#❪ archaeologist ❫ ⤿ they were locked in history and we are not.

[atlasthegreatest]

A Game of Hearts and Ruins / Lara Croft x Indiana Jones! Male Reader

Which, Lara Croft crosses paths with Y/n Jones, a charming archaeologist and long-time rival, while both pursue the same ancient artifact.

Word count: 4788

The midday sun blazed mercilessly over the dense jungles of Cambodia, where the ancient ruins of a forgotten temple slept beneath layers of tangled vines and centuries of dust. Lara Croft crouched low on the edge of a broken stone pillar, her eyes scanning the scene ahead. She’d heard rumors of rare artifacts hidden within these ruins—legendary relics of power that would be a thrilling addition to her private collection. However, she wasn’t alone in the pursuit.

The soft crunch of a boot on fallen leaves caught her ear. Without looking, she smirked, already knowing who it was.

“Late as usual, Croft,” came a smooth, confident voice behind her.

Lara rose to her feet, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. “If I were late, Jones, you wouldn’t have needed to follow me here.”

Standing a few feet away was Dr. Y/n Jones—a fellow British adventurer and archaeologist with a devil-may-care grin, ruffled hair, and an insufferable twinkle in his eyes. He wore a worn leather jacket over a white shirt and khaki trousers, looking every inch the reckless explorer he was. His belt was loaded with tools, and a coiled whip hung from his hip, further adding to his roguish charm.

Y/n’s grin widened as he tucked his hands casually in his pockets. “Follow you? I was here first, love. Just wanted to see how long it’d take you to catch up.”

Lara tilted her head, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Jones.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “And you’ve always been terrible at admitting when you’ve met your match.”

Lara felt the spark between them, that familiar current of playful rivalry. This wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths on an expedition—nor the first time their competition had made things complicated. They both thrived on adventure, danger, and the thrill of outwitting each other. It was a game they loved to play, though neither would ever admit just how much they enjoyed the other’s company.

“Still planning to raid the temple alone?” Y/n asked, sauntering closer. “Or do you want to call it a truce and split the prize?”

“Please,” Lara replied, crossing her arms. “I don’t need help. Besides, we both know you’d try to take the lion’s share.”

Y/n grinned. “Of course. It’s what I do best.”

Lara turned on her heel, making her way deeper into the ruins without another word. Y/n followed, as she knew he would. They were drawn together like magnets—constantly orbiting, occasionally colliding, but never fully able to walk away from each other.

Inside the temple, the air grew cooler, filled with the scent of damp stone and ancient decay. The maze of narrow corridors twisted in every direction, and both explorers moved in practiced silence, each determined to outpace the other.

Lara was quick, slipping through narrow gaps and climbing crumbled walls with the grace of a cat. Y/n stayed close, his every move fluid and calculated, as if he were waiting for the perfect moment to make his move.

“Tell me something, Croft,” Y/n said as they entered a massive hall, its ceiling carved with faded murals of long-forgotten gods. “What’s your fascination with these relics? Is it the history, or just the thrill of stealing them before anyone else can?”

Lara shot him a sideways glance. “And what’s yours? Looking to get rich or just eager to impress me?”

Y/n chuckled. “Can’t it be both?”

She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement. Y/n’s charm was infuriating, mostly because she found it oddly… endearing. But she wasn’t about to let that distract her. They reached the center of the hall, where a large pedestal stood. On it rested a golden amulet, glimmering in the dim light. Both of them stopped at the same moment, eyes locked on their prize.

“Shall we call it a tie?” Y/n suggested, his voice low and teasing.

“Not a chance.”

In a blur of movement, both lunged for the amulet at the same time. Lara’s fingers brushed the metal, but Y/n’s hand was already there, closing over hers.

“Not so fast,” he whispered, standing far too close.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, their faces inches apart. Lara could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, and the intensity in his eyes made her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the chase.

“Careful, Jones,” she murmured. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice a husky whisper.

For a moment, the tension between them shifted. What had started as playful competition now felt like something far more dangerous? It was as if all the stolen glances, the teasing words, and the shared adventures had been leading to this exact moment.

Then, with a sly grin, Lara twisted her hand free and snatched the amulet. “Better luck next time.”

Y/n blinked, momentarily stunned, then laughed—a deep, genuine sound that echoed through the ancient hall. “You’re impossible, Croft.”

“Thank you,” she said, slipping the amulet into her pouch.

Y/n shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know, one of these days, I’ll beat you to it.”

“I doubt that,” Lara shot back, her expression smug but playful.

They made their way out of the temple side by side, their footsteps light and their conversation even lighter. For all the rivalry between them, neither could deny the thrill they felt in each other’s presence—the way their hearts raced not just from the danger, but from the sheer joy of being together.

As they reached the jungle clearing where they’d first crossed paths, Y/n gave her a sidelong glance. “What do you say, Croft? Same time, same place next month?”

Lara smiled, a rare softness in her eyes. “We’ll see. If you can keep up.”

Y/n reached out and brushed a stray leaf from her shoulder, his touch lingering just a second too long. “I always do.”

And with that, they parted ways once again—two souls bound by adventure, rivalry, and something neither of them was quite ready to name. But as they disappeared into the wilderness, each knew the truth: the next time they met, it wouldn’t just be artifacts they were chasing.

————————

Several weeks later, the humid jungles of South America set the stage for their next encounter. Lara had tracked down rumors of a jade mask—an ancient relic tied to a pre-Columbian civilization, said to grant prophetic visions to its wearer. The mask was hidden somewhere deep within a forgotten temple, buried beneath layers of rock and a thick rainforest canopy.

As she approached the vine-choked entrance, a voice echoed through the foliage, smug and familiar.

“You know, Croft, you’re starting to make this too easy.”

Lara turned to find Y/n Jones leaning lazily against a tree, arms crossed, his whip coiled at his side. His grin was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and the sun caught the mischievous glint in his eyes. He had somehow beaten her to the site—again.

“Following me across continents now, Jones?” Lara asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I had an admirer.”

Y/n pushed off the tree and strolled closer, his expression full of playful arrogance. “Who says I was following? Maybe I just know you better than you think.”

Lara gave a scoff, though her lips curled into a slight smile. Their rivalry had become a dance—one they both enjoyed far more than they admitted.

“Then you must know I don’t intend to let you take that mask,” she said, brushing past him toward the temple entrance.

Y/n’s grin widened as he followed at her side. “Tell you what—how about we make things interesting this time? Whoever gets the mask first wins.”

“And what’s the prize?” Lara asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

Y/n leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “Winner picks the next adventure. Loser buys the drinks.”

Lara let out a quiet chuckle, her heart skipping a beat despite herself. “Hope you’re ready to part with some cash.”

Y/n’s laugh followed her into the darkness of the temple, a deep, infectious sound that made her chest feel annoyingly warm.

Inside the temple, they fell into their usual rhythm—both racing against each other and the ticking clock of hidden traps. The ruins were riddled with dead ends, collapsing pathways and intricately designed puzzles meant to keep intruders at bay.

Lara slipped through tight spaces with feline grace, while Y/n used his whip to swing over bottomless pits and climb crumbling walls. They traded banter along the way, their words light but carrying the weight of something unspoken.

“You know, Croft, one day your luck is going to run out,” Y/n said, watching her disable a complex trap with practiced ease.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Lara replied, glancing back at him with a playful smirk. “Just skill—and better instincts than yours.”

Y/n chuckled, adjusting the strap of his bag. “We’ll see about that.”

They reached the heart of the temple at the same time—a grand chamber with towering statues and an altar at the center, upon which rested the jade mask. It gleamed under a shaft of sunlight that cut through the darkness, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

Both adventurers slowed their pace, eyes locked on the artifact. For a moment, neither moved, as if testing the other’s resolve.

“Ladies first?” Y/n offered the smirk on his lips suggesting he was anything but sincere.

Lara scoffed. “Chivalry doesn’t suit you.”

And just like that, they were in motion—both of them darting toward the mask. Y/n’s whip lashed out, aiming to knock the artifact into his hand, but Lara anticipated the move and dodged. With a roll and a leap, she reached the altar first, fingers grazing the jade surface.

But Y/n was faster than she expected. His hand closed over hers—just like before—and they both froze, breathing hard from the sudden burst of adrenaline.

Lara looked up, meeting Y/n’s gaze. His face was inches from hers, and for a moment, all the teasing banter, all the playful rivalry, melted away. She felt the steady rhythm of his breath and smelled the faint scent of leather and earth on his jacket.

“You’re predictable, Jones,” she whispered, her voice softer than before.

“And you’re impossible,” he murmured in return, his hand still resting lightly over hers.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity—caught between the thrill of competition and the pull of something deeper. Neither was willing to admit it aloud, but in these stolen moments, the game they played felt less like a rivalry and more like something… inevitable.

Y/n’s lips quirked into a slow, teasing smile. “You always this competitive on dates, Croft?”

“This isn’t a date,” Lara replied, though the amusement in her eyes betrayed her.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

And then, before she could think twice, Lara made her move. She shifted her weight, used Y/n’s balance against him, and twisted free with the jade mask in hand.

“Better luck next time,” she said, throwing him a playful wink as she tucked the mask into her satchel.

Y/n stared after her, half-exasperated, half-impressed. “You’re going to be the death of me, Croft.”

“Maybe,” Lara called over her shoulder, already heading for the exit. “But you’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Y/n laughed, shaking his head as he followed her out of the temple. As they emerged into the bright sunlight, the jungle buzzing with life around them, he caught up to her once again.

“So,” he said, falling into step beside her. “Since I lost, I suppose the drinks are on me.”

Lara shot him a sidelong glance, the corners of her mouth curling into a rare, genuine smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Y/n grinned, something warm and knowing flickering in his eyes. “And next time?”

Lara gave a light shrug, though her heart was already racing at the thought of their next adventure. “Same stakes. Same rules.”

“Good,” Y/n murmured, his voice laced with promise. “Because I have a feeling our best adventures are still ahead.”

And with that, they disappeared into the jungle once more—two rivals bound by danger, drawn together by something far more powerful than either of them could resist.

——————-

Lara and Y/n didn’t part ways for long. Just a few weeks later, they found themselves standing in the shadows of the Atlas Mountains, on the outskirts of a Berber village. Their latest quarry was the Scarab of Anhur, an ancient amulet believed to bring victory in battle. A collector in Marrakesh had offered an obscene sum to acquire it, but neither Lara nor Y/n needed the money. For them, the scarab was just another excuse to outmaneuver each other—and perhaps, neither of them could stay away.

They stood together near the entrance of a remote tomb, surrounded by jagged cliffs and the endless stretch of desert sky. The sun was sinking low, casting long golden beams across the rocky landscape.

“So, what’s the plan this time?” Y/n asked with a grin as he adjusted his whip. “We race to the artifact, you leave me in a pit, and I show up at the bar later like nothing happened?”

Lara smirked, brushing dust off her cargo pants. “That does sound familiar.”

“You wound me, Croft.” Y/n placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I thought we were building trust.”

“Trust?” Lara echoed, raising an eyebrow. “This isn’t trust, Y/n—it’s foreplay.”

The words hung between them, thick with implication. Y/n’s smirk faltered for just a second, his eyes darkening with something that wasn’t entirely amusement.

“Careful,” he said, his voice quieter now, “or one of these days, you might get in over your head.”

Lara leaned closer, a dangerous glint in her eye. “I doubt it.”

They stood like that for a moment, caught in the web of tension and teasing that had been growing between them since their first encounter. There was no denying it now—their rivalry was more than just a game. It was a dangerous dance, one that neither of them knew how to stop.

Inside the tomb, the temperature dropped sharply, the cool air heavy with centuries of silence. The walls were adorned with faded carvings of ancient battles, and the narrow corridor stretched deep into the earth. They walked side by side, the sound of their boots echoing in the stillness.

“So, why do you do it?” Y/n asked after a while, breaking the silence. “Chasing after these things. The artifacts, the temples… What’s the endgame, Croft?”

Lara shrugged, her flashlight beam dancing over the walls. “It’s not about the end. It’s about the journey. The discovery.”

“And the thrill of beating me to the prize, I imagine?”Y/n teased, though his gaze softened as he looked at her.

Lara glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “That’s just a bonus.”

They reached a large chamber, the heart of the tomb. At the center, atop a pedestal carved with intricate hieroglyphs, lay the Scarab of Anhur. The golden amulet shimmered faintly, untouched for centuries.

Lara’s pulse quickened.

Y/n, ever-watchful, moved closer. “Shall we flip a coin this time, or are we sticking with ‘winner takes all’?”

Lara shot him a sly grin. “What fun would a coin toss be?”

Without another word, they both moved toward the pedestal—two shadows racing against each other through time.

Y/n was quick, but Lara was quicker. She reached the scarab just as Y/n lunged forward, and once again, their hands collided over the artifact. For a moment, they stood frozen, breathing hard, faces close enough to feel the warmth of the other’s skin.

“Déjà vu,” Y/n whispered, his voice low and rough.

Lara looked up, her eyes locking with his. This time, there was no witty remark, no teasing banter. Just the steady hum of adrenaline and something far more dangerous—something that had been building between them for too long.

And then, before she could stop herself, Lara leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was brief, but it was electric. The moment their lips met, the tension that had simmered between them for so long ignited into a blaze. Y/n responded without hesitation, his hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

When they finally pulled away, both were breathless, their hearts pounding in unison.

“Well,” Y/n said, his voice husky with surprise, “that was… unexpected.”

Lara’s lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. “Maybe. But it’s been a long time coming.”

Y/n’s grin returned, softer this time. “No arguments here.”

The scarab glimmered between them, forgotten for the moment. The prize didn’t seem quite as important anymore—not compared to what they had just discovered.

Lara cleared her throat, stepping back but not breaking eye contact. “So… what now?”

Y/n shrugged, his grin turning lazy and affectionate. “We could fight over the scarab. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or,” Y/n said, slipping an arm around her waist, “we could call it a draw. Just this once.”

Lara chuckled, a rare sound that made Y/n’s heart skip a beat. “You’re getting soft, Beckett.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just realized that beating you isn’t the prize I want.”

Lara looked at him, the amusement in her gaze giving way to something deeper. For the first time, the lines between rivalry and affection blurred beyond recognition, and she found she didn’t mind.

“Come on,” she said, tugging his hand lightly. “Let’s get out of here before we both regret this.”

Y/n grinned, following her toward the exit. “Regret? Never.”

As they made their way back through the tomb, side by side, the weight of the scarab in Lara’s satchel felt lighter than it should have. For once, the artifact wasn’t the victory she cared about.

And maybe, just maybe, the adventure they’d found together was only just beginning.

Bonus chapter:

The bonfire crackled warmly in the moonlit desert night, casting flickering shadows over the sand. Lara sat cross-legged on a blanket, sipping whiskey from a battered flask, the glow of the fire soft against her bronzed skin. The day’s adventure—their narrow escape from collapsing ruins—had left them both exhausted but exhilarated. Across from her, Y/n Jones reclined against his rucksack, his leather jacket thrown carelessly aside, hair mussed, and a satisfied grin playing on his lips.

“This almost feels… domestic,” Y/n teased, raising a brow as he accepted the flask from Lara.

Lara gave him a smirk. “If your idea of domestic includes dodging spike traps, solving ancient riddles, and nearly being buried alive, then sure—domestic.”

Y/n chuckled, the sound low and easy, sending a warmth through her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. He tipped the flask to his lips and took a slow drink, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “It’s not exactly Buckingham Palace, but I’d say it’s the perfect evening. After all, I’ve got the stars, good company…” He shot her a playful look. “And the fact that I didn’t lose—entirely—today.”

Lara arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t win either, Jones.”

Y/n leaned closer, close enough for her to smell the whiskey on his breath, that familiar spark lighting between them once again. “Well, if it’s a draw, I say we call it a victory for both of us.”

“Ever the optimist,” Lara said, though there was no bite in her tone.

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a while, the night wrapping around them in a quiet embrace. The stars stretched endlessly overhead, and the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the distant whisper of the wind against the dunes.

For once, Lara wasn’t thinking about ancient artifacts or dangerous tombs. She wasn’t planning her next move or trying to stay one step ahead. For once, she was simply here—sharing the moment with someone who understood the same restless hunger for adventure, the same need to keep moving, always chasing something just out of reach.

“Do you ever think about it?” Y/n asked suddenly, his voice low and thoughtful.

Lara glanced at him. “Think about what?”

“Stopping,” he said, tilting his head back to gaze at the stars. “Walking away from all of this. The treasure hunts, the danger, the endless competition.”

Lara considered the question, surprised by how serious it sounded coming from him. She’d spent her entire life running toward the next adventure, always searching for the next discovery. But now, sitting here with Y/n, the idea didn’t seem as foreign—or as impossible—as it once had.

“And do what?” she asked softly.

Y/n shrugged, his smile lazy but genuine. “I don’t know. Open a bar in Marrakesh? Start a museum somewhere quiet?” He gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes warm and knowing. “Maybe find someone to share it with.”

Lara’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression cool. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

He grinned. “I’m full of surprises.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself. “And if you had to bet on it—how long do you think we’d last in that quiet life?”

Y/n laughed, the sound rich and full of mischief. “A week. Maybe two.”

“Generous,” Lara said with a chuckle.

Y/n leaned back on his elbows, watching her with a gaze that made her feel as though he could see past every wall she’d ever built. “But we’d have fun trying, wouldn’t we?”

Lara smiled—a real smile, not the half-smirks she usually gave. “Yeah, Jones. We would.”

They stayed by the fire long after the flames began to die, sharing stories from old adventures, moments they hadn’t told anyone else. Y/n told her about the time he’d gotten trapped in a Bolivian cave with only a compass and a bottle of rum to his name. Lara recounted a narrow escape from pirates off the coast of Madagascar.

Somewhere along the way, the space between them disappeared.

Lara didn’t remember exactly when Y/n shifted closer, or when she stopped pretending to mind. All she knew was that his hand brushed hers, and for the first time, she didn’t pull away.

The kiss that followed was slow, unhurried—different from the adrenaline-fueled kiss they’d shared in the tomb. This one was deliberate, a promise made under the open sky, without the pressure of stolen moments or looming danger.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/n rested his forehead against hers, his voice low and rough. “I hate to admit it, but I think I might be falling for you, Croft.”

Lara’s heart hammered in her chest, but she met his gaze without flinching. “Then you’d better keep up, Jones.”

Y/n grinned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Always.”

Morning came too soon, and with it, the pull of the next adventure. The fire had burned down to embers, and the cool dawn air nipped at their skin.

Lara rose first, brushing sand from her pants and adjusting her gear. Y/n followed, slinging his pack over his shoulder with an easy grin.

“So,” he said, falling into step beside her as they made their way across the dunes, “where to next?”

Lara glanced at him, her eyes sparkling with that familiar glint of mischief. “There’s a legend about a lost temple in the Himalayas. Supposedly, it holds a relic that grants eternal youth.”

Y/n chuckled. “You think we’ll beat the odds and live forever?”

Lara gave him a playful smirk. “I wouldn’t bet against us.”

And with that, they set off into the rising sun—two explorers, two hearts bound by adventure and something far more precious than any treasure they could ever find.

Because for Lara Croft and Y/n Jones, the real prize wasn’t the artifacts or the glory. It was the journey. And as long as they had each other, the adventure would never end.

———————

A month later, the frigid winds of the Himalayas howled around them as they clung to a cliff face. Far below, jagged rocks peeked through a blanket of snow, promising a swift end to anyone careless enough to misstep. But the danger was nothing new to Lara Croft and Y/n Jones.

“Still think eternal youth is worth it?” Y/n called over the roar of the wind, his voice muffled by the scarf wrapped around his face.

Lara smirked, planting her ice axe into the frozen rock. “You afraid of a little cold, Jones?”

Y/n huffed. “No, just making sure you don’t lose your edge.” He swung his body forward, driving his own axe into the ice next to hers.

They had chased the myth of the Temple of Shambala through ancient maps, local rumors, and narrow escapes from rival treasure hunters. Now, only a few hundred feet separated them from the summit—and the legendary temple said to be hidden beneath the glacier.

Y/n reached the ledge first, pulling himself up with a grunt. He turned and offered Lara a hand. “Come on, Croft. I’d hate to have to rescue you at the last minute.”

Lara raised an eyebrow but took his hand, letting him help her up. “You’ll never let me forget it, will you?”

Y/n grinned, tugging her close for just a moment, their faces inches apart. “Not in a million years.”

The entrance to the temple was hidden beneath layers of thick ice, but Lara had spotted faint carvings—indications of a doorway. Together, they set to work, their ice axes clanging rhythmically against the frozen surface.

When the ancient stone door finally cracked open, a rush of warm, stagnant air escaped from within, a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside.

“After you,” Y/n said with a mock bow, sweeping his arm toward the dark passage.

Lara rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “So much for chivalry being dead.”

The temple was vast, its cavernous halls shimmering with ancient ice that glowed a ghostly blue. Enormous statues of forgotten gods lined the walls, their faces serene as they gazed down on the two explorers. The floor beneath their boots crunched with frost, and the air was heavy with centuries of silence.

“This place is unreal,” Y/n whispered, running a hand along one of the statues.

Lara nodded, captivated by the beauty of it all. But she knew better than to let awe distract her for long. “Keep your eyes open. If the legends are true, there’ll be traps.”

As they ventured deeper into the temple, they found more signs of its ancient purpose—symbols of renewal, carvings of stars and moons, and murals depicting pilgrims drinking from a golden chalice. At the heart of the temple, beneath a dome carved with constellations, they found what they had been seeking.

The Chalice of Shambala sat atop a pedestal, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.

Y/n gave a low whistle. “That’s it?”

Lara approached it cautiously, her eyes scanning the room for any hidden mechanisms. “Be careful. If the myths are right, that thing grants eternal youth—but only if it deems you worthy.”

Y/n raised a skeptical brow. “And what happens if it doesn’t?”

“Let’s not find out,” Lara murmured.

They approached the chalice together, their hands brushing as they reached for it. Neither spoke, but the weight of what they had shared over the past few months hung between them.

Y/n broke the silence first. “You know, Croft… If this thing works, we could keep doing this forever. Adventure after adventure. Just you and me.”

Lara looked at him, her expression softening. “Forever, huh?”

“Think you could stand me that long?” Y/n asked, his grin playful but his gaze sincere.

Lara hesitated, her hand hovering over the chalice. For once, the temptation wasn’t the treasure—it was the thought of what came next. She realized she didn’t want a life without him, whether it lasted fifty years or five centuries.

With a small, mischievous smile, she pulled her hand away. “I think I’d rather grow old with you.”

Y/n blinked, momentarily stunned. Then his grin returned, warmer than the firelight on a desert night. “Well, Croft, that might just be the best treasure I’ve found yet.”

Lara rolled her eyes, though her heart swelled. “Come on, let’s get out of here before this place decides to kill us.”

Y/n grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers with hers as they turned toward the exit. “Lead the way, Croft. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

And with that, they left the chalice untouched, their footsteps echoing through the ancient halls as they walked hand in hand toward the next great adventure—one filled not just with danger and discovery, but with each other.

Because in the end, they realized, it wasn’t the promise of eternal youth that mattered. It was the journey—and the person they chose to share it with.

[kamisatomay018]

Playtime with the Otters

Neuvillette x fem!reader

Lots and lots of fluff! And yes I know many people must’ve written fics on this topic but I wanted to give it a go as well! Hope you all enjoy!<3

Also the artwork is not mine, all credits go to the original owner!

There you stood, with your lover’s face buried in your stomach, his arms clinging onto you around your waist while you caressed his long locks. You were both alone in the Opera Epiclese, and as usual, a hard trial had left your husband very upset, prompting you to come visit him to help him feel better. You loved how he was never afraid of being vulnerable around you, how the rain would always slow down and stop the moment he saw your figure walking past the grand doors to the courtroom. You massaged his head, gently caressing his horns making him hum in satisfaction. “Feeling better now love?”

He smiles softly, nodding and looks up at you with those devastatingly beautiful siren eyes of his, your presence having brought back life into them. “Yes Mon Amour, I cannot thank you enough..” You giggled softly, placing a sweet kiss on his forehead “Since when did we start having such formalities between us hm?” He laughs at your words, the gentle yet heartwarming sounds of his laughter bouncing off the walls of the rather depressing courtroom, filling it with joy. The dark clouds were long gone, and gentle rays of sunshine had begun to seep through the fluffy clouds.

“You’re right Cherie…but I do not wish to part with you so soon. I have plenty of free time, can you please stay with me some more?” Oh archons, how could you ever say no to those pleading eyes of his? Your smile brightened as you nodded, an idea already coming to mind. “I’d love to spend more time with you Neuvi! How about we go for a swim hm? It’s been so long since we’ve done that!” Neuvillette’s eyes softened as sweet memories swarmed into his mind like the tides, reminding him of your beautiful past; of the day he first saw you.

As the Hydro dragon, being in water always calmed him down, he would dive into the deepest depths of Fontaine’s oceans after a difficult trial to clear his mind. Besides, the melusine’s village was also underwater, and he’d spend a lot of time with them. On one such fateful day, as he swam towards the depths of the salacia plains, he saw a beautiful young girl examining a shipwreck ever so carefully, analysing every single scratch and dent on the broken pieces of the ship. That person was you, Fontaine’s leading historian and archaeologist who had been awarded and recognised by many for your hard work and dedication towards piecing together the history of this land.

Neuvillette was surprised by your bravery, for the depths of the salacia plains were dangerous and eerie, and no human would willingly come close to them. But here you were, seemingly enthralled by the historical evidence in front of you. He also noticed a Hydro vision glowing around your waist, which explained why you were so unafraid of the depths of these waters. However, Neuvillette’s eyes had widened as he saw a few enraged seals swim your way, ready to attack you. Without him even realising, he swiftly swam towards you, protecting you from the attack and using his hydro powers to harmlessly deflect the seals, making them retreat.

You on the other hand, were utterly surprised by what happened. You turned around and to your bewilderment, the Chief Justice himself was in front of you, protecting you from the seals’ attacks. To say that you were flustered was an understatement. Ah how embarrassed you were! Your cheeks had flushed pink, as you timidly thanked the Iudex, apologising for troubling him. But what you didn’t know that just by looking into your ocean blue eyes, Neuvillette’s heart immediately told him that he had found his mate, his partner for life. And ever since that day, he always found some way or the other to meet you, and you noticed how friendly the melusines had become around you. One thing led to another, and you both fell deeply in love.

Ever since then, both of you would often go to dive into the depths of Fontaine’s oceans together, collecting seashells, starfish and ancient relics together. Sometimes you would take him to multiple ruins underwater, explaining the history behind them and he would listen to you, completely enthralled by your knowledge and research abilities. Swimming in these oceans had deepened your love far beyond the deepest depths of the oceans of Teyvat.

And now, to hear you suggest that you both swim together made Neuvillette happier than ever, making him readily agree. Anything for his love. His heart skipped a beat as he heard your giggles, the big smile on your lips tempting him to kiss you, which is exactly what he did. You gasped softly, but immediately reciprocated the soft action of pure love. Neuvillette was clingy by nature, and it was your favourite thing ever. He would kiss you out of the blue, always hold your hand, whisper sweet nothings in your ear and hum the tunes of the oceans to lull you to sleep. He was the sweetest husband ever.

As you both parted, he held you hand, intertwining your fingers together as you walked outside the now empty Opera House, heading straight towards the ocean. The rain was long gone, and a beautiful rainbow decorated the skies, illuminated on the gentle surface of the waters. You both dived in together, your vision glowing as you both felt so content. You decided to head towards the salacia plains, as that place held the best memories you both had ever made.

As you both were swimming towards the depths, neuvillette felt your hand slip away from his, making him frown. He looked towards your direction and saw you swimming towards what looked like a cage. He followed immediately, not wanting you to come to harm. What you both saw upon reaching the sight broke your heart. Inside the cage was an otter, looking afraid and trying to get out, and outside the cage was another otter, probably his partner, whimpering in agony as she couldn’t help her partner out of the cage. They joined their little paws through the bars of the cage, seeming so distressed.

“Neuvi..look at these poor otters! How could someone trap such an innocent animal! Come on, we’ve got to help them!” Your worried voice spoke, making him nod. Indeed, it was most cruel to trap such beings in these cages. You swam closer to the otters, alerting them both as they were afraid you had come to harm them. “It’s okay, I don’t mean you any harm, I promise..I’m gonna help your partner get out okay?” You spoke in your soft voice, but of course, the otters couldn’t understand. Neuvillette then swam next to you, and you saw the way the otters instantly relaxed, the free one even approaching him, tilting her tiny head as she swam backwards towards his horns, making happy noises.

Your heart melted at the sight, and you laughed in delight. “Neuvi, you and the otters look so much alike!! They think you’re one of them!” Although puzzled, Neuvillette couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head softly knowing that you would never let this incident die down. And quite frankly, he wouldn’t mind because your happy giggles were his favourite melody. Taking this chance, he swam towards the cage, examining it. “Hmm..mon amour, I think we need to search for a key to open this lock. I’m afraid we cannot use our powers to break this open as it might hurt the poor otter trapped inside.” You nodded at his words “Alright, you stay here with them, I’ll be right back with the key!” He turned towards you, tenderly kissing your forehead. “Be careful, and if any danger comes to you, immediately call for me hm?” You gave him that oh so sweet smile of yours, nodding. “I will, you have my word.”

With that, you swam away, searching for a key. After around 10 minutes of searching, you found a metal key buried in the sand, picking it up and went back to your husband. “Alright, I’ve found a key, let’s hope it’s the right one!” Neuvillette took the key, and to your delight, the cage opened, making the otters immediately hold hands and hug each other, their snouts rubbing together in tender affection. Meanwhile you and Neuvillette both smiled happily at the sight, holding each other’s hands out of habit. “Oh this is so precious Neuvi!” “Indeed Mon amour, I’m glad we could rescue the otter.”

The otters then looked at you both, noticing the way you were holding hands, just like them. In their eyes, Neuvillette already looked like them, so perhaps you were his mate! They swam towards you both happily, expressing their gratitude. You laughed happily as the otters surrounded Neuvillette, examining his horns in glee. “Aaaww if only I had a Kamera with me, I’d capture this moment! You sure you’re the hydro dragon Neuvi? Because you clearly look more like these adorable otters!” You teased your husband, a playful glint in your eyes. Your husband laughs at your words, shaking his head as he snakes his hands around your waist, spinning you around. “Someone’s having a lot of fun hm?” He spoke with a playfully threatening tone, yet his voice was so full of love and adoration for you.

While you both were busy being playful, the otters had returned, this time with the sweetest little surprise for you both. Your eyes shined happily as they gave you both beautiful pink seashells, glittering under the soft sunlight from above. “Oh these are so beautiful!!” “Sweetheart, look..” Your husband’s gentle voice made you look in front of you, and your heart melted into the biggest puddle ever. Two tiny baby otters were surrounding their father who was previously trapped, and then swimming towards you and Neuvillette, booping their tiny snouts with your noses as an innocent little gesture of gratitude. “Aaaww they’re a family! Oh Neuvi this is so sweet..” He smiled too, nodding as he held you close to him, all his stress long forgotten. “It really is..and one day, we’ll come back here to visit them, with our own family..” Your cheeks flushed pink as you looked at your husband, nodding happily. “Yes, yes we will..”

5 Years Later..

Both you and Neuvillette watched with big smiles and warm eyes, as your tiny 4 year old twins played with the otters in Salacia Plains, the very family of otters you both had rescued 5 years ago. Neuvillette’s dragon powers granted his kids the freedom of swimming in the water, and to his delight, both your children had inherited one particular draconic feature of his: his beautiful blue horns. Your daughter had beautiful white locks like her father, while your son had your shining brown hair. They were such darlings, and the day the two of them were born, all of Fontaine had celebrated. The sun had shone brightly, a big beautiful rainbow adorned the skies while all the creatures underwater celebrated the arrival of two new hydro dragons.

Like their parents, your kids were deeply connected to the waters of Fontaine, and both you and Neuvillette would often take them on swims. And now here you all were, watching with joy as your kids played with the otters, finding shiny shells and little wonders buried underneath the sand. As neuvillette held you close and watched his little dragons grow and play, he swore he had never been this happy. And he knew that he would always protect this happiness, his family. With you three, he was complete. With his family, he was at peace. And these very depths of Fontaine were your family’s safe place, and the keeper of all your memories together.

[ashitakaxsan]

Thrilling archaelogical dicoveries

TEHRAN—Archaeologists in western Iran have found over 1,000 clay seals (and fragments) along with other “important” relics estimated to date from the Elamite era (3200–539 BC).

“We unearthed arrays of important objects such as over 1,000 clay seals while conducting an urgent excavation on an archaeological hill in Kermanshah province,” IRNA quoted archaeologist Shokouh Khosravi as saying on Monday.

Moreover, a number of earthen animal figurines and counting objects belonging to the early Elamite culture have been discovered in these excavations, Khosravi, who leads the excavations said.

“Those objects are unique in their kind in western Iran,” she said.

The archaeologist said those findings mark the first archaeological materials of the Elamite period in the west of the central Zagros region

“The finding triggers fundamental changes in our understanding and knowledge about the situation of western Iran in the fourth millennium BC,” Khosravi stated.

During the excavation, which is authorized by the Research Institute of Cultural Heritage and Tourism, a large number of clay door locks, hundreds of pieces of container seals, and a cylinder seal were also found, which shows the site was an administrative center for organizing economic and exchange affairs in the early Elamite period, she explained.

“As the excavations continue, more information will be obtained about the nature and absolute history of settlement on the site.”

Experts say the Kermanshah region has had one million years of archaeological continuity, which is due to the geographical features such as a high number of springs and fertile soil.

Elam, or the Elamite kingdom, was one of the most impressive civilizations of the ancient world. Its territory was once in a region, which is now situated in the modern Iranian provinces of Ilam and Khuzestan.

However, according to sources, it was never a cohesive ethnic kingdom or polity but rather a federation of different tribes governed at various times by cities such as Susa, Anshan, and Shimashki until it was united during the Middle Elamite Period, briefly, as an empire.

The name Elam was given to the region by others– the Akkadians and Sumerians of Mesopotamia–– and is thought to be their version of what the Elamites called themselves– Haltami (or Haltamti)– meaning “those of the high country.” 'Elam', therefore, is usually translated to mean“highlands” or “high country” as it comprised settlements on the Iranian Plateau that stretched from the southern plains to the elevations of the Zagros Mountains.

Susa was formerly the capital of the Elamite Empire and later an administrative capital of the king of Achaemenian Darius I and his successors of 522 BC. Throughout the late prehistoric periods, Elam was closely tied culturally to Mesopotamia. Later, perhaps because of domination by the Akkadian dynasty (c. 2334–c. 2154 BC), Elamites adopted the Sumero-Akkadian cuneiform script.

Documents from the second period, which lasted from the 16th to the 8th century BC, are written in cuneiform; the stage of the language found in these documents is sometimes called Old Elamite. The last period of Elamite texts is that of the reign of the Achaemenian kings of Persia (6th to 4th century BC), who used Elamite, along with Akkadian and Old Persian, in their inscriptions. The language of this period, also written in the cuneiform script, is often called New Elamite.

Although all three stages of Elamite have not been completely deciphered, several grammatical features of the language are known to scholars. These include a plural formation using the suffix -p, the personal pronouns, and the endings of several verb forms.

Elamite language is an extinct language spoken by the Elamites in the ancient country of Elam, which included the region from the Mesopotamian plain to the Iranian Plateau. According to Britannica, Elamite documents from three historical periods have been found. The earliest Elamite writings are in a figurative or pictographic script and date from the middle of the 3rd millennium BC.

Just to notice how the name Elam was written, n the various languages of the ancient times: Liner Elamite:hatamti Cuneiform Elamite: 𒁹𒄬𒆷𒁶𒋾 ḫalatamti; Sumerian:𒉏𒈠 elam; Akkadian:𒉏𒈠𒆠 elamtu,hebrew:עֵילָם ʿēlām, Old persian:𐎢𐎺𐎩 hūja

Source: https://www.tehrantimes.com/news/489442/Amazing-archaeological-finds-dating-back-to-Elamite-era-unearthed

[redpenship]

ive re-written this fake gerald report for a fic like twenty times so im posting it here to shame myself into keeping it the same ty ty

Ever since the discovery of Angel Island two years ago, the best and brightest human researchers have travelled from across the world to explore its ruins. There is much to study: ancient murals, collapsed structures, and unique geological formations. This period of frantic research has dramatically increased our understanding of ancient Mobian civilization, earning it the nickname “The Angel Island Leap”. 

Among all the discoveries made on the island, our attempts to date the beginning of Mobian civilization have provided the most interesting results. The use of accelerator mass spectrometry—a form of radiocarbon dating—has allowed New American archaeologists to determine that some ruins existed up to 10000 years ago. We do not know exactly when Mobians evolved into their current form, but we do know they have a history of civilization nearly as long as ours. 

Obviously, this discovery was exciting for anthropologists and historians. The island is a floating gold mine for their fields.

It was devastating for scientists.

The Department of Planetary Studies is well versed in the Chaos Energy Crisis. However, since it is my understanding that this report will be shared with the Special Committee on Current Civilizations, I will attempt to explain it using layman terms.

The Chaos Energy Crisis has shaken physicists around the world. Its impact on the field of study is felt even at the high school level, where fundamental laws of physics are being challenged by the crisis. The law most challenged is the law of conservation of energy. This is for a simple reason: energy can now be created in closed systems. 

Members of the Committee have probably experienced kitchen troubles in their homes. As an example, ovens now have a tendency to rise rapidly in temperature and burn any food inside. This occurs because transfers of energy (in the case of an oven, the transfer from electrical energy to thermal/heat energy) are potentially subject to random increases in energy. Chaos Energy quite literally inserts itself into your oven and blasts your food with large volumes of heat energy. 

Why is this a crisis? Any technology dependent on energy transfers now operates at a failure rate of 37%. Our research tools are unreliable, and repeated experiments now vary greatly in results. We are entirely dependent upon mathematical models for our research. Until the Chaos Energy problem is solved, science will remain locked in its current state. Our fields can no longer develop.

Now that the Committee understands the issue, they will surely sympathize with our mass disappointment at the discoveries made on Angel Island. As you know, there are three general stages of societal development: preagricultural society, agricultural society, and industrial society. Mobians appear to have existed in the agricultural stage with little to no technological advancement for a very long time. At first, we believed the reasons for this to be purely cultural: industrial development requires the exploitation of natural resources, which is something strictly prohibited by Mobian cultural norms. Sans human intervention, it is possible that they never would have advanced to the next stage. This theory of development assumes that they were kept in place by self-imposed rules. 

Thanks to our discoveries on Angel Island, we know that is no longer the case. Murals on the island depict powerful clans that were comfortable with wiping away forests to build cities, as well as hierarchical political structures unseen in most modern Mobian tribes. In the ruins, we have found remnants of aqueduct systems, complex agricultural infrastructure, and even metal fragments that resemble a crude steam engine. The many great ancient clans from Angel Island and the Mystic Ruins were on the cusp of major technological breakthroughs—they just never made it. 

The reason for this is simple: Chaos Energy interference prevented them from achieving this breakthrough. Much like our science, their society was locked in place—progressing to the next stage was impossible. 

All of this has grave implications for humanity. I am not an economist, a sociologist, or whoever might be expected to make my next observation. However, I will still include it in this report because I believe it to be important. 

Our current international economy is dependent upon constant development. Future capital is found in new technology such as weapons, information systems, and consumer electronics. Many of our industries are dependent upon continuous technological advancement for long-term gains. Our society functions based on the expectation that the future will bring good things to us. 

Chaos Energy interference has made technological advancement impossible. When the news breaks, I expect that we will enter a economic recession of horrific proportions. But it will not only be our economy that slows to a stop—it will be our civilization, too. 

If there is a stage of development beyond industrial society, Chaos Energy has ensured that we will not reach it. 

We are stuck. 

[laughterbynight]

White Sands

A Link to the Washington Post article for those who want it AND the actual findings, though the paper is behind lock and key because of course.

For those who aren't up to speed the findings at white sand place humans in the americas far earlier that previously supposed by archaeologists. As you might imagine there's still plenty of bias and racism lurking and the primary reason for resisting the possibility that humans were here earlier is that it would mean changing everything once believed and throwing out old models which...is what you should be doing if the evidence points elsewhere.

Indigenous folks have always argued this point but again, western science rarely allows for indigenous people to be seen as credible sources in their own history.

Paulette Steeves, an Indigenous archaeologist and a professor at Algoma University, has compiled a database of the evidence for earlier human presence in the Americas. She said that the White Sands find is only one strand in a growing body of evidence that people were in the Americas much earlier than archaeologists long believed. “Think about the rest of the world [and] how much our understanding of human evolution has grown and been informed due to more archaeological work in the advancement of sciences. However, in the Americas, it has remained static,” Steeves said. “When it comes to adding Indigenous voices and expanding the time frame for Indigenous peoples in the Americas, there is still a lot of racism and bias in American archaeology.”

On the other end we have Rachal who is pretty representative of your average archeologist arguing against any and all evidence of earlier human existence.

“You’re talking about a potential paradigm shift regarding the peopling of North America,” said David Rachal, a geoarchaeology consultant who was also critical of the original study and remains skeptical of the new one. “We have good models to say when people showed up and got on the scene. If it pushes back, it will upset everything we think we know.”

We have a good model that would change with new evidence is NOT a good reason to ignore the signs that previous theories on the subject are looking more and more inaccurate as time goes on.

[bardbattledhasmoved]

❛  you  sound  like  you’re  having  fun  already .  ❜        ♡        @lokadottr​.

❝ oh, you have no idea. ❞   she can’t help but laugh, hands curling around her bottle as she directs her voice towards the phone lying on the table. it’s so nice to hear torvi’s voice. she’s been off the radar for the last four days which isn’t very surprising. the signal at her site had been terrible to begin with and she’s supposed to be up to her ears in work... but she’s not at the site, and she’s not excavating. no, she’s having a drink in spain, reserving this table for a man she’s known for less than 48 hours while he finds them something to eat. after this, they’ll check into their hotel, get some sleep, and continue pursuing the looted mayan artifacts jared’s devoted to retrieving. supposedly one of them is some majorly cursed mask. she can’t begin to understand his obsession with it, but the inexplicable occurrences so far  ( which she doesn’t intend to fill torvi in on yet )  have brought her all the way here, so that’s something.   ❝ so, i’m... actually not in a field in wales. i’m in spain. ❞

[unsteals]

❝ it sounds like we’re here for the same thing. ❞   which prompts the question of how the other had gotten onto the artifact’s trail. layla doesn’t think she’s a criminal here to steal this previously-stolen object, but she herself isn’t... alright, legally she’s a criminal, but morally she’s sound.  according to her code at least.  she doesn’t know if she can trust a stranger, but she’s willing to listen.

@libraryguarded​.

[ncityrave]

Playing God: Chapter 2

Pairing: Vampire!Lee Jeno x Archaeologist!Reader Genre: Vampire!AU, Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Slow Burn, Humor, Angst. Rating: M Word Count: 8k

Chapter Synopsis: There's something hiding deep within the walls of a castle in the chilly mountains of Austria and it's brought Jeno back down a path he'd been running away from for so long.

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, and dark magic. Profanity. Sexual innuendos. (Another plot-heavy chapter, I swear this is the last one in a while dsjakdhakd)

Taglist: @sunbaekery, @kaja2016, @nominsgirl, @ncitylover, @thejeongjaehyun @jungwooisms, @kkakkdugi, @m1ss-foodi3, @neomorning, @neoboyoftheweek, @lovejustlikemob, @nicolemolina03-blog.

Previous Chapter | Series Masterpost | Next Chapter

Wooden cabins hardly protected anyone from the chilly air. Layers of clothing made a feeble attempt to keep you warm, and Sooyoung took almost every opportunity to make you aware of your chattering teeth and trembling fingertips. Yet another field day had passed in the blink of an eye with nothing more than dirty hands and sore legs to show for—and a frown on your face as well. Walking into the office, you all but collapsed onto the desk, papers strewn across in a heap of indecipherable information.

It’s been weeks since the project began, and you were starting to get frustrated over the lack of developments—more for yourself than the insane amount of funding afforded to your team. There were only so many excuses you could make before they’d pull the plug on the operation altogether.

The problem was you had an idea of what you were looking for, but couldn't really pinpoint exactly what it was. It wasn't the hundreds of vampire and demon remains hidden under concrete and dirt, sedimented after hundreds of years of neglect. Nor was it the books filled with spells of darkness left to rot in their libraries.

“Frozen vampire!” Ryujin had screamed joyfully on the first day.

In the forests of Romania, remnants of Count Dracula’s castle were found years ago. But the castle itself was nowhere in sight. It was an ugly thing, so you’ve been told. A twisted, metal structure with towers protruding in different directions like claws on a wild beast. It was one of the first sites you'd ever worked on. Months of digging through quadrants, studying the stratigraphy of the trenches, and whining about coming up with nothing. Then, at the last possible minute, something valuable was discovered: a key.

Chipped off around the edges, barely the size of your palm with a strange design along its bow. But something. At first, the team thought it was the usual key any normal person with a house would use, but it's carbon dating revealed it dated back around Dracula’s war. The Immortal War. It was the first tangible vestige of an erased past. Not a story passed by mouth or a conspiracy made up by some lunatic who took one class in history and decided to name themself a scholar. The months of having to nurse muscle pain was definitely worth the trouble.

You thought coming to Carmilla’s castle would provide answers, given she was one of Dracula’s generals. Maybe a matching lock or more keys like it. But no matter how many keyholes you had a go at, the familiar clicking of the lock never sounded. Something was missing, this much you knew. It was like assembling a puzzle without even knowing what picture was supposed to be formed.

Suddenly, a knock sounded from the door and Sooyoung peeped in. “The center called and—,” she noticed the scowl on your face, “you're upset.” Quickly, she sat across from you.

“You would be too if Wendy kept asking for updates...and you always wind up with none,” you replied, head leaning against the headrest.

“Hey,” Sooyoung mumbled, her hand coming up to squeeze your fingers. “It's part of the job. We don't all get to have cool adventures escaping booby traps like Indiana Jones.”

“Ugh, those movies are such horrible representations of archaeology. I wish I carried a whip around with me and not animal poop or dead bugs half the time.” Sooyoung laughed out, throwing her head back.

“You'd be about 10% scarier, if we're being honest. Although…I’d like to see you whip Jungwoo’s mouth shut for sure.”

Your eyes rolled at the mention of his name, scowl deepening. “He never shuts up!”

Kim Jungwoo was to you a colleague from the research center and a thorn in your side. He’d been quite vocal about the little progress made, but you were half sure it was because you were assigned site supervisor instead of him. He always did like to treat this as a competition rather than an actual job. You would wonder how he’s managed to keep his job, but he was a great archaeologist as much as he was a great nuisance.

“Don't get me started, the other day he refused to help me with this one trench ‘cause he said he knew we weren't going to find anything anyway. Can you believe that?” she gossiped. “I wanted to stick my pickaxe up his ass.”

Sooyoung lets out a snort. It was remarkably unladylike. You couldn’t help but join her amusement, completely thrown off by her rash declaration. Her eyes crinkled with laughter like yours, giggling at her unprofessionalism.

“I'll make sure to leave that out of the report,” you said laughingly. Clearing your throat, you sat back up straight. “You mentioned the center called?”

She took a beat before answering. “Oh, yeah! Apparently, someone’s coming down here in a few days. Something about underworld-related investigations.”

“Investigations? Isn't an excavation site the last place to be looking for new evidence?”

“Beats me. They just told me to inform you. Don't shoot the messenger.” She brought her hands up as if to admit defeat.

“Now I have to deal with that!” you said dramatically, plopping yourself on the desk in an exhausted heap. Like anyone working under stress-inducing situations, there were only so many inconveniences you could take on your plate before breaking and it showed.

Sooyoung watched, a sympathetic look in her eyes as she rounded the desk and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. I have two hands for two pickaxes if ever you need my help.”

You reached a hand up to smooth over her own, shoulders shaking as you chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, but I don’t think Wendy would approve.”

Sooyoung stepped back, making her way towards the door with her gaze still lingering on you. “I’ll be in my room if ever you need me. Don’t stay up late tonight,” she said pointedly, “you look like one of the bodies we end up uncovering whenever you do.”

Sparing her a smile, you nodded and waved her goodbye. “I promise.”

Later in the night, you were still in the same spot you were when Sooyoung left you, scanning the reports, documents, pictures and any other little pieces retrieved from the site until an ache pounded against your temple. You weren’t sure if it was fatigue or disillusion, but the images were starting to morph into each other, words turning into floating black wiggles in the air. Perhaps Sooyoung was right: you needed as much sleep as you could get at this point.

You couldn’t fight the feeling that there was something nibbling at your consciousness, an itch that would not go away. Annoyed, you flipped through the scattered documents once more, hoping you missed something the first time only to come out just as empty-handed as before.

“I’m going mad. I’m trying to see things that aren’t there,” you said to the room. “It's cabin fever!”

Slumping back down on your chair, your eyes wandered over to your watch. Half past ten and nearly everyone else was already fast asleep. The cabin had been quiet for quite some time, save for the whistling of the wind by your frosted windows. Deciding to save the frustration for the next day, you gathered back the papers in a disorganized mess and set the pile aside. With the table cleared, you nearly made your way to your room until you caught sight of a small, brown notebook. Mindlessly, you reached out for the leather hardback.

From years of use, its corners were curled, pages worn out from use, but intact nonetheless. What used to be taut leather had deep, wrinkled grooves on its front and back like a deep canyon. And it was filled with discoveries and stories about the supernatural—vampires, demons, witches, mages, Forgemasters. Think of anything you can associate with dark magic. In its pages, a little collection of what your race knew before creatures of the night went underground. It wasn’t just any database. The old thing in your hands held with it sentimental value that could never be found anywhere else because it was your father’s, and he’d gifted it to you before he passed.

Historians joked a lot about wishing they could meet the dead people they studied, but as a scholar of vampire antiquity, your father had reason to take the punchline to heart. Your only wish was that he would get to be by your side throughout this project, but you’ve made peace with his passing—or at least tried to. Perhaps in continuing his work, he still lived.

Flipping through the pages filled with paintings of the ancient beings, you're once again lost in the stories. Profiles of nearly every ancient vampire known to have participated in the Immortal War greet you in a brew of thick, black ink. On its first pages: the Council of Sisters, the war council responsible for the Bloody Conquest. Each sister played their role with utmost perfection.

Morana, the administrative expert of the bunch. A tan, tall, blue-eyed vampire who’d walked the earth the longest out of them all. The years under her belt were proven quite beneficial as her expertise and knowledge of past civilizations kept Styria running on clockwork. After the war, she disappeared along with her lover, Striga.

Striga was the largest and tallest of them. Humans and vampires alike cowered before her stormy, green eyes. Like a wild beast, she liked to keep her hair unkempt. But then again, physical attributes may not be of much interest to Striga when she was too busy running the violent military forces of Styria. She was a sister to the Council, slayer to the rest of the world.

Lenore, the most diplomatic of the four, had an air of innocence that could fool anyone. Bright auburn hair framed her pale skin, and her red eyes glowed menacingly despite her petite frame. Lenore was patient, often seducing her targets before striking.

Finally, Carmilla, the grand orchestrator of their war’s dark symphony. The vampirette carried herself with an air of sophistication and elegance. She was quite beautiful, but the woman hid a raging storm behind her calm demeanor.

Profiles of their generals appeared on the next pages.

Lee Yongqin

Species: Vampire Ethnicity: Chinese Role in the Immortal War: General sent to annex southern China Other Known Abilities: Shape-shifting Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Rumored to go by “Ten”

Lee Taeyong

Species: Vampire Ethnicity: Korean Role in the Immortal War: General assigned to handle eastern Korea Other Known Abilities: Hypnosis Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Co-council of The Brotherhood

Nakamoto Yuta

Species: Vampire Ethnicity: Japanese Role in the Immortal War: General responsible for the fall of the Ashikaga Shogunate Other Known Abilities: Electrokinesis, exceptional swordsmanship Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Disappeared after the war, allegiance unknown

Kim Doyoung

Species: Dhampir Ethnicity: Korean Role in the Immortal War: Carmilla’s central general in the East Other Known Abilities: Dark magic practitioner and a highly-skilled war strategist Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Head of The Brotherhood

Lee Jeno

Species: Vampire Ethnicity: Korean Role in the Immortal War: General in the East alongside Kim Doyoung Other Known Abilities: Highly-skilled war strategist and combat soldier Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Allegedly conspired to kill Carmilla of Styria

There wasn't much documentation on the generals. Gone were their tales and faces as soon as the war ended. Even the most important, Kim Doyoung and Lee Jeno, disappeared without any paintings recovered or documented. Most tales passed on through generations claimed them to be handsome men who both fell for one of Carmilla’s confidants, Joan of Styria. There wasn't much narrative to the convoluted love story, but from what you gathered it was quite tragic. Joan loved Jeno the most out of the two, but died by the end of the war—for reasons unknown to you. You wondered if Lee Jeno still mourned after all these years—if he was still alive to even mourn in the first place.

Shutting the notebook closed, you aimlessly tossed it back onto the table. It ended up shoving an envelope to the floor, sending pictures taken of the site flying across your carpet.

Great, you thought.

Forcing yourself out of the seat, you kneeled and gathered back the photographs in your arms. You would eventually need to go through them soon and see what was worth studying further: the decayed remains of flesh or dinnerware deep in the ground, large arches that led to even larger rooms, the carvings along the walls of an old study.

The carvings along the walls of an old study?

You paused, staring at the photograph. Those carvings…you'd seen them before.

Quickly, you got to your feet. The photo was held tightly in one hand, a laptop in the other, and you rushed to Sooyoung’s room.

“Sooyoung!” you called, knuckles rapping against her door, echoing through the hall. “Park Sooyoung! Open up!”

The door flew open, revealing your disheveled friend, face twisted in a sneer. Ryujin sat up from her bed behind her, eyes squinted with sleep.

“Are you trying to wake up the whole damn cabin?” she scolded, tugging you inside. Her annoyance doesn't faze you as you plonk the laptop down on her table before pulling up a photograph of a key—the one found at the ruins of Dracula’s castle.

“Look,” you said breathlessly, pointing to the screen.

“I am.”

Ryujin got up, dragging herself over to the both of you. “What's going on?”

“It's the key, right? The one we retrieved in Romania.” Sooyoung nodded. “Okay, now look at this,” you continued, showing them the photographs of the study.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” She wasn't having it, looking at you with a hand on her hip. Maybe interrupting her sleep wasn't the best idea and waiting until the morning would've worked as fine, if not more.

Ryujin didn’t share the same irritation for you, observing both pictures until something clicked in her mind. “Wait,” she said, “zoom in.”

Sooyoung looked over at her with furrowed eyebrows, sleepiness slowly dissipating. You zoomed in, enhancing the image of the key’s bow, the characters coming up on the laptop much clearer.

“They're…the same…,” Ryujin said in a hushed tone. Her gaze tossed between a disbelieving Sooyoung and your jittery frame, waiting for any of you to confirm her suspicions. Sooyoung locked eyes with you.

“That wasn’t a design,” Sooyoung said. “The carvings—they’re a message…they’re words?”

“Get up early tomorrow, we’re gonna go check.”

Fire crackled by the copper mantle, a weak illumination flickering across the otherwise dismal room. Moonlight barely pierced the thick curtains, a lone slice of silver seeping through, shining against the wood floors. The clock’s ticking was Jeno’s only companion; even then, he watched its hands move with about as much regard as a goldfish. He toyed at the silk handkerchief by his lap, the pads of his fingers gliding across the worn-out fabric.

When midnight finally struck, the ancient grandfather clock sounded off, a worn out wooden bird popping out of its casing. The doors flew open and in walked Donghyuck, a sweet smile plastered on his face. He skipped towards Jeno, holding an obscure box in his hands.

“Happy turn-day!” he greeted, shoving a cake that comically resembled a vampire into Jeno’s lap—the kind made for children’s parties. Jeno raised his eyebrows in surprise, fighting the urge to laugh. Donghyuck caught the twitching of his lips either way.

“Ever since you started going out with mortals, you've become increasingly more insufferable,” Jeno half joked, swiping his finger on the frosting and bringing it to his tongue. “Hmm, buttercream…my favourite.”

“I'll take that as a compliment for my expertise as a baker.” Donghyuck found his place on the couch parallel to Jeno.

“Please, since when did you know how to bake?”

“Around the time you decided sulking in this drab study of yours was the most interesting thing in the world—which was the moment we moved here.”

“I go out of my study,” Jeno said, albeit defensively. “This isn’t the only place I like to spend my time in.”

“Whatever you say,” Donghyuck teased, slipping a flask of blood out from his inside pocket and bringing it to his lips.

Jeno often thought he should have never told Donghyuck about the day he was turned since he had a knack for turning sob stories into something more amusing—if not for Jeno, for himself. Turn-day. Who in their right mind would celebrate the day they were drained of life and turned into a creature of nightmares? Lee Donghyuck, apparently. Although Jeno could admit that the boy knew how to drive him up the wall just enough to make his otherwise miserable life the least bit lively.

He studied Donghyuck from his seat, the glow from the mantle casting a warm hue across his face. There was something melancholic about the way the flames danced across his skin, bringing to attention the blemishes and beauty marks that dotted his boyish features like galaxies and constellations in a plain, smooth abyss. At that moment, protectiveness started blooming in Jeno’s chest.

Nearly seven hundred years alive. Six hundred of them were by Donghyuck’s side, and yet Jeno never liked to admit to him that nightmares of what could have happened the night they fled from their war camp plagued his slumber. Their heads on two pointy pikes outside the camp’s borders, looming over those who dared to cross the annexed terrain. Jeno watching as Donghyuck is burnt at the stake, thrashing and screaming for someone to help him.

“You’re doing it again,” Donghyuck observed.

“Doing what?”

“Ruminating. You have that glossed over look in your eyes and you’re scrunching your nose like you always do when you’re troubled.”

“I don’t scrunch my nose.” Jeno said, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Tell me, Jeno.” He leaned against the cushions, hands clasped by his lap. “What are the thoughts running in that seven hundred year old mind of yours that you refuse to confess to even me, your friend you’ve known longer than most countries have existed?”

Many. Too many for even Jeno to compass. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“So, there’s nothing going on up there? It’s just…empty?” There’s that familiar mocking tone that laced his voice and Jeno fought the urge to shove the cake in his face. Luckily for Donghyuck, the doors opened wide once more and Jaemin sauntered in, Minhyung and Renjun trailing closely behind.

“Happy turn-day,” Jaemin repeated, a fanged smile creeping onto his face. “Popped open the bottle of virgin’s blood just for you.”

“You know how I feel about human blood,” Jeno groaned. Ever since the war, it’s been strictly animal blood for Jeno. Nowadays, synthetic blood was also an option. Both didn’t have that lively kick that human blood had, but they kept Jeno strong and healthy and that was enough.

“Oh, quit your whining and just live a little, you corpse!” Jaemin walked over to the windows, sweeping the heavy curtains wide open, letting in the moonlight’s luminescence. He scooted over by Jeno’s side. Jeno shifted with the lack of space, raising the cake in the air so his overzealous friend doesn’t end up sitting on it. Minhyung collapsed next to Donghyuck, Renjun silently finding his place on the couch alongside them.

“You're 700 years old and more worried about the source of your blood rather than just accepting my fine gift,” Jaemin said, legs draped over an ottoman. Jeno remained silent.

“Don't worry about it being ‘virgin’s’ blood; we all know it just means the human doesn't have any vices. God knows Jaemin would gladly play with anything that walks, talks, and has a hole,” Minhyung butted in. Jaemin lets out a sharp gasp, narrowing his eyes.

“You act like you weren't that walking, talking hole at one point,” he tossed back, looking at his former lover straight in the face.

“And why do you think it only happened once?” The two bickered on, eyes giving off playful frustration for one another

“Enough, the two of you. I'd rather enjoy my cake without images of your past endeavors being thrown at me,” Jeno sighed, a hand coming to rub at his temples. He got to his feet and walked towards the fireplace, wanting to avoid their exchange altogether

“That makes two of us,” Renjun finally quipped. It seemed that he had to endure their quarreling all alone on their way there and the way Renjun’s shoulders hunched into him was telling of how much he didn’t want that to happen again. He looked up at Jeno, eyes growing wide. “Can I have a piece of that cake?”

Jeno waved him over. Renjun shuffled across the room, cheerfully clapping his hands together as Jeno reached out to offer him a bite.

“Oh, buttercream!” Renjun’s pupils blew wide from the sugar, a toothy smile on his face. Vampires obviously didn’t need regular food, but that didn’t make them miss the one constantly good thing about being a human: the flavors. Blood was always so salty and thick—unless it was a virgin's blood.

“Donghyuck made this. You should tell him when your turn-day is and he’ll probably bake you one too.”

“I don’t remember my turn-day that much,” Renjun said sullenly, corners of his lips downturned.

Jeno froze, fearing he struck a chord he didn’t even know was there. Renjun’s timidness was something Jeno feared circumnavigating. Renjun was a skilled swordsman, one of the oldest in their pack. He fought in the war—and eventually by Jeno’s side—with skill, bravery, and valor. But Renjun was also a great mystery, not many have been able to learn much about his life before the war.

Minhyung’s voice rang into the room before Jeno could apologize.

“Donghyuck? Don't you go by Haechan now?” The one in question rolled his eyes, taking a pillow in his hands and whacking it across Minhyung’s face.

“Oh, quite funny, Mark.”

Any other day, Jeno would have wordlessly walked out of the room to some place with less…them. But this time, he watched the two go at each other, Jaemin coming in to referee their petty fight as Renjun laughed until the apples of his cheeks ballooned. Jeno sometimes forgets that despite having lived far too long, his friends were exactly what they looked like: twenty-something year old boys who were thrusted into a world they never wanted in—with the maturity to match. So, he’ll let them squabble and tease and badger if that means they can pretend they were the least bit normal even if it were for just a few moments. A tiny drop in their ocean of immortality.

Suddenly, the doors swung open and crashed against the adjacent walls. The five stopped altogether, turning their attention to the two silhouettes framed by the entrance.

“Jisung! Chenle! How awfully convenient of you to finally join us.” Jaemin jumped from his seat, arms outstretched.

The two walked in, barely trying to match Jaemin’s enthusiasm. Jisung struggled to hide his distaste when Jaemin approached him with puckered lips. After a struggle, Jaemin lets him go—not without a playful shove on the shoulder. Chenle’s a little bit more aloof, striding towards Jeno with a determination that had him reeling.

“We need to talk.” It's not a request, but a demand.

“What is it?” Jeno asked in a murmur once Chenle was right in front of him. The others watched them carefully, waiting for Chenle to speak. He looked around, mentally debating whether he should continue. Minhyung caught on to his internal struggle, speaking up for the rest of the room.

“Anything you need to say to Jeno, you can say in front of us too.”

“Yeah, just tell us,” Donghyuck added with a shrug of his shoulders.

Chenle gulped, gaze wavering. Eventually, he relented. “Our intel in Austria has been…silent for quite some time now. Before they stopped communicating with me, they mentioned seeing strange carvings that they thought would be our concern.”

“And what does that have to do with us?” Jeno asked, chewing on some cake.

“It could be vandals. Thrill-seekers looking for a scare. Again,” Donghyuck joked.

“It's something much more complicated than that.”

“What do you mean?” Renjun pressed, eyebrows knitted together. Confusion filled the sullen room.

Chenle retrieved a manila folder from his jacket sleeve and tossed it onto the table, urging them to look inside. Minhyung raised an eyebrow before flipping the seal open, sliding out a thick pile of newly printed photographs. He picked one of the images up, eyes going wide before they moved to Jeno.

“It’s…it’s Carmilla’s castle.” Minhyung handed the photo over to Jeno.

If Jeno was shaken by the mention of her name, he doesn’t show it. As expected, the old ruins are seen on the page, worn down by time. Despite the overgrowth and snow, he could clearly make out the familiar staircase, court, and stained windows he used to call home. Jaemin leaned forward to take another image in his fingers and sucked in a breath, lowering his hand to show his friend the photograph. Menacing carvings lined the archways and podiums, curving upwards. They varied in size and placement, but were written with similar strokes. There’s a sick feeling that settled in Jeno’s gut, uneased by the sight.

“What do you suggest this means?” Jaemin asked, looking up to the rest of the room.

Chenle’s eyes shook. “I don’t know, but it can’t be anything good.”

Donghyuck sighed, running a finger along his lip. “We should wait until that intel of yours comes back before making any drastic decisions. Like what I said, vandals are a thing and ruins are wonderful places to deface, paint over, and poke at until something remotely supernatural happens. We don’t need to get ahead of ourselves.”

“He’s right and I’m sure human authorities can handle this before we meddle. Heavens know they hate it whenever we try to butt in,” Renjun added.

“I don’t think human authorities have the expertise to handle this,” Chenle said, barely over a whisper. Reaching down, he sifted through the pile of photographs. Once he found what he was looking for, he snatched it with his fingers and placed it in Jeno’s open palm.

Jeno looked over dubiously before taking the glossy paper in his hands. Eyes scanned the pixelated image, spotting red ink circling over one point. He brought it closer—close enough to catch the profile of a tall, pale man with pointy ears and red eyes. The man smiled in the photograph, putting on display a pair of razor-sharp canines just like his own.

The man was Kim Doyoung.

“He’s been seen around in Austria lately. You’re right, maybe it isn’t the Brotherhood, but we have enough reason to worry that perhaps it is,” Chenle explained, regarding Donghyuck.

Heaviness casted over Jeno, worming its way into his bones. He nibbled at his cheek and with every little detail Chenle revealed, the taste of his own blood coated along his palette until the cake’s sweetness vanished. It was foolish for Jeno to believe that this time wouldn’t come. Centuries of near-silence, there was a storm coming and he didn't know if he was ready to face its winds. Six pairs of eyes watched him closely, moonlight shimmering across his pensive features.

Minhyung was the first to break the silence. “What do you think?”

Jeno’s fist tightened around the handkerchief. After a beat, he looked up at them. “Let me take care of this.”

“You better have a good reason for having me work on a weekend,” Jungwoo grunted.

“I'll shove some reason up your ass—,” Sooyoung started, walking up to Jungwoo with the pickaxe by her side. Frantically, you reached out and grabbed her back beside you.

“Behave!”

“Once. Just let me do it once,” she practically begged. Ryujin held down a laugh.

“I agree. Once is enough to get the message across,” Minghao added, huffing from the large bag of equipment mounted to his back.

“And it's enough to get in trouble, too, so listen to her when she says no,” Seungcheol lectured. His tone was authoritative as he says this and you silently thank him for helping you keep your friends in check. Besides, the last thing you needed was having to spend energy mediating work conflict.

Sleep was not something you achieved the night before, not when a discovery was right at your fingertips. In the morning, you immediately informed your other colleagues of the carvings and insisted on checking it as soon as possible. Something sculpted into stone wasn't going away any time soon, but so wasn't your excitement.

“Don't worry, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we all get to rest,” you reassured, struggling to balance with the sheen of ice now making the path slippery. Winter was just around the corner and soon enough the project would need to be postponed lest you all risk getting caught in a blizzard storming the Austrian alps. All the more reason to check those strange carvings.

Metal scaffoldings lined the limestone walls and ceilings deep inside the excavation site. There’s barely any light, not with thick, grey clouds filling the sky above and blocking the sun. So, you adjusted the headlamp on your forehead and continued walking into the castle.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Jungwoo asked and you fought the urge to sigh.

“There are carvings along the archway to the study and they’re similar to the ones on the key we found in Romania. Maybe they're the same language…or at least akin.” The shuffling of booted feet on the debris-covered floor bounced along the walls, echoing all around you.

“It's over there.” Seungcheol pointed ahead of him, leading the group towards a curved opening around thrice his height. Hurriedly, you caught up to his larger strides. At the foot of the entrance, you craned your neck skyward, mouth agape at the sheer size of it. Its aged walls were caked with dust, mold, and a dark crust that vaguely resembled dried blood. The sight made your skin crawl. You wasted no time walking up to the scaffolding, holding on to the banister and climbing up even as the steps trembled with your rushed footsteps.

“Careful!” You heard Minghao call out.

Once you reached the top, you brought a hand to adjust the headlamp. At a much larger size, you could better study the harsh lines that made up the writings. They were spiky, sharp, and didn’t resemble any other ancient scripts you knew of. They were the kind anyone would find difficult to decipher. What was strange was that the carvings also looked to be recent. It didn’t look greyed from time, nor did it crack around the edges or seem dull like Egyptian hieroglyphics. Grabbing a glove from your pocket, you quickly slipped it onto your hand before running your fingers along the fringes of the markings. They’re jagged—time hadn't worn them out yet.

“What?” you breathed, confusion and disappointment turbulent in your mind.

Ryujin called you before you could dwell any longer. “You’re gonna want to see this!”

You spared the carvings one last puzzled glance before joining them back on the ground. The rest of them were scattered throughout the grand room, necks stretching upwards. When you followed their gazes, you noticed multiple carvings like the one on the archway lining the walls of the study. Stepping forward, you examined them closely.

Jagged, like the ones outside.

“This doesn’t make any sense…,” you said in disbelief.

“Vandals or looters,” Jungwoo pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What would they know about ancient languages?” you bit back, pacing around the room.

“I don’t know, would you like to ask them?”

For a fleeting moment, Seungcheol glared at Jungwoo. As his gaze moved back to your troubled expression, his face softened. “Are you sure they’re the same?”

“Positive. Ask Ryujin—they’re the same, okay? I know…I could tell the moment I saw the photographs.”

“Doc, it wouldn’t make sense that they’re so new…,” Minghao said.

“I know. I can’t wrap my head around this either.”

“Has Yeri confirmed what kind of language is on the key?”

You looked up at Minghao, biting your lip nervously. You don’t answer right away. “No…no. She hasn’t gotten back to me, yet.”

Minghao smiled at you empathetically. “We can wait until then, and then come back here.”

Sooyoung stepped forward, catching the way your hands wrung together. “I’m sorry, but they’re right.”

“We would’ve been warned—or at least found out about them by now.” Dragging a palm over your face, you sighed heavily.

In all your years working, excavating, analysing, you’d never encountered vandals so attuned with the writings of the past. Normally, angry red warnings spray painted on the caves and walls would greet you and you’d simply laugh at the lame attempt to drive out your team. These were not warnings, but it was definitely out of the ordinary.

Silence. Wind cut into the corners, whistling throughout the hall. You racked your mind for any other explanation, perhaps an apology for dragging them all the way up there on a Saturday, but nothing comes up.

Bae Joohyun’s home sat at the outskirts of Seoul, away from the metropolitan and—more importantly—the people. The witch didn't like to meddle and talking was her least favorite activity. If she could help it, she'd rather live the rest of her days with the four calico cats she comically named North, South, East, and West. It’s worth noting that she gets them wrong half the time.

Unfortunately for her, Jeno didn't feel like entertaining her solitary wishes. He'd heard stories about her from fays and mages. Joohyun was a powerful witch and perhaps the only one who could help him.

“What do you want?” she sneered, looking at Jeno through the tiny slit on her door.

“May I come in?” Jeno calmly asked.

“This isn't some shop you can waltz into whenever you feel like it. This is a home. Now, tell me what your intentions are…vampire.” Repulsion dripped from her words. Joohyun wasn’t fazed by his presence, unlike many others who would gladly bend to their knees. “Did you come here to taunt me? Because I know a great deal about methods to drive nosey bloodsuckers away.”

“No, I come with a request and I am willing to pay generously for it.” Jeno shoved a bag filled with gold and silver coins towards the slit. He jostled it, the currency clanging inside.

The witch laughed dryly. “Do you regard me as such a fool to be bribed by your golden nuggets or drachmas or whatever else you have in that pouch of yours?”

Taken aback, Jeno faltered. “I don't mean to bribe you, I simply need your help.”

“And why would I be interested in helping you? I don't even know who you are.”

“Will a name suffice? I'm Lee Jeno and I would like to pay for a spell,” he all but spat, irritation buzzing. He wasn't expecting Joohyun to be so difficult, most witches would gladly cast spells so long as there was something in exchange.

After seconds of silence, the witch still doesn't speak. Jeno had half the mind to curse her out, unless he wanted to come home hexed instead. So, begrudgingly, he stepped down her porch and back down the path towards his car. He supposed he could search for other witches like her who were the least bit courteous.

Then, he heard a door click.

“I've been waiting for you.”

Jeno felt incredibly out of his element. As soon as he stepped onto her porch, the odor of dark magic hit his nostrils. Now that he was inside, the scent was so pungent it made him queasy. But her home also strangely smelled of spices, herbs, catnip, and floral perfume.

Bae Joohyun barely reached his shoulders, but the witch made him cautious. Usually, dark arts practitioners were quite promiscuous or playful. Joohyun seemed cool and calculated, with eyes studying him carefully. Surprisingly, she was also beautiful. Midnight black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall shimmering in the night. The candles in her home reflected onto her fair skin, and cherry-red lips adorned her small face. Jeno made sure to keep his arms by his side so he doesn't end up knocking into anything and angering the witch. Cauldrons with thick, bubbling liquids of blues, greens, and pinks boiling inside decorated tables placed haphazardly around the entryway. Water-damaged wooden shelves lined the walls with bottles and jars of unfamiliar masses floating in murky fluid. Joohyun led Jeno, her cats meowing by his feet.

“You should've told me who you were much earlier,” she scolded, clearing her path of furniture with a wave of her fingers. “If I'd known maybe I would have let you in without a fight.”

“I'm sorry…?”

“I should've known,” she said, more to herself. “I could smell you.”

Jeno raised his eyebrows. “Smell me?”

“I know what hell smells like.”

Jeno blinked, kissing his teeth. “And what exactly is the stench of hell?”

“Depends,” she ushered him to a table, spell books strewn all over, “for some it smells like wet socks and a public toilet.” Jeno lets out a chuckle, taking a seat on a crooked chair. “On others, it smells like burning flesh.”

“And on me?”

The witch looked at him curiously. “Like a shrill, winter night...and lavenders.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

Joohyun doesn't look amused by his comment as she picks at the foxed pages of her spellbook. One of the cats leaped onto his lap, coiling into Jeno’s arms with a pur. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so he awkwardly petted its head with a heavy hand. It brought its paw to Jeno’s palm, as if telling him to stop.

“Glamour spells are deceptively easy to do, they just require a lot of energy, thus higher witches are more likely to complete one successfully,” she explained.

“What happens if it's unsuccessful?”

“Depends. If you're lucky, it just won't work. If you're not, I heard someone exploded once.”

Jeno swallowed, letting out an anxious laugh. As much as the image of his body blowing up brought a bad taste in his mouth, something told him he could trust the strange witch. Besides, glamour spells weren’t exactly something he could trust with lower level witches. With them, he’d definitely blow up. Magic wasn’t as simple as most made it out to be. Card tricks and pulling something out of your sleeve was as much about hand tricks as it was finding someone gullible enough to fall for it. It needed energy, a skill of concentrating spiritual forces that took years to master. Even those born witches still needed to practice it to perfection.

Joohyun was one of the only known elder witches who could cast glamour spells—bewitchments specifically done for creatures of the night to hide their features and avoid trouble. Trolls used them all the time, for good reason. Jeno just needed to hide away his fangs and pointed ears. Humans were already growing more cautious of his species and he didn't want to stir the pot any more by appearing at Carmilla’s ruins, fangs on full display.

“Don't look so worried. I know what I'm doing,” Joohyun reassured, climbing up a wobbly stepping stool to reach for herbs. “You wouldn't come to me if you thought otherwise.”

“I'm sure anyone would be worried if they knew exploding was a possibility.”

“Lucky for you, that isn't happening.” She stepped down, jars in her arms as she wobbled to the desk. Jeno scrunched his nose, watching the witch stir the concoction.

“Do you live all alone here?” Jeno questioned, watching the cats dash behind her. “I noticed your home is barely within 10 miles of a convenience store.”

“Why? Would you like to keep me company?” There's no sign of her inquiry being a teasing jab. In fact, her voice remained neutral.

“I just can't imagine living so long on your own.”

“My cats keep me entertained.”

“You know what I mean.��

“And why is a vampire interested in the living arrangements of a witch?”

“Immortal to immortal, we both know eternal living is quite woeful when done in solitude.” Jeno played with the gold chain around his neck. Joohyun’s eyes flickered up to him.

“Immortal to immortal, after years of being around personalities too overwhelming to handle you start to seek solitude.” Joohyun added a dash of some strange grey powder and the cauldron puffed out a tiny glittering cloud. “Besides, cats don't need attention or much conversation. More importantly, they don't try to kill you. I heard of a fay couple once around these parts who were always at each other’s necks until there wasn't much neck in the end…or heads. If you take my meaning.”

Jeno nodded. “You said you were waiting for me. For what exactly?” he probed, sitting up on the seat. It tittered under his weight.

Joohyun doesn't waste any time answering. “We've been hearing word about the Brotherhood recently. We suspected it was only a matter of time before someone from your pack heard so as well.”

Jeno’s ears perked up. “What exactly is going on with the Brotherhood?”

“Something about operations moving above ground—which we both know is strange,” she shared.

“Do you know what these operations are, by chance?”

“Like what I said, I like my solitude, so I may not be the best person to explain what's going on.” Once the bubbles settled, she grabbed a tiny glass and poured in an iridescent liquid. It moved. Not like how liquids flowed. But like a raging, new galaxy ready to rip the space-time continuum. “Although there’s one thing I am sure of.”

Joohyun’s tiny fingers placed the glass in Jeno’s much larger hand. He downed it in one go, face twisting with the nasty taste. The bitterness doesn't go away even as it travelled down his throat, settling in his stomach. It's balmy, buzzing as if it was alive and breathing. Jeno had a fleeting moment of fearing he would explode.

“And what would that be?” he grimaced, wiping at his mouth. The witch hesitated, jaw set.

“There's a creeping shift in the world…and I'm afraid it's not something only spells and magic can solve.”

The nearest airport from the excavation site was around an hour away, so it wasn't the most convenient trip to make in the middle of a winter night. When they announced you were site supervisor, you weren’t exactly expecting to be designated chauffeur to unforeseen guests too. Then again, Jungwoo would probably give off a bad impression, Ryujin didn’t know how to drive, Minghao had a mouth that could run anyone’s ear off, and Sooyoung and Seungcheol refused to budge. Hence your standing in an Austrian airport at dawn. Of all available flights, this investigator had to choose a red-eye.

With a phone pressed against your ear, you got to your tiptoes and scanned the arrival area. The carvings were all that filled your thoughts in the last few days, but you had to force yourself to forget about it for now.

“I thought his flight was supposed to be arriving by now,” you murmured sleepily into the phone.

“Sorry, he really wanted one late,” Wendy said apologetically. “I’m checking the arrivals right now, he’s probably at the baggage claim.”

“If he could deal with it a lot faster, that would be great,” you droned, a pout on your face. Wendy laughed from her side. You could almost hear her shaking her head.

“You’re doing a wonderful job, by the way.”

You smiled, but it barely reached your eyes. A snarky comment formed on your lip and as you’re about to speak, a small group of people poured into the arrival hall. Some wore puffer jackets that covered half their faces; others wore extravagant travelling outfits to make an entrance in a foreign country. They all found their friends, relatives, and chauffeurs; lugged their bags behind them, the wheels clicking against the tiled floor. Still no sign of the investigator.

Underworld-related investigations, Sooyoung had mentioned.

Since the turn of the 18th Century, humans and vampires agreed that no one could win the endless wars that ravaged the free world. In the end, they chose to live separate lives, never meddling with each other unless needed to. The Purgatory Treaty of 1789 was created specifically to make sure both sides never had a repeat of the Immortal War. The Treaty laid down the laws for how and when humans and mystical creatures would find their paths converging: legal trade, delegation of territories, protection from dark arts, and other agreements both sides benefited from. While people bustled around and made the world their own with the sun as their company, vampires liked to stay underground. It was rare for them to meet, although there have been human-vampire bars opening up lately, blurring the fine line. Some feared that would rock the boat too hard, tip the delicate balance that fought to prevent a repeat of the wars. Vampires liked teetering along that boundary, humans often crossed it. You wondered which was the reason for the visitor’s arrival.

Amidst the crowd of high-strung tourists and homesick locals, a man stood out. In your defense, it was difficult not to notice him. He walked with his back straight and head held high, towering over other passengers and passersby who stared up at him, not even trying to hide their attraction. There’s a beat to his step that gave the impression that he wasn’t here to make friends, too. A dress shirt the color of crow's feathers hugged his lean body; a pair of matching slacks fit his long legs and you wondered if he'd gotten it tailored. The fluorescent lights reflected in his sharp eyes, raven hair slicked back, and his milky white skin glowed. He scanned the crowd, spotting you, and you floundered as soon as his gaze met yours.

You were expecting someone middle-aged; maybe even some old, wrinkly gentleman who vaguely reminded you of your grandfather. You definitely were not expecting someone around your age—someone stunning. Rubbing the sleep off your face, you feebly looked down to your stained sweatpants. The shirt you haphazardly threw over your head while half-asleep was too big on your shoulders, and fitted awkwardly underneath your jacket. Early in the morning, the thought of being severely underdressed made you cower into yourself.

Unsure, you cocked your head to the side, raised an arm up and waved. He barely smiled before walking over to you. If the slight twitch of his lip was a smile at all.

“Wendy, I think I see him,” you spoke into the phone. “I’ll call you when we’re back at the cabin.”

Pocketing your phone, you strode towards him warily. The details of his features came to view the closer he got. Smooth skin dotted with beauty marks along high cheekbones. A golden chain rested on his collarbones, glinting at you. His lips were strikingly red, crescent-shaped eyes regarding you indifferently.

Oh, Wendy, you better give me a raise for this, you think to yourself.

The last thing Jeno expected upon landing was you walking up to him with authority in your stride that didn’t match your anxious eyes. You stopped in front of him, clearing your throat before sticking a hand out. “You must be the investigator Wendy told us about. I’m the site supervisor of the excavation, I’m sure they’ve informed you about me. Most people just call me ‘Doc.’”

Jeno blinked, letting go of his bag’s handle before taking your hand in his own. It’s warm. Something he hadn’t felt in quite some time. When you looked up at him, there’s a familiar flash in your eyes that strangely reminded Jeno of a lost time. A blizzard, old books, and music. His grip tightened around your much smaller hand. You inhaled sharply.

“I’m Dominic Lee.”

© NCITYRAVE. All rights reserved.

Thank you so much for reading this fanfiction! I hope you enjoyed it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Don't be afraid to send in critique or comments, it's my biggest motivation to keep writing these stories. 💖

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Diana’s child

Diana Prince x child!reader

warnings: ww84 spoilers ahead!

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Lacey! I see you're taking request for ww84, would you write HC for being Diana's child? I'm not sure you're up to HC though. Hope you have an amazing year ;)”

growing up with so many stories of your mother’s home

that and stories passed down from your grandmother

“and asteria held back mankind in order for the amazons to survive. our people shall never forget her sacrifice” -diana

“tell me another!” -you

“i can’t tell you all my stories! then what would i have left to say?” -diana, giggling as she tucked you in and gave u a kiss on the forehead :)

you had to keep her secret growing up

😔sadly you couldn’t tell everyone you had the world’s coolest mom

buuuut a mom who works at the smithsonian isn’t NOT cool

👉👈exclusive field trips at school

“y/n, can you ask your mom if i can touch that?” -classmate, pointing to a display

“i already know the answer and it’s ‘no’” -you

actually knowing a decent bit about the stuff there

and the people too!!!

“if it isn’t our archaeologist in training, how’s school going?” -mom’s coworker

“pretty well! how has it been here?” -you

“busy busy busy” -coworker

diana teaching you ✨self defense✨

you were half amazon, but you shared many of her traits

that included her speed and strength

*ahem* and badassery

“okay, y/n. you are much stronger than your friends, but they cannot know that. you must be careful not to hurt anyone by mistake or show them how powerful you are” -diana

“so i can’t give my friends piggy back rides?” -you

“i would advise against it, just in case” -diana, chuckling

on your first try against a punching bag

you uh. destroyed the punching bag

“uh...we’ll work on that, yeah?” -diana

“i can’t lie, mother, that was pretty cool” -you

she opened up about steve to you and only you

“he gave me this watch right before he...he saved the world. i wish you could have met him” -diana

“he sounded brave. and really sweet. i mean, at least you got to know him” -you

“that’s true, my love. i am very lucky to have known him for what little time i had, i will cherish it forever” -diana

you were very wise at times. and she enjoyed learning what it was like for her mother to raise her

and although she felt guilty making you hide your true self from the world, you understood that it was necessary

you were not able to grow up as free as she did, but you assured her that it was not a bother at all

you guys totally go on “lunch dates” on saturdays because life does get busy for the both of you and you guys make time to catch up

you tease her when there’s sightings of a woman saving the day

“busy day of work, mother?” -you

“what can i say? i can’t keep myself away from the action” -diana

“when will you let me get a piece of the action?” -you

“your time will come, y/n” -diana

dont let me forget that your mom is super affectionate!!!! (as long as you’re comfortable with it ofc)

kisses and hugs and little notes and alway fixing your hair and cupping ur face just cuz she wants to see her baby!!!!!

oh also!! you can go out whenever you want really because she trusts you to come home on time and knows you can hold your own

“going to see star wars with some friends, mom!! see you in a few hours!” -you

“no problem, do you need money for your ticket or snacks?” -diana

“all taken care of! love you!” -you

“i love you too” -diana

and then stuff got really weird!!! weirder***

starting with the gala that your mom had to go to, you got the house to yourself

it wasn’t all that spectacular really but that’s what happened

meanwhile......

*after meeting steve again* “oh, gosh! i have to call my child and let them know that i’m not coming home tonight!” -diana

“w-what? you have a kid?!” -steve

ngl your mom did not want you to have ANY part of the dreamstone stuff

but she also did not want to leave you alone so ye you had to go to cairo with her and steve but you were really happy to meet steve

“your mom told me that you like history” -steve

“some of it. i do like her history though, i can only hope to see where she comes from one day” -you

“well, i accidentally crashed into themyscira, maybe you will, too” -steve

“wait...you found themyscira on accident??” -steve

“don’t get any ideas, y/n” -diana

“but now we have an invisible jet! it’s like this was meant to be!” -you

once your mother started losing her powers, it was your duty to step up to the plate

and you did a pretty good job for your first time hero-ing

“they remind me so much of you. that’s a good thing” -steve

“the world is not ready for them” -diana

being a pretty badass detective when it comes to max lord and the dreamstone

oh! and then meeting barbara. she was pretty cool

jk she was a lil wild ngl

and it was between defeating her and saving your mother and her first love, you knew which was more important

and your mother was proud of how responsible and caring you had become

soon enough, she did have to renounce her wish

and you had to say bye to steve

“hey kid, it was really great knowing you. i’m so glad that your mom has a kid like you, you’re gonna do great things” -steve

“and i’m glad my mom got to see you one more time, but i’m sad to see you go. goodbye steve” -you

feeling REALLY bad when your mom was crying next to u

but there was still work to be done

she had armor for you and another from asteria herself

and you two were about to get down to business

“y/n, before we go any further, i have to let you know that this is a one time thing. you will have more opportunities in the future, but after this, you should go back to normal. be a kid for as long as you can. it goes by so fast, i don’t want you to miss out on a second of it” -diana

“i know, mother. i understand” -you

clashing with max

and reminding him of the ✨child neglect✨ that he is at fault for

it was a very rough and emotional couple of minutes

but the world was.....mostly saved

it needed some time to be put back together

and you and your mother had to return to normalcy

“i’m very proud of you, y/n. one day you’ll make an excellent warrior. but you know that there’s no rush” -diana

“i know, mother. but you have to admit, we make a pretty good team” -you

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @randomfandomimagine //

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yanois - Second Impressions Can Bring Misfortune

Read Part One here, or check it out on AO3!

Though their first meeting could have gone better, Illinois might be a little fond of the mystery prisoner. Let’s just hope his famous luck doesn’t run out…

Warning: There is an instance of deadnaming under the read-more. It’s accidental, but be mindful if that might cause a little upset. (I promise this doesn’t end on a bad note)

Word Count: 2,448 (sorry, it’s four hand-written pages)

-

After his encounter with the brash prisoner, Illinois found he couldn’t get the other man out of his head. It was hardly an attraction (no, shut up! It wasn’t!), but he accepted that there was a level of interest in the unknown. Perhaps it was the prisoner’s standoffish attitude, or how he seemed utterly disinterested yet keenly focused. He didn’t heckle during the lecture, so he wasn’t there for the sole purpose of causing trouble.

But the question that plagued Illinois was painfully simple: what was the prisoner’s name? He hated how badly he wanted to know. Ah, the curse of the archaeologist - insatiable curiosity! With no starting point, Illinois took inspiration from his work and fetched his laptop to start the research.

Most prisoners were from Texas, but not all. The stranger’s accent suggested he was potentially from New York, so Illinois decided to sieve through articles that made reference to a transferral to a Texan prison first. His abundance of good luck meant that it only took an hour to find a result that was most fitting. The article was several years old and discussed the outcome of a rather tragic case. The information was put to the back of his mind - Warden Murderslaughter always said to never talk about an inmate’s crime unless they bring it up first - as Illinois instead took the important information. The photograph used of the criminal was old, but it matched. Which meant… He had a name! All he had to do was wait until the next time he was set to visit Happy Trails Penitentiary.

-

As luck would have it, he merely had to wait a week. When he wasn’t travelling as part of archaeological trips, Illinois would volunteer two Saturdays a month to teach the inmates. Unlike his history lectures, these consisted of smaller groups of prisoners undertaking a short course on several points in history; which would be rounded off with each prisoner completing a short research project on something that interested them in the course. All he needed was to put his possessions in the room he used for classes, and then he would be free to find the right prisoner if he arrived earlier than usual. The inmates followed a set schedule with minor variations depending on when their work shifts were. He had been volunteering long enough to know when one of the crossover periods would take place. It would be easy to find him!

The rec yard was fruitless, as was the library. But it was upon leaving the chow hall that Illinois spotted the man of the hour. He seemed in a hurry as the prisoner dashed toward the hall.

“Ah! Can I have a moment?” Illinois called out. The tattooed man screeched to a halt, bemused once he realised who wanted his attention. Unfortunately, no one else was around, so it had to be him. 

“Sure. Fine. What?” His eyes didn’t stay on Illinois, but instead darted to the clock.

“I know this is likely a bad time, but I’d like a chance to talk. We got off on the wrong foot last time.” Even Illinois knew it didn’t go well. “Are you free after your shift?”

“U-uh…. Yeah?” Thrown by the turn of events, it appeared the bold prisoner was willing to cooperate. “I know I’d never hear the end of it if my friends heard I refused. They’s is always singing youse’s praises. ‘Sides, second chances is always a good thing, right?” He looked as though he was about to say something else, but decided against it. Regardless, Illinois was elated.

“Excellent! In that case, I’ll be in the classroom just opposite the library until seven this evening. Call by when you’re free. Even if there’s a class going on, sit in on it anyway.” The prisoner nodded and hurried past once he knew he was dismissed. Before the other disappeared into the chow hall, Illinois belatedly realised he should be more polite about this. He guessed the other might be swallowing his pride in accepting the invitation to chat, given their first meeting. The least he could do was show some manners.

“Thank you! I look forward to chatting, █████!”

Whatever progress had been made was instantly thrown aside. The prisoner froze in the doorway. Though his back was to Illinois, the archaeologist could see that the other was rigid. It wasn’t a reaction Illinois associated with hearing one’s own name…. Unless it was a name they didn’t use anymore.

“O-oh my God, I’m so sorry, I had no -” For once, Illinois found himself stammering in a frantic attempt to get an apology out. It was to no avail, as a fistful of his shirt had been grabbed and he was slammed against the wall.

“I don’t know what sorta shit game youse is playing,” the prisoner hissed, “But if youse is gonna act like youse is better than me by being such a sly bitch…. I really wanna beat the shit outta youse, but I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“Yancy! That’s enough!” The prisoner - Yancy? - dropped Illinois without hesitation and didn’t struggle when two guards rushed over and restrained him. “Bring him into th’ chow hall to calm down. I’ll speak to him in a sec. As fer you…” Yancy was led away by the guards, and it was hard to ignore how withdrawn he seemed compared to minutes earlier. With heavy guilt, Illinois pulled his attention away to finally acknowledge Warden Murderslaughter, who had been the one to stop the disaster in its tracks. His lips were pursed and his arms crossed as he shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Illinois. Out of all our volunteers, I thought you would’ve known our most important rule better than anyone else: don’t provoke th’ inmates with topics that are touchy fer ‘em.”

“But I didn’t know -” Illinois’ head turned toward the chow hall’s entrance. “I only wanted to get to know him. I didn’t mean to…”

“Who told you that name?”

“No one?” He looked back at the Warden with confusion. “I read it in an article covering the trial online.” The Warden pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh.

“Son… You could’ve saved yourself a whole lotta bother if you’d thought to ask someone here, even over the phone. It isn’t like you to mess up like this.” He put an arm around Illinois’ shoulder and began guiding him toward the staff breakroom. “The name you used is correct, if you go by legal documents or the press, but it’s not the name he goes by. Everyone calls him ‘Yancy’. See, his birth name has links to pretty painful memories that I don’t think he’ll ever recover from, and he’s been striving to prove he’s a better person as ‘Yancy’. So to turn ‘round and use th’ wrong name is like a slap to the face and a surefire way for him to hate you. Now, I know you had good intentions and it was an honest mistake, but you need to be more careful. Next time you see him, give him a good, proper apology. Just know he’s probably gonna be frosty toward ya. I’ll go talk to him and check if he’s okay, let him know you didn't mean to use the wrong name.” The Warden threw a glance over his shoulder with a hint of a smile. “Yancy’s a good kid, despite how he acts sometimes. He’s been through some rough times, but his heart’s stayed in the right place. If he can have a friend outside the prison… I think it’ll do him some good. Now, get yourrself a coffee before you start classes.”

Illinois blinked, genuinely surprised to realise they had arrived. Murderslaughter gave him a hearty slap on the back of the shoulder (Illinois had learned long ago the art of hiding the wince from the strength of such actions) before making his way back to the chow hall.

---

In the chow hall, Yancy was a mess. He sat far away from anyone else who might have been there. A cup of water had been given to him, but it was used more as a stress ball rather than a drink. He didn’t know what to think. How could someone act like they wanted to be a friend, then turn around in the same breath and say something that implied the complete opposite? Why remind him of what he did long ago? The cup was put aside so he could slump across the table with a defeated groan. █████… Was that all he was ever going to be to the outside world? Would the attempts he has made to be a better person forever go unnoticed under the large, looming shadow of his crimes? Then again, prisoners like him were locked away to be forgotten about by the world.

His form tensed the moment he spotted the Warden sitting opposite him. This was it - he was going to be scolded and sent to Solitary, and probably lose other privileges on top of that. How dare Yancy lay a finger on the visitor everyone worshipped!!

But it was nothing like that. Murderslaughter checked if he was okay. They sat in silence for a few moments so Yancy could try and collect himself without anyone else approaching. Then, the Warden praised him for not completely lashing out, but then took time to explain Illinois’ side of things.

“- He’s not like the reporters or anyone else who comes to ‘visit’ you. He was a moron who didn’t ask th’ staff for your name. It seems like he wants to try an’ be friends…. But it’s fine if ya don’t wanna see him today. An’ if you’d rather go lie down instead of working, that’s fine too.

“N-no… I’d rather work. Don’t really wanna be left alone with my thoughts just yet.”

-

Yancy spent the rest of the morning washing dishes. The work wasn’t ‘busy’ enough to keep his mind distracted, but it was labour-intensive and he could work out his frustration on the crockery. By the time he finished his shift and lunch, he returned to his cell with an idea - he needed to get rid of the White Jaguar model. It had to be the source of the blame.

But just like a blasted boomerang, the clay figure kept returning to him in ridiculous manners throughout the afternoon. Yancy dropped it in the trash on the way outside, only to be tapped on the shoulder by another prisoner who thought it was dropped by mistake. Trying to gift it to anyone in the Gang had them refuse - Bam-Bam had initially accepted, but changed his mind when he held the tiny model and handed it back to Yancy with the excuse that it ‘belonged’ to him. He then hid it in the long grass in the rec yard. When no one immediately found it, he went to the bathroom, returned to his cell… And was greeted with the terrifying sight of the White Jaguar sitting on his pillow, staring at him. Overcome with frustration, he decided to simply break it. He threw it at the wall with all his might. Instead of smashing, it ricocheted off the wall and toppled his radio that had been on his bed, before landing neatly on the pillow. Yancy picked it up, he swore there was a look of smugness on the Jaguar’s face, which reminded him of… Wait.

He could simply return it to Illinois and ask him never to speak to Yancy again. It would solve two problems at once.

---

“Come in!” Illinois’ voice was upbeat as he tidied the classroom after a day of workshops. The guilt from earlier had been put aside in favour of professionalism. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all. However, that professionalism immediately slipped the moment he saw who entered.

“Yancy!” The name was blurted out with relief more than pleasantry. Whatever Illinois had been putting into his briefcase was unceremoniously dumped as he gave Yancy his full attention. “Before you say anything…. I want to apologise for this morning. I made the mistake of not checking with the staff what name you prefer to go by. It was careless of me. I know I upset you, and I am truly sorry. You don’t need to forgive me, as I know it’s something that hurt you… But I just want you to know I didn’t mean to use that name, and I’ll never use it again, Yancy.”

Yancy was dumbfounded. No one who deliberately used that name apologised. They never cared that it made him uncomfortable and upset. Emotions stung him for the second time that day, but polar opposites to the anger that had nearly consumed him in the morning.

“I-I, uh… Thanks. For apologising, I mean. Takes balls to admit youse was wrong ‘bout something. But it means a lot that, y’know, youse said sorry. So… If it’s okay with youse, we can consider it forgiven and forgotten.” Yancy looked ill at ease, but Illinois couldn’t blame him. It would be better to find a new topic to talk about before Yancy decided to swiftly dismiss himself. At that moment, Yancy adjusted his stance, drawing Illinois’ attention to his hand.

“Is that the White Jaguar model I gave you?”

Yancy blinked and looked at his hand like he didn’t know it had existed until that very moment. He opened his mouth, only to snap it shut with a quick shake of his head. When he did speak again, there was the faintest hint of a smile.

“Yeah, uh… Had a few people asking ‘bout it, but I don’t remember shit from that talk so… Is it too late to join one of these class things you is doing?” Yancy mentally slapped himself for doing the opposite of what he had intended, but it wasn’t met with a cocky reaction. Instead, Illinois’ face lit up like the Fourth of July and invited Yancy to the desk so they could check if there was a class that would fit neatly into Yancy’s schedule. There was a hint of awkwardness between them, but Illinois was optimistic that this could be the start of a better chapter for them.

However, he did get a little ahead of himself and winked at Yancy just before the prisoner left. Yancy rolled his eyes, but the dismissive look had a trace of amusement in it as he left. Once the door closed, Illinois found himself staring at it for several long moments.

Okay… Maybe there was a bit of an attraction toward Yancy after all.

[fursasaida]

do you have sources or opinions about the uh. development of the idea of the 'veil between the worlds' stuff and how it relates to how we understand ... space and place? question brought to you by "i just read some fantasy fiction that royally hacked me off"

lmao did you know one of my big “i don’t work on this but i lowkey develop expertise in it as a hobby” things is fairy tales and folklore

Anyway, I don’t know very much about the history of the “veil” thing, but I am given to understand it originated with the Victorians. Google Scholar has been unforthcoming on this point, so while I do not have sources, I do have opinions! My opinions are these:

As previously discussed, most people in most places were not, until recently, of the opinion that the world is made of space and space is the universal extensive backdrop, the dimension in which things happen. Moreover, even if we more or less think the world is made of space semiconsciously and in our uses of language, it's not really how most people think most of the time, even in contexts where space in this sense (as opposed to "room") has been invented/internalized. Instead, the knowledge of the world was and is structured much more around places, routes, and regions (which are just a kind of place distinguished by being part of a larger whole). Places have insides and outsides. They are distinct from one another. (Although, as with regions, they can also nest or overlap; this isn't state territory or administrative boundaries we're talking about. Those are spatial artifacts.) Therefore, in a spaceless world, there is nothing contradictory about believing that there are, simply, places where magic is stronger or where the gods dwell or where time behaves differently, and so forth. Just because things aren't like that here means nothing about whether they're like that there. To be clear: I am not saying people in the past (or who practice such traditions today) had or have no sense of a visible/invisible, mundane/extraordinary, or material/immaterial divide. That, I think, is pretty truly universal, and simply a product of human cognition. We have myths in many cultures about a deep past when knowledge (or ignorance) was perfect and the world was immediate, young, more alive, partly because, for whatever reason, the way we experience reality includes the sense that there are some gaps in it, or a little too much room. ("A mystical experience" is basically--and across many traditions--an experience of the full immediacy we normally don't have.) However, places like Olympus or Tir-na-Nog or the realm of Ereshkigal are, still, places. You may not think you will find yourself in Hades or the land of the ancestors if you fall down a well,* but you can still think it is possible for someone to go there in a non-metaphorical sense. They may need extra steps or divine/magical assistance, but going is still going. You know, like people do in the stories.  And at the same time you can very easily accept that some extraordinary kinds of creatures or spirits really are here in this realm, and that their personalities and behaviors differ from place to place (animism, genius loci, some types of ancestor-honoring practices, etc).

(*Or in other words: to think you will end up in Hades if you fall down a well is actually to think about it spatially, or indeed geologically, as simply being what is found at a certain distance down. Why should Hades/Hell/etc, as a place, be under this well, all wells, any wells, just because it's under the Earth? These places have defined entrances, in the same way that you can walk up to a city wall as much as you like and this means nothing about whether you’ll get in if there’s no gate there.)

So I do think plenty of archaeologists, anthropologists, folklorists, etc. who study this kind of thing and look at the iconography or narratives as "obviously" portraying distinct realms in the sense of dimensions are unwittingly applying their commonsense, spatial sensibility to something that is much more ambiguous--because almost none of them have thought seriously about place as anything other than a location in space. They see a line or a boundary drawn and assume this means two existential dimensions, rather than two places. What now follows is basically the speculative explanation for how we got into this situation. It is based on a lot of things I know for sure, insofar as "for sure" can be known re: intellectual history; but I have not demonstrated a direct link, only surmised it. In Europe--more particularly, to my knowledge, in England, France, and Germany--space in our current sense really starts to get cemented in the 17th century. Notably, at the same time, people suddenly get interested in the scientific question of "the figure of the earth." It had long been known the Earth was round, of course, but suddenly it mattered to people what its precise shape could be. Is it a perfect sphere? An ellipsoid? What kind? What is the precise length of a degree of longitude? Is the Earth longer than it is wide or vice versa? This was the first time that intellectuals in these countries started seriously trying to reconcile the Biblical narrative of the Earth's formation with ~Science. They cared about this for some obvious reasons, like figuring out whether Newton or Descartes was right about the physics of motion, and testing Newton's gravitational theory; and there were practical reasons as well (the modern science of geodesy, which is what you need to make "accurate" maps for consolidating your state and conquering places, and to, say, build a railway, gets born as part of this). But they cared about it for another reason too. Namely: after the Thirty Years' War, there was a real sense of dislocation in Western Europe. This dislocation was religious, political, and social all at once. There was thus a serious need to realign political and social order with the cosmic order, and the Enlightenment and Scientific Revolution are significantly responses to this. Empirical knowledge (especially math) was to be the universal language that would allow people to communicate across differences rather than engaging in bloody warfare (they were quite explicit about this, especially Leibnitz, but if you know to look for it you can read it in Hobbes, Locke, Newton, Descartes...there was a reason they all suddenly got obsessed with reason), and the "Quest for the Figure of the Earth" was part of that. So was the emergence of geology a bit later, as the history of the earth becomes increasingly scientific rather than Biblical; the questions that created geology came out of these initial struggles to conceive of the Earth as a "natural" artifact to be known by science. This matters here because it means a redefinition of what the Earth is and what can happen there that is not just a matter of scientific debate but is fundamentally connected to social and political understandings of the world. In other words, it redefines what “the Earth” is as a place and in its cosmic place. One consequence of the new rational empiricism as a reaction to a war understood as being caused by religious ontological commitments and enthusiasms was a transformation in what counted as real. On the one hand, things that under the old Aristotelian paradigm were treated as real but imperceptible and therefore impossible to study (like magnetism) became newly study-able. In the Newtonian, empirical paradigm, you don't have to be able to say what something is or even what physical qualities it has; only to demonstrate its reliable and reproducible effects. On the other, things not observable in these terms become defined as unreal. At the same time, the shift from an Aristotelian to a Newtonian science is itself, precisely, a shift from a world explained by regions to a world explained by space. "Regions" here means places, but it also means directions like up and down. Aristotelian physics held that substances behaved in certain ways (like smoke rising and rocks falling) because it was in their essential nature to belong in different places. In other words, different areas of the world, as well as different substances, were ontologically different in real ways that had real effects. In modern empiricism, this is not at all the case. The laws of how things behave are universal laws. They are not about belonging, difference, and places/directions that have their own meanings and hierarchy; they are about forces interacting contingently. It's exactly Newton who formulates the idea of "absolute space" as an infinite and homogeneous, but insensible (like magnetism) extent over which things are distributed. Forces’ specific interactions may be locally different, but the forces are translocal and indeed universal, because they happen in the single homogeneous substrate that is space. So all of this percolates through various levels of society and fields of knowledge through the 18th century and into the 19th (and up to today). One effect is the redefinition of ghosts, fairies, elves, and so on as not real. It takes a very long time for this news to really reach everybody, though; I've read accounts of rural peasants in the British Isles and Ireland who still fully believed and practiced fairy lore into the 20th century. You also see some wobbles, like the famous hoax involving fairies and Yeats, in part because new technologies are making new things observable and therefore potentially “real” in the Newtonian terms. Thus Spiritualism, for example, was in many ways a practice of reliably producing observable effects of things that are not themselves observable; its attempt at credibility was pursued in Newtonian terms.

At the same time, after initial big achievements in geodesy, the figure of the earth keeps getting refined, details filled in, and so on. The same thing happens to the underground with geology. It similarly takes a while for this to really settle in; you have older formats like isolaria and cosmographic maps overlapping with properly spatial, cartographic mapping. (An isolarium is a world atlas that doesn't try to put all the pieces together but treats every landmass individually as an island. The islands tend to get filled in with what we would now consider fantastical stuff because the mapping enterprise, with isolaria, was all about places and their different characters; things did not have to be consistent, there was no homogeneous substrate. That fantastical stuff is part of what's called "cosmography.") So by the time you have people studying folklore in the 19th century, in these same countries and others, as part of nationalist projects and what have you, these educated elite types are likely to have accepted the following. 1) We know the shape and nature of the earth--not in every particular, but we know that physical conditions are basically the same everywhere--and 2) what is empirically unobservable is not real; and 3) space is a dimension, it is homogeneous, it is the dimension in which things that exist exist. (Plato is howling somewhere.) To be clear, #1 especially matters here because it means the idea that there might be places where things behave/occur abnormally gets ruled out. Long before the maps had actually been filled in, there were "no blank spaces" on them anymore. (Insofar as they ever did get filled in, that still hadn't happened by the turn of the 20th century. I actually have a personal theory about where the blanks are now, but that's a whole other digression.) Therefore, if you want to collect and make a fuss over stories about unreal beings and events occurring in places where the universal laws of physics and histories of geology do not seem to obtain, you cannot fit these beings, events, and settings into the world in which you understand yourself to live. There is quite literally nowhere to put them. They cannot exist in a physical, geodetic, geologic world of space; they cannot coexist with its elements. Let us now note that in the 19th century we also get the Spiritualist movement, which conjures up lots of ghosts and puts them behind a Veil. Ghosts in this framework are real, but they cannot be here. They can visit, but only by "piercing the veil." I therefore further surmise that, likely without being fully conscious or intentional about it, these folklorists and such had to assume that when people talk about a fairy court, etc., they are talking about another dimension, one different from the spatial dimension that we live in. (This is the same assumption the experts I was dumping on at the beginning make; this is what I mean about a commonsense spatial sensibility.) The language of "the veil" may well be influenced by Spiritualism, or may not; I think the "thin places" and "times when the veil is thinnest" stuff is even more recent than the Victorians, like mid-20th century. But what matters more IMO is that the two moves--what happens to ghosts in Spiritualism and what happens to fairies etc. in folklore--are parallel. They both get kicked out of here, they get made not part of "the world." The world is one place, and what is "not real" has no place in it. So in order to talk about interacting with those things that have no place here in the world, it becomes natural, maybe inevitable, to talk about what separates them from us. You need a barrier to explain why something that exists (if you believe it does) is not visible and testable all the time and everywhere, or to make sense of how other people could believe such a thing exists.

There is a very deep irony to all this, though. In making the world a single place with a single set of conditions and a single set of possibilities for what can happen and what can exist, right, we end up creating this “other realm” where all the other stuff is. In physics there is talk of a “quantum realm” exactly because the conditions, behaviors, objects, and so forth found there seem to behave differently from the “classical realm” of our experience. But "realm” is a very unstable and ambiguous word, not clearly spatial or placial. The irony is that what we have here is, still, in fact a discourse about two places. We just don’t even know that, because our formal thinking has become so spatialized. Thus the nature of the barrier between the two or how it could be possible for conditions to be so different in the “other realm” remains fundamentally mysterious--let alone what “crossing over” could possibly entail. Hence a metaphor like “the veil” becomes important and necessary not just to generate another place to put these unreal things, and not just to explain why these unreal things are not here in the real world/place, but also to paper over the basic absurdity of the whole premise. We have come full circle in that we are still basically talking about there being other places where things are different, but we have made it much more mysterious and confusing than it was (I believe) when it was just accepted that the world contains many places where things may be different.

[bardbattledhasmoved]

╳ - steven, because lol he's gon freak        ♡        @ordinariums​.

they’ve got to stop meeting like this.  there’s always an unexpected and terrifying circumstance, whether that’s an attempt on her life or the aftermath of one on his.  he’s different somehow.  he’s not nearly as alert as he’d been in the past, and she’s now fairly confident he’s got no idea how much danger he’s in. that car’s not slowing to a stop for no reason. guess all that stranger danger training from childhood is good for something as an adult after all.   ❝ hey, look out! ❞   she’s already pushing off the sidewalk as she shouts in his direction, aiming to launch herself at him and take him to the ground. not a moment too soon, it’d seem. there’s a loud sound and searing pain, and the wind’s knocked out of her as tires screech on pavement. seems like they’re not waiting around for him to turn on them, not even to make sure they’ve actually hit him.

[unsteals]

❝ were you seriously not going to tell me? ❞   layla’s beginning to wonder exactly how many times she’s been off planet without realizing it. this is the last time she trusts river’s word upfront, about anything that isn’t a direct life or death situation at the very least. 

@timesense​.

[mynachopaper]

Tickle Anomaly Files #9

Codename: Tomb of Queen Selma

Subject: An ancient burial found in the Arabian desert. Currently it houses subject-1A: Queen Selma.

The anomaly was discovered by our own agent Layla Mourassi, a local archaeologist operating near Cairo. She was called to the site after a family of nomads claimed to have stumbled upon a stone entrance buried beneath the sand. They did not search the ruins due to superstition and have left it completely untouched.

The following is taken from agent Layla's investigation:

The Bedouins have called for my expertise. They claim to have found a temple, an ancient home for the gods. Normally these claims are easily dismissed, more often than not it is a simple attempt at seeking a reward for discovering old antiques or clay pots.

The only reason I took this one at face value was because they described two hieroglyphs that intrigued me. One was the symbol of an ancient queen, depicted by a hand clasping around the neck of a bird. The other was a symbol of over lapping infinity signs, representing revenge. The queen's symbol had been lost to us for some time. Records of her rule are rarely found, we theorized she may have either died young or was simply written out of history due to sexist traditions at the time.

After hearing the news I was excited, I begged them to take me to the site. At first they refused to escort me as they were fearful of the old gods. However, one of the younger men offered to take me in exchange for some educational books on astronomy.

Our journey was long. We traveled for two days through the desert. My companion was quiet, when he did speak he seemed eerily calm. His politeness did help ease the awkward silence around the campfire, other than that we only spoke when needed.

On the third day we arrived at the site. I could make out the vague shape of the keystone in the sand. After some clearing we were able to dig out the entrance. Just as the bedouins had said, two symbols graced the arch way. In their formation it would either mean "The Queen's revenge" or "Revenge on the Queen".

I took out my flashligt and lit the stair case. I asked my companion if he wished to accompany me. He refused, stating that "I can feel the sand pull me back, there is malice beneath me." I internally rolled my eyes and simply asked him to watch for sandstorms incase they bury me here.

I slowly began to decend into the ruin. My flashlight was helpful, however I still felt the darkness cling to my sides as my footsteps echoed. The hieroglyphs on the walls describe this ruin as being a tomb for queen Selma. This would be a wonderful find for the archeological society. The symbols go on to describe the building of the tomb, many slaves were sacrificed in its construction. Strangely however, it does not state how she died or even what form of burial took place.

Soon I entered a large chamber. The walls were covered with various paintings and symbols. Many of the decorations were adorned with silver. Small figurines of a hawk were scattered around the room, all were engraved with queen Selma's insignia. At the far end of the chamber stood a pair of large golden doors, possibly three metres (9.10ft) tall and around six metres wide (19ft). They still bore the royal seal.

Judging from my surroundings I must have been the first living person to enter this place since its construction.

I started working on decrypting the artwork along the walls. There were three major paintings. The first depicted queen Selma upon her throne, slaves were placing their wealth and goods at her feet. The hieroglyphs state that she often demanded high tribute regardless of her kingdoms financial status. It also states that many families starved during her reign as they would often give all they had, as any who refused were forced to work on her temples till they died from exhaustion.

The second painting depicts her holding a Kopesh, kneeling in front of her were rows of citizens dressed in a range of clothes. The symbols described her as ruling with an iron fist, any disagreement or complaint was met with a swift execution. Her personal record for executions in a day was one hundred and thirty seven, after a nearby village tried to protest her rule.

The final painting depicts rows of citizens weeping in the night. Many are holding small pieces of cloth. The symbols describe this event as "The Night of Wailing", queen Selma caught wind of a rebellion brewing and had every firstborn slain as a counter measure.

Such a cruel ruler, it's no wonder she has been lost to time.

I approached the sealed doors, their towering shapes seemed to have a flavour of secrecy. Curiosity outpaced my fear as I broke the seal. The doors slowly opened, a loud creaking sound reverberated throughout the chamber. The air was suddenly sucked in, I felt it flow over me as a chill spread through my chest. It seemed to lead down a spiral staircase, a faint glow could be seen around the side. I turned on my faithful flashlight and began my decent. I could feel it swallow me as I creeped down. In the distance I could hear a sound, a high pitched shriek of some kind.

Along the wall I notice a string of symbols. Judging from their jagged edges and poor formation they must have been made with little time. This was my best attempt at a rough translation.

"We have found her weakness. Her maiden told us of her greatest fear. During an infestation some beetles had crawled into her bed, she shrieked and had it tossed into the fire. Another time one of her lovers had accidentally brushed her sides making her squeal, she had him executed on the spot.

She is deathly ticklish, her true nightmare now known to us.

We called on our god, she has answered us. For she felt our loss as much as we did. Our children will be avenged."

As I finished copying the symbols I heard the screams grow louder as I made my way down. I turned around the corner to find a golden chamber. Braziers with dancing flames lit up the golden walls. Engravings of citizens rejoicing and dancing, lavish meals and instruments were sprinkled throughout the imagery. Jars of gold and jewelry sprinkled around the room. In the very centre laid a stone slab, with a bound woman screaming.

She was wearing slave garments, leaving her mostly exposed. Around her neck was a golden chain bearing the symbol of the goddess representing motherhood. Her eyes were covered with a thick black cloth. Her wrists and ankles were shackled with golden blinds encrusted with gems. They locked into the stone, leaving her in a spread-eagle position. She was quite beautiful, her long black hair failed around as she thrashed and screamed. I could finally see the source of her anguish.

Hundred of scarab beetles and snakes were exploring her body. Many of the bugs were skittering across her sensitive stomach. Rows of them were crawling along her ribs and nestling in her pits. Snakes were slithering between her toes as their tails flickered along her thighs. Her soles were covered in crawling beetles, she could feel hundreds of their legs spider and tickle her sensitive flesh. Sending shocks throughout her body.

She was in ticklish agony, thrashing and screaming as the sensations overwhelmed her.

I recognized the symbol belonging to the cult Merasi, a group believing they had discovered eternal life. Judging from that she must have been down here for three thousand years at least, her body endlessly teased and tickled the entire time. I tried to reach out to her, to maybe alleviate her suffering. Suddenly the chain around her neck tightened, in a panic I stepped back. Once I was far enough it released. So that's her curse, should anyone try to interfere she would be endlessly choked instead.

It was a truly horrible nightmare. Her screams were started to shake my bones. I turned and ran, stumbling over the steps as I feared sharing her fate. I finally made it to the doors and quickly slammed them shut, blocking out the sounds of her suffering. I crumpled to the floor, my heart beating fast. I have decided that no job is worth dealing with the curses of gods. Consider this report my resignation.

End report-

We dispatched a team to the location only to find that the entrance was lost to a sandstorm. Excavations are being made, in the meantime the subject will have to suffer a little longer.

Object class: location (safe)

[thefolliesofmen]

History in the Making - Panel Discussion

Hi folks!  Today I was honored to be a part of Concordia’s History in the Making Conference and speak on the making of meaning through Death Tourism. As not everyone was able to attend, or just prefer learning in a different format that isn’t Zoom, I figured I could at least share my slides and speakers notes here for posterity.

As these are speaking notes, please excuse if I do not catch every grammar or spelling mistake, but I hope you enjoy them nonetheless. 

Today I am going to be going through how meaning is made at Death Tourism sites, and how that meaning changes over time. To do this, I am first going to explore some brief definitions of death tourism, the history of it, and how it is viewed by the general public. So please buckle up and join me as we go on a speed run through three prominent dark tourism sites – particularly what they are, how they qualify, and how meaning is made around them through the perspective of thanatourism. The site we will be using are Pompeii, Salem, and Chernobyl.

In my introduction alone, I used a mired of terms interchangeably. Death Tourism, Dark Tourism, Thanatourism, and just for funsies I am going to throw another one in there, Disaster Tourism. Some scholars will separate all these terms to represent specific aspects of the field, the site in particular, and the intentions behind the visitors themselves.   Foley and Lennon are often credited with coining the term “Dark Tourism” and have defined it as a “product of the circumstances of the late modern world.” Intent is something that will come up often during my talk, as it is hard to concretely define a field like tourism that has so much to do with the intentions of the people taking part in it as well as the people presenting the history. Today, I will be using these terms fairly interchangeably. A definition to start us off: Dark Tourism taps into the macabre, secret, and shunned interests of humans; the world we create; and the one we leave behind.

The Macabre The Secret The Shunned Creation and Destruction Are real and valid reasons for someone to visit a site I said before that the intention of the visitor is a hot topic when trying to figure out how to define this field. Most of us have probably been to Death Tourism sites and have never really thought about, because it fit into a different category in our mind. The image here is a graveyard, which makes sense on the surface to count as death tourism especially if you are visiting it for a reason outside of knowing someone who is buried there – this cemetery in particular is Old Burial Hill Cemetery in Salem Massachusetts and would be a hotspot for that, as it was a filming location for Hocus Pocus, Old Burial Hill Cemetery in Salem Massachusetts. Dark Tourism deals largely with the commercialization of sites associated with large amounts of human suffering and death. Commercialization can happen in a variety of ways, whether it be through charging admission to a specific site, merchandise and materials relating to the event, or economic benefits that are by-products of the sites being visited, such as surrounding towns gaining revenue from hotel rentals, meals, etc.

Since the enlightenment, European and North American cultures have taken a strict stance on separating the dead from the living. Death occurs in buildings, cities, countries removed from us and we only see the sanitized version – the more removed we are from something with our engagement with death the better it is. That isn’t a hard and fast rule however, because the distance from the death and disaster in question can be spatial or temporal in nature, as long as there is some kind of way in which you can convince yourself that all this death and destruction happened to an Other. Caitlyn Doughty, a mortician who found notoriety through her YouTube Channel Ask a Mortician has done some research on what she refers to as the “witch to kitsch factor”, that being how much time has to pass before it is socially acceptable to take tragedy and make it into a thing of entertainment? My argument here however is that, the meaning that a dark tourism site creates and is created unto it has both to do with the temporal separation between the entertainment and the tragedy, but also the spatial and cognitive space between the two. I know I am probably preaching to the choir when I say that history permeates pop culture, and the line between tragedy and entertainment can be seen here. Pompeii occurred close to 2,000 years ago and is now a 13 years old Doctor Who Episode wherein even an Alien that alters many historic events, even this could not be stopped. Salem Witch Trials took place over 300 years ago, and the Halloween edge of kitschy witches have taken over the narrative of Salem, as the town has gained even more infamy in recent years due to the popularity that Disney has continued to experienced in the 26 years since its release. Chernobyl occurred 35 years ago. It is most recently a 2019 somber but still drama packed mini-series on HBO exploring the disaster and aftermath. These are not the first nor are they the last instances of Pompeii, Salem, and Chernobyl influencing popular culture.

The temporal and spatial separation that I just spoke of is what Foucault would use in the argument that dark tourism sites are examples of Heterotopias. That, and the Othering.

These dark tourism sites are marginal spaces, that are infused with the juxtaposition of sameness and contradictions. Foucault breaks down what a Heterotopia is through examining its:

Precise and determined function within a society, but can still have multiple functions

The power to Juxtapose the incompatible

A break with traditional time

Presupposition of opening and closing the isolation and penetration

Illusions of real spaces that create and Other

Each of these criteria hit on the combined need for things relating to death and destruction to be both intimate to our experience of the world, but also separate from us in a way in which we can walk away from them afterwards and cease to think about it. Dark Tourism is assumed to be an escapist pastime in which we as humans can displace our fears of death, decay, destruction, and general apocalyptic fears onto this physical place – particularly because of its seemingly socially acceptable mode in which we can grapple with these kinds of topics. I said before that it was after the Enlightenment that death became removed from our day to day life. But before that? It was common and fashionable to interact with death on ones down time – morgue tours in Paris were all the rage, with some people even asking to be locked in the display room with the unknown corpses to scare their friends and other visitors.

Death has been removed from us, and so these romanticized ideas of escapism and morbid contemplations are the simplistic and incomplete theories as to why people are drawn to Thanatourism.

Now don’t get me wrong, while I say that these theories are simplistic and incomplete – I am not denying that they have some merit and nuggets of truth and wisdom to them. We come back to intent. Why people engage in Disaster Tourism does not interest me so much as what their interaction with the field tells us about our own society. We make meaning out of everything, that is who we are as academics but also who we are as a general species. But how do we make meaning out of sites and events through the lens of dark tourism? I believe that the reasons we are so fascinated with these sites, outside of just general morbid curiosity (pun intended) – for starters, our fascination with these places, I posture, has to do with our false yet engrained belief that we are no longer experiencing such death and suffering anymore. This all happened in another time, in another place, to another group of people. Our fascination shows our ignorance. We think, Pompeii happened so long ago, it is more of a story than anything. We think, Salem will never happen again, we are past the time of believing that witches walk among us. We think, Chernobyl was the fault of the Soviets, we are a democracy. We don’t think – that this could happen again and is still happening.

I have mentioned Pompeii, Salem, and Chernobyl quite a bit now – lets get into how they are case studies for us making meaning out of dark tourism sites. First up: Pompeii The eruption of Mount Vesuvius and subsequent destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum was first recorded in the letters of Pliny the Younger to Tacitus. On October 24th  79 AD,pumice stones and ash started pouring down onto the city, killing part of the population before those who were unable to escape were buried by the hot volcanic ash and burned alive by pyroclastic flow. By the end of the day, the city was buried in six to seven meters of debris, and it remained as such until its re-discovery in the seventeenth century. During his tenure as the lead archaeologists working to recover Pompeii from 1863-1875, Giuseppe Fiorelli is credited with not only the Fiorelli process of pouring plaster of Paris into cavities in the ash to discover what created those cavities – but he was also a driving force behind excavations being done on the city from the top down, rather than the streets first to further pillage the homes that were uncovered.

Pompeii is a special case when it comes to tourism of Roman ruins. To Victorian and Edwardian tourists – Pompeii was a disappointment to finally see. Mary Beard discusses how to these visitors, the depictions of Pompeii in art and literature, outshone the real ruins. From the beginning of tourists coming to the site though, it was always known that what they were coming to see and what would shock them the most, were the casts of the bodies that had been excavated were front and center as soon as you entered the site along the aptly named Street of Tombs. For most of its history, Pompeii has existed on this marginal plane, being both a city of the living and of the dead. Rome as a whole has always been plagued by the stereotypes and ideals placed upon it by people outside of Italy’s borders – namely it being an eternal city that should be temporally static, anchored in its own heritage – and Pompeii has been subject to the same expectations in many respects. has been constructed many times since its unearthing. First, through its own use as a city, and then during the Romantic period as a theme park for tourists, and even in the modern era as a place of education and where “the processes of historical discovery are laid bare”. The overall shift in identity for Pompeii was its change from a city of the living, where people went about their daily lives, to a city of the dead populated by corpses and ruins, now being re-populated annually by millions of tourists. Because Pompeii is a ruin, empty of life, and so far removed from the present reality in terms of time, it is very easy to project meaning onto – both meaning for itself and meaning for the visitors.

One of the darkest moments in American history was the Salem Witch Trials of 1692. The “largest and most lethal witch hunt in American history” began in Salem Village (now Danvers, Massachusetts) when several young girls, including Elizabeth Parris, who was the daughter of the town minister Samuel Parris, began to experience “fits” that had no discernable cause other than what the town doctor declared to be bewitchment. While the accusers themselves and many of the “witches” they targeted lived in Salem Village, the Town of Salem was where the hangings took place, with the first ones occurring in the fall of 1692 when Sarah Good, Elizabeth Hose, Susannah Martin, Rebecca Nurse, and Sarah Wildes were executed. From the Fall of 1692 to the summer of 1693, there were 20 executions, 19 of which were hangings and one pressing.

Salem is a place of societal ruin. The entire community turned on itself, before coming to the confusing conclusion in 1702 of the magistrates declaring the trials that were held unlawful, and decreeing that the good names of the victims be restored. I mentioned that Salem Village is now know as Danvers Massachusetts and while Salem and Salem Village, share the terrible history, Salem Village works hard to separate itself from the narrative, as seen by it renaming itself to Danvers in 1752. It desperately wants to be removed from the story of the witch trials, when arguably it has more geographic claim to the narrative than Salem itself. Danvers has gone about making visiting any sites within its border nearly impossible. Homes and buildings related to the trials that remain in situ have continued housing families and businesses, memorials have little to no parking available, and heavy traffic on the roads makes it difficult to visit them as a pedestrian, meaning only a specialized tourist who was bound and determined to see the locations would make the Herculean effort to find them. For Salem, the buildings that it claims connections to the trials have either been moved or demolished in the time since the witch trials, and key places like the exact location of the gallows have ended up being lost to memory. The markers that denote the locations also denote their own inaccuracy and obscure the events that took place during the trials – thus disappointing tourists when they learn of the deception. Salem capitalizes on a false authenticity of place It is not through education that Salem profits off of its dark history, but through the kitsch-based fascination of pirates and witches existing in one of the oldest colonial ports. The Salem Police Department logo even contains a witch motif. With souvenirs, dungeon experiences, and large events such as a Witch’s Walk, Salem revises the tragedy in its history in a way that romanticizes and idealizes it, similar to the way that Disney movies present history. There was a monument erected to the victims of the witch trials in 2017. It stands apart from the rest of the city in aesthetic and in placement, silent and innocuous that it can be missed: it does not loudly advertise its existence like the rest of Salem. It works in the way that dark tourism sites overall do, in the fashion of “visitors deciding the meaning”. By being ambiguous in its specific design, it allows for the tourist to see what they think is fitting for a monument, whether that be the gallows, a jail, or a ruined building.

Chernobyl to this day still has the reputation for being the world’s worst nuclear accident. Through a surge of energy to Reactor #4, the unit caught fire on April 26th, 1986, leading to its rupture and explosion later that same day. As people fled and were evacuated from their homes, with instructions to leave everything behind as they were promised they would be able to return in a few days, Pripyat, the closet town to the reactor, was re-born as a ghost town. Across the Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia, an estimated 200,000 people have died due to radiation exposure, and an even greater number of people suffer from ongoing health conditions. As expected, the argument for the inclusion of Chernobyl in these case studies is that it represents a man-made ruin through the folly of trust in technology.

With Chernobyl, it is important to remember that it took place against the backdrop of the Cold War. The USSR and America both had agendas that they were trying to further in their coverage or lack there of, of the reactor blowing. Seeking any advantages they could claim in exposing or concealing the situation, inflating or deflating the numbers of people harmed. It wasn’t until 2011 when Ukraine finally allowed tours to take place through Pripyat, before this it was only illegal tours led by members of the surrounding communities or family members of those impacted by the exodus. The tourists have a wide range of reactions to the site – expressing indifference to the history, excitement about the danger that they perceive, and some individuals even schadenfreude, pleasure of witnessing the misfortunes of others. For dark tourism concerns, it’s authentic for being in situ, adding the aura of the place to the experiences and representing death in a more immediate way. Chernobyl is prime for the romanticization treatment of media due to being within the living memory and located in Eastern Europe, a place that is already seen and depicted as a foreign Other to many, adding to the forbidden allure of visiting. With the rise of social media, the number of tours to Chernobyl see spikes in the fall and winter, when the nature around the abandoned ruins is dying and decaying as well, lending itself to the desired aesthetic for people to show off that they visited. “Chernobyl is both real and imagined,” where one can go explore and tell others about later – but it is also staged. Knowing that people are drawn in by the heterotopic binaries of the real and the contrived, items within Chernobyl and Pripyat are posed to illicit the maximum emotional impact when photographed, the creations of juxtapositions within a juxtaposition itself.

Death Tourism deals with sites of ruin, that are explicit reminders of the circle of life and death being indiscriminate. Tragedy has happened here, and it will happen again. Someone was here before, and someone will be here after, until one day in which there will no longer be an after for humans to inhabit. The meanings of these sites and those who visit them is continually in flux, and relates largely to the society that is taking note at the time. But how we make meaning of these sites tells us about our current society, whether we like what we are hearing or not. It is romantic to think that we only travel to dark tourist sites because we are contemplating our own mortality, but it is ignorant to forget that history is a spiral – events will happen again if not in the same circumstances. Witches are replaced by minorities and religious groups that we don’t want to understand. Natural Disasters like Vesuvius are happening more and more as we continue to ignore climate change. Chernobyl will not stay the worst nuclear accident in mans history for very long, as every year we outpace ourselves in technological advancements. A hopeful part of me wants to think that we are participating in Dark Tourism because we want to learn from our mistakes, but the way history is presented to the visitors, both intentionally and unintentionally and interpreted, seems to always come back to schadenfreude. Death has been removed from us for so long that we seek it as a macabre pleasure, one that society doesn’t allow us to have – and that’s fine, but only when it is the death and suffering of someone else, somewhere else, sometime else. Our fascination stems from ignorance, but not from wanting to learn from our mistakes, but from a place of relief that it wasn’t us. ________________________________________________________________ I hope you enjoyed this! I know the writing isn’t as high quality as a paper traditionally would be, but if there seems to be interest I can do future posts breaking down each site further <3  Thanks! 

[sserpente]

A/N: Requests from two anons and @cognativeresonance. More smut? More smut. And I think the gif is a spoiler.

Words: 2769 Warnings: ghost!Reader/succubus!Reader, smut

Peace was a treacherous word. At least it was for a spirit. You had been unwilling to accept death—and you had more or less come to terms with staying on Midgard and watching life pass you by when you would still be here once all life was gone.

But just because, according to mortal laws, you were dead, this did not mean you were not alive. Your physical manifestation resembled that of an angel, or a demon. You were not mortal—but you were not immortal either.

For decades, lower species had hunted you down for their sick and ruthless experiments and research, in an attempt to understand themselves, the universe, better. You had fled, times and times, until you found the perfect hiding place. Putting your trust in an Asgardian sorcerer who had done nothing but use you for his own wicked schemes. When you found out about his schemes, he punished you, bounding you to Midgard for all eternity. Now, you had taken refuge in an ancient castle with cold and moist stone walls that screamed history from every dark corner.

Every now and then, humans found this godforsaken and lonely place. Archaeologists, tourists and daring teenagers who had spread the rumours that the castle was haunted. Well, technically… they were not wrong. At least, that kept curious spectators away—most of the time.

Today, it was all different. You were almost grateful… for every now and then, life inside these ancient walls got rather tiring.

They called themselves the Avengers, on a secret mission to save the world. You rolled your eyes upon eavesdropping. This world was beyond saving. They needed a shelter for the night, somewhere safe to stay until dawn.

Still… they had not asked for your permission.

You recognised them; some of them anyway. There was Thor, God of Thunder and firstborn son of Odin Allfather. Ever since the destruction of his home planet, he had settled down on Earth, taking his mischievous brother Loki right with him. Loki. The God of Mischief. You licked your lower lips when you first lay your eyes upon him, unbeknownst to him.

He was tall, thin, yet well-trained and graceful with every movement he made. His hair raven black, his eyes piercing blue and those sharp cheekbones… you had heard about the horrors he had gone through over the last couple of years and you had taken quite the liking into him.

You followed him into one of the smaller chambers they had chosen to reside in for the night, secretly watching him, his body language and mimics. Good thing you were able to pass through walls. Your heart skipped a beat when he began taking off his heavy leather armour, revealing a plain green shirt seemingly made of silk. And when he took that off too, he revealed a pale but well-defined chest, making your mouth water.

You smirked. For Heaven’s sake, you had not had to lay with a man for decades. Unceremoniously, you knocked over the old vase on top of the drawer.

Loki turned on his heel, eyes darting around the room. He could not see you, of course.

“Who is there?” You chuckled. The sound echoed through the room, having him tense up. “Show yourself!” He demanded. Oh… so dominant. You would certainly enjoy having him in your bed.

And how you loved scaring intruders. Admiring his godly body once more with utter amusement, you only just missed the vigorous movement of his hand sending green shimmers of light through the room—until it was too late.

“My… what do we have here?” He purred darkly. His blue eyes locked with yours, knocking all air out of your lungs at once. You had certainly underestimated the God of Mischief. Your lips parted.

He could see you. He could actually see you. When was the last time a man… no, any other living being, had seen you with their own eyes? The thought both excited and scared you at the very same time.

“What a ravishing little ghost.”

Instantly, you frowned, insulted by the term he had used.

“I am a spirit. Not a ghost.”

Loki smirked. He enjoyed eliciting such reactions from you then. “Ah, pardon me. A spirit. So you are not… dead then.”

“No… not really,” You paused. “What spell did you cast? How are you able to see me?”

Loki was smart. A skilled sorcerer with centuries of experience. You should have known better than to provoke him. But then again… feeling his scrutinising blue gaze on you did things to you which you had not felt in so long it felt surreal. Perhaps this had been worth it.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, little spirit?” He was mocking you. He was actually mocking you. Angrily, you knocked over another vase without even laying a hand on it. It clattered to the hard ground, bursting into thousands of pieces and making him chuckle.

“Now since you had the audacity to haunt me like an ordinary ghost, why don’t you start by telling me exactly who you are?”

You snorted. He was the Norse God of Mischief. The more he knew about you, the more he would be able to manipulate and trick you. Besides, he was a stranger. This was personal.

Rolling your eyes at him, you turned on your heel in an attempt to pass through the wall, leaving him behind for good. The moment you collided with the hard and cold stone wall was the first time since your banishment you felt true pain.

What in the nine realms had he done to you?!

“No luck?”

You growled, rubbing your shoulder. Perhaps you should sleep with him and feast on his energy, if anything to wipe that cheeky smirk off his face.

“Who are you?” He asked again, more demanding and stricter this time. The sound of his velvety voice sent, unconsciously, pleasant shivers up and down your spine. You sighed. Somehow, he had bound you to this room. He could not mean to harm you but the threat lingering behind his words was clear.

“(Y/N)… my name is (Y/N).” Loki lifted his chin.

“Are you Midgardian?”

“What? Ew, no… I was born in Anaheim, almost five centuries ago.”

“Then how did you end up on Midgard? If you are not dead, your spirit must have been banished here.”

Hm. He knew what he was talking about then.

“I was, by an Asgardian sorcerer, almost two centuries ago.” The memory was painful. After all this time, the scar the day you had lost your body and became unable to leave this dirty planet, had still not healed.

“Which crime did you commit to deserve such severe punishment?” He probed.

Once again, you glared at him furiously. “Is this an interrogation? This is none of your business, Loki.”

“You know who I am then.” He stated bluntly. He took a step closer, threateningly. Gods, could it be? That you had offended him so gravely with your harmless spooking?

“Let me go.” You suddenly heard yourself whisper. Loki chuckled darkly. He was very well aware his sudden closeness was messing with your mind, sending waves of numbing heat through your body. The urge to grab him and throw him on the bed to ravish him grew with every passing second.

It had been severe punishment indeed. The sorcerer—Armal had been his name—was cruel. With your spirit detached from your physical form despite it never having left your body, you were unable to be seen or touched, your cravings left unsatisfied for all eternity.

Right now, however, in this very moment, your curse appeared like a true blessing. “You cannot touch me.” You hissed. “So stop threatening me.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. Only now did you realise that he was still shirtless.

“Can I not?” He reached out to grab your wrists and instead of passing right through you, his hands wrapped around them firmly. You flinched upon the sudden body contact, the fire that had been extinguished so many centuries ago igniting each and every one of your limbs within the fraction of a second.

“What… what did you do to me?”

“I am a sorcerer, my dear.”

“I…” You croaked out, unable to speak due to the growing desire overwhelming both your body and mind. “I haven’t touched… a… man… in… in decades.”

Loki frowned. He might have been a sorcerer. But when he leaned in even closer, his blue eyes wandering down to your lips, you realised that not even he was immune to your body.

“What are you?” He growled hoarsely.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Defeated by your own lust, you stood on your toes and pressed your lips against his, initiating even more body contact—even more intimate body contact.

Loki breathed in sharply, his hands letting go of your wrists to instead cup your face, taking control of the kiss. He was intoxicated—but so were you as he pulled you towards the bed, flipping you both around so he came to lie on top of you, straddling you and rendering you completely helpless.

He was strong. Much stronger than you, yet all you could think about in this very moment was Loki’s lips on your mouth, your chin, your neck… you gasped when he ripped your clothing off of your body, revealing your breasts to him. They bounced free upon the sudden movement, your nipples hardening both from the chilly temperatures around you and his greedy, hungry gaze on them.

You moaned when he took them into his mouth, one at a time to suckle on them teasingly, almost driving you crazy. Your back was arching, your body preparing to feed on his energy… would you be able to? It was true, you did not know what spell Loki had cast. Surely, he had not ended your banishment and surely, nobody but him was able to touch you right now. Instantly you wondered if he’d find a way to free you—you’d be forever grateful; and if you were just careful enough, you would not murder him during the act.

With but another flick of his wrist, the same green light returned, surrounding both your bodies this time. Only when he pried your legs apart to give himself access to your most intimate parts, you realised that you were both entirely naked.

The direct skin on skin contact made you swoon, your palms sweating with unspent energy, every fibre of your being longing to feast on him.

You were soaking wet when he forced himself between your legs, his hardened length leaking precum as he teased your clit with the tip, making you moan.

“Please…” You croaked hungrily. “Please…” Oh, in the end, all men were fools, driven by their carnal instincts.

Loki smirked smugly, seemingly enjoying your begging. You cried out in bliss when he buried himself inside you to the hilt, relentless and starving for pleasure. His energy built within you, flowing into your body like an ice cold river in spring. Your senses awakened, the world all of a sudden more beautiful, more colourful, more lively.

You dug your fingers into his bare back, leaving marks he would surely be able to feel tomorrow morning. When you opened your eyes to meet his lustful gaze, his own widened. You had almost forgotten they turned yellow, the pupils small black slits like those of a snake when you fed.

“You are a succubus.” He panted out of breath, slight shock swinging in his voice. If he were to pull away now, disgusted, you would never find the strength to keep him inside you. Loki was a god, after all. Much stronger than you.

“Please… please don’t stop now.” And it was true. The moment you had first tasted his sexual energy, your hunger returned like a tidal wave knocking you over and clouding your mind. He felt so incredibly good, both physically and spiritually…

For just the fraction of a second, his eyes flickered with an emotion you could not quite put your finger on. Was it compassion? Pity? The enchantment, in any case, seemed to be broken. He was fully aware now of what he was doing and with whom he was doing it.

You whined when he retreated from your tight heat, hissing in the process but screamed, out of control, when he plunged back inside you, fucking you hard and fast. The room filled with the smell of sex and sounds of skin smacking against skin, paired with both your moans and pants.

You threw your head back. He was so… so delicious. “Oh God…”

“’Oh God’ indeed…” He mused, barely able to contain himself. You had to admit, feeding usually felt as great as experiencing orgasms to you. You did not need them when you slept with men. This time, however… as you felt yourself tripping closer and closer to the edge, your breathing quickening and your heartbeat speeding up, you started to doubt this initial notion.

Loki knew exactly how to move and how to caress your dripping cunt to get you wet for him and welcome his manhood into your awaiting cave. With every powerful thrust he brought you closer to an earth-shattering orgasm threatening to steal away your senses and when you finally fell off the cliff, he was there to catch you. Your eyes returned to their normal colour, your hunger satisfied.

Rhythmically, your walls began clenching around him, milking him for all he was worth and triggering his own release. Loki grunted, wolfishly, as he spurted ropes of his seed deep inside you, making you scream his name in pure ecstasy.

He rutted into you a few more times, helping you ride out your climax until he himself was completely spent, then chuckled in an amused and mischievous manner when your eyes fell shut, exhausted by this wonderful adventure the Norse god had taken you on.

“Thank you…” You mumbled. What for exactly, you did not know. Was it the mind-blowing orgasm? The thirst he had quenched? The intimate body contact you had missed so strongly? You were still joined, his hard cock resting inside of you. He would soften any moment now, right? You should enjoy the sensation for as long as it lasted.

“Oh, my sweet little succubus…” He purred darkly. “You did not think I was done with you already, did you?”

Your eyes widened when he thrust back into you with a start. You had hardly recovered from your first orgasm when he already stirred you straight into the next, working you up even faster this time. One of his hands disappeared down to where your bodies where joined, his long and soft digits sardonically toying with your clit until you were ready to burst into a million pieces yet again.

“Oh… my God… Loki!” Your arms were all over the place, desperate for a safe grip. He pinned them down above your head, forcing you to simply take all the pleasure he was offering you. You screamed when you climaxed again, the sensations even stronger this time. But Loki did not stop. He kept fucking you roughly, hunting his own peak like a predator and never ceasing to make sure you enjoyed yourself as well.

How many more orgasms did he force you into? Was it three? Four? Six? Ten? You had stopped counting after the third time he filled you with his cum. Loki had turned you into a panting mess, all weak from all the bliss and as satisfied as you had never been in your long life.

Limply, you rested your head on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. He did not need to speak out loud what he was thinking—for this truly was an unexpected turn of events. Surely, none of the Avengers had planned anything alike on this mission, especially not for him.

Loki had been intoxicated by your scent, a magical component your body released to seduce your victims easier but in the end, he had been the one who had proved to you what it meant to share the bed with a Norse god. The Norse God of Trickery. Weakly, you smiled to yourself.

“Loki…” You whispered breathlessly. He hummed in response. “Can you help me? Can you help me leave this place?”

His hand came up to stroke your arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps wherever his fingertips brushed over your naked skin.

You could tell he was smiling as well when he replied.

“I most certainly can, (Y/N).”

-

A/N: Damn, I really enjoyed writing this one.

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥