#elements of rapture series

[obsessedwhyyes]

Blood-Bound Rapture

Part of Darling Drabbles - A Series of Astarion Shorts.

Summary: Astarion drinks your blood. The intimacy, the closeness... The dark look in his eyes - they promise danger and desire in equal measure. The line between fear and pleasure becomes evermore blurred.

Rating: M Word Count: 582 Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Content: Predator/prey, blood drinking, some mild submission elements. Sexually charged, but not explicit.

Gif by @ishaslife on Tumblr!

A/N: You ever start writing a passage that you're quite chuffed with and then it dawns on you that you'll never actually use it in anything? That's what this is. Have a little drabble!

He watches you with a predatory focus, a slow smile curling up on his lips. You can feel the air shift between you, the sudden stillness wrapping tight around your body, pulling your heart into a rapid beat. It’s like standing at the edge of a precipice - somewhere between fear and curiosity, where the thrill alone threatens to send you over.

When he moves closer, it’s with an almost languid grace, a hunter savouring the chase long after it’s finished. There’s no rush in his movements, just a confident certainty that you are already his. 

His fingers skim the curve of your neck, sending a shock of heat through your skin as he tilts your head back with a lover’s touch. But the hunger beneath that touch thrums under the surface, restless and wild. His gaze burns into you, a flicker of something dark and untamed dancing behind his eyes. It’s a gaze that pins you in place, as though the weight of his desire alone could hold you captive.

And then you feel it - his breath, cool against your skin, the faintest brush of his lips against your throat. The moment hangs suspended, like the calm before a storm, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if this is how a rabbit feels beneath the shadow of a hawk. The thought barely forms before his teeth sink in.

The pain is sharp, bright, and yet, within it, something else blooms. A rush of heat floods through you, a strange, overwhelming pleasure that spirals out from the bite, sinking deep into your very being. The world narrows to nothing but the pulse of your blood, the pull of his mouth, the way his grip tightens as though he’s afraid you might slip away. But there’s no pulling away now.

No thought of escape.

There’s only him.

He drinks you in slowly, savouring every drop, his lips pressed firmly against your skin, and you swear you can feel the rumble of satisfaction low in his throat. The rhythm of it all, the soft, wet sounds and the steady draw of your lifeblood, sends a shiver through you, pooling between your thighs in a way you can’t deny. 

It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t expected; more intimate than anything that came before it. As though he’s claimed something deeper than flesh, something more vital. And with each pulse, each pull, you fall deeper into that heady, consuming need, unable to tell where his hunger ends and your desire begins.

When he finally pulls away, his lips stained crimson, the world comes rushing back all at once - your heart racing, your breath shallow, a sharp, dizzying thrum coursing through your veins. Astarion’s eyes meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction and something darker. He looks at you as though you’re not just prey but a prize. A beautiful, willing sacrifice to his endless hunger.

And in that moment, you realise that he hasn’t just tasted your blood. He’s tasted something far more intoxicating: your surrender. And you - the enchanted fool that you are - have let him have it willingly.

But even as your senses return, that dizzying warmth lingers, and you know with a sinking certainty that this won’t be the last time. You’ll let him do it again - crave it, even - because the thrill of his touch, of his breath against your neck, has already wound its way into your veins. You are his now, and deep down, you know you’ll never want to escape.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy

[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Pearly Hair

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, fingering, smut, angst, obsession, symptoms of the disease such as fever and convulsions ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, verydark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Lips | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

____

Her husband did not let her experience any peace or rest the night after the ball, informing her that he did not mind if she fell asleep while he was rooting into her sore core. They would fall into sudden, deep slumbers, his arms embracing her tightly.

As soon as he awoke she could hear his murmur of satisfaction caused by her presence and the closeness of her body – his length throbbed inside her, and with tentative, slow movements at first, he would begin all over again.

She felt stunned by the intensity of the sensations, feeling as if they had truly become one flesh, his scent filling her nostrils, her cheek nestled against his chest. After their intense rapture, they fell asleep again, and when she regained consciousness for a moment, she told herself that she couldn't open her eyes, as if Vhagar was lying next to her and not her husband, her King, the man who killed for her.

She would then open her eyes and lift her head, gazing with bliss and peace at his sleeping face. She stroked gently his cheek and hair, afraid that she would wake him. She was only answered by his hum of contentment, his arms clasping around her tighter, pressing her closer to him, his hand sinking into her hair, hugging her cheek to his heart.

She could hear his slow heartbeat, feel his warm breath, and thought she had never felt truly happy before him.

Truly peaceful.

Truly safe.

When, during one of the evenings they spent quietly in his chamber, each sunk in reading a book, sitting by the fireplace, Ser Criston walked in and announced that the bodies of the royal family had finally been found, decisions were made very quickly.

Her husband had ordered the tombs for his family to be made much earlier and they stood empty under the great temple next to the graves of his ancestors, waiting for their burial place to be discovered. She could see the pain mixed with anger on his face when he found out that the bodies of his parents and siblings were buried in a mass grave under the kitchen cellars.

She lowered her gaze with a clenched throat, thinking only of how humiliating it must have been for him, that her father had treated them worse than the murderers, who at least had the opportunity to be buried with prayers and any dignity.

Her husband ordered the work to be expedited and decreed that within the next two days everything was to be prepared for this grand royal funeral, unable to bear the thought that the bodies of his loved ones were lying and rotting, waiting for justice.

He did not speak, he did not eat and he did not sleep, immersed in his own thoughts, sitting for long hours in front of the fireplace and gazing into the flames, joining her only in the morning, seeking refuge in her embrace, tired and distraught.

Even though her father had done all this, she felt complicit.

"My Queen, the dressmakers have not managed to sew a suitably thick gown and cloak for you. It is freezing and snowing outside, why not wear a different gown, such as this one, a brown one?" Suggested one of her servants a few hours before the ceremony. She shook her head without even bestowing a single glance on her, looking in the mirror.

"No. I must wear black, wear mourning by the side of my King. Bring my gown and the cloak I wore at my mother's funeral." She said dispassionately, she heard the women look at each other with concern.

"But Your Grace, you will frown, the material is too thin. Let us at least put your furs on underneath your cloak." Mumbled one of them. She sighed and nodded.

As she rode behind her king-husband, past the row of coffins in front of them, the cold winter air pierced her body like daggers. She closed her eyes, trying to curl into herself, knowing that she faced hours of standing during the funeral ceremony in the cold temple and thought that this would be her punishment for what her father had done.

For the fact that his treacherous blood flowed in her.

Therefore, she hid the quivering of her body by standing behind her husband rather than at his side, wanting to bear it with dignity, thinking of lying down in a warm bed as soon as they returned to their stronghold.

Already on the journey back she felt an excruciating pain in her bones, her head heavy as if someone was squeezing her skull – it seemed to her that the world around her was humming and blurred, struggling to maintain a straight posture.

When they reached the courtyard of the fortress Ser Criston had to help her off her horse; he looked at her for a moment, apparently seeing her pallor, however he said nothing.

He did not trust her knowing who her father was.

She did not resent him for this.

The most important thing for her was to know that he was completely devoted to her husband.

Her King no longer commanded her to come to his chamber, simply disregarding the possibility that she should spend the evening and night anywhere other than with him.

For this reason, she followed him into his quarters feeling her whole body shaking – everything around her seemed blurred and painfully loud, she had the sensation as if someone was breaking her bones.

She swallowed with difficulty, stripping out of her cloak and gown with the help of her servants, one of whom seeing her pale face leaned over her and asked in a whisper.

"My Queen, shall I summon a medic?"

She shook her head, raising her hand in a gesture that informed them that they could leave – all she dreamed of was to lie down and sleep. Her husband only hummed under his breath when she told him she'd already gone to bed, sitting with his back to her by the fireplace, staring into the flames completely absorbed in his thoughts, memories and regrets.

When she lay down she finally felt some kind of relief – she didn't have the strength to turn or move so she just closed her eyes and after a moment there was silence and darkness all around her.

"My love?" She heard as if through a fog someone's voice, his voice, her King, her husband, her death, her beloved shadow. She felt his wonderfully cold hand on her inflamed body – even though she was drenched in sweat, she got the impression that she was freezing all over. "My love, wake up."

"I'm cold." She mumbled out with difficulty, unable to stop her body shivering, each breath made her struggle.

She felt that her lungs and nostrils were on fire.

She heard him swallow loudly and then he was gone, her mind drifting away again. She awoke with difficulty lifting her eyelids, suddenly noticing that the chamber she was in was filled with the light of candles. She could hear conversations all around her, as if there were several people inside, someone's hand washed her forehead and her chest with a cold cloth, bringing her relief.

"My King, we asked her, but she said she was choosing this gown and this cloak and that she would not bring shame to the king, that she must look proper on such an important day, we could not force her." She heard someone's terrified voice and recognised her maid, answered immediately by her husband's cold, mercyless hiss.

"You fucking fools! I'll hang each of you in turn as soon as…"

"− my King −" She muttered quietly, wishing he was by her side, terrified that she couldn't see anything clearly – her head was spinning and she had trouble keeping her eyelids open.

"− I'm so cold − yet at the same time my body seems to be on fire −"

She heard his quick movement, a moment later he was already beside her, his cold, familiar hand caressing her every night touched her cheek – she sighed in relief as she smelled his scent.

"− you have a fever, my love − brother Albert will prepare a decoction at once, which you will have to drink − rest now −"

She lurched as he forced her to drink the disgusting decoction she was nauseous from, the taste of ginger and garlic so intense that her stomach twisted all over.

"− drink − that's an order − you are to obey your King and husband −" He exhaled, holding her cheek painfully tight, tilting her head back so she wouldn't choke, forcing her sip after sip to drink it all to the bottom.

When he finally let her go she cried out loud, terrified and weak, not fully aware of what was really happening to her, forgetting where she was and who she was.

She felt her husband holding her in his arms throughout the night, his hand touching her forehead again and again, checking if her condition was improving. She had a feeling, half asleep, on the verge of consciousness and lack of it, that she heard him praying quietly, lying on his side behind her, his face pressed against her hair.

Gods, who watch over justice in heaven and on earth, have mercy on us.

Gods, who intercede for the poor and despised, have mercy on us.

Gods, who have brought this woman before me and bound me to her for eternity, have mercy on us.

What was empty is full.

What was broken is whole.

What was separated is one.

She tightened her hand on his arm which embraced her hearing his words, feeling a squeeze in her throat. He flinched at the gesture, lifting his head, she felt his anxious breath on her hot cheek.

"− my love? − how do you feel? −" He asked quietly and she swallowed loudly, feeling that she was still hot, her head was spinning and she was in pain all over, but she was no longer trembling.

"− tired, my King − tired and sore −" She whispered, and he sighed heavily, embracing her more tightly, putting his face where it had been a moment before.

"− sleep, my love − your husband is with you −" He whispered, rising after a moment, taking the cloth from her forehead – she heard him dip it in the water and squeeze it out, only to lay it again on her hot skin. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief at how pleasant it felt – he slipped his ice-cold hand under her nightgown and placed it over her heart.

The next day her husband had to attend a meeting and her mother replaced him at her side. She was forced to drink another dose of the medicine, but this time she was able to drink it alone, falling into a restless sleep again afterwards.

Brother Albert found to everyone's relief that her fever was slowly lowering and her body was beginning to fight back, that the worst was probably behind them.

Despite her mother's objections, when she felt a little better in the afternoon she asked to be allowed to take a bath and to change into a new chemise.

Washing her hair and body all drenched in sweat and then putting on a new undershirt made her feel fresh again, and although she felt like her head was going to burst and she had to go to bed again immediately, she regained her appetite and her mother personally went to see to it that everything she needed was brought to her.

She was surprised when one of the lords loyal to her husband since their conspiracy days, who was among his closest advisors, Lord Malet, entered her chamber. He had not announced himself beforehand and surprised her completely with his visit.

"My Queen, I know this is not the right time, however, there is an urgent matter I must discuss with you." He said standing away from her bed. She lifted her gaze to him and sighed heavily, having great difficulty concentrating, everything around her was spinning.

"Speak, my Lord. I am listening to you." She said in a hoarse voice and coughed quietly, sighing heavily. The lord shifted from foot to foot, swallowing loudly, clearly aware that he had to brew words.

"The King has decided today to marry my eldest daughter to an important dignitary of a neighbouring kingdom, to strengthen our alliances. However, I have already promised her hand to someone else. The King will not listen to me and I have come to beg you to intervene in this matter." He said lowly looking at his feet, embarrassed apparently by his request and by having to beg the traitor's daughter for help.

She let out a quiet breath, recognising that this matter required great delicacy and forethought – her husband was like a burning flame and all it took was a moment's inattention for him to set everything around them on fire in his rage.

"− I will try, my Lord −"

Her husband walked into their chamber as her mother was helping her eat the broth. Something about the sight pleased him; he hummed, coming closer to them with his hands clasped behind his back, his forehead lightened and smoothed.

"− my wife −" He said softly, and she nodded, not having the strength to do anything else.

"− I will take care of her now, my Lady −" He directed his words to her mother, and although the tone of his voice was calm, one could hear that he was not giving her any opportunity to object.

She nodded, handing him a half-empty plate of soup and stood up, stroking her head, telling her to rest.

As soon as the door closed behind her, her husband pulled the eye patch from his face, accustomed to not wearing it in her presence. He sat down next to her on the bed, putting on a spoonful of soup and placing it under her mouth. This time she did not stand up to him and ate slowly even though she was already full.

"− I'm glad you've got your appetite back −" He said lowly, relief and weariness in his voice at the same time – she knew he hadn't slept through the night, exhausted after the funeral and terrified of her condition. She swallowed quietly, gathering herself with difficulty to get out what she wanted to say.

"Lord Malet paid me a visit today." She began hesitantly, lifting her gaze to him. She saw that he looked at her surprised, vigilance in his healthy eye, his brow furrowed.

"What did he want from you? Why was he bothering you in such a state?" He asked with an air of annoyance and displeasure. She pressed her lips together, feeling her heart pounding fast.

"He came to ask me to help him in a matter concerning his daughter." She said slowly and saw him lick his lower lip furiously. He chuckled under his breath, however there was no laugh of amusement – he ran his hand over his mouth and chin impatiently.

"I see. Do not think about it." He said dryly, indicating to her that he intended to end the subject, putting another spoonful of soup on her.

"He is her father, Aemond." She made another attempt – he saw his jaw clench, his lips forming thin line, his nostrils moving restlessly.

He tried not to explode.

"And I am her King. She lives to fulfil her role for the kingdom." He said harshly, coldly, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

She could see in his gaze the threat that one more ill-considered word from her and he would lose his temper.

"If your father had told you to marry another woman instead of me, would you have done it?" She asked quietly, feeling her words hang in the ether; she saw the shock and fear in his gaze, his lips twitched – she could see he hesitated.

"…yes."

She looked at him with her lips slightly parted, feeling a tightening in her heart and in her stomach, some horrible, cold kind of disappointment flowed through her body, the realisation of who she was in his eyes.

A favourite, but still, just a pawn.

She answered nothing more, lowering her gaze, feeling only a terrible headache, only fatigue, only resignation.

"However, I fear she would soon meet with an unfortunate accident that would make me a widower." He added after a moment and she looked at him in disbelief, feeling her heart pounding rapidly.

He stared at her, his healthy eye wide open, focused only on her, a certain, cold, piercing gaze that would see every lie and hesitation, every weakness.

"The daughters of lords in the kingdom would die until you were the only candidate to become my wife. You know very well that I am very patient." He added in a half-whisper – she swallowed loudly as she saw him set the bowl of the soup down on the table next to their bed.

"You and I are like the sun and the moon. Like north and south. Like day and night." He hummed with delight, grinning uneasily to himself, his fingertips running over her warm cheek.

"Do you think I would let any other man take you as his wife? I'd let anyone else touch you? Hm?" He asked softly, but there was a sweet threat in his voice that sent a shiver through her. She shook her head, despite her fatigue and weakness feeling the throbbing between her thighs at his words, so dark, threatening, certain.

"And you? What would you have done if I had not come to you that night? If your treacherous father had married you off?" He asked lowly, quietly, looking at her vigilantly, more like an animal than a human being, searching for any signal of hesitation or falsehood.

"My husband would find me dead in his bed before he had time to touch me, to bruise me of the only thing left of my dignity." She whispered with a certainty from which he licked his lower lip quickly.

He began to breathe involuntarily through his mouth as he stared at her with wide-open eye, his sapphire gleaming mischievously in the moonlight streaming through the window into his chamber.

She sighed quietly as she felt his hand slide from her cheek down her neck to her breasts and lower abdomen, lifting her nightgown with an impatient motion, his fingers sinking into her hot, soft womanhood.

Her lips parted in a quiet, dreamy moan as he began to explore her condition, meeting her wetness between her slit – she saw a smirk appear on his face from which her walls pulsed hard around nothing.

"Destroy me. Leave me with nothing. Those were your words. Weren't they?" He gasped, his fingertips trailing between her folds, teasing her bud, her thighs involuntarily spread wider, the pleasure and tickle she felt in her lower abdomen making her feel even more stupefied.

"Yes." She mumbled quietly, innocently, with a sigh, as if the very memory of the intense, brutal act that was their first physical intimacy when he took her maidenhood brought her some kind of relief.

She shuddered as she felt his finger begin to slide tentatively inside her, teasing her opening with a click of her moisture, looking at her with some kind of intrigue.

"You didn't know who I was, and yet you let me take you. You longed to become my wife. Why?" He asked low, his voice deep and resonant, and she realised that this was the first time he had ever broached the subject of his or her feelings in any way, that he was allowing her into places of his mind that no one else had access to.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus, feeling weakened and at the same time distracted by the tickle she felt between her thighs, the tension that grew in her with each passing moment as his fingers dug harder into her throbbing heat, sliding out of her only to slide back in.

"− because you were like death − like a dark veil, a shroud, a coffin, and I felt dead − it seemed so right −" She whispered and she heard him draw in the air loudly, as if her words had startled him, his thumb beginning to run over her pearl and tease her as his fingers pressed the spot inside her hidden in her folds with sure, circular motions.

"− do you still feel dead? −" He exhaled in a trembling voice, as if there was something in the sight of her, in the way she moaned softly and wriggled helplessly, without the strength to resist him, from which he was losing his temper.

"− sometimes − but not with you − never with you −" She mumbled, glancing up at him wearily – his face looking different from usual, breathing loudly along with her, his full lips parted slightly, his eyebrows arched as if in worry, his eye misty, full of affection and longing.

"− if I will not be violent − will you let me? −" He asked in a quivering voice, and she nodded, knowing what he wanted, knowing what he needed.

He undressed, allowing her hand to untie the ribbon in his hair as he leaned over her, gently stroking her face with his fingers. He lay down between her thighs looking down at her, lifting the material of her nightgown only over her thighs, not wanting her to get cold.

She felt the head of his cock pushing against her slit and she sighed softly, spreading her thighs wider, wanting to make his task easier. He rooted into her surprisingly tentatively and slowly, sliding out several times, as if he wanted her insides to adjust to such intense filling.

It was such a surprisingly pleasurable and tender sensation that she began to moan quietly beneath him, stroking his cheeks and hair, their mouths meeting with each other in a sticky, hot, slow kiss, then another and another, their lips trailing over each other, their hot breaths surrounding their faces.

She ran her fingertips over the skin of his scarred cheek, feeling his thrusts begin to grow deeper and more confident, they both started to pant as a thrill of pleasure shuddered through them. She clasped her hands on his bare buttocks, rubbing against him so that he pressed the wonderful spot inside her each time he slided inside her.

"− yes − oh, yes −" She whispered, tilting her head back, his lips slid down to her neck, placing small, greedy kisses on her skin, leaving a wet trail on it, sucking and licking her naked flesh, rooting into her with the sure, deep thrusts of his hips, her walls clenching against him steadily.

"− am I causing you pain? − do you want to stop? −" He muttered between his pushes, with the remnants of his strong will trying to remember that she was still weakened and sick, that just a few hours ago she had a fever and should now be resting, not exerting herself.

However, he had never done this to her in such a gentle way before and she shook her head quickly, breathing loudly along with him.

"− n-no − please − please, husband, it feels so good −" She mewled, massaging his neck with her palm – she heard him groan low, his manhood throbbed hard inside her. He immediately sped up his pace, taking her hot hips in his hands, pounding confidently and deeply into her, slapping his thighs against her buttocks with a loud click of her moisture.

"− fuck − so good −" He exhaled looking down at her with his lips parted wide – she clamped her hands on the pillow on either side of her head, feeling her walls suck him inside, soaking his cock, his pace increasingly intense and fast.

All that came out of her mouth was a mumble as she came suddenly, pleasure shook her body and she just began to moan helplessly, trying to push him away, but to no avail – he pressed his hands against the bedding, slamming into her like mad, panting and groaning loudly, allowing himself to be more vocal than usual, his forehead pressed against hers.

"− just a little longer, my love − I'm so close − oh, gods, fuck, fuck, fuck! −" He gasped loudly, with a few final, desperate thrust filling her with his seed, his face expressing fulfilment and bliss. They panted for a moment with their eyes closed, still rocking their hips, trying to calm themselves.

She stroked his soft, long hair as his body fell gently on top of her, completely without strength, making sure he didn't crush her with his weight.

"You have possessed my body and soul." He whispered in her ear, his large hands still stroking her thighs and buttocks in a soothing, calm motion.

"You have broken into my mind. Into my heart. I feel that I'm losing my mind. That I have crossed the line leading into madness." He muttered in a trembling voice and, without knowing why, she felt herself smiling, her lips placing a tender, warm kiss on his bare, sweaty shoulder, her fingers running over his back.

"We both crossed it long time ago, my love."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu

[blindrapture]

OH GOD THE RAPTURE IS BURNING (Table of Contents)

While this book has many names and many people in it, all the events and opinions portrayed are fictitious. Some real names were used, with permission, but only for aesthetics’s sake. People often express confusion over some of the emoticons in the story. Most are self-explanatory, but just bear in mind that every one has eyes and a mouth. .w. has the periods as the eyes and the w is related to the "kittyface" of :3, with the former emoticon intended as an expression of humble happiness (something like "Aw, shucks!"). The < in <:D is intended as eyebrows, not a party hat, no matter who tells you otherwise. This story is long. The first draft was started in 2011 and continued until 2013, the second draft finished the story in 2013, the third and fourth drafts were refinements of the whole and came around 2014. The fifth draft added a lot more content, introducing an element you'll see as the "Attacheds," and this came in 2015. This formed the basis for the sixth draft in 2016, which was published on Amazon as the First Edition. That draft saw refinement and tweaking for several years (the seventh draft). What you are looking at now is the Second Edition, the eighth and final draft. The point of all this is: I have had many opportunities to change this story. I have taken many things out. The content and how it is treated will make you uneasy, somewhere, somewhen. It is best to read this story by yourself, where you can feel your emotions rawly and give them space. Privacy is a theme here. There are many more themes for you to discover. Good luck.

OVERTURE May 20 (Modern Invocation) May 21 (Title Drop From Red Sky)

ACT I May 23 (Donnie) May 24 (The Pillar) May 25 ("world with empty eye sockets") May 26 (Aubade feat. Mistress Dread) May 27 (In Blackpool) May 28 (Cipher for a Million Years) May 29 (Everyone's Benefit) May 30 ("Cakes mean the party funds") May 31 (Tropes) June 1 (Kissing a Corpse) June 2 ("le bouffon blanc") June 3 (Great Dodongo of the Congo) June 4 (SLCEM) June 5 (Womp Womp) June 6 ("Doppelganger") June 7 (The Minotaur of Lloret de Mar) June 8 (Vorke, the Face Stealer) June 9 (Systematic Chaos) June 10 (Clearly Exaggerated) June 11 ("Promise you'll never?") June 12 (Donnie Goes to London) June 13 (missing) June 14 (There Were Strangers at the Birth of the Earth) June 15 ("How are human minds biggest") June 16 ("I'll kneel.") June 17 (Going Brazilian) June 18 (In the Name of Comcast...) June 19 ("ENGLAND'S THEIRS NOW") June 20 (Tally Marks) June 21 (Bad Jokes) June 22 (Classic Jokes) June 23 (Ten Years in Jail) June 24 (Tell Us Yourself) June 25 (Liverpool) June 26 ("Fears. There's the rub.") June 27 (Secret Friend) June 28 (The Fourth Rake of the Apocalypse) June 29 (Rael's Exodus, I: Start with the Pronouns) June 30 (Rael's Exodus, II: Indisen) July 1 (Rael's Exodus, III: Fear the Day) July 2 (Rael's Exodus, IV: EAT) July 3 (Rael's Exodus, V: The Anatomy of Everything) July 4 (Rael's Exodus, VI: Wishful Thinking)

ACT II July 5 (Duck and Cover) July 6 (American Anxiety) July 7 (Ciphers of the Blind Man's Book) July 8 (The God Machine) July 9 (School Bus) July 10 (Family Expression) July 11 (Sempiternity) July 12 (Grimaldi's Mad Language) July 13 ("Operation: Rise Against Fear") July 14 (Guy Fawkes) July 15 ("yes, quite nice") July 16 (Infinite Series) July 17 (The Grand Gtheru) July 18 (A Conversation with Tiresias) July 19 (More Tally Marks) July 20 ("red ochre corridors") July 21 (Who Once Ruled the Streetlights) July 22 (Walking) July 23 (Goodbye, Swamp Queen) July 24 (Sanctuary Francisco) July 25 (Avoidance) July 26 (See, the Thing is...) July 27 (Maybes and Mysteries) July 28 (Synecdoche) July 29 (Crotch Museum) July 30 (King Real) July 31 (Ground and Pound) August 1 (Don't Speak Its True Name, I: Peace) August 2 (Don't Speak Its True Name, II: Mirrors) August 3 (Don't Speak Its True Name, III: Colors) August 4 (Don't Speak Its True Name, IV: Music) August 5 (Don't Speak Its True Name, V: Dominiere) August 6 (Don't Speak Its True Name, VI: The Ghost) August 7 (Don't Speak Its True Name, VII: Friend)

POST WILL BE UPDATED WITH EVERY LOG

SEE THE WEBSITE VERSION FOR THE IDEAL READ

(and for bonus rambles talking about the creation of the story, see here)

[callmearcturus]

Mission Impossible: a Crazed Ramble by tentacledwizard

Re my mission impossible ask: gonna share my thoughts bc I just finished watching the series (sans 2 and 3) and boy do I have Thoughts. I think I’ll cover the ones I’m most interested in (Ghost Protocol, Rogue Nation, and Fallout) though I might ramble at u about 1 and 7 later lmao. So okay here we go

Ghost Protocol. I REALLY liked this one. This is 2nd on my ranking of MI movies.

This movie has the best team vibes. Might be my favorite iteration of The Team, even if Luther isn’t really there. I just got really emotionally attached to these guys and their interactions lmao..

I liked Brandt. Jeremy Renner didn’t have to do some heavy-duty acting for this role, and he didn’t. His role was to be small and cute and tormented, and it worked. So well that I mumbled “where is my wife” when I watched Fallout, and my brother looked at me strangely. 

Jane Carter holy moly. Dude you were NOT kidding about Jane Carter. I love her so much. I love how she’s not even slightly the love interest, how her and Ethan’s interactions have this respect and camaraderie, and even when they kiss it’s not romantic. It’s great. Loved how she got the dudely “gotta avenge my dead wife” backstory with her boyfriend getting killed, and how that propels her most ruthless actions. I guess I’m pretty much agreeing with everything you’ve said about Jane lmao. SHE’S GREAT. Also loved it when she fought Léa Seydoux, it was pretty cathartic. Let female characters be driven and reckless and (eyes Rose Lalonde pfp) yeah

Benji Dunn the man that you are. Okay I’d say that Benji is at his best in the next movie, but this is a damn good introduction. He’s newly promoted, a little bit out of his depth, and I’m a sucker for funny nerdy sidekicks okay. Gonna talk about him some more when I get to Rogue Nation probably.

Ethan Hunt has the best haircut in this film. Idk man that’s my Ethan Hunt commentary. Oh wait it was also funny when he wore the mustache

I GOT ALL FLUSTERED WHEN LÉA SEYDOUX WAS ON SCREEN. I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS IS. HOW PECULIAR

Didn’t watch 2 and 3, so the brief glimpse of Julia was very intriguing and bittersweet. Then of course in Fallout she Julias all over the place!

OKAY NOW I CAN TALK ABOUT THE BURJ KHALIFA

I’ve actually seen the Burj Khalifa irl and it is SO TALL (I know, very surprising) so I cannot wrap my head around the fact that this scene was shot on location (??) I need to look into that more.

I am a dork and I do not know much about how stunts and action scenes are calibrated, hence the sheer delight I derived from the way the camera moves in the Burj Khalifa scenes. Also my hands got really sweaty during the first half. (The “blue is glue, red is dead” part reminded me of “hasta lasagna don’t get any on ya” IDK MAN)

I spent the wall-climbing section gazing at the TV rapturously and occasionally mumbling “uh oh,” “Ethan Hunt: Human Gecko” or “the climberrrr” alternately. I literally was not hearing myself because I was watching so intently. My breath was BATED lmao.

And like I’d seen the gif sets, I knew he was gonna jump but I didn’t know when. So when Ethan does jump, it’s so sudden that you can’t help but go :O !! And it works. Anddd that’s my favorite stunt in the film (i am an easily impressed nerd with no technical knowledge but i AM dying on this hill. The Burj jump would impress ANYONE and for good reason)

I am replaying this scene in my head over and over. It’s just. It’s so good. My reaction to it reminded me of when I watched [S] Descend and it just Worked and I was amazed. To say nothing of Cascade lmao. Actually yeah this kind of is Cascade in a sense

I'm sure none of this commentary  is really original, but I really love it when Tom Cruise does a big jump heh. I am a simple man

So yeah this film is easily my 2nd favorite. It’s character-driven, there’s comedy elements, the way the team interacts and collides and argues with each other is wonderful. And I believe in Jane Carter supremacy.  

Oh yeah, Bogdan was funny too. So many good + funny moments here :D

Wait how could I forget the best character (the Russian man who has an enemies-to-friends arc with Ethan)? Love that guy.

OKAY this is too long so Im gonna separate this into 2 parts.

they sent three asks and then I responded, we're gonna use a cut here, LONG POST!!!!!

@tentacledwizard PART 2.

Rogue Nation. This one’s my favorite! I like how it begins not with Ethan but with the Team, because their interactions are good. And of course Ethan’s trying to jump on a plane. Just another Saturday.

I am not very good at talking about plot so let’s talk about Benji Dunn

ok wait first I gotta say that I like how they played with the usual IMF message. The “we ARE the syndicate” got me. Really good moment, and I bet if I rewatched it I’d catch all the little details that made me suspicious of whoever was talking. 

Anyway Benji Dunn.. the man that you are…

Like I said, Benji is at his best in this movie. There’s so many little moments that cement his greatness. He’s gaming on company time! He lies about not being Ethan’s friend on a daily basis :( also the sincere dorky smile he does on his way to the opera is so wonderful. 

I really like how sincere Benji is. He’s genuinely looking forward to the opera, and he’s eager to wear a mask someday, and he cares about Ethan so much. Yeah he’s a funny little British man but he’s also v sweet and you can see why Ethan goes crazy and kidnaps the prime minister to get him back. 

speaking of, I really think that Benji and Ethan’s relationship is… if not the core of the movie, it’s definitely a major part of that core. Does that make sense? Like, I tried to take a picture of the screen every time Ethan and Benji glanced at each other knowingly, and I ended up with a lot of pictures. Even with the 6-month separation (Ethan with a beard is something I never thought I’d see), they know each other. Ethan knows Benji wants to see the opera, and Benji will yell at Ethan when Ethan needs to be yelled at. Ethan compliments Benji’s tuxedo (as he should).

Also ffffuck whenever these guys worry about each other… like when Benji tells Ethan he’s probably going to take it too far one of these days.. Man. The scene where Ethan washes out of the giant torus with Ilsa and Benji goes to talk to him is so good.

oh and yeah Ethan did kidnap the prime minister. For benji. HE DID THAT!!!

Also the scene where Benji is forced to speak for Solomon was honestly incredible, it was like Ethan and Benji were having their own separate conversation with eye contact. When Ethan briefly put his hand on Benji’s shoulder, maybe to reassure him without having to talk, and Benji glances up at him… that’s good stuff right there. When Benji was finally able to talk it was cathartic. God I love these two

Plus the opera fight scene is so fun oh my god.

ok let’s talk about my queen Ilsa Faust

Ilsa Faust is great, and I really like how this series does female characters. Because she has her own shit going on, there’s a bit of romance between her and Ethan but they’re both agents with missions, and she’s never sexualized. I love that. Her signature move is filmed the way a male character would be filmed if he were fighting. That’s awesome.

I really loved Rebecca Ferguson’s performance here, the conflict between saving others and saving herself was neat. It’s also interesting how she has way less reservations about killing people, which plays off Ethan’s… everything. And she never makes it easy for Ethan, which I’d honestly do too if I was involved in the shit she has to deal with. 

But of course there are moments that show she does care about him (asking him to run away, the scene where she saves him in the underwater whirly spinner). The hug was pretty sweet.

Also, Ilsa is when I started really paying attention to the outfits in MI, because all of her looks were great. The yellow dress is iconic, and I REALLY liked the pleated coat she wears when talking to Solomon Lane. Plus the suit she wears in Fallout is Good.

Solomon Lane is a good villain. Jim is the MI villain I think of when I think of MI villains, but Solomon is very distinctive. I mean that voice, man. The VOICE. Lmao. He kind of reminded me of a parasitic worm made human, which is a 100% good thing.

So who has the more distinctive and weird voice? Solomon or Claire? That is the question. (I think it’s Claire tbh. Four am, four in the morning, four o clock)

So this is my favorite MI film. It’s fun, it has a good villain. We see Ethan’s personality start to shine through, too- he’s emotionally driven, as evidenced by when he fucking DOES ALL THAT TO SAVE BENJI GOD I LOVE THESE TWO. So yeah, this is the Ethan and Benji movie to me. It’s also a stellar debut for Ilsa Faust… wait what do you mean she gets fridged in the 7th movie. What do you mean

OH Jeremy Renner is still here! And more Luther! Hell yeah.

really want to rewatch this one so I can take more notes on the stunts and stuff, too

Ok time to make a part 3 because this is ridiculously long

PART 3

Fallout. Oh man. This one messed me up. 

So from the start, Fallout is a darker, queasier watch than the previous two. The more I watched, the more I realized that this movie Is Ethan Hunt’s Nightmare.

Like there’s the straightforward nightmare at the beginning, and then the film just Doesn’t Stop. It keeps messing with our minds again and again. 

This is the Ethan Hunt movie. This is our deep dive into Ethan Hunt’s mind, and at some points it kind of feels like a test of how well we know him- because he wouldn’t kill all those people, so this must be another nightmare, right? 

I am used to vivid nightmares, and this film perfectly captures the sheer horror of having one. And I was constantly doubting my own perception, bouncing between bad dream and reality along with Ethan. Man.

Like Mission Impossible has always kind of had that element, what with the masks and everything, but this film dials it up to eleven. I recognized the horror of Ethan’s situation here, and it was a feeling that stayed with me the entire time.

I mean at some points, it gets surreal. The line about Ethan literally being his own worst enemy (it’s true!), his wife showing up in little glimpses until she finally appears, Lane pinpointing Ethan’s fears, etc. When Ethan looks around at the church and says he’s terribly sorry, it’s such a small moment but it’s still kind of a gut punch. Ethan Hunt is trapped in his brain and so are we.

Even the title sequence shows everything burning around Ethan. The full theme song sounds like it’s going to end, but then it keeps going. This movie feels way more apocalyptic than any of the others.

Even Max is dead. I mean come on.

And we see how this screws up Ethan’s judgment, how his priorities are a little fucked in the grand scheme of things. He puts a few people over millions, for better or for worse.

Ethan Hunt running is an iconic part of the franchise, but what happens when all the messed-up stuff he went through catches up with him? What about the fallout?

So when the ending rolls around, it feels like Ethan is waking up, and that lends it a certain catharsis. But the uneasiness of most of the movie still stuck with me for a long time afterward.

Okay let’s talk about the new characters.

Alanna was neat, and I liked her outfits too. Though every time she flirted with Ethan, I had this vivid mental image of Ethan driving up and yelling “I fucked your mom, shit lips!” Probably something he’d say to Zola instead though.

Walker was such an asshole and that was kind of great actually. Not a single redeeming quality to be found. Have fun falling off that cliff, johnny boy.

Oh yeah and he got to say the only “fuck” in the entire series I believe. (It should have been Ethan. Well I can always hope.)

That conversation Ethan and Benji have about how Ethan won’t let anything happen to him, but then later Ethan does something that seems to put Benji in danger (making him be Solomon Lane)? Chef’s kiss. Also Benji FINALLY got to wear the mask, and he’s damn good at it.

More of Ilsa and Ethan’s relationship and man is it complicated haha. I like the scene where they’re walking through a symmetrical landscape, just paralleling each other, until finally they’re face to face. That’s good stuff right there. Also the scene where he’s in the hospital bed was sweet.

My wife [Brandt] is not here but luckily we get a lot of Luther. Luther is the constant in this series- he’s stuck with Ethan from the beginning, for better or for worse. (Better, because he’s a good character). So Luther really cares about Ethan, evidenced by his conversation with Ilsa. He probably knows Ethan better than anyone, except maybe Julia but then again she and Ethan have been apart for a while. 

Julia was great. The scenes with her and Ethan were v bittersweet. They still care about each other (just look at Ethan’s constant guilt over not protecting her), but she’s living her own life now. The conversation they had near the end was the culmination of all this, the moment we were waiting for. Plus I enjoyed her friendship with Luther, like I enjoyed Ilsa and Benji’s friendship. The scene where they’re cutting the wires/talking about Ethan was cute.

as for the stunts, hmm… I didn't really get the level of physicality I got from, say, MI1 or Ghost Protocol. Idk man maybe I’m just biased against helicopters?

ALSO I really like Face/Off and Hit Man so the John Lark thing was p cool to me. Ofc John was the asshole CIA agent though.

Anyway good movie, might take some time before I can rewatch it but it’s a masterful delve into Ethan Hunt’s mind. Not my favorite but also really really good and I wrote the most about it.

Conclusion. Wow that’s a lot of thoughts. Probably too many to put in one ask. Uh I kind of also want to talk about MI1 and Dead Reckoning as an echo of MI1 but this was a lot so idk if you’d want me to do that lmao. Anyway I have to thank you for convincing me to watch Mission Impossible all those months ago, because it is one of my obsessions now. (If you read all this I am sorry lmao, hope it wasn’t boring tho) 

And now I can finally read your Benthan fic! 8D hell yeah.

okay now it is my turn to reply

I frankly adore Brandt. I've joked to Brandt that I don't really ship Benthan, I just use it as a vehicle to write William Brandt and have him tell jokes. I adore his angry little bureaucratic ass. I am actually a fan of Renner when the material gives him actual shit he can do. Like, he was fucking WASTED in the MCU and the "Hawkeye" miniseries proves he could have been having fun this entire fucking time but they never GAVE him anything. And even if his role in MI is simple, McQuarrie is so damn good at writing characters that Brandt feels vibrant. In GP he goes from sad sweater boy to lowkey the weakest link of the team but everyone is there to help him. And in RN there's a THOUSAND lil moments I love with him. I always point to Benji's interrogation scene, there's a VERY VERY PRECISE bit of editing where Benji is going off on a tirade about how the CIA sucks, and the camera lingers on Brandt LITERALLY JUST LONG ENOUGH for Renner's mouth to make this tiny microexpression, like TWO FRAMES of Brandt indulging in admiring Benji's lie-craft.

Also the argument in the bigass car with Luther was Renner improvising according to McQ. Love it. Brandt's my angry little pencil-pushing angel. Any time he shows up in the PT AU, I'm 😍😍😍

GP lives and dies on the team dynamic tbh, which I find hilarious bc imo MI3 was pronounced dead on arrival bc the team dynamic is non-existent and like, why am I even here???? the chemistry is truly batshit.

IF YOU WOULD LIKE ALL THE TRULY MIND-BOGGLING FACTS BEHIND THE BURJ CLIMB AND HOW TERRIFYINGLY PRACTICAL IT WAS check out this post

Also Ethan's gorgeous LEAP at the end of the sequence is my second-fave Physicality Moment in that movie. The first is of course Ethan's silent vault over the railing after he leaves his prison cell. I'm a slut.

and I bet if I rewatched it I’d catch all the little details that made me suspicious of whoever was talking.

oh you want a fun one? in the record shop, there are two listening booths. ethan goes into the one on the left.

Solomon Lane is sitting in the one on the right.

re: Benji in Rogue Nation, I mean McQuarrie himself has said Simon Pegg as Benji Dunn is the beating heart and soul of the Mission franchise. so don't worry, we ALL stan.

ILSA FUCKING FAUST. /fans face. Yeah, the way MI handles women is like… I don't know how to go back to, like, James Bond films. I keep remembering Skyfall (which I remember as a good movie) and how one of the ~bond girls~ is casually executed and the whole point is how unfazed everyone is, how DISPOSABLE she is, how James Bond as a franchise wants backpats for pointing out "man it sure sucks how disposable women are in these spy flicks huh"

smash cut to Ghost Protocol, Rogue Nation, Fallout, and ESPECIALLY Dead Reckoning.

I keep saying this but MI manages to pull off the Metal Gear thing in that the Male Gaze of the camera is thoroughly bisexual. Long before we see Ilsa's amazing leg shot at the opera, we get a long lingering shot of Ethan's tiddies, and the way he's held captive is very female-coded, the position, the way he tries to wile his way out of it, the barefoot thing, all of it. There's such intense intentionality with how MI frames bodies.

Hell, I've been flicking between MI and the X-Men AU movies and comparing Ilsa to Mystique is super interesting because both of them fight with their legs-first. But the choreography of Mystique always has this "heh heh heh naked legg" feeling, while with Ilsa, her fighting style is so consistent, it feels like a natural result of her build and how she utilizes momentum. I remember there's a fast moment in Fallout where she very casually assists Ethan by taking out a guard as he extracts Alanna, and she does her leg flip thing. It feels Correct for her, rather than the MCU "make sure you fight pretty" bullshit.

Anyway I love Ilsa but Benji is actually the Love Interest in RN and we all know it.

"wait what do you mean she gets fridged in the 7th movie" SHE DOES NOT GET FRIDGED i am gonna die on this fucking hill, that Ilsa's death was good and actually meant something

Anyway I cosign all your thoughts on Fallout. I think it's the best movie and frankly I think it's a cinematic masterpiece. The claustrophobia of it, the nightmare of being Ethan Hunt, the repeated use of dreamlike imagery to convey that we're falling further into that nightmare with him, AND THE ENDING. I find the ending so bittersweet because yes, Ethan and the team pull it off, they push at the edges of possibility and reason until the universe yields and gives them the win

but then Julia says "I know you'll always be there" and its like watching a door slam in Ethan's face. He's always going to be in this dream/nightmare, a world that exists one layer removed from reality, and he can't get out. It's amazing. I want to kiss McQ on the mouth.

That Ilsa-Ethan scene was not in the original script and TC suggested it day-of and they just did it and its one of the most beautiful shots of the movie, with the green trees melding with the slight green tones of Ilsa's outfit and with Ethan's eyes. The fact they have an entire conversation between Ethan and Ilsa's eyebrows. I love them.

[fuckyeahaudiodrama]

REC: The Trees Swallow People

A limited horror series “about a man and his dog witnessing a small Irish village driven to the brink of madness, cosmic terror, and cult worship by supernatural trees.” (x)

told in 24 chapters / 6 hours

to be honest, i tried this out at random and was just utterly unable to put it down. i fell asleep listening to it the first night and inevitably finished it the next afternoon.

the story just has this incredible forward momentum; it’s so full of dread, even in moments where nothing is really happening. the flat, descriptive narration style is juxtaposed perfectly with sudden bursts of intense action and vivid, almost rapturously described gore.

for me, the protagonist was the real selling point. he’s depressed, though not truly apathetic, and struggling — often gracelessly — against the tide of an apparent mass psychosis that’s descended on all of his neighbors. above all else, he‘s compelled to protect his beloved little dog with an increasingly unhinged desperation (a trait which i think many of us can probably identify with.) much of the narration has a blunt or even bleak edge to it, given the constantly deteriorating circumstances, but occasionally our protagonist bursts through the grimdark spiral to be hilariously exasperated with the people around him.

production quality is also excellent. music is well-placed, meaningful, and mixed well enough that i never found it interfered with my understanding of the narration, even in dramatic moments. some of the sound design was fairly graphic, but overall i appreciated how it enhanced the powerful imagery of the nastier scenes.

the dreary small-town setting is perfect for this sort of horror. without spoiling, i also appreciated the brutal simplicity of this worldbuilding concept. new elements cropped up from time to time but it never got terribly convoluted — the same central mystery remains through the final chapter, and i personally found the conclusion satisfying.

i’d really love to hear more from this creator!

__

similar to: Wake of Corrosion, I Am In Eskew, The Milkman of St. Gaff’s (worldbuilding, vibes), & vaguely WOE.BEGONE (mostly narration style)

[wolven91]

A Friend for Life

Garf’troyus had been having a rough go of it recently. A draconian, hardy people from an arid world; his people were hard to kill. Perfect for piracy within the depths of space. That didn’t do much to lessen the fact that his crew had been scattered thanks to a devastating counterattack to his latest raid and his ship was barely limping back to his concealed base within the Ying Asteroid Belt.

Running a taloned hand over his face before massaging his temples below the wicked horns either side helped to a degree as he decided the best course of action from here. With a snort he decided how to crack this.

Garf’troyus the pirate needed a win.

Big or small didn’t matter, just something to break the stroke of bad luck and the militaristic funk he was currently in. He wasn’t defeated, he just needed to pivot to another avenue of attack on the wider galaxy.

Once he got back to base, he’d drink everything left over from previous raids and start fresh with a little genocide on some backwater planet. He’d skirt The Edge first, picking off any lone freighters or under-prepared sluggat stations he came across before attacking the first inhabited planet. Sluggats were a soft race, get into one of their stations and it was easy pickings. It was just a matter of getting past the defences first.

He leaned back in his chair with a smirk across his snout as his radar ‘pinged!’ with a new contact. Turning his head a rapturous grin broke over his features.

A single ship, a goods freighter most likely. His grin broadened as the scan confirmed no weapons at all, aside from point defence for meteors. Child's play and proof that his rampant bloodshed in the past would be rewarded by the Gods. Depending on the crew he could personally slaughter them all or just make his way to the bridge and vent them if they didn’t join his new raiding band. He needed to replenish his forces after all.

He didn’t bother opening a comms link to offer terms or even a chance to surrender, he needed this.

With a bone jarring slam into the docking port, his ship tore its way in and sealed itself around the ragged edges of his piercing entrance that had been the side of the freighter’s hull. Once he left, the resulting hole would either kill or cripple the ship, their corpses would merely add to his infamy.

It was a scant few seconds later, whilst he still had the element of surprise that he burst into the foreign ship. Right  into an empty corridor with flickering lighting. The ship was in a poor state, less from intentional damage and more from neglect. It explained why they were out toward The Edge to begin with. Only those with no options or money would come all the way out here.

Once he got to the bridge, whilst the door was locked he was Garf’troyus the pirate! No locked door would stop him as he simply grabbed the edges and pulled them apart. They resisted, but helped by the aged unmaintained mechanics it tore open and let him through with a squeal.

A human launched themselves at him and gave a swift downwards slam with a heavy wrench across Garf’troyus’s forehead. Thankfully they had gone for the thickest part of his skull or that may have defeated him then and there. He merely straightened up and looked down disdainfully at the creature. He snorted once.

What followed was a series of brutal blows thrown by both Garf’troyus and the smaller human. Her hair was long and greasy as if she hadn’t been able to wash it in an extended amount of time. She fought like a wild creature that had been cornered and with no further options but to fight to the death.

Garf’troyus was triumphant in the end, but it was not the landslide victory he had come to expect from his past scores of wins. He had lost several teeth and was fairly certain had several cracked ribs. But the Human was slumped against a far wall and breathing heavily. She was mortally wounded, there would be no further danger from her. His claws dripped with her essence.

He began to check the main console for any other life signs and found none aboard. A dark hacking chuckle came from the Human.

“Are you finding humour in your perishing human?” He asked, keeping an eye on her crumpled form. She didn’t rise.

“No.. But it’s over.. Finally..” She wheezed.

“You disliked your life so much? Then you are welcome.” He grunted, wincing from the pain lancing through his side. She had done a worse number on him than any other in living memory.

“Look.. hah.. no-one deserves what’s about to happen without a heads up… What’s your name?”

“I am Garf’troyus the pirate! Rejoice, for you are rewarded with death to be in my presence.”

“Your name is Garth?! Hah! Oh, oh don’t make me laugh.. oh ho ho.. ooh ow…”

He snorted in frustration, humans never knew when to show respect.

“They’re going to be loose already… That explosion or whatever it was will have woke them up…”

He glared at her out of the side of his eye. “..Woke what?”

“They started as toys… Then people felt more deeply for them than any basic toy.”

She pulled a hand away from her side where it was soaked with her disgustingly red blood.

“They became cherished pets. They modified them… Made them better…Your technology…”

A sigh.

“Technology got better and so did they. First it was just their appearance, before long they could move on their own.”

Her eyes got heavy, her words slurred.

“But they were ageless. Their owners passed away and they became beholden to no-one.”

Her voice got quiet.

“… I got most of them… but.. now? ...B...Best of luck Garth…”

She was still.

The lights flickered overhead and the shadows of the room seemed to lengthen.

The huge alien heard something long and slithery outside the only door in or out of the room.

"Kah hungry, aaa aaa aaa!" came something sinister and synthetic.

"Whoa! Big sound, wah!" another, different voice answered, it was in the room.

Garf’Troyus grabbed the Human’s dropped wrench as he saw two blinking eyes illuminated in the pure darkness outside the room.

"Food! Please! Hungry." came from above.

[vienoreal]

Hello hello I am a random and nervous anon who will probably never interact with you again but. I would like. to hear your thoughts. on the minecraft diaries au u mentioned hjbskjdnfksfd i remember watching through that series like 1000000 times back in the day lol

YESSIRRRR I LOVE YOU ANON!

OKAY OKAY SO!

i have a lot of ideas for it and so many thoughts

1st variant of Minecraft Diaries x QSMP crossover.

qMariana is Aphmau, Juanaflippa is Levin and qCharlie is Laurance

Mariana just kinda appeared outta nowhere and Juanita got left at his door and as the Lord of the Quesadilla Village he just fuckin' had to keep her until he found her mother

on said adventure he meets this very pretty guy who for reason has really long green hair and pieces of slime on him like HUH? AND HE'S FLIRTING WITH HIM?? AND HE COMES OVER TO VOUCH FOR HIS INNOCENCE ALONG WITH HIS OWN KNIGHT FOOLISH?

okay and now he has a fucking Wyvern and offered to give him a ride? fuck yesss, but honestly even if he wants to jump this man's bones like every other bitch but he has a kid to take care of! and a village! also Foolish is kinda hot and Charlie is a knight for another village

Mariana just looks like his normal self, some people question the outfit but he doesn't really know either

Charlie's outfit is exactly like Laurance's, but his hair is Green because his childhood friend, aka. Wilbur Soot, and who he considers his brother, dyed his hair and disappeared before he could change it back

Charlie ended up having to take care of Tallulah, Wilbur's daughter. Phil, the new Lord of Meteli also takes care of her and his other son, Chayanne. Missa is his guard.

Quackity takes Sasha's role, having died and turning into a Shadow Knight. Tilín disappeared after his death and Charlie is still working on trying to find them.

when Mariana goes to save the Chicken Shaman, aka. Maximus, Charlie sacrifices himself to save them, hoping for Maximus to turn Wilbur back to himself

he gets raptured and turned into a Shadow Knight, where he sees Quackity as Sasha, Luzu as Gene and someone else (i have yet to figure out who should be Vylad. )

Mariana is honestly fucking devastated that Charlie is in the Nether with no help and no way to come back, until he sees him while on a trip with Juanita. Charlie wanted to reach out to Mariana and hug him and kiss him, but he couldn't. the rage imbued in him by the Shadow Lord making it also impossible from pulling out his sword and gutting Mariana, the last Lord he served. but seeing little Juana there, staring at him with big bright eyes and a smile, reminded him of Tilín and Tallulah. it broke his heart and he fled, afraid of hurting the poor child.

when Mariana later finds Charlie, blind, hurt and nearly on death's door with the wyvern, Cucurucho (yes Cucurucho bc qCharlie's interactions with it are funny and adorable and sad) suddenly turned dark and disappearing

Wilbur, now turned normal thanks to the combined efforts of Vegetta (Zoey) and Cellbit (Kawaii-Chan), came to visit and Mariana left to give them space, but thennnnnnn

the High Priest, Rubius, is outside his tattered house which was blown up by Leo (Zenix) while he was on his adventure for the mother of Juanita. threatening Charlie

yaddi yaddi yada, story goes as normal y'know, except arguments and love between Charlie and Mariana and jealousy with Charlie over Foolish and Mariana

now misc facts about this version of this AU go! -> Charlie is a slime elemental and human hybrid. Mariana is still Lady Irene and i guess a reincarnation? Aaron doesn't exist in this version. Tilín takes Malachi's role, having died and become a ghost with the same fear powers, but Charlie takes them in instead of Mariana. Roier is Dante. Donna and Logan are Forever and Bad respectively. Jaiden is Kiki, and Fit is Brendan. Emmalyn's role is taken up by Baghera. Lucinda is Etoiles and Nicole is Melissa. yes. no, it doesn't make sense. yes, i know.

2nd variant of the AU!!

their roles are just reversed. that's it. Charlie is Aphmau, Mariana is Laurance.

3rd variant of the crossover

Charlie is Logan, Mariana is Donna and Juanaflippa is Yip. but make everything else and everyone else normal Minecraft Diaries or other QSMP members i honestly don't know

Charlie, instead of being greedy and mean, is very friendly and weird and quite diabolical, a slime hybrid. when he gets turned into a werewolf, it messes with his slime and instead transforms him into and eldritch mix of werewolf, slime and demon with too many limbs, too many eyes and teeth and claws, too much fur and goop and,,,, tentacles? goo goobie bitches

Mariana is a nurse who got moved into the "Babe House", and after seeing the hot buff merchant, he's very much into it and wants to become a sugar baby, but instead falls in love and gets married. mission failed successfully?

their relationship is very much playfighting and joke arguments that seem a bit too real for others. they are madly in love and have done el sexo de grande multiple times. even with Charlie in monster form. Charlie gets ruts btw– *gets shot*

when they get kidnapped, Charlie fights tooth and nail to keep Mariana safe, at the expense of his health. he's near death when rescued by the Lord, and frantic in going back to Mariana

Flippa, the lone survivor of the murder of her tribe, later found by Charlie, instead of the Lord of his village. he takes her in and treats her just like he would his own biological daughter

then when he sees Mariana again, reencuentro el sexo de grande

when they go back home, Charlie goes back to his job and dotes on his brand new daughter and his bitch wife like no other, it's sickening how much he adores his family

and during the war, Charlie stays behind to fight, wreaking havoc against his opponents. and during the 15 year time-skip, he waits for Mariana patiently, sitting at the docks like dog waiting for its owner. when he comes back with Flippa, Charlie almost tackles them into the ocean with how happy he was, crying with Flippa about missing each other and kissing Mariana breathless

the Backflippo family is one of the few who stayed at the village. Charlie is one of the few people who are capable of fighting off the bandits easily, along with the help of Juanaflippa, but he has to he away to keep getting more resources and food to keep everything ok and running

Mariana starts a garden at the wish of Juanita, giving them to Charlie to sell and Juana to make crowns of and press them. he farms as well and makes sure everyone stays healthy, rasing Juanita while Charlie is off doing business and exchanging letters with him almost every single day, sending them talking about their days and how they're doing while away

they're so in love your honor

Juana is very hyper and very energetic, practically hounding Charlie to play and teach her how to be a werewolf every time he's home. whenever that happens Mariana takes a big big nap and enjoys whatever gift Charlie brought back

i'm so normal guys, trust me

hope you liked these ms paint drawings HSBDJDHHDGSGVS

[rhees-rapture]

I'm unsure if I'll ever finish the epilogue or return to complete the prequel/sequel to Rhee's Rapture.

That said, I still have plans to bring Executioner X to life in some form. I feel strongly about the character and the impact his story could have on others.

At least I was able to finish the main series and storyline of the ARG, which I'm grateful for.

The epilogue centered on Rapture (Lynette) as she tried to find peace with the events of the main series. It was titled Pieces of Raptura and explored her conflicted feelings of love and hate for Rhee. I wouldn’t say she ever truly fell in love with him—it was more a desperate longing for companionship. She was lonely, confused, and scared. Rhee was the only person in her reality, the only one physically present who truly understood what was happening to her.

Rhee, on the other hand, struggled to conceptualize his emotions. He cared for Rapture as the story progressed, but she wasn’t particularly exceptional to him. She was basically used as tool and a facade/bait in the beginning. Later his desire to love and be loved by her came more from his need for connection and other issues that had little to do with her as a person.

The story had Beauty and the Beast elements, shaped by player choices. These choices sometimes painted their dynamic as more romantic than it actually was. Rhee had experienced feelings for women he considered a form of love, but he realized that when these feelings were tied to sexuality, they weren’t as pure as the love he felt for his son or others he cared for unconditionally. He came to understand that his sexual desires often led him to objectify people and prioritize his own interests over theirs.

Through the players’ actions, Rhee learned that love wasn’t about possession but selflessness. In Act 1, he admits he doesn’t understand how to love something and let it be free. By Act 3, when he buries his son’s bones, he reflects that his most loving choices—those made for others’ well-being—were the ones where he walked away from them. Putting their lives/best interests first.

At the time, he believed this wasn’t love—that he couldn’t fully love someone without possessing them. However, this wasn’t true; he felt an inner conflict because, deep down, he didn’t want to possess them precisely because he cared for them.

He loved his son regardless of keeping his remains, burying them cemented that.

Rapture’s journey was different. She was confused and struggling to make sense of her feelings and what had happened to her. In her search for answers, she delves into black magick and Rhee’s spellbook. The gameplay focused on helping Rapture recover her memories—or not—leaving players to wrestle with the moral dilemma: is it better to remember or forget?

Players could choose what memories Rapture recovered, and as she used dark magick, her body would begin to deteriorate and mutate. This opened up some opportunities for FX work that I was looking forward to doing. Depending on the choices players made, Rapture would either transform into a monster and die, rotting away in her bed, (bad ending) or shed her monstrous flesh, regaining her sense of self and purpose.

In the end, she would cut off her braids, leaving them in the room as a symbolic gesture of closure. (Best ending)

The braids were part of the reason Rhee chose her, as her hairstyle and overall appearance resembled an actress he admired in his youth. This adds significant symbolism to the gesture.

Yesterday, I cut my braids; I had planned to wait and film this moment in the epilogues end, (I physically play Rapture in the series) but terrible events over the past few months have forced me to adapt. Sickness and depression have taken a toll on me both physically and mentally, and I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that my plans have changed. My focus now is on dealing with the obstacles in front of me.

I still plan to write out the epilogue and either post it on the channel or create a video of some sort. For now, though, I wanted to share this with people who have followed this series.

[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 11: Savage Return - Part 1

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 12,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 11: Savage Return - Part 1

She watched the throngs of people mill like colorful moving grains, her gaze looming from halfway above the city in the glass bastion of a hotel. The party happening around her was raucous and glamorous, seedy and debauch. She ignored it all, focusing on the tiny masses congesting the streets of Time Square, braving the cold weather for the New Year.

Gazing down with her hip precariously pressed against the glass and metal railing, she watched as the Crossroads of the World buzzed with excitement and merriment. She could barely hear the rumble of the crowds from so high up, and the atmosphere around her faded under the sound of the wind that blew about her.

Isabela didn't mind the bitter cold clime; could barely perceive her shivering.

Her latest target was dead on the bed behind her, and the door was locked, so she figured she could afford to get lost in thought for a little while. No one would miss them in the chaos of coke, sex, and hob-knobbing. It was just as well.

She wanted to be left alone. Swinging over the railing, she perched herself on the cold metal and sat effortlessly as if she was simply dangling her legs over the side of a bar.

Her shimmering black cocktail dress fluttered in the breeze, dozens of stories from the ground. She brushed her hair from her face and watched the crowd absently.

"You make me nervous, Valkyrie…"

She shut her eyes at the voice echoing through the recesses of her memories. Exhaling her breath in a puff of steam, she opened her eyes and ignored the memory of her dangling off the balcony over the Berlin alleyway. She ignored looking back at the man she knew would not be there.

Unbidden, she suddenly thought of Victor. She felt the heat reach her face as she remembered him gazing down at her after coupling for the last time. His cold eyes had blazed like gunmetal from the light of the fireplace. Brushing her numb fingertips over her lips, she could swear that she could still feel the warmth of his mouth there. Remnants of rapture…The press of his fingers over her body, the bite of his claws, and the weight of his palms would tantalizingly skitter across her skin in a series of phantom sensations; a wayward shudder she couldn't help. It'll pass…

And that was what made Eirik come to the surface of her thoughts. Her eyes glazed over as the memory washed over her.

She'd been sitting on a balcony rail, kicking her legs out coquettishly and listening at the tell tale sounds of boots marching down the cobblestoned streets off in the distance. The waxy moon peeked between the clouds, and she felt the cold wind dance about, playing with the waning waves of her hair.

"You make me nervous, Valkyrie…" He'd said from behind her. She could feel his gaze on her as he slowly prowled over onto the balcony.

"Why do I make you nervous?" She'd murmured, ignoring her impulse to look at him over her shoulder. She watched the night below in the streets of Berlin, and wondered if it was as caustically serene before the war.

"If you fall, I can't catch you."

Isabela shook her head, snapping herself out of the memory and almost forgetting she was dangling dozens of stories up. Her hands gripped the railing behind her as she stood on the ledge of the railing and leaned out. If I dropped from this high up, could I catch myself from falling? Would I end up ruining all the tourists' New Year? She tilted her head and gazed down at the crowd as her dress whipped about in the wind.

With a laugh, she flipped herself backwards onto the balcony and leaned on her folded arms against the railing. Victor would've dove after me. She couldn't help but smile at the thought. Eirik would've grabbed me before I'd even tried it. The thought made her smile wane.

Turning from the balcony, she went back into the room and grabbed the half-empty bottle of champagne and went back out to gaze down at Time Square.

Her mind forced her to remember the first time she'd met Eirik. Memories that had only stirred hurt now felt…soothing, compared to the loneliness of her time without a certain vicious cub's companionship. She stifled all thought of Victor, admonishing herself for acting like a jilted lover when she'd done the jilting.

Taking a long drink, Isabela gazed down at the world. Those memories of the war weighed on her as the world buzzed and watched the glowing ball make its ascension before it would inevitably drop. Drinking straight from the bottle, she docilely waited for the world below and around her to explode in jubilation while she nursed her forever sober thoughts…

                      _____________________________________

His clawed fingers burrowed into the tiled wall, an irascible snarl catching in his throat as he whipped his head back from the shower spray beating down on his face. The shiver that had blazed across his body to well lust in his gut snapped him out of his reverie. He stopped himself from sliding down in the stall, letting the cold water beat his chest as he gritted his teeth and tried to hold onto the ecstasy of her phantom touch. His skin was scalding, pulse racing and his arousal was throbbing beseechingly in his hand while his other palm pried out of the wall to snake down his muscular thigh.

Victor hissed when he dug his claws into the meat of his inner thigh, managing to stifle the need for pleasure with the edge of pain. Hoarsely growling, he lengthened his nails into the wound and kept the pressure on until he felt in control of his senses again. It had been like this sporadically since the night she'd made love with him, shimmered with rapture. Of course, he'd read about the potency of the pheromone in most who'd been touched, but the recorded duration of the aftereffects was usually a week, or less, and were nothing more than tremors of lust. For Victor, there were times a tremor would seize him and he could swear Isabela's hands were on him. The tremulous sensations would send shivers down his spine and he'd be instantly riled up. The one that had just enveloped him was scorching—It was like I could taste her on my lips. Fuck…

Shaking his head, he ended the shower and stepped out into the warm bathroom. He stood for several minutes with his hands planted on the vanity in front of the sink mirror, water dripping off his naked frame as he stared at the starved glaze in his eyes. Aside from self-inflicting himself with a measured dose of pain, his arousal wouldn't wane. Begrudgingly, he mused it was a punishment he'd had fair warning of by the woman who'd ignited the phantom sensations to begin with.

"I've never used it on another feral…I don't know what it'd be like…"

Licking his lips, Victor wondered if the stunning aftereffects of rapture were the same for her—if she burned under the phantom sensations of his touch along her scalding body. Hot flashes. He shivered again, eyes snapping shut and nostrils flaring as he licked his lips and swore he could taste her on them. After a few moments of battling the sensations, Victor went about drying off and collecting his scattered thoughts. When he exited the bathroom to enter the hotel bedroom, he blinked at the grizzly scene left on the bed.

Confusion flooded his scattered brain at the dead woman tangled in her torn lingerie and drenched in a pool of dark blood, especially since that woman was Isabela.

Standing naked and bemused, Victor cursed at himself and slapped the heel of his hand against his forehead before dragging his fingers in his short wet hair. "Oh yeah, it ain't real…M'going fuckin' nuts…stop talking to yourself!" Victor murmured before berating himself and snickering. He got his strewn clothes and put them on before approaching the dead woman on the bed. She looked exactly like Isabela, but then again that's what he'd paid for.

Leaning over the corpse, he slapped the woman's face with the back of his hand and watched as Isabela slowly morphed away to the woman's true form: a demure-looking shapeshifter. The post mortem transfiguration earned a sigh from Victor, feeling whacked out of his head for momentarily forgetting what he'd done before the hot flash of rapture's aftereffects highjacked him. He sat on the bed next to the corpse while he pulled on his socks and boots, tongue toying with a fang while he puzzled out the sequence of events that had led him to that very moment.

He'd been unbelievably horny. No, horny couldn't begin to do the crackling lust he felt any justice. He was an animal in a rut, had been since he'd landed back in NYC without his little viper. The decision to set his ticket in return to the city had been a no-brainer. Isabela was a sentimental creature, and he banked on that, figuring she would want to return to the place where her tallest tower was. Having stalked the building that housed her penthouse in the sky, Victor had found himself doubting his logic after the days passed and he never saw a sign of her. Even his contacts hadn't heard much, and Dan Dresner had skipped out on him too. Never one to give up on a trail, Victor decided to stick around on the off chance they'd cross paths sooner or later. He got bored quick, and boredom quickly advanced into unrest. Not being an idle man, Victor found himself catering to the restless animal within, and it was itching to get its claws into something.

He'd lost his target in the sea of people, the crush of smells and sounds that had become the city streets. The bustle of crowds that filled almost every block in anticipation for the New Year festivities made him crawl with aggravation. So many stupid frails clogging up the streets left him feeling like an unseen predator in the middle of a horde of cattle. Gotta wait this hysteria out…

Deciding to lay low while the commotion died down so he could hunt better, the imposing feral found himself toying with the idea of getting some carnal action to take the edge off his boiling arousal. He couldn't get his desires off of his AWOL viper, however, and suddenly the idea he'd been nursing nagged him into an establishment that would cater to his very particular tastes. The madam had ushered him into a private ante-room and like any service industry went through a list of his requirements.

Cutting to the chase, Victor pulled a picture out of his pocket and slapped it down before the woman. "I want her. Exactly as she is, 'cept wearing red lingerie," he'd curtly rumbled and fixed the woman with a stern look as she studied the picture.

Looking up from the picture of Isabela perched in her gilded canary cage, the woman smiled, "We have many lovely girls for you to choose from—"

Victor slapped down a thick stack of crisp bills onto the table and growled, "I know your specialty, lady. I want the woman in the picture exactly. I ain't gonna say it again."

Without batting an eye, the woman bowed her head in acquiescence and stood. "Understood. I will take you to your quarters," she gestured for him to follow her. "Are there any other requirements you'd like us to fulfill?" she asked as she escorted him into a posh room high above the street.

"Yeah. I'm not interested in any chit-chat. No talking whatsoever," he tersely instructed as he tossed his coat over a chair and whirled back around to see the woman nod in understanding before she exited the room.

Minutes later, the door clicked open. Victor turned and watched silently as a beautiful replica of Isabela strutted into the room in the most mouth-watering red lingerie. Even the warmth and exotic color of her eyes were just as he remembered. The doppelganger escort mutely returned his picture, and Victor placed it in his coat for safe keeping before unbuttoning his dress shirt with deft fingers. He took her in before murmuring, "It's uncanny…" looming over her to caress his hands down her shoulders to skate down and cup her breasts through the lace fabric.

He hated it that she couldn't talk—not without the risk of breaking the fantasy. The woman could shapeshift into a perfect replica of Isabela, but there was no way she could mimic her voice without having heard it. Either way, it wasn't like they'd been much for talking once the sex started, so he figured it wouldn't be too missed.

Gripping the faux-Isabela by the jaw, he pressed his lips against hers and devoured her in a hungry kiss before pulling her towards the bed. Her skin was different—not as silky smooth or cool—but he ignored it as he sat at the foot of the bed and pushed her by her shoulders to kneel in front of him. She was well trained, taking the gesture for what it was and beginning to unfasten his belt and undo his trousers. Victor watched her with hooded eyes, seeing her, but not seeing her at the same time.

She didn't smell like Isabela. Didn't taste like Isabela. When her lips wrapped around the head of his cock and her fingers stroked his shaft, vexing disappointed filled him. She didn't feel like Isabela. He stared up at the ceiling, lips parted as he panted and tried to focus on his desire. He was so hard it shouldn't have mattered!

The woman moaned around him, and while it felt good, he couldn't concentrate on anything except for the fact that he was with a fucking fake. Fisting his hand in the back of her hair, he pulled her away from her ministrations and growled, "Yer cunt better do a better job than yer mouth." He let go of her hair and leaned back on his elbows. When she gave him a flat look, he snarled, "Get the hell up and ride my cock, frail."

His hackles were up, forcing him to dig his claws into the bedding while the faux-Isabela hurriedly complied and climbed onto the bed to straddle his lap. He growled a purr when she sheathed him into her heat and began working her hips over him. Fucking finally! He let his head tip back as he closed his eyes and imagined he was with Izzie and she was riding him hard and with primal gusto, just like he liked it.

He kept his hands on the bed and bucked up in rhythm with her undulating hips, groaning hoarsely as he was finally getting lost in the sex. Then suddenly his mind halted at the sensation of fingers digging into his undershirt and soft weak nails gripping feebly to his chest. Snapping his eyes open to stare at the woman riding him and humming softly in pleasure, he felt as if the fantasy had crumbled completely around him. She didn't sound like Isabela, and now she didn't look like Isabela did when in the throes of passion.

His nails lengthened as he sat up and bared his fangs at her before he furiously rumbled, "Get off!"

The tang of fear filled the air around her as she did as she was told, but not as fast to Victor's liking. He shoved her away from him as he grappled with an impotent rage that washed over him like stinging cold water.

"Oi! I ain't into the ruff stuff!" the faux-Isabela rebuked in a Cockney accent disdainfully, her eyes flickering from the exotic hue to a brilliant yellow before reverting back.

He whirled around and grabbed her by the throat before ruthlessly slamming her down on the bed. He was beastly in his rancor, the anger flooding his brain so violently that he blacked out only to come to what felt like seconds later covered in blood, his claws still in his kill. Victor had ripped his claws out and back pedaled away from the gory scene, overwhelming self-loathing clouding his thoughts as he stripped and stalked in a haze into the bathroom to wash off the blood and the scents that were making his head spin.

Sighing, Victor shook his head at his recollections and stood, getting his trenchcoat on before stalking to the window and opening it. He took one look back at the mess he'd made before leaping out into the night.

Scaling the buildings of the city always helped him clear his head, and before he knew it, he was hearing the soft roar of crowds cheering and shouting into the New Year. He was alone, standing over the city of millions and thinking of Isabela. He couldn't muster the anger he knew he should harbor towards that fact, but he was rescind with the thought that she was doing the same. It was only a matter of time before they crossed paths again. And with that thought, he hopped off the ledge to land in a crouch in the alley below before resuming his hunt from earlier.

Stalking down into the nearest subway, he jumped down onto the tracks and disappeared into the gloom of the dank tunnels, tracking his prey to a squalid hideout and finding the shaft empty. The predator in him smiled and relished the hunt. When he climbed onto a platform somewhere down in the Lower East Side, Victor's nose told him his prey was close. He looked to the end of the platform across from his and saw the shifty Morlock punk just before the train careened from the tunnel and pulled into the station. The empty and graffiti-covered train opened its doors and Victor stepped in, his eyes peering into the few train cars between him and his prey. As the train began to move, Victor made his way through the first car, ignoring the screeching and flickering lights as he prowled closer.

When he entered the car the punk was in, the shifty-eyed mutant looked up at him from his seat and froze. Victor's vicious smirk bared his wicked fangs as he advanced towards the kid, who instinctually knew he was in trouble and dashed out of the car. Chuckling, Victor ran after him with no real rush. The kid struggled through the cars, fumbling in his fear into the last car on the train. He tried to open the emergency exit door, hissing and cursing as Victor prowled into the car and looked like a murderous specter as the lights over head flickered on and off. The punk whirled around and pleaded under his breath as he watched Victor advance under the flickering lights right pass a solitary hobo crouched on one of the train benches asleep in a drunken daze to loom over the punk whose dirty face was quivering with terror.

Glaring down at the Morlock gearsmith with a sadistic grin, Victor purred acerbically, "Happy New Year, kid. Wanna know what my New Year's resolution is?"

The kid cowered and trembled, skin blanching as he gripped the sides of his jacket.

Grin widening into a smile, Victor lengthened his claws as he answered, "My resolution is to kill more people this year, and lucky you—yer the first one towards reaching that goal!"

"No, please—!" Victor cut off the plea with an animal snarl as he brought his paw up and sliced the mutant under the flickering lights, mangling him in a quick frenzy and splashing blood and guts all over the dingy and graffiti-covered surface of the train. Leaving a heap of what was once the Morlock, Victor crouched down and dug into the kid's soaked jacket and got the prize he was looking for. Pulling the jacket up with him, the punk's half-dismembered arms fell out of the jacket with slick thuds as Victor tossed it loose of some gore and turned to head back out the way he came in.

The train began to slow down, and he glanced at the bum, who had awoken from his stupor to stare silently at him with glassy eyes. As the train stopped in the next empty station and the doors opened, Victor smiled at the hobo and tossed him the bloody jacket. "Here yah go. That's my charity for the decade. Happy New Year," he rumbled darkly and chuckled as he exited the train and hopped down into the next train tunnel over to disappear into the gloom again.

When he surfaced back onto the streets, he was close to the East River. He strolled towards an underpass where another man stepped out of the shadows and greeted him with a nod.

Victor tossed him the sack he'd gotten out of the Morlock's jacket and stood under a gutter that was dripping clear-enough water for him to rinse his hands from the blood of his kill. The other man inspected the contents inside the sack and pulled out an envelope that he held out to Victor. Victor flung the water off his hands before grabbing the envelope and stuffing it into his coat pocket.

He turned on his heel to lope away, when the other man called out, "Still thinking about my proposition?"

Pausing and shooting the man a look over his shoulder, Victor drawled, "I don't work on teams anymore."

"This ain't a team thing, Creed. Its steady work, great perks, and no sweatin' the small stuff. Got a good group of freelance professionals just like you, and there's no supervisor orderin' you around. Just the target and you. Consider it," the man stated before turning and walking back down the underpass as he offered a wave over his shoulder. "I'll call yah in a week."

Snorting, Victor shook his head and walked in the direction he came from with his hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune as he stared up at the cloudy moonlit night.

                      _____________________________________

She was the only person on the street. Only an hour before the small island had been bursting with people, only now to become a virtual ghost town with the few wayward cabs zooming past. Isabela strolled down the block, her shimmering black dress looking like it was covered in stardust as it moved in the breeze. Her thoughts were on everything and nothing as her heels clicked on the pavement of the sidewalk. Head tilting up to sniff at the breeze, she paused in step, looking around. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She could swear that within the cornucopia of scents in the air, she sifted out a very familiar and feral smell. It warmed her blood. Shaking her head, she continued on her stroll before entering her secret back entrance to her sprawling skyscraper.

Once in her elevator, she keyed in a code in the hidden panel that sent the elevator ascending one floor below her penthouse. The doors opened onto the floor that no other living person had seen and would never see. It was her personal chamber of memories and treasures that she hadn't been in a lot until recently. She walked through a long hall towards her study, where nothing but soft light caressed the alcoves of her walls adorned with mementos she'd salvaged from her first life. In the middle of the room was an upholstered velvet chair incased in carved dark wood that had once been her father's. She sat in it and gazed at the wall it stood in front of.

The oil painting of her and her brother Alejandro stared back at her, illuminated by the soft inset spotlight. Her father had commissioned the portrait and had it prominently featured in his townhouse several years before Isabela had gone through the change and her solitary portrait took its place. In it, she was sitting on the ground with her lovely dress spread out wide, her hands folded in her lap while Alejandro sat close to her, his innocent smile and cherub curls making him look much younger than the 5-year-old boy he was at the time. His little hand gripped her puffy shoulder sleeve in a possessive and teasing manner while she concealed an amused smile. Her father had admonished them for smiling when he saw the portrait, but he'd been proud of it enough.

On the adjacent wall was her own portrait, a haunting reminder of her immortality. A reminder she now looked upon after 4 centuries and felt nothing. The pain had subsided, replaced now by the leather bound scrapbook that rested on the table to her right. She lifted it and placed it on her lap before opening it. The newspaper cut outs of her and Eirik were in mint condition, as if they'd been clipped out the day before. She caressed her fingertips over his face and felt her heart sink like it had in Buenos Aires. As much as it caused her sadness, she also swelled with love for him all over again, and that love crested over when she thought of Victor. He'd reunited her with the happy memories of her past with Eirik, and she would love him eternally for doing so, even though she knew that had never been his intention. Still, she looked through the new additions to her scrapbook and thought fondly of her past for the first time in a very long life before she was flooded over by the memories that no longer haunted her.

                      _____________________________________

It had taken her a month to get the paperwork she needed to enter Berlin. Most of her contacts had fled occupied territory, and those who'd remained were seldom prepared to help her in her brazen plan. She'd been told about the concentration camps, but the rumors of mass extermination of the Jews only spurned her on to locate the Krause family. 

Mischa's stubborn rationalizing of the situation had stirred her passion unlike anything before. She'd told him to get his family out—to flee while the Germans were still too preoccupied with appearances. The man that had become her confidante had relented after she'd implored him to think of his wife and son. 

Isabela had grown attached to the mortal family. It had been a gradual process—one she had been unwittingly engrossed in from the moment she entered Mischa's home. Even though her visits were intermittent, each one brought her the innocent joy of Ephram and his unsurpassable curiosity towards her. The hospitality of his Yvette had been of kindness, mindful that she was a strange woman but free of ill-will or suspicion. This family had endeared themselves to her in such a way that she found herself galvanized by Mischa's farsightedness towards the state of events around the world. 

"Yvette and Ephram are priority. If you cannot secure passage for all of us, you must for them…"

She'd agreed. But, time was not in their favor. A few days later, the city was emptied of the Jews. By the time she'd gotten to their home with their visas, the Krause family had been put on a train east of Paris. Only through bribing a porter had she found out that the train had been headed out of France into the belly of the beast. For the first time in a century, her heart had seized in terror. 

Isabela had spent the early 1940s crafting her new persona of the Contezza, gaining favor in Berlin among smitten captains and officers, who would swoon over her in ear shot of their generals and commanders. Her shows became hot ticket items for anyone with military station and a penchant for lusting after the unattainable. Her infiltration of certain circles allowed her to piece together as much intel she could about the Nazi regime, but she was really after the procedural constellation of protocols and officials in charge of each constellation in Germany. Her aim was to reach the right person with enough clout so that she could ensnare them and use them to locate the Krause family. Once located, she intended to smuggle them out of their bondage and abroad, away from the tyranny and the impending exterminations that were quickly becoming reality. 

Entertainment was the only industry Germans outsourced, and the only venue through which Isabela could extend herself without attracting the wrong attention. So, she'd become Isabela Contezza, a glorified and fawned over performer in the club districts of Berlin. Her alluring notoriety gained her the fame and attention of every hot-blooded man from Warsaw to Paris, and men of rank were especially taken with her pro-Nazi shows and the patronage of high-ranking officials—married and single alike—that would request her presence at all kinds of events. 

Most of her nights were spent putting on a show on stage for Nazi troops of all ranks while they swilled liquor, howled and hooted from their chairs and tables, and threw roses and gifts onto the stage. She'd met tons of supposed members of rank, only to find herself dealing with a chain of command that was as fickle as its Fuhrer was unstable. Procedures and the men in charge of them would change without any course, leaving Isabela with little choice but gamble with her life in the hopes of finding the answers she needed. 

It was just another night of wearing a red corset, black stockings, and a Nazi officer's hat when she met him. He'd been another man in the crowd, gazing at her like a hungry wolf, biding his time until his prey would be his. She'd noticed him in the crowd as she played the piano, her eyes catching his briefly before she closed hers and crooned the song that she only sung on occasions she felt bemused. When she got to the chorus, she'd tossed her hair after hurling the officer's hat out to the crowd, belting the words with fiery zeal,

I'll never talk again Oh boy you've left me speechless You've left me speechless, so speechless

As she battered the ivory keys, she swung her legs so she could straddle the piano bench as she sang,

And I'll never love again, Oh boy you've left me speechless You've left me speechless, so speechless

He had watched her for several nights. His incandescent presence had stayed to the shadows, but this night he wanted her to see him. He wanted her to lay gaze on him so he could gauge her. She was unlike any other female he'd ever seen in his very long life. He sensed from the sheer electricity around her—the way she carried herself and the preternatural glow of her green eyes—that she was like him.

The crowd of men in uniform roared and shouted proclamations of love to her as she lowered her sultry voice into a provocative croon,

And after all the boys and girls that we've been through Would you give it all up? Could you give it all up? If I promise boy to you That I'll never talk again And I'll never love again I'll never write a song Won't even sing along I'll never love again So speechless You left me speechless, so speechless Will you ever talk again, Oh boy why you so speechless?

You left me speechless, so speechless?

She looked out to the crowd and noticed the tall and azure-eyed officer standing in the middle of the raucous crowd, arms crossed and features chiseled as another man with similar blue eyes talked into his ear. When he noticed her looking across at him, he smirked at her unlike any man had ever done before. It had sent a chill of excitement down her spine as she played the last bars of the song and purred into the microphone,

Some men may follow me But you choose "death and company Why you so speechless? Oh oh oh

She played the last keys and tossed her head back as the spotlight went out and was followed by the thunderous sounds of stomping feat and applause, catcalls, leering howls and whistles. Throwing her robe around her once back stage, she loomed behind the cover of the curtain as the houselights came up and the audience of horny men milled about for more liquor; some men sang drunkenly the chorus of her song while superior officers railed at them to shut up. Isabela stealthily looked out to the audience, but the tall SS-officer was nowhere to be seen. Still feeling the tickle of excitement at the back of her neck, she went to her dressing room, waving the whole thing off. 

Wearing an off-the-shoulder crimson cocktail dress, black pumps, and birdcage veil, Isabela exited the theater out of the stage door, adjusting her grey wolf fur shoulder wrap after she pulled on her black silk gloves.

"Fräulein Contezza?"

Isabela turned to see a behemoth of a German corporal flanked by two other men in disheveled uniform as they walked hurriedly towards her in the alleyway. Plastering a serene smile, she tucked her pocket book under her arm and fingered the fur wrap. "It depends. What do you boys need?" she murmured with a cocked brow, adding, "It must be brief, I'm afraid. I have an engagement elsewhere—"

"Brevity? Surely you'd make an exception for your fans, no?" the red-cheeked corporal interjected, looking at his partners as he smiled and added, "We are great fans of yours, and would like to treat you to drinks, in your honor. Please, let us unworthy men escort you—"

"Unfortunately, gentlemen, I must decline. I'm running late for my prior engagement, so if you'll excuse me—" Isabela coolly cut in and attempted to exit, but the flanked men refused to let her step by. 

"Quite a chilly reception you give your fans! You're not in Italy anymore, signorina. Entertainers here are happy to oblige their fans—!"

"The Contezza is not mere entertainer."

The men turned to look back at the darkened mouth of the alley, glaring drunkenly at the two officers who strode commandingly towards them. 

Isabela looked around the bulk of the three to catch sight of the two officers as they stepped into the light given off by the lamp above the stage door. When the man who spoke was illuminated, Isabela realized it was the blue-eyed officer with the wolfish gaze from earlier. Next to him was the dark-haired and chiseled-featured officer who'd been talking into his ear. 

"Is there a problem?" the behemoth condescended as they remained at ease in front of the men of rank.

"Do you forget yourselves, or are you too stupid to salute rank!" the dark-haired office snapped in a Scandinavian-accented growl, his body language showing that he was spoiling for a fight. 

"We don't see any rank here, Norse dogs!" the drunken behemoth slurred with a disdainful laugh. 

"What did you say?" the dark-haired man fumed between clenched teeth and took a step forward to advance on them when the other officer clamped his hand on his shoulder and held him at bay. 

"You heard him, Norse dog—!" one of the lackeys snidely retorted, while the other punched him in the shoulder and snarled, "Shut up! They're rank, idiot!"

"Bite your tongues before I rip them out of your mouths!" the officer snarled. Isabela quirked a delicate brow at the officers in turn before smiling coldly; she used the opportunity to covertly pull her gloves off and shimmer herself with stillness, unsure of how to proceed and waiting for her first opening.

"You three should stand away from the ravishing Contezza. Sullying her by breathing in front of her is a slight we won't let stand," the tall blond smirked contemptuously, his eyes glancing at Isabela for a predatory appraisal that left her feeling a rush of heat. 

"This little tart's ours, dogs. You can wait your turn—!" the cocky corporal barked as he whirled around and grabbed Isabela by her arm and was instantly seized with paralysis, falling to the ground at her feet. She wasn't prepared for the behemoth when he shouted and rushed at her, nor was she expecting seeing him hauled back and punched in the jaw by the ruthlessly debonair officer.

Prying her arm free from the paralyzed man's grip, Isabela looked up just in time to see the tall officer move with deft speed to brutally thrash the behemoth, who managed only a few pathetic swipes at air before his head was slammed against the wall from a crushing blow. The dark-haired officer moved just as quick in to beat the shit out of the cowardly corporal, making short work of the man before scraping him off the ground for one bone-shattering punch to the face. Isabela watched riveted as the two officers brawled, a cold chill shooting down her spine when the tall officer punched the behemoth so hard that his head snapped back and he fell limply against the wall and into a boneless heap. 

Isabela was snapped out of her staring by the corporal who was pathetically fighting stillness and grabbing at her ankle. Pitilessly glaring at him, she jerked her ankle away and swiftly kicked the man under his jaw, lethally cracking his neck and leaving him dead in the grime at her feet. 

"Not mere entertainer, indeed."

Isabela realized the two officers witnessed what she'd done. The tall officer smiled at her as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at his blood-smeared knuckles before tossing the handkerchief over to his partner. She let stillness ebb away as the blue-eyed officers shared a glance. For whatever reason, she suspected that the two weren't planning on doing her harm. 

"I've seen you before," she stated coolly, glancing at the chiseled-jaw officer when his expression shuttered in and glared over at the enigmatic officer who smiled at her and was busily combing his fingers back through his hair before replacing his officer's hat and righting his uniform. 

"And we you, Isabela. That is the name fit for a queen," he murmured with a puckish zest in his steely Scandinavian accent, adding conspiratorially, "Were you named after a queen, Isabela?"

"Ivan!" the dark-haired officer barked warningly. 

Ignoring him, the confident man loped closer as he spoke, "You have proved my suspicions correct, Isabela. I have admired you from afar, waiting for the right moment. A brawl wasn't what I had in mind—"

"Ivan! We did not agree to this!" the other man snapped. 

Pausing and flickering his gaze over his shoulder, he murmured firmly, "Brother, make sure we have a moment of privacy?" For a terse moment, the man glared at him, but eventually relented with a grunt and stalked down the alleyway and disappeared in the dimly lit penumbra. The blond man huffed amusedly before returning his attention to her. "Apologies. He is cross with me, but his insolence comes from a good place—"

"Speak plainly. I am late for another occasion, and do not care to spend the night in this alley!" she cut in crisply, pointedly stepping over the body at her feet to cut the distance between them. 

His blue eyes lit up with a joie de vivre warmth as he smiled wolfishly at her. "For a fellow immortal, you have not gained much patience I see." Freezing, Isabela stared bemusedly at him. His teasing tone rattled her for several reasons, but the primary one was because she could smell his earnestness. Smiling at her bemusement, the officer stepped close enough to loom over her so he could murmur, "I can sense it around you, Isabela. It vibrates in the air around you—you are not mere mortal. Neither are we. I—"

"Ivan! We've got to go!" the dark-haired man shouted between clenched teeth as he stalked hurriedly back towards the two.

"—I would like to see you again. Not in such a sullied place—"

Flustered with anger and impatience, the dark-haired man barked, "Eirik, we must go! Now."

Frowning for the first time, the handsome man reluctantly turned to his brother and calmly muttered, "Willem, do not rush me—"

"If you've not said enough, then save it for another occasion. We must go; there's a patrol coming," Willem cut in and gave Isabela a stare.

Exhaling irritably, the man supposedly named Ivan turned back towards her as he backpedaled and confidently stated, "I look forward to speaking with you again, Isabela. I hope we have not held you too long from your engagement. Goodnight."

Befuddled, Isabela simply watched as the two men stepped into pace with each other as they exited the alley and disappeared into the night, without so much as a backwards glance at the mess they'd left her in. In the distance, she heard the echo of footsteps approaching the street just off the alleyway. Hesitantly, she looked around at the mayhem around herself and knew she had to make a quick retreat, so she ran down to the back of the alley where there was a stone wall that was blocking off the path and effortlessly vaulted over it with her preternatural agility, clearing the distance before landing gracefully on the other side. Righting her fur wrap and gripping her purse, she glowered around herself to make sure she wasn't seen before pulling her gloves back on and making a quick exit of the area. 

Her mind had been whirring feverishly, replaying the event in her head obsessively as she made her way to the lavish event that promised her the opportunity to stalk the military official she was sure would bring her closer to locating the Krause family. She was wary, but beyond anything else, she couldn't still her nerves. The idea that there were others like her made her lightheaded. She wondered why she didn't sense it in the two men, and if they were like her in more than her indestructibility. 

"Fräulein Contezza?"

Isabela turned, snapping her thoughts away and plastering a ravishing smile as a captain flanked by other German higher ups in the army approached her. "Captain von Braun? It's so good to see you again," she spoke serenely and offered her hand so the man could kiss the back of her palm.

"Ah, the pleasure is all mine. Forgive me for not greeting you sooner. Seems I must play host for the moment," the handsome captain offered her a dashing smile before remembering his guests. "Gentlemen, let me introduce you to the talented and enchanting Isabela Contezza—"

"Von Braun, as if the woman would need introduction," the beefier man wearing a crisp tuxedo with a Nazi pin on the lapel cut in as he kissed the back of her hand. The men exchanged introductions and blatantly engaged in a flirting match over Isabela, who coquettishly played coy and laughed at all the horrible jokes that were made. Soon the men escorted her around the lavish ballroom introducing her to whomever was hard-pressed to speak to her and complement her beauty. She bared it all, hoping von Braun would introduce her to the lieutenant-colonel she was planning to seduce for the information she needed.

"-And this is my superior, lieutenant-colonel Brandt."

Her eyes fixed alluringly on the man with the thinning hair and scar on his chin. The man smiled and kissed her hand. She needed to get him engrossed in conversation away from the other men, so she spoke in a continued hushed tone in the group of boisterous talking, knowing the man would excuse them for conversation in a more secluded area of the party. Isabela's plan would've worked had she not been unwittingly thwarted.

"Fräulein Contezza. What a coincidence."

She'd meant to glance coolly at the greeter, but she ended up freezing when she saw the devilishly blue eyes and roguish smirk. The lieutenant-colonel glanced at her and then shot the officer a snarky look. "What is it Walküre, something?" the man bit out.

Unfazed, the officer smiled wider at Isabela. "I'm quite taken with the Contezza, sir. I've come by in the hopes I could ask her for a dance?"

The man opened his mouth to object, but a hard hand clapped him on the back. "Lieutenant-colonel! May I have a word?" the dark haired and chiseled-jawed brother of Ivan Walküre announced.

"Anselm, don't you and your brother see I'm quite busy—!"

"Sorry sir, but there's a matter in the east district that requires your attention," the supposedly-named Anselm Walküre interjected.

Irritated, the lieutenant-colonel excused himself from Isabela's company and stalked off with the other Walküre officer, who shot his brother a glance over his shoulder.

"Twice in one night. The fates must approve of our meeting, don't you think?" the blond officer smirked and offered her the crook of her arm. "Now, about that dance?"

Reluctantly, Isabela took his arm and let him escort her to the dance floor. The ballroom orchestra was playing a Debussy number that left many couples waltzing docilely. Isabela and the officer joined the crowd once he placed his large hand on the small of her back and swept her into the rhythm after clasping her other hand in his. 

"Ivan Walküre?"

"Isabela Contezza?"

She pressed her lips together and shot him a fierce glare. "Who are you, really?"

Smiling down his nose at her, he leaned in close to her ear and husked, "I'm just a warrior, and so is my brother."

"Don't you mean a soldier?" she seethed and had her breath catch in her throat when he squeezed her against him. 

"Can't you feel me?" he asked in a sober murmur, his frown back on his boyish lips as he continued to lead them in the waltz.

Isabela's patience was frayed raw, so she dug her nails into his shoulder and hissed, "The only thing I feel is your arousal against my thigh. If you don't start explaining what the hell you're doing, you'll be missing that appendage very soon!"

He suddenly dipped her in the waltz, his fingertips pressing firmly into the base of her spine as he leaned close enough to husk hotly, "You're impatient, Isabela. Your threats are…sexy, but I cannot be distracted from my purpose this evening." Pulling her back and continuing the waltz, he continued, "You are immortal. You feel old—"

"Excuse me?" she hissed under her breath and balked at him.

"-Like a goddess touched only by the sun. Not like a mere mortal, who feels like blood and tissue. If you could sense, you would feel the same in me, and in my brother."

Gripping his hand, she stiffened in her poise as they danced like a simple couple. "Eirik is your true name. His is Willem?" she murmured, her preternatural eyes fixed to his glacier-blue depths as he nodded and gave her a more puckish smile.

"Those other names were…appropriated. The true holders of the name Walküre and the ranks are permanently indisposed. Isabela is your true name, is it not?" he murmured in her ear, his lips dangerously close to brushing her skin.

"Yes. I always keep my first name. Contezza is the means to an end of mine…how can you feel me?" she whispered as the song ended and people clapped for the band.

Eirik took the opportunity to lead her to the nearest terrace away from the crowd and the men of rank. Once alone in the chilly night air, he turned to her and took her hand in his, feeling her pulse in her delicate-looking fingers and turning her hand palm up so he could see the black talons camouflaged with red nail polish. 

"My clan could sense the life force in living creatures. We are not true empaths; merely sensers of what hides beneath blood and flesh. Willem and I are all that's left of my clan…the only immortals since I sensed you days ago, standing under that spotlight," he explained in a steely tenor and raised her hand to his cheek. "You are primal, Isabela. I can sense it in your life force. Not human. Not mortal. Raw power and heat…you really can't sense it?" he gave her an intense look that left her bare before him. 

She cupped her hand to caress his cheek, fingertips brushing his cheekbone before working down to his jaw and down to his throat, where she could feel the powerful beat of his pulse. His skin was hot—several degrees hotter than the skin of humans. Other than that, she couldn't sense anything different about him. 

"No. Not like you sense. I can smell you and feel the heat of your blood under your skin. You're not human…" he shook his head, confirming it to her, so she continued, "how long have you been on this earth?"

He took her hand again and pressed it against his chest, over his heartbeat. "Over a millennium." Her breath caught in her chest and he pressed closer to her, caressing her face into his calloused and impossibly-warm hands as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. "You have not met another?"

"No…I've spent centuries alone. I didn't even understand what I was until the last decade. Even then, I still don't really know anything," she murmured, staring into his eyes and feeling some kind of rapport between them. 

Eirik brushed his thumbs along her cheekbones before whispering against her lips, "Do you trust me?"

She wanted to protest, and push him away, but she remained in his grip and speechlessly stared into his earnest and handsome face. He leaned in and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers with unabashed heat in the gesture. Isabela gasped and at first resisted, until she noticed movement from across the terrace. Slowly, she kissed him back, her lips molding to his and encouraging him to trail his hands down her body and hold her against him. She dragged her hands up his biceps to interlock behind his neck, kissing him with a flutter of breath between them as the kiss deepened. She could feel his hard and muscular body pressed against her; he felt like hot skin stretched over solid marble. His body heat was amazing, radiating through his officer's uniform to such a degree that she wondered how he would feel completely naked against her. 

Just as the thought made an ache flutter inside her, the person who'd walked onto the terrace spoke deliberately, "The lieutenant-colonel is looking for her."

Unhurriedly, Eirik unlocked his lips from hers with a roguish smirk before glancing at his brother over his shoulder. "Cannot stall him for longer?"

"Hell no." The dark-haired man crossed his arms and eyed Isabela before shooting his brother a knowing look. 

Isabela felt like she was out of the loop, and she didn't like it. Pushing Eirik back by the shoulders, she brushed a rogue lock of hair that had escaped her up-do and gave him a biting stare as she declared, "I'll say my farewells. You've encroached on my plans for the evening, and as such, you owe me more of an explanation. I have a suite at the Golden Eagle. Meet me there in an hour."

"Having two gentlemen callers asking for you at the front desk so late would besmirch your reputation, Isabela," he teased. "How will we know which suite you're in?" Eirik mused and smiled sardonically at her as he caressed her arms.

She yanked her arms away and stepped past him as she replied icily, "Why don't you just sense me out. Now, if you'll excuse me."

With that, Isabela strutted away from Eirik and past Willem, leaving the two brothers to watch her go. 

After saying her goodbyes to several patrons and the host of the event, she headed for the coat check to collect her belongings, mind whirling feverishly and thoughts in a jumble. As she set her birdcage veil in place and wrapped her fur pelt over her shoulders, she was approached by the lieutenant-colonel.

"Leaving so soon, Fräulein Contezza?" the man remarked crisply, but his gaze was voraciously committing her curves to memory. 

"Yes, I'm afraid something has come to my attention—"

"Pity. I'd have liked to finish our conversation," the man spoke with little regard for her reasoning.

Eyes intensifying on him, Isabela looked over his shoulder in order to distract him so he would follow her gaze. She used the distraction to shimmer a low dose of rapture over her skin. By the time the man turned his attention inquisitively at her, she stepped close and brushed the back of her knuckles along the scar on his chin. "That looks like it was painful. Such a scar must've been received during a heroic feat of valor?" she purred, staring alluringly into his eyes and watching rapture heat his pale gaze.

"Yes…in the service of the motherland, during the first war."

Smiling, she decided to cut to the chase before cutting her losses for the night. "I've heard you're the person in charge of designating the placement of deported Jews?"

Frowning, the man forlornly declared, "Alas, I was, but the Fuhrer has restructured that branch of affairs. The position has been destabilized and broken down to cabinet members from each governing district of the occupied territories. Those who oversee the camps have more autonomy now, so my office was eliminated."

Isabela set her jaw, the rage boiling inside of her as she soberly caressed the back of his hand and shot so much rapture into his system so she could instruct him to go on with his night and forget about their conversation. The haze and aftereffects of rapture undoubtedly left the lieutenant-colonel assuming the encounter was nothing but an imagined fluke. 

As the man left in a daze to return to the party, she let rapture ebb away and pulled on her gloves, exiting the party en route for her suite. An hour later on the dot, a swift knock rapped on her door. She opened it and looked coolly at the two officers standing in her doorway before silently turning from the door and walking into the parlor. They walked in and shut the door after themselves, following the enigmatic woman who'd changed from her crimson cocktail dress to a black silk synched frock with matching chiffon robe with a wrist-length bishop sleeve. She looked ethereal, her movements graceful and sinuous as she moved towards the fireplace and glanced sidelong at them.

Running her red-painted talons through her flowing hair, Isabela remarked, "I trust it wasn't much trouble sensing me out."

Eirik chuckled gruffly, but his brother Willem's muted scowl didn't let up. He stalked across to the inset bar and helped himself to a glass of brandy and poured another for his brother before stating, "Since you two don't seem preoccupied with anything but entangling yourselves on a balcony, I'm going to cut to the chase. What the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing in Berlin?"

"Willem—!" the blond man warned icily.

"No, Eirik. I've tagged along silently for long enough! I told you I didn't want to get involved with her. She's dangerous—!"

"I can't deny that."

Both men glanced at her, watching her smile as she turned to faced them both and crossed her arms gracefully before gesturing for them to take seats. Willem chugged down his glass of brandy before joining Eirik on the divan and handing him a full glass of the amber liquid.

"I'm not here to answer to you, but, because I have no choice to believe what you told me…I will divulge what I feel necessary. I expect that and more from the both of you," she stated firmly before sitting across from them and crossing her long legs. "I was born Isabela Saavedra, on the island now called Puerto Rico in 1525," she confessed, her tone guarded as she read their expressions. 

Willem differed a stoic look towards the other man, who was staring at Isabela with a smile in his eyes as he snickered and took a long drink from him glass. Licking his lips, he placed the glass on the nearest table and leaned forward. "I was born Eirik Northwolf, in the year 798 A.D. in what is now known as Norway." He watched her eyes blaze with surprise while the rest of her countenance remained cool. 

She was shocked. She did the math quickly, and realized that he was over a thousand years old. Her heart leapt into her throat, but she managed to suppress her tumultuous feelings to ask, "Your clan?"

The dark-haired man saw the way she was looking at Eirik, and how attuned his brother was with her. It made him wary, so he interjected, "We are what remains."

Glancing at Willem, Eirik chose to elaborate, "The Northwolf clan were Viking. Warriors bred for battle in blood and spirit."

"Are you what is left?" Willem asked her, referring to her own bloodline. 

A lurch of anger threatened to narrow her gaze towards the man, but instead she glanced away, focusing on the waxy moon outside her window. "I have been the only immortal of my kind I've ever known. I—" she paused, clearing her throat to look at them levelly as she stated, "I am immortal and part animal."

"You are cold-blooded."

Isabela stared at Eirik, her hand twitching in her lap as she suddenly glared at him. "You can tell that from touching me?"

"I can tell a lot about you, Isabela."

Snidely, she drawled, "Because you're an empath, the two of you?"

"Empaths we are not. We do not sense your emotions, nor do we know anything of your psyche. We are sensers. Being part animal, you should understand the difference," Willem remarked, his scowl fighting the lopsided smirk tugging on his hard-set mouth. "You have a heightened sense of smell, no?"

"Willem, mind your tone." Eirik snapped and stood, crossing towards Isabela before kneeling on bended knee and taking her hand. "Like I said before. Your life force is what I sensed. It is different—fierce and primal, but elevated from mere animal and human. When we sense, it's like a feeling here," he took her hand and pressed it against his chest as he continued, "like pressure. Like how the world feels different after a rain, or when the snow comes. It is a shift that only we can feel."

Like barometric pressure. She could sense and smell shifts in the atmosphere. Her senses were superior to animals and humans, able to pick up on the scents of death from an ill person, or sense a creature's body heat without ever having to touch them. She realized that they were sensers of a different nature: she organically and they consciously.

Isabela stared into his blue eyes as she grabbed his jaw and pulled him closer. The other man's hackles rose, but he stopped himself from interfering when all Isabela did was caress her nose along Eirik's exposed throat. "You are very cock-sure, Eirik. And hot-blooded. I wonder what it would taste like," she purred and tipped her face to glance at him from the same angle he was staring at her. 

Eirik chuckled darkly and stood, pulling her up with him. "Why are you in Berlin, Isabela?" he searched her eyes before adding, "Why are you pimping yourself out for the fucking swine here?"

Glaring into his unabashedly charming expression, Isabela could not believe how unfazed he was by her. There wasn't a hint of trepidation or fear in his scent. Not even a glimmer of concern shone in his eyes. If anything, he looked enlivened by her vicious nature. 

Glancing away from him towards his tense brother, she said, "I could ask you two the same thing. What are two Vikings doing in the German army?"

Leaning close, Eirik whispered in her ear, "We are warriors. We go where the war is."

Snickering under her breath, she pulled away from him and loped back to the fire place. "We, we, we. Do you two come as a set, or can't either of you think for yourself?" she mocked and shot them both a berating look, lingering on Willem.

Instead of the deathly glower she expected, the dark-haired man's expression became a cold mask of hateful humor. His lips managed to smirk while his eyes narrowed crossly on her as he stood and sneered, "I certainly can think for myself. For example, I think you are not worth us sticking our necks out for, and I sure as hell don't give a damned about you. The idea of revealing our true natures to you is incensing to me, but I trust my brother," he paused, then snidely added, "There is a loyalty between us that goes beyond blood. Clearly you know of no such thing." Looking to his brother, Willem managed to keep his stare challenging—a very difficult feat with how livid Eirik was with him—as he groused, "I have heard all I care for. I won't wait up." With that, the brooding man departed without a backwards glance. 

After the door shut, a tense pause lingered in the room for several moments, until Isabela strutted away from Eirik towards the window. "I see you inherited all the charm," she mused to the man without looking away from the moon. 

"He's insolent at times…you never answered my question."

"That's none of your business."

Grunting with humor, Eirik walked around the parlor room with his hands in his pockets. "You're angry with me," he declared with a smile in his tone.

She whirled and glared deftly at him. "If I was, you'd be dead by now. I'm processing. I'm…overwhelmed. I don't know if I can trust you—"

"You can," he stated with irrevocable command and in two long strides he was by her side. "You might not be able to sense like I, but you can smell if I'm being false, surely. You know I'm not lying." He took her hands in his and brought them to his chest. "You want to know everything. I can see it in your eyes. Just ask."

She hesitated, surprised by how much she gravitated to him; couldn't and didn't want to shy away from his imposing touch. Isabela looked at the hands that encircled her wrists, noting the small cuts along his knuckles from his earlier thrashing. Her eyes lingered up to trace his masculine jaw, already lightly stubbled with blond whiskers, and committed his features to memory. His handsome face was that of a man full of life and a love for living, with a sadistic and impish quirk to the corners of his mouth and the set of his eyebrows. Eirik didn't look a day over 30, and his body felt god-like. 

Isabela was fiercely attracted to him. 

"Don't you get overwhelmed? Surrounded by people and being bombarded by their life forces?" she finally spoke and stared into his glacier-blue eyes.

He let his hands trail up her arms, fingers possessively caressing her through the chiffon fabric before cupping her shoulders. "Like every environmental factor, you learn to block it out. Around mere mortals, it's no different than feeling city traffic. Only when something extraordinary is present do I have trouble focusing and pushing the rest out. Even then, it only feels as if rain was pelting me from all angles. It's not an unpleasant feeling…" he explained as he stepped so close to her that she had to caress her hands up his chest to encircle his neck in order to keep their gazes connected. 

"What do you feel now?" she murmured, her breath hitching when he encircled her waist and pressed her against him.

"Pounding. Like I am holding onto thunder…Isabela, you rattle me to the very marrow", he husked and kissed her, stealing her breath for what felt like a fleeting eternity. 

When they parted from the kiss, she stared into his hooded gaze and humorlessly smiled at him. "I'm a monster. You don't fully comprehend—"

"Neither do you. Just trust me, Isabela," he gruffly murmured and kissed her, this time, the gulf of his desire for her tantalizing. His mouth moved from hers to trail fire along her jaw and down her throat. "Tell me I have your trust, or I will depart and leave you be," he promised in a hoarse whisper, his mouth suckling on her pulse while his hands clutched her passionately.

"You do that, and you won't make it to the door," she warned in a sigh, her hands gripping him before moving to hurriedly unbutton his jacket. 

He groaned and held her hands away. "Your threats are so fucking sexy, Isabela, but for the length of Odin's cock, would you trust me?" he grumbled hotly and framed her face in his hands.

Isabela blinked at him, the hunger in his tone and the viciousness in his eyes exciting her as much as the sauciness of his remark. 

"Tell me everything, and I'll trust you completely."

Setting his jaw, Eirik tipped his head to an angle and furrowed his brows. "Couldn't you give me a break and acquiesce? I want you now, and I'm too aroused to wait until after I tell you everything."

He'd declared that to her so earnestly that she couldn't help but laugh. "Forgive me, but I simply must insist," she retorted with a flirty smile.

Eirik swore and began to pace like a provoked wolf, running his fingers through his blond hair before fisting the locks and growling at himself. He turned and gave her a hungry once over before prowling towards her and grousing, "Compromise?"

Smiling, she brushed her fingers over his chest before popping a button open. She asked a question and looked up at him through her lashes. Exhaling through his parted lips, he answered her with genuine sexual frustration. Humming approvingly, she popped another button and asked another question. Eirik quickly realized her game and answered with more gusto, smiling suavely when she undid another button on his jacket as she asked yet another question. Unspokenly agreeing to her version of a compromise, the two immortals undressed bit by bit with every one of her questions answered. Before long, Eirik was stripping the last undergarment away from her supple and silky skin before caressing her into his embrace. Isabela was content to be naked in his arms, most of her pertinent questions answered and all others quieted as she got lost in the heat of his skin pressed against hers. Leaving a path of clothes strewn in the direction of her bedroom, they ended up making love passionately. Eirik's sensual ardor was scintillating, leaving her hungry and pliable under him as he rocked her into a fierce climax. He moaned and joined her in bliss soon after, his hands and lips possessively caressing her as she clung to him. 

The world melted around them. It was unlike anything either of them had ever felt. Once the lust subsided, she found herself marveling over his body. Scars etched his torso, some light and hard to notice, others ragged and worn by time. On the side of his right pectoral were scratches similar to claw marks; they raised his pale skin. She traced them with the four fingers of her right hand, marveling at the smoothness of the raised flesh. His most jagged scar was along his left bicep. The claws of the animal had torn into his flesh, slicing deep. She caressed the massive claw marks and looked up at him through her lashes. He was watching her, something sensual and rugged glimmering in his eyes.

"War wounds?"

He'd noticed the scar on her womb, and had wondered the same thing. "You could say that. Got that for my warrior rite. I think it would be called a…coming of age ritual," he smirked, but it didn't quite reach his blue eyes. 

"Oh really. A rite of passage? Did you have to wrestle a polar bear?" she quipped sultrily, fingers still marveling over the marred muscular bicep. 

"No. A Direwolf."

When she blinked at him, he grinned boorishly at her and elaborated. "My father went through it…all Northwolf warriors had to earn their warrior rite. They would not be considered men otherwise, let alone warriors in blood and spirit. So...on my 15th year of life, I entered the gauntlet. It was an arena set at the mouth of a cave. All clan members watch as you enter and fight the clan symbol—the Direwolf. Of course, the beast was widely extinct and not indigenous to Europe, but my greatgrandfather was one of the first Vikings to travel to Northern America. He captured many Direwolf and bred them over many generations. The gauntlet was between man and beasts. One Direwolf, to symbolize the clan, One Greywolf, for reliance, and a Redwolf for the blood a warrior must spill." 

He paused, staring into her captivated eyes. Caressing the claw marks on the side of his chest, he remarked, "The Greywolf gave me this. It was a majestic creature; distracted me long enough for the Direwolf to give me this," he brushed his fingers over his scarred bicep. "Seeing my own blood and the thirst in the wolves' eyes made me go berserker for the first time. I managed to run through the Redwolf, and by then, I don't remember anything until I…became a warrior in the center of the arena, the beasts slain and my clansmen cheering me. I skinned my kills and made regal pelts out of them. They were my pride, and the envy of all those not warrior." 

Lowering her eyes to the scar, she brushed a kiss over the marred flesh before leaning up to kiss him. "That makes a lot of sense." He chuckled, tipping her face towards him and gave her an amused look, raising his brow inquisitively at her. "You remind me of a wolf. You smell like a dirty wolf too," she provocatively teased, and earned a laugh from the blond Viking before he rolled over and claimed her fiercely with his body, his mouth loving hers with intoxicating desire.

When she awoke the next morning, she found her bed empty. Bemused, she wrapped the bed sheet around herself before heading into the parlor. His clothes were gone, but on the center table stood a vase filled with crimson roses. A small card was tucked into the bouquet. She read the note and smiled. There were only 3 words written in his bold handwriting:

I Trust You.

To be continued...

____________________

Read Chapter 12: Savage Return - Part 2

The song Isabela sings in the club is "Speechless" by Lady Gaga. 

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

[deke-rivers-1957]

Introducing a special new series. In this HP au, Toby Kwimper starts off as an 11 year old boy who finds out he's a wizard. Along the way, he meets my OC, Jacklin Gryffindor. She's an 11 year old half Veela who vies to uphold the family name.

My goal is to do all 7 books in my own style. While there will be plot elements that are the same, there will also be a lot of things that are entirely focused on these 2 characters. Outside of Malfoy and the Hogwarts faculty, none of the main characters exist in this series.

Book One: The Philosopher's Stone

Part 1: Toby reflects on who he is and is amazed to get his Hogwarts letter. Part 2: Toby and Pop get on a plane and dreams about talking to a snake. Part 3: Toby and Pop lands in Ireland and tries a fish finger sandwich. Part 4: Toby's cousin finds a frog and he adopts it. Part 5: Toby and Pop go to Diagon Alley for the first time. Part 6: Toby meets Jacklin on the Hogwarts Express as he travels to Hogwarts. Part 7: The kids make it to Hogwarts and Toby has visions about death. Part 8: Toby finds out he can talk to snakes on his 1st day of school. Part 9: Toby's visions are out of control and are starting to scare him. Part 10: Toby singlehandedly takes out a 12 foot tall troll. Part 11: Jacklin almost dies in her first Quidditch match. New blog: https://www.tumblr.com/an-ecu-harrypotter-au

Tagging: @arrolyn1114, @ash-omalley, @alienelvisobsession, @xanatenshi, @moonchild-daniella, @karel-in-wonderland, @vintagepresley, @theelviseffect, @briefpandatimemachine, @grizelda71-blog, @peskybedtime, @shakerattlescroll, @stormie-ryan23, @ellie-24, @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @nemos-rapture, @laura23elvis, @p0lksaladannie, @leighpc, @leopardandstuds, and @thedaisymaisy.

[moldygreenblue]

Regarding the WIP names you posted, "Can I Have ONE Normal Idea" sounds very intriguing to me ;)

@gellavonhamster, you picked the most wild of all wips from the list:

“Nice work, lad.” The way ‘lad’ was drawn out made Duke uncomfortable. There’s a radio crackle, and then a long sigh of relief.

“But it’s time to end this little masquerade,” continued the voice. No longer it sounds like the friendly, concern, baritone man from before. It sounds like nothing, as well a bit tired. It’s like the man on the radio had forgotten how his real voice sounded like. “And masquerade is a word which Lemony Snicket —the real Lemony Snicket that is— would probably define as, ‘A lie someone can fall for with either little or no amount of force.’”

“I say using a code phrase is contradictory to that.”

The man ‘tsks’ several times. “Was that phrase ever spoken when you volunteer your assistance for justice regarding the death of a sweet young child?”

Duke didn’t answer. All he does was grip the radio tighter in his hands. The entire room began to shake violently.

“A human being, even one that is genetically modified in a laboratory, is like any other animal,” continued the man. “If it wants something enough, it will do anything at all. You, young man, wanted to do good in this watery-hellhole. You volunteered yourself in a task of self-righteous justice. All I did was gave you a push in the right direction.”

Another violent shake. Duke stood firm where he stands.

“Considering everything, I owe you a little honesty. The name is Hangfire.”

so. context: this wip is from an asoue/atwq and bioshock fusion-crossover fic i was working on awhile back. in it, most of the snicket-verse characters take the place of bioshock characters; only two bioshock characters are in the au.

bioshock is a first person shooter with horror/sci-fi survival elements video game series. in the first two installments, it's about an underwater city known as rapture that gets torn due to a civil war that started on new years. by the time of the games, rapture is well on its way to being ruined and dead for good.

in the first game, you play as jack, a young man whose plane crash into the ocean and ends up entering rapture, where he must survive the horrors with the help of the man name atlas, the leader of one side of the civil war mention before, over the radio. atlas has a wife and child and he asks jack to help save them, but they get kill, and long story short atlas gets jack to go kill one andrew ryan, the ruler of rapture, and the leader of the other side.

at a very pivotal moment, which this fragment wip is inspired by, jack learns a few things. the most important things related to the snippet:

a. atlas isn't real. atlas is instead the disguise of frank fontaine, a rival to andrew ryan who faked his death in order to take control of rapture.

b. jack is a hidden agent for frank fontaine, with the phrase 'would you kindly' getting jack to do as told without question.

the fusion-crossover snippet here has:

armstrong feint/hangfire in the role of frank fontaine/the fake lemony snicket. the real lemony snicket is alive and around in rapture in his own story that is loosely inspired by the second game.

duke, an original character, is in the role of jack. duke is a bit more talkative (a hell lot more actually; jack is your typical silent protag), and well, let's say duke has beef with hangfire after this.

i'm sorry for the delay respond; i had trouble trying to figure out WHICH part of the wip to select because only fragments of the fic is actually written; most of it is just summaries of events and lore/world building to blend the snicket-verse elements with the world of bioshock. so i put it off and did other stuff (re: the widdershins and olivia friendship post on my side blog). picked this because while major spoilers, it's the best of the snippets i do have written.

[skumburgers]

text from Pir Zia Inayat Khan's essay Persian & Indian Visions of the Living Earth in book Spiritual Ecology: Cry of the Earth

photos: Portrait of Shaikh Mu’in al-Din Hasan Chishti / The magical bird Simorgh / Shahnama / Amesha Spentas & Chakras / Shahnama cover Ferdowsi / Bhagavata Purana / Hazrat Inayat Khan

Ideas do not occur in a vacuum, and spiritual ideas are no exception. Sacred visions emerge from the disposition of human personalities, from the shape of historical events, and from the momentum of hallowed customs, but perhaps most fundamentally (transcendental sources aside), they emerge from “airs, waters, and places,” from the character of the landscapes in which they are born.

When epiphanies are redacted and passed down, the loamy pungency of their genesis frequently fades away, so that an abstract doctrine is perpetuated in place of an embodied insight. Such, however, is not always the case. Spiritual traditions are often the deepest repositories of a culture’s knowledge of the ancient bond between person and planet, soul and soil.

[...] The forces of light will thus gain ground, advancing in ascendancy, dispelling malevolence, and speeding the long-awaited day known as the frashkart, when the whole of creation is to be purified, redeemed, illuminated, and rendered immortal.

[...] All that exists is of light, for light is existence itself, the very essence of apparency. God is the “Light of Lights,” and as light kindles light, creation proliferates as a cascade of illumination poured into the dark abyss of nonbeing. In this great chain of being, the angels are links, uniting the manifest world with the infinite brilliance that is its source.

[...] There follows a long, though not infinite, series of Intellects, each receiving light from the Light of Lights and its predecessors, and bequeathing light to its successors. By this causal chain the starry sky is lit up.

[...] Nothing exists on Earth without an underpinning in the world of pure light.

[...] In like fashion, Suhrawardi’s cosmology envisions a universe that is intensely alive and inherently sacred. All existence is the effusion, in pulsing waves, of the holy of holies, the Light of Lights. Transpiring in every clod, puddle, flaming wick, and fluttering breeze is an angelic presence, a sentient and radiant delegate of the cosmic order.

[...] The Qur’an begins, “Read in the name of your Lord” (96:1). What must be read are the ayat, the signs of God. The verses of scripture are signs, but so too are the verses inscribed ”on the horizons and in themselves” (41:53). The holy books of the prophets, Earth’s rapturous geography, and the interior landscapes of the human soul are all of a piece, all pages in a single book, the book in which God’s own story is told. This is a story without end, for, “If all the trees on Earth were pens and the ocean ink, with seven oceans behind it to add to its supply, yet the words of God would not be exhausted” (31:27).

[...] As widely different as were the theological views of Muslim Sufis and Hindu yogis, they had two spiritual perceptions fully in common: the vital livingness of the elements and the status of the human form as a microcosm encapsulating the breadth, depth, and range of the whole universe.

[...] The Vamana Purana sings, “Let all the great elements bless the dawning day: Earth with its smell, water with its taste, fire with its radiance, air with its touch, and sky with its sound.”

[...] Hindu acts of worship are traditionally preceded by bhutashuddhi, the ritual purification of the elements in the body and in the landscape. In this manner the inner and outer dimensions of the universe are brought into symmetry, and the human being is sanctified as an epitome of the surrounding totality. The human heart contains fire and air, sun and moon, lightning and stars, pronounces the Chandogya Upanishad.

The Chishti Sufis share this perception. In the Sum of Yoga attributed to Khwaja Mu’in al-Din Chishti, the entire cosmos is mapped onto the human form:

Know that by His power God Most High created the human body to contain all that He created in the universe: “We will show them Our signs in the horizons and in themselves, until they see …” (41:53). God created the twelve signs of the zodiac in the heavens and also in the human body. The head is Aries, the neck is Taurus, the hands are Gemini, the arms are Cancer, the chest is Leo, the intestine is Virgo, the navel is Libra, the phallus is Scorpio, the thighs are Sagittarius, the knees are Capricorn, the shanks are Aquarius, the soles of the feet are Pisces. The seven planets that revolve beneath the zodiac may be located thus: the heart is the Sun, the liver is Jupiter, the pulmonary artery is the Moon, the kidneys are Venus, the spleen is Saturn, the brain is Mercury, the gall bladder is Mars. God the Glorious and Most High made 360 days in the year, 360 revolutions in the zodiac, 360 mountains on the face of the Earth, 360 great rivers, and in the human body, 360 segments of bone (like the mountains), 360 arteries (like the rivers), 360 epidermal tissues (like the days of the year). The motion of the stomach is like the sea, hairs are like trees, parasites are like beasts of the jungle, the face is like a built-up city, and the skin is like the desert. The world has its four seasons, and these are also present in man: infancy is spring, youth is summer, quiescence is fall, and old age is winter. Thunder corresponds to the voice, lightning to laughter, rain to tears.

To bring microcosm and macrocosm into harmony, yogis and Sufis practiced, and still today practice, kriyas, or meditations, corresponding to the four elements. In his Secret of Love, the twentieth-century Chishti Sufi ‘Aziz Miyan describes the elemental kriyas in this manner: “Earth kriya: Meditate while incrementally burying the body in the ground, from feet to head. Water kriya: Meditate while sitting underwater, lying in the rain, or pouring water over the body. Fire kriya: Meditate before a fire, uniting first with the smoke and then with the flame. Air kriya: Meditate standing on a tree, hill, or roof, wearing a single cloth, facing the wind. Breathe in and out slowly and deeply, inducing the sensation of flight.”

[...] Hazrat Inayat Khan conceived of the Earth as an animate, and in some sense sentient, whole. He wrote, “If the planet on which we live had no intelligence it could not have intelligent beings on it.”9 If Earth possesses a kind of sentience, it follows that the planet may be susceptible to suffering, and Hazrat Inayat Khan made just such an assertion when he wrote, “My deep sigh rises above as a cry of the Earth, and an answer comes from within as a message.” The message of his talks and writings was a call to contemplate the moral and spiritual interconnectedness, and ultimate ontological unity, of all life.

[...] The sacred texts of Mazdaism, Hinduism, and Islam provide a profusion of illuminating perspectives on the nature of embodied existence. While there are undeniable differences in the worldviews communicated in these texts, certain key principles emerge as common understandings. Foremost among these is the insight that the manifest universe is a marvel of providential grace. Following on this is the perception that not only humans, animals, and plants, but all material forms partake of the pervasive light and power of creation, and bear recognition as spiritually alive. Further, the texts make clear the error of imagining human life as hovering autonomously above the natural world. Mystical contemplation of the human form conduces to the realization that the body is profoundly embedded within the wholeness of nature, a totality that each human physically and spiritually personifies. The Indo-Persian prophetic traditions agree: the Earth is alive, we live in and through her, and as we are in her keeping, so is she in ours.

[blindrapture]

june 25th.

so the Tally Mark logs are done, and the narrative resumes. we're now in the next story arc, we're entering the Exodus arc. this will bring us all the way up to Act 2, the part what I'm all excited for. but there will be moments even in this arc that I'm excited for too!

do I feel like rambling right now. not really. it's been a toasty warm series of days and I hate it. I could say something about the slender man again, getting into the actual, like, devices and influences. or I could say something about how, like, Rapture may have started out as a story with an "unrealistic" protagonist who seems to make choices that heighten the excitement of the narrative (go walking out into the rabbit holes!), only to then rather swiftly "devolve" into repetitive urges-based "spend days milling about one general area." that is a contrast I am aware of, and I just want to point out that it isn't inconsistent, it is characterisation. Jordan acts as the context drives him. but frankly, my readers probably already figured that out and did not observe this as something needing an explanation. we're now in a pretty square "mill about a general area" territory. arguably the second major iteration of this theme. just. pointing that out.

I could also say something about how, like. this arc still adheres to the "roman a clef" nature of Act 1. the goal is to get the hell out of England. the summer of 2011 did have that same goal for me in real life. I didn't get out until around August in real life and pulled it back to June for Rapture for some reason, but I did write this arc towards the end of July, so it was still appropriate. like the fiction, I fled England without my family, at age sixteen. I still have a tendency to view this action as "running away." I ran away from home. the original act 2 was written in my new location. and it didn't.. work out. actually rather traumatically did not work out. and so the original act 2 got dark, because I was not in the right position to write it. I elected to dump the "roman a clef" consideration for future acts, diverging fictional Jordan's arc from my own. and the core of what I did in rewriting act 2 this year was commit to that more, remove the roman a clef from act 2 as well. though there's still elements in there, they are handled much more fictionally now and are no longer jarring in unintended ways.

because, like. while rapture dropped the "roman a clef," it still engaged with the self-insert as a fictional thing. act 1 is honestly fine in this regard. act 1 is many many things, all of which are rooted in a transition. metatextually, it's the transition from a Jordan rooted in real life into a Jordan engaged in the fictional world around him. so it makes sense for its original plot to remain and just receive some polishing, fine-tuning, cleanup. which it did.

I will do another ramble about this sometime early in act 2.

the great internet personality Film Crit Hulk once said, as a piece of critical writing advice, "DON'T WORK OUT YOUR OWN PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEMS ON THE AUDIENCE'S FIFTEEN BUCKS." I can't actually definitely say I disagree with his point, but it is safe to say I undercut it in the spirit of nuance. and anyway I thought it would be funny to leave this post on that quote.

see you tomorrow.

[the-rapture-historian]

Here are some audio files for Round 4 of The BioSurvey! These are meant to give examples of score pieces and themes that recur throughout instalments of the series, either as a main theme or as a leitmotif for certain characters or story elements.

1. The Ocean on His Shoulders

Variations of "The Ocean on His Shoulders", also considered the main theme of BioShock (2007).

The first is the main version in full, and this version can play in the main menu of the game. This is also reused in BioShock 2 (2010) during the first half of the ending cinematics.

The second plays in the Smuggler's Hideout, during the scene where Ryan destroys the sub where Atlas claims his family are hiding. This is also named "Busted Sub" on the vinyl version of the soundtrack.

2. Dancers on a String

Variations of "Dancers on a String", the opening "theme" of Fort Frolic that recurs in the score in BioShock (2007). A short piano variation on the vinyl release of the soundtrack also names this leitmotif as "Lost Soul".

The first variation is the piece's main version, which as said before plays in Fort Frolic as the player is denied leaving by Sander Cohen.

The second is a short piano version that can play during progression or exploration within Fort Frolic.

The third plays in Andrew Ryan's office, during the cutscene where the player confronts him from behind a window and Ryan goes over everything he's found suspicious about Jack Wynand entering Rapture.

The fourth is a somewhat garbled version of the leitmotif that plays when the player wakes up in Tenenbaum's hideout amongst the Little Sisters she's rescued so far in Rapture. (There is a second version that plays more to the leitmotif, but this appears to be an unused piece left in the game files.)

3. Pairbond

Variations of "Pairbond", also considered the main theme of BioShock 2 (2010). While there are more times this theme appears, these variations are examples of how it may be presented.

The first is Pairbond in full, which plays during the opening FMV of BioShock 2 and during the Sacrifice (Neutral-Good) ending of the game.

The second variation is a solo violin that will play during the trip to Tenenbaum at the Atlantic Express Station.

The third plays during the player's visit to the Little Sister Orphanage in Siren Alley, on first entering the building.

The fourth plays while the player is trapped in a quarantine sequence during a cutscene confrontation with Sofia Lamb, and a series of flashbacks depicting the player's choices play over the scene. (Some additional strings are missing towards the end as these are classified as SFX, meaning they are merged with the sounds of Delta banging on the glass, moans of pain and a heart pulsing sound coming to a stop).

4. How She Sees the World

Variations of "How She Sees The World", a piano piece that plays on a few occasions in BioShock 2 (2010).

The first variation plays during exploration of the Little Sister Orphanage in Siren Alley, notably when entering the shared bedroom and approaching Eleanor's former spot.

The second piece is the main form of the score, which plays while the player controls a Little Sister in Outer Persephone to collect parts of Eleanor's suit. It also plays during the ending of Minerva's Den, while walking through Charles M. Porter's office.

5. Elizabeth

Variations of "Elizabeth", a theme that recurs in the score of BioShock Infinite (2013). While Elizabeth's theme appears a lot throughout the game, these four show how her leitmotif appears depending on the scene.

The first variation plays when we first see Elizabeth in the tower on Monument Island, from behind a 2-way mirror in her dressing room.

The second is Elizabeth's main theme, which only plays in full during the game's end credits.

The third plays in Battleship Bay, during the gondola scene to Soldier's Field as Elizabeth tries to calm down from witnessing Booker kill the people ambushing them.

The fourth plays along with other similar variations during the ending sequence in the Sea of Doors. This piece in particular plays as Booker relives handing baby Anna over to Robert Lutece.

6. Lutece

Variations of "Lutece", a theme that pops up along with the Luteces in BioShock Infinite (2013). While not all variations are in this file, these mostly represent their leitmotif across the course of the game.

The first variation plays during the scene where you help Elizabeth pick a brooch. Versions of this play during most of the Luteces' scenes prior to Finkton.

The second plays in Finkton, as they help Booker and Elizabeth by suggesting jumping to an alternate world to find Chen Lin alive.

The third plays when talking to them after crashing into Emporia, advising to find a way to "sing to Songbird".

The fourth will play during the gondola ride towards Downtown Emporia, as the Luteces will perform various activities as the gondola moves past them. (This may have been listed as an "unused" score piece on YouTube at some point, but is actually used within the game.)

The fifth plays during the Luteces' scene at the Memorial Gardens, discussing Lady Comstock's ghostly form as they dig their own graves.

[annamarabella-grumble]

thoughts about bioshock, episode 7

episode 1 / episode 2 / episode 3 / episode 4 / episode 5 / episode 6

since it’s been a while since i started the game for this series, i’ve already sort of forgotten about steinman, but occasionally i heard a splicer lady wail “you promised me pretty, steinman! you promised me pretty!” and it’d just bring back that claustrophobic feeling of steinman’s operating rooms and grotesque visions of rapture’s new ideal of beauty

tenenbaum transforms from a figure nearly ignored to questgiver in a turn that feels pretty organic

ryan becomes a body on the ground, which suits him pretty well (his voice actor did not have to go that hard on “a time to LIVE, and a time to DIE,” but he did and that delivery is going to live in my mind rent-free forever)

suchong becomes more of a caricature of himself as the game goes on

and watching it all come together, what’s basically an extended critique of atlas shrugged, this wheel of capitalist greed and overreach, exploitation in industry, science, and art; progress at the sheer expense of human life; dignity, expendable…

it throws into such sharp relief how much of a failure bioshock infinite is in its critique of what columbia’s got going on – and how much bioshock infinite is designed, from the moment the player is given the choice to throw the ball at the announcer at that raffle, to feel like a white saviour & violent power fantasy

in ways that the original bioshock just… doesn’t. it feels much more like a puzzle, like problem-solving with the tools rapture gives you. small, clever shit, like using stuff lying around to trigger the electric traps or using elemental plasmids to get into hidden places. or, you know, blowing up big daddies.