and duty gave her meaning. it was what steadied her hands as she reached for the scissors and prepared to neaten Nayoon's broken nails. it was what allowed her to affirm the little one's conclusion with an unwavering voice, rooted in inmmovable certainty, that, " yes. yes, it did. " even as the pain burned at the base of her throat, at the pit of her belly, and the soft, pulsating spots between the bones of her wrists. there was a warning here: invisible yet inarguably present. Hyeonju wondered if the little one could hear it, if she could, either with those keen eyes and the litheness of her slowly healing hands, catch onto those delicate strands and follow until she could see it — the cautionary tale written by her mother's death, the last lesson imparted.

IT GOT HER KILLED AND I COULD NOT STOP HER. I WILL NOT TRY TO STOP YOU, SO TAKE THIS WARNING NOW.

be careful. Hyeonju was careful as she cut away the jagged pieces of Nayoon's nails, leaving, deftly, no sharp lines or corners of her own, lest these grow to press into the softness of her skin and flesh. where a nail was impossible to salvage, a bandage, made of a material beyond soft, beyond mutable, and yet ever durable, was wrapped and fixed without the need of adhesive. picking up the scissors once again, Hyeonju fixed her eye on the mountain - line made atop the broken nail on the little one's left ring finger. " he is Kinam, " she answered. there was to be no girlish uptick of the lips or maudlin softening of the features. the scissors snipped, once, twice. the fingertip held for re - examination, now more of an ocean wave than a mountain - line. " he is my husband. " the fox did not look up from her work, nearly done with the last broken nail, nor did she harbour any curiosity on the matter; elaborations on the subject could be asked for and, indeed, would need to be asked for. besides, there was plenty to learn in the following days, weeks, through observation alone.

here was something she would like to know, however. " where were you going to go? " she asked, any attempt to lighten her tone above anything beyond a levelled even affect a luxury the fox extended to no one. " if Kinam hadn't found you? what was your plan? "

[somebodytodiefor]

Jisoo ☆ Billboard Artist x Cartier SHOOT BEHIND

[ngc-6853-moved]

A metallic taste   —   a tip of the tongue coloured crimson.    How long did it take her to realise it was hers?  It blurred.  Reality.  The illusion of it.  The sanguine fluid,  however,  Nova recognised as blood.  She realised she must have bitten herself.  She realised she must have bitten herself hard.    When did she bite herself? When did she bite herself? When did she bite herself? When did she bite herself? When did she bite herself? When did she bite herself? When did she bite herself? When did she bite herself? When did she bite herself?

    Location:  Gangnam,  the so-called ‘business’ district,  Seoul,  South Korea 

Bound by a rooftop, and setting sun, the city appeared different, busier, bustling, and more beautiful.    Tonight, the division of its citizens was twofold, those who hurried to get on the earliest subway home after a week’s worth of work, and those who were getting off it, welcoming the weekend by the generosity of their wallet.   The fox had no particular premonition about this particular night; the night was as all nights were,  until it wasn't.

It was her idea to come to the city,  mid-autumn,  for 'festivities'.    Hyeonju agreed,  begrudgingly   —    he agreement bittersweet, albeit an agreement.    If anybody asks about tonight, lie.    And Nova did.

Only,  it did not occur to her just how much she has lied.  To herself.  To Hyeonju.  Blood in mouth, the elder found her   —   her and him.  The sun has since set.  One was dead, the other was about to be.  He was on his knees,  glassy-eyed,  nigh paralysed.  Prey. Predator. Nova’s expression was not all too different.  She was there.  She was not there.    There was a moment of hesitation in her, and then the moment passed, and then that moment passed,  also…  replaced by a rage and a stubborn refusal to forego it.    His body fell forward,  to the street, soon to be met with screams, emptied of a heart.    Nova threw it to Hyeonju's feet,  the metal scent waking her to her senses. 

    @ngc-7052:     if anybody asks about tonight,    lie.

The young fox did not meet the elder’s gaze, in lieu, reiterating:     “ If anybody asks about tonight,  I will lie. ”           

[ngc-7052]

THE FOX DID NOT KNOW WHAT SHE EXPECTED,  BUT IN WAITING FOR THE FINAL THUD OF BONES,  GUTS,  AND FLESH PACKAGED IN A QUICKLY GRAYING SKIN AGAINST RECENTLY RAIN - WETTED ASPHALT ... IT OCCURRED TO HER THAT THIS WAS TAKING QUITE LONG.   HYEONJU HELD NO APPRECIATION FOR SUSPENSE IF SHE HERSELF WERE NOT ITS ARCHITECT.   THE REFLEXES OF THE HUMANS,  ON THE OTHER HAND,  WERE AS EXPECTED:  SLOW,  UNGRACEFUL,  COUNTERPRODUCTIVE.   THE SCREAMS BEGAN IMMEDIATELY,  FIRST SHARP WITH SURPRISE BEFORE THE HORROR MIXED IN.   THEN,  THAT EXPECTED FEEBLENESS:  THE DISINTEGRATION OF THE SCREAMS INTO A GENERAL LOUD HUBBUB OF VOICES AS MORBID CURIOSITY TOOK OVER ALL.   FEAR,  CONCERN,  HORROR.   NONE OF IT COULD LAST AGAINST THE OVERPOWERING PRESSURE TO FEED OFF VIOLENCE. SHE DIDN'T NEED TO LOOK OVER THE LEDGE TO KNOW THAT WHATEVER OUTWARD DISPERSION THE BODY’S IMPACT HAD INITIALLY CREATED WAS NOW BEING ALTERED,  THE CROWD ELASTIC,  SNAPPING BACK TOWARDS THE STILL BLEEDING CORPSE TRIPLE FOLD.

ABOUT THEM,  THE EFFUSION OF ARTIFICIAL LIGHT, SOME CAUGHT IN AND REFLECTED OFF THE OBSIDIAN OF THE FOX’S GAZE,  SLIDING UP FROM THE ORGAN AT HER FEET TO HER NIECE’S FACE.   SHE TOOK IT IN:  THE RAGE PRESSING DOWN ON NAYOON’S FEATURES, THE DARKNESS THAT FORCED HER GAZE OR NOW MERELY HELD IT THERE,  THE ABSENCE THAT STOLE HER AWAY,  GONE AS THE DEAD MAN’S SOUL FROM HIS BODY.   INDEED,  THIS WAS WHAT KILLING DID;   GOING AWAY WAS PART OF IT

YET SO WAS THE RETURN.

THE KILLER WAS,  AFTER ALL,  NOT THE DEAD.   SHE WOULD LIVE ON AND LIVE WITH WHATEVER THE DEAD COULD NO LONGER.   HYEONJU ACQUIESCED TO NAYOON’S SOLEMNITY WITH A NOD.    I WILL LIE,  SAID THE LITTLE ONE.   AND SO SHE WILL AND SO SHE MUST.   MOVING ON,  THE OLDER FOX SOUGHT TO BRING THE LITTLE ONE BACK TO FIRMER FOOTING HERE,  IN THE PRESENT.   “I THOUGHT WE HAD COME TO SEE THE LITTLE BLONDE ONE SING,”   WAS HER POINTED REMINDER.   HER VOICE,  SILKEN AND COLD AS SILK,  HELD NO ANGER YET NEITHER DID IT FALL FLAT OF APATHY.   HYEONJU GAVE ENDLESSLY TO HER NIECE THAT WHICH SHE FELT MOST NEEDED, MOST IMPORTANT:  ATTENTION.   “IF YOU HAD OTHER ACTIVITIES IN MIND, YOU COULD’VE TOLD ME.”

A LITTLE LONGER DID HER BLACK EYES REMAIN ON NAYOON,  STARING DOWN THE SHIMMER OF PAINT ATOP HER EYELIDS,  THE LUSH FANNING OF HER LASHES.   IF IN THE LAST SECOND,  HER NIECE DID BRAVE THE LIFT OF HER GAZE,  SHE WOULD THEN BE MET WITH NOTHING.   IN A MOTION AS PRECISE AND SURE AS ANY OF THE FOX’S ACTIONS,  HYEONJU GATHERED THE FABRIC OF HER SKIRT, RAISED THE HEM TO LOOSEN THE SKIRT’S SHAPE ABOUT HER LEGS,  AND LOWERED HERSELF,   AN INARGUABLE GRACE WOVEN INTO HER FOLDED FORM.   SHE TOOK THE DISCARDED HEART INTO HER HAND,  NOT A HINT OF GINGERNESS IN THE TOUCH,  THE LYING ORGAN AS COMMON TO HER AS ROCKS. THERE WAS NOTHING SPECIAL ABOUT THIS PARTICULAR HEART EITHER,  PLAIN IN ITS AVERAGENESS.   FOR HER,  ALL THAT SET IT APART WAS THAT ITS UNHOMING HAD BEEN DONE BY HER NIECE’S OWN HAND.   THIS WAS ENOUGH TO WARRANT THE MEAT A SECOND LONGER CONSIDERATION THAN ANY OTHER PIECE OF MEAT WOULD’VE BEEN GIVEN;

THAT IS,  NONE AT ALL.

FROM BENEATH THE HEART,  WHERE IT LAY IN HER PALM,  A WHITE LIGHT FLASHED.   IT DID NOT LAST LONG ENOUGH TO BE EVEN SAID TO HAVE GLOWED.   HYEONJU HOPED NAYOON HAD NOT BLINKED,  FOR NOW ALL THAT WAS LEFT WAS A PECULIAR BLACK DUST AND THE SINGE OF HEAT IN THE AIR. A TILT OF HER HAND AND THE DUST SLID OFF CLEANLY,  NOT A SINGLE GRANULE GRITTY NOR STUBBORN ENOUGH TO STICK HER SKIN.   “DO NOT MAKE A HABIT OF THROWING YOUR SCRAPS AT ME, NAYOON. IF YOU’VE NO USE FOR IT, THEN GET RID OF IT AND DO IT YOURSELF.”   IT WAS HER HOPE THAT THE SIMPLICITY OF THE LESSON WOULD BE A LESSON IN AND OF ITSELF. EASILY,  SHE ROSE. “WE’VE STILL TIME. DO YOU NEED TO EAT — OR HAS THIS KILLING SATIATED YOU?”

[cavatas]

Edvard Munch - Winter in the Woods, Nordstrand (1899)

[ngc-7052]

The scent of the apple blossoms curled upwards to fill the room,  carried by the steam of the water in which Nayoon soaked her broken nails. There was nothing being done here that the young fox could not do for herself,  but this wasn’t the point. So long, it has been since she had been allowed the chance to hold the dear one close. To brush the softness of her skin with her own hand;  to feel the thickness of her hair  —   now grown so long,  every strand both silky and strong. The fox held no illusions;   there would be no replacing nor filling of the space her sister had left torn open, the edges of it still ragged and sore like that of a wound made worse by a knife taken back.   She did not need to step into the absence,  for she already had her own place in this world and others.

Here,  however,  the fox did have but a single,  severe demand: when it is only you and I,  little one,  there will be no façades.

A tall order,  perhaps.   But in the fox’s eyes   —  it was only right.   To the rest of this cruel and poisoned world,  the young fox could be whoever,  whatever she needed or wanted to be;   none of them were owed her true face,  much less deserving it.   But in the company of only each other,  honesty was owed.   The fox did not intend to hide from her own kin;  was it truly strict that she demanded the same in return?

THERE'S A SHIMMER IN YOUR EYES, / @hen2-437

the little one shot back. Hyeonju did not smile,  but neither did she frown.   Her gaze held steady on the dark, dark hair slipping through her fingers as she brushed it.  She had expected some resistance.  There was a hardness about the girl and this,  she did not mind.   All the better to break the teeth of any foolish creature that dared to bite down.     “   It is not a disguise.   That you can see it means I am not hiding. Remove your hands from the water.   ”

Placing the wood - backed hairbrush down, Hyeonju spun the little one around. With one hand,  she offered her a soft towel with which Nayoon could dry her hands. The other,  she curled beneath the little one's chin and used her knuckles to gently lift her face up, then held it there as she fanned her fingers, lightly cupping her cheek. The fox took a good,  hard look.   The shimmer in her eyes never faded. “   Your eyes are like your mother’s.   Stubborn.   ”     Her hand slipped away and so did some of the stoniness in her face. “   Romantic.   ”

[metaphrasis]

“That’s what winter is: an exercise in remembering how to still yourself then how to come pliantly back to life again. An exercise in adapting yourself to whatever frozen or molten state it brings you.”

— Ali Smith, Winter

[junyiwu]

On the hunt.